After Such Kindness (16 page)

‘And are you sorry now?’

She pauses. ‘No, Papa.’ Her voice is so low I can hardly hear it. But all the same, I am startled. I had expected at least the outward signs of repentance, even if her heart remained stubborn. But I see that Daisy is honest as well as brave. ‘
No?
What do you mean by that?’

‘I’m very sorry to have upset you and Mama, and to have got Mr Jameson into trouble. But I’m not sorry to have cut my hair. It is so very nice short!’

‘Yes, I think so, too, my dear. You look so very, very pretty.’ I can’t help the words, and I can’t help the smile as I say them.

She gives me a surprised look. ‘Oh, Papa – do you really think so? Then may I keep it like this?’ There’s such joy in her face that I want to pick her up and cover her with kisses and ask her forgiveness for all the times I have been harsh and distant.

But I frown instead, pretend to consider. ‘I will speak to your mother about it. But, first, we have to consider your act of disobedience. That is a serious matter.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ She is downcast again.

‘Your mother is most upset. She didn’t expect you to be underhand. Neither of us did. It is not how we have brought you up. Haven’t we always encouraged you to behave as if God were looking over your shoulder every minute?’

She begins to cry. ‘I’m so sorry, Papa! I wanted short hair so very much, and when I saw the scissors I just did it! I didn’t think about God at all! Although I did think a little bit about Mama.’

‘And did you think she would be upset?’

‘Yes. But I thought it would be worth anything not to have my hair about my face all the time.’

‘Worth
anything
? So you expected punishment?’

‘Oh, yes, Papa.’

Of course she did. We are all indoctrinated into the need for punishment. Yet it is Love that matters, Love that will redeem us, Love that is like the stream of living water, pure and clear; that washes us clean of our sins.

Daisy lifts her eyes and seems to be trying to read my expression. ‘You will still allow Mr Jameson to take me out, though, won’t you, Papa? He says he will be miserable if not, and he has been so nice to me and it wasn’t his fault that I did it and I don’t want him to be sad.’

Her words nearly break my heart, and I wish that I were the one whom she so compassionately desires not to be sad. But I am doomed to continue with my required chastisement. ‘You see how your foolish action has such ramifications? Your deceit has involved others – others who love and care for you. I hope I shall never have cause to speak to you like this again.’ I bend towards her, allow my voice to soften a little. ‘Do you give me your word?’

‘Yes, Papa. I will try my best not to disappoint you. Or Mama.’

‘I’m sure you will. You are a good child, Daisy. But as penance, will you recite this for me?’ I hand her my New Testament and point to the text. I see to my surprise that my finger is shaking.

She reads it straight off in her high, clear voice: ‘
Children obey your parents in the Lord. For this is right. Honour thy father and thy mother that it may be well with thee and thou mayest live long upon the earth.’

‘Obey and honour, Daisy. And in order that you will take this verse to heart, you must write it out one hundred times. I wish to see it after lunch today. I expect every word to be written neatly and no blots.’

‘Yes, Papa. I will do it immediately.’

‘And every day I will give you another text and you will write that out in the same way and bring it to me. And we will do this until I am sure that you understand and fully repent.’

‘Yes, Papa. Thank you, Papa. Dear, lovely Papa!’ And she dips a quick curtsey and is gone. And I feel as much a hypocrite and traitor as Judas Iscariot. What is her peccadillo compared with my great and yawning sin? She is a child and has done a childish thing. But I have betrayed my own soul.

I feel a trifle awkward when John calls this afternoon. I need to speak to him candidly, but Daisy is in the study with me. I’ve been looking at the neatly written punishment task which she has carried out so punctiliously. She jumps up and goes to John when he comes in and, taking his hand, announces very earnestly that he needn’t worry, that it’s all right and she can still go for walks with him and have tea with him as well. ‘Dear Papa has given me a penance and I’ve been very busy at it, so we still have the afternoon to go out.’

‘So I see.’ He takes one of the pages that she proffers him. ‘
Children, obey your parents.
I hope you have taken the lesson to heart.’

‘Oh, yes, Mr Jameson!’ She gives him rather a special smile and John smiles back in a way that transforms his plain features. And once more I have to admit feeling somewhat excluded from this closeness of theirs.

‘Now, I don’t want you to think we blame you in any way, John,’ I say, leading him to the window and speaking in a low voice. ‘But Evelina is somewhat upset that Daisy was disobedient whilst in your care. She feels you are perhaps a little too indulgent with her. You are not used to children, after all, and perhaps don’t realize how contrary and wilful they can be.’

He turns. ‘How many times must I tell you, Daniel – I was brought up with seven younger sisters! I am very used to all kinds of naughtiness.’

‘But there is a difference between the responsibility of an older brother and the responsibility of a parent. When you were at home, your mother was always at hand, was she not? Always there to refer to and ready to be of help?’

‘I was perfectly able to manage the girls on my own,’ he says, somewhat stiffly. ‘And, were my parents still alive, they would have borne witness to this. But I would certainly not wish to impose myself where I was not trusted. If Mrs Baxter thinks –’

‘It’s not that,’ I say hastily. ‘Please don’t misunderstand. I simply want to ensure you are not compromised.’

‘C-Compromised? Whatever do you mean?’

‘I choose my words badly. I mean that Daisy’s misbehaviour must not reflect on you in any way, tarnish your own high reputation.’

‘I assure you that n-nothing Daisy and I have done together would tarnish my reputation. But if her parents have any d-doubts in the matter, I would rather end our acquaintance now.’ He picks up his hat as if to depart. His face is pink.

I find myself apologizing and, in my agitation, I concede more than I’d intended. I’d meant to suggest as delicately as I could that the outings with Daisy might be curtailed – but I found myself instead insisting they went on not just as before, but more frequently, so anxious was I to avoid any hint of a slur. ‘It was only for your sake that I spoke at all, John. You’re not the most worldly of men. I simply sought to protect you.’

‘Innocence is its own protection,’ he says. ‘The Engines of Evil recoil from it as from a rushing, mighty wind.’

‘Well, we are not talking of evil,’ I say, laughing. ‘Just one small child, who has misbehaved herself. Let the matter drop, I implore.’

‘You have confidence in me?’

‘Of course, dear fellow. Of course.’

‘Very well.’ He puts down his hat. ‘We will say no more about it.’

I become aware that Daisy has heard the end of our conversation and that tears are streaming down her cheeks. ‘I am very, very sorry, Mr Jameson,’ she sobs, turning her beautiful little head towards him. ‘I never thought about the Eye of Society even though you had told me about it. I was very wilful and wicked and don’t deserve to have such a nice friend.’

‘What do you know about the Eye of Society, Daisy?’ I say, surprised by her turn of phrase.

‘Mr Jameson said –’

John interrupts her. ‘I merely remarked to Daisy that innocent actions are sometimes misunderstood by the Mrs Grundys of this world. Which is why I wouldn’t tamper with her hair in the first place.’ He casts her a sideways glance. ‘Although I would have made a far, far better job of it than she did with Benson’s All-Purpose Scissors and a pickaxe.’

‘I didn’t use a pickaxe!’ says Daisy, her eyes wide.

‘No? Well, if you had axed, I’d have picked something better for you.’

At which, she dissolves into laughter and he smiles at her with his eyes, while keeping his mouth in a very straight and sober line. ‘And now, if we are to go a-promenading in the Meadow, I suggest you put on your hat and gloves so we can make a start. You may care to bring your parasol too. The sun is very hot today.’

‘I shall be no time at all,’ she says, bolting through the door and nearly running into Hannah, who is about to knock.

Hannah curtseys. ‘Mrs Baxter says she hopes you will excuse her, Mr Jameson, but she has some things to attend to with Miss Christiana and Miss Sarah.’

‘Naturally. She need have no concerns on that score. I am anxious that my visits p-put no one to any trouble.’ He looks down as he always does when Hannah is in the room.

As the maid stands there at the open door, I hear the faint wailing of the baby in the distance. And then Mrs McQueen’s attempts to hush him,
There! There!
There!
Followed by more crying.

‘Still inconsolable, I see,’ observes Jameson.

I’m nettled, and can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. ‘Perhaps
you
will be able to soothe him, Jameson. After all, you have such a
wealth
of experience with children.’

‘I generally prefer the ones who can talk,’ he says. ‘They are so very much more interesting. But if you wish me to distract the child, I’m willing to try. After all, a cat may look at a king.’

‘Mrs Mac won’t thank you for interfering,’ says Hannah impudently, but I glare at her and she drops her eyes and says, ‘Beg pardon for speaking out of turn.’

John is game to try his hand, though, and so we mount the stairs up to the nursery. The sobs and cries become louder, and Mrs McQueen’s injunctions for Benjamin to ‘be a good boy’ also increase in volume.

‘Dear, dear,’ says John, as we go up the final winding flight. ‘What a pair of lungs! How do you manage to sleep at night?’

‘Sometimes we don’t,’ I say. ‘We are often tired and frazzled these days. That’s why we sometimes say things we don’t mean to our very best friends.’

‘Oh, we should all say what we mean. Even though we may not always mean what we say.’ He laughs.

I open the door. ‘Mrs McQueen,’ I say. ‘I have brought Mr Jameson to entertain Benjamin.’

I haven’t been up to the nursery since the night of the accident, and I’m shocked at the change in it. It had always seemed to me such a cosy place, with its big brass fender winking in the firelight, and its little table always laid with a pretty flowered cloth and cheerful cups and bowls. I remember Evelina and I watching here all night when Sarah had influenza, and praying over her when I thought she was lost to us. I remember Nettie’s quiet, bustling presence through the small hours, her calm voice, her anticipation of our every need, the way she kept the kettle singing on the hob, soaking cloths in hot water and then cold, lifting the child’s head to soothe her brow and, once the fever had broken, tempting her with chicken broth. The room has the same furnishings, the same beds and chairs and crockery, but somehow it has lost its heart. It reminds me more of a barracks – beds neatly made, floor neatly swept, everything orderly, but nothing to raise the spirits.

Mrs McQueen rises as we come in. She has been sitting at the side of the cot where Benjamin lies in a bundle of tangled sheets, looking hot and sweaty. ‘Reverend Baxter! I’m sorry if you’ve been disturbed. I’ve been trying my best to stop his noise. But I think he may have a bit of a fever.’

I’m alarmed. ‘Fever? Why wasn’t I told of this?’

‘It’s only just come on, sir, and, even now, I’m not sure if it isn’t just his temper. He gets himself in a state sometimes and you just have to let him cry it out. I didn’t want to worry Mrs Baxter for no reason. I like to get on with things myself, and she – Mrs Baxter, that is – trusts me to do so. My methods have been pretty good up to now and no one has ever found fault with me so far. The Lindemanns and the Crawleys were quite –’

‘Enough!’ I know the woman came with excellent references, but now is not the time for self-justification. I go to the cot. Benjamin casts weary eyes at me. He isn’t crying any longer; he looks as if he has lost hope. I stroke his cheek. It is hot and damp. His hair sticks to his scalp and he seems to have tiny white pimples all over his skin. ‘I think we should call Dr Lawrence,’ I say.

‘You must do what you think right, of course,’ she says, making it clear that she is not of that opinion.

‘Indeed, I will do exactly that, Mrs McQueen,’ I say, my anger rising. ‘This is my house and you are my servant and Benjamin is my son.’ I turn to Hannah, who has followed us up the stairs, ready no doubt to witness any discomfiture on the part of Mrs Mac. ‘Please run to Dr Lawrence immediately,’ I say, and she is off like a shot, picking up her skirts almost to the knee as she gallops down the stairs, showing a flash of her black-stockinged calf and the undersides of her white petticoat.

As she goes, I spy Daisy poking her head around the corner of the landing below. She has on her straw hat and cotton gloves. Her face is full of alarm. ‘What’s the matter, Papa? Is Benjy ill?’

‘I hope not. He may just be hot and bothered. It’s very warm today. But I don’t wish to take the slightest risk.’

She runs up the stairs. ‘Oh, let me see him!’

‘I think there’s quite enough people milling about in this room now,’ says Mrs McQueen. ‘I’d be obliged if Daisy stays downstairs, if it’s not too much to ask.’

But Daisy is already in the room and has Benjamin in her arms, his hot cheek against her pale one. Benjamin seems to rally at the sight of her and gives a little smile. ‘There!’ she says. ‘He likes to see me. He misses me. Don’t you, dear?’ She looks up at me, her hat askew. ‘I don’t have to leave him, do I?’

‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘It seems you do him good. You’d do anybody good.’

‘If it’s anything catching, I won’t be held responsible,’ says Mrs McQueen. ‘That’s the first law of nursery life; isolate any child that’s ill or you’ll have sickness right through the house.’

‘Considering that until a few moments ago you didn’t even feel it necessary to inform Mrs Baxter or myself, I think you are being over-particular,’ I say. ‘Daisy may stay if she wishes. I will take the responsibility.’