Bilgewater (23 page)

“I'll do it,” I said, “I'll check them in. Miss Bex can find herself some more tea.” It sounded rude and I meant it to be.

“Yes indeed,” said Miss Bex, not a hair revolving. “
And
cook the supper.”

“Er—I have Boys' Supper. The cook is here.”

“Then Marigold and I shall have supper together.”

“I think—” Father looked utterly lost. It was clear to everyone that Bex ought to go. It was clear to Bex, it was clear to everyone that Pen and I urgently wanted to hear what had happened. It was clear to everyone that boys were arriving tumultuously outside in the hall and that a new boy back for the first time after his first half-term was out there crying and his father having a rough time of it. To three of us it was clear that this boy was little Posy Robinson who loved Paula even more than hamburgers with Heinz tomato which she always gave him when he yearned for home. It was dazzlingly clear. But Miss Bex grinned on.

Pen after aeons said however, “Miss Bex. Might I be allowed to drive you home?” I think it was the only time I heard him speak unenthusiastically on this sort of subject. He picked up her camel-hair coat and father and I fled. But it was obvious to me at this moment as of course it should have been long ago that she was fighting for something and would be back.

I gathered up Posy Robinson in the hall and took him up to Paula's kitchen and cooked him a hamburger with Heinz tomato while father took his father into the study to calm him down. I sat Posy on the San. bed—he is only eleven and very small—and dealt with a long string of boys coming to see Paula to tell her things. Some wanted to tell her things about forgotten bits of their clothing, some about their Half Term and some were carrying the usual presents. One or two of them left the presents on spec. and one or two said that I could have them if she didn't come back.

“Whatever d'you mean?” I said. “Of course she'll come back. Good gracious! The House would fall down without Paula.” I said it loud so that Posy Robinson could hear me through the door and also so that I could hear it myself.

“Where she gone then, Bilge?”

“Down to Dorset. Some trouble at home. She'll be back soon.”

“I don't feel so good, Bilge,” said one of them. “I'm hot. I've got a cough.”

“Well you'll have to get rid of it,” I said. “Nobody's allowed to be ill till Paula's back. I've got my last exams at the end of the week. I can't be a matron.”

“I don't feel so hot either,” called Posy. “At least I do. I feel boiling. And I'm shivering all over.” I looked through the door at him and saw that he wasn't eating the hamburger. Funny.

Another boy came in with one of those orange-tree plants whose leaves all drop off about Christmas. The leaves were already dropping off.

“Hullo,” I said, “Hetherington. Paula's not here. She's—”

“I know,” he said. “This could wait for her if it was watered. She's all right is she?”

“Of course she's all right. You're all mad. Just because Paula's not set her foot out of the school premises for about seventeen years you think she's part of the brickwork.”

“Sorry,” he said, “it's just I'm feeling a bit awful. My mother wasn't sure whether to send me back. I'm sort of hot and I can't stop shivering.”

“Beware of self pity,” I said, but with an uneasy sort of twinge. “Have you got a cough?”

“Yes. And I've got a rash.” He began to give a demonstration of the cough. His cheeks I saw were vermilion. The other boy who had gone through to talk to Posy took up the theme and they coughed for a time in horrible harmony. I ran in.

“I can't eat this hamburger,” said Posy, beginning to cry.

“Sit still all three of you,” I said and got the thermometers. Spavin and Hetherington were 102, Posy was 104. I said, “Right. Into bed all three of you. You've got the measles.”

“My dear, we can't be sure until the doctor comes,” said father.

“Yes. One thing I do know is measles. Posy certainly has. Spavin and Hetherington perhaps.”

“Spavin, Hetherington, and Robinson?”

“And Bell, and I think Bancroft. But theirs may be flu.”

“My dear—let's not look on the black side.”

There was a knock on the door. It was Easby—a very delicate boy with a bad chest who didn't play games. “Oh, sorry sir, I was just looking for Paula.”

“Matron is not here at present.”

“Oh. It's just I'm not feeling very well. I can't stop shivering.”

And the evening wore on. I got eight in the end, two definite measles, one probable measles and the rest a very nasty variety of flu—or measles brewing. I got the definites into the two special beds in the Sick Room (Easby and Posy) and the possibles all into the San. I moved my stuff into Paula's quarters for the night. I rang the doctor and father rang all the other Houses for the loan of a matron or assistant matron or a master's wife or an anyone, and with absolutely no success. School House had had a measles before the Half Term and now had two more. Also about nine with flu. Into the other Houses droves of boys were staggering, shivering or coughing and covered with spots. Everyone was worked to death.

“Is Rose back yet?” father asked, looking in at nine o'clock after seeing the doctor out.

“He's not been in here.”

“Not in his room either. Nuisance. What about Terrapin?”

“I've not seen him.”

“Perhaps they've got it. Devilish nuisance. Oxbridge finishes at the end of the week. Thursday/Friday isn't it? The parents should have telephoned. I'll telephone them.”

“Yes.” I was changing sheets and boiling kettles.

“You can't manage alone, Marigold. You've the last Oxbridge papers coming up yourself.”

“I can tonight. Perhaps tomorrow—”

“I'll help you tonight,” he said. “I'll just go and get Boakes. He can sit in my study till bedtime and then take on Rose's job—seeing to lights out and such like. I could do with a good junior assistant master.”

“I could do with Paula.”

The next morning I said it again. “Look, I needn't go in to school today. It's only revision for Oxbridge. But we could do with Paula.”

“I must take prayers.”

“Father—look. Couldn't we tell Paula? Was it that urgent, whatever she went to Dorset for? She'd be knocked sideways if she knew all this was going on without her.”

We both knew, too, that she would be wild with fury if she knew that I was nursing three measles and now ten flus three days away from my final entrance papers. The days before exams she had always cossetted me—or the nearest thing to cossetting that Paula ever did. Nor would she think me in any way capable of doing her job.

“Can't we ring her up?”

“I'm sorry to say we can't,” said father, and went out.

“Oh Boakes!” I said. “What's got into him? Whatever d'you think happened?”

“It was a clash of wills,” he said. He was filling water bottles prior to going to a Chemistry Practical. “Or so I hear.”

“What, between father and Paula! Rubbish!”

“Not between your
father
and Paula.” He gave me a long look.

I said, “What if I just said, ‘I'm going to school'? He'd have to ring her then? Whatever went on while I was away? I think I'll just walk out.”

“You can't,” said Boakes. “Not with Easby so bad. The doctor's coming in at ten. You'll have to be there then—your father's teaching.”

“But I'm not a servant. I'm not a nurse. Why should I? I know nobody expects me to get into Cambridge but—”

“They do. You will,” said Boakes, “Take these bottles and then go and wash down Robinson. He's 105.”

The day passed in five minutes. The doctor took Easby to hospital and promised a district nurse. The district nurse didn't come—worked off her feet in the town where the flu was flying free. Two parents of the less afflicted patients arrived to wrap their sons in blankets and cart them away. That left only ten, mostly flu, but Posy's measles were now far too hot to move. Father sat up that night and the next day shared the work with Boakes and the district nurse who turned up for an hour while I went into school to get some books to try and revise from before Thursday. The Wednesday night I said I would do and father said there would defmitely be a night-nurse to help me by then. I slept from tea time to nine o'clock and then went up to Paula's to settle in for duty. I did my rounds (Posy rather better), made some coffee, spread my books around me and sat down to work over Paula's fire and fell fast asleep again.

I woke at two to hear one of the boys shouting and dashed into the San. feeling terrified, a murderess, but found Boakes there holding a bowl. No night nurse.

“o.k. Bilge. Don't worry. It's only Spavin. Trying to eat. Fool. Make some tea for us.”

I ran down the line of beds and found the rest of the patients asleep—the measles ones with faces like sunsets—flew back and made tea, which was ready by the time Boakes had cleared up. We both drank the tea and felt a bit better.

“Isn't Rose back yet?” I asked him. “D'you have to do it all?”

“Rose is back but he's a bit odd.”

“A bit odd? Flu?”

“No—shut himself in his room. Says he's got Oxbridge.”

“You've got Oxbridge too. I've got Oxbridge. What about Terrapin?”

“Terrapin isn't back. I suppose he's got it.”

“I hope he hasn't. He's all alone. Did you know Terrapin lives pretty well all alone? In a great Hall. Only an old char.”

“Oh—he'll survive.” Boakes stretched himself.

“Don't you like Terrapin?”

“Well—he's mad isn't he?”

“If you knew what he'd been through. About his father—”

“Being a Battle of Britain pilot?”

“No. He was a pierrot.”

“A
pierrot
? Whatever's a pierrot? That's not the tale that goes around.”

I said, “Oh, I do wish Paula were back. I'd ring her myself if I knew where she'd gone. Father's so weird about it.”

Boakes gave me the queer look again. “Have you tried to find where she's gone? Her address must be somewhere.”

“I only know it's Dorset. I don't like to go looking through all her things. She hardly ever gets letters anyway.”

“Is that her family in the photo? Maybe there's an address on the back.”

We carefully disembowelled the photograph but there was nothing on the back of it except names: Eddie, Dickie, Hepsi and Self. Harvesting.

“They look a nice lot,” said Boakes.

“Can't think why she ever left them and stayed here all this time, can you, Boakes? I often ask her. I mean she must be lonely. She'll be more lonely after I've gone to Cam—well, to wherever I get in. I won't get to Cambridge now,” I said mournfully.

“Beware of self pity,” said Boakes. “What about me? I'm doing no revision either. Mind, nobody's expecting me to get in at all. I had a job even to get old Pen to let me apply.”

“Father says you'll get in,” I said sleepily. I put my feet up on Paula's couch and shut my eyes. “He's not sure of Jack Rose but don't tell anyone. Terrapin of course will get some fantastic Award as well, that's if he turns up for the exam.” The room began to swim about and I sat up. “Help—I'm going to sleep again.”

“Sleep,” said Boakes pushing me back and covering me up. “I'm here.” I watched him for a while with his feet on the table, his glasses on his nose-end, quietly turning the pages of
The Comparative Method
, which had absolutely nothing to do with his work, and unperturbed by the heavy breathing of the sick through the open door.

I woke up early in the morning and found Boakes asleep, flung backwards in the chair, his glasses on the table and looking very peaceful. I looked at him for a long time. I went into the San. then and in the Sick Room. Two boys were awake and talking, the rest asleep. I went to look at Posy who was awake but quiet and I felt him and he was cooler.

“You're over the worst, Posy.”

“I'm o.k.”

“D'you want anything?”

“No. I'm comfy. Well—”

“What?”

“Could I have a hamburger?”

“No you couldn't. But you can have some toast. And a cup of tea.”

“I could eat a hamburger. I know I could. I'm hollow.” His eyes were immense and he looked very thin. “Is Paula back?”

“Not yet.”

“Never mind,” he said, “you're almost as good,” and turned over and slept.

I felt very happy all of a sudden and tucked him in. I felt great satisfaction about his being well and I patted his pillows and tucked him in a second time. I felt like kissing him, he looked so sweet, but it didn't seem quite the thing. I drew up one of the blinds and looked out on the dark cold morning. It was just getting light and there had been a fall of snow making the roses lumpy and ugly and the herbaceous border queer and plump. The paths were icy.

Then near the wall I saw something very eerie and strange. A shadow of a tree with no snow on it began to move. The tree moved all the way along the wall and across the arch in the wall and over the grass. Under the windows of the long dormitory it stopped, and I found myself stepping back a bit from the window to be less in view.

The shadow of the tree stopped moving and it wasn't a shadow but a woman. It was Mrs. Gathering all draped and looped in cloaks like someone out of a William Morris painting. A bad William Morris painting. Her big pale face was lifted up to the boarders' windows and she stood there a long time before turning and gliding off and out of sight. I thought I had never seen such a hapless, hopeless sight—such a big, soft boneless
old
woman—forty-five if she was a day. She looked like a sort of seedy priestess, a sorrowful, sorrowful shade. Not in one thousand guesses would you have guessed she was a Headmaster's wife.