Such is love (7 page)

"Not very well," Gwyneth confessed. And then she sat down on the grass, because it was easier to talk to her little companion that way.

"I can't stand on my head, either," he admitted, and, sat down on the grass too. "And Freddie can't really stand on his head," he added, brushing his hand backwards and forwards across the daisies with elaborate casualness. "He can only put his head down and one foot up.'*

It was all too true.

Gwyneth glanced once more at the beautiful Freddie. He was the right way up now, and even more beautiful that way. Again her heart beat heavily.

"How old is Freddie?" she asked abruptly, as though the child beside her was a grown-up.

"I don't know."

No, of course he wouldn't. He was too young to be really informative. She would have to ask someone else— and the time was already growing short, it seemed to her.

She glanced away across the lawn again, but Van and Mr. FothergiU were still deep in conversation.

'7'm five an* a half—^nearly six," said the gruff little voice beside her.

Gwyneth's eyes came back to the child.

He was lying flat on his stomach now, not looking at her, but regarding a single daisy with the greatest attention. Something in his air told her at once what was the matter. He didn't want her to be interested in Freddie's age. He wanted her to be interested in his age.

"Are you? And what is your name?" That sounded rather like the classic old gentleman in funny stories, she thought, but the little boy seemed quite satisfied with this standard o| conversation. He sat up at once and said:

"My name's Toby."

That made Gwyneth want to laugh, because somehow the name suited him absurdly well. In particular it suited the grave, abnormally deep voice that seemed to come out of the depths of his jersey.

He was not a specially pretty child, but his solemn eyes were a beautiful dark blue, and his hair turned back over the top of his head in a quaint 'quiff.

"He's more hke a mascot than a hero,'* thought Gwyneth amusedly, and at that moment he said;

"Do you like it?"

**What, dear?"

"Do you like my name?" He was evidently a bit crestfallen and she saw she was doing badly.

"It's a lovely name," Gwyneth told him hastily. "I've never known another Toby."

"No. There isn't one," he explained simply. She realized then that in his world, limited by the orphanage, there wasn't another Toby, and therefore he knew himself to be unique.

"I have a little china jug at home called Toby. Would you like to have it?" Gwyneth said suddenly. She could not exactly explain the impulse which prompted the offer. The jug was quite a lovely miniature specimen, now she came to remember it. But the astounded pleasure on the child's face intrigued her immensely.

He came nearer to her.

"Do you mean—keep it?"

Gwyneth nodded, her smiling eyes on his face.

"A little jug—and it's called Toby," he repeated slowly and with great pleasure. "We've got a big jug that holds all our milk, but it hasn't got a name."

"No—^this is a very special jug," Gwyneth explained. "It has a man's face on it."

"What man?"

"Well " She was rather nonplussed. "He's Toby,

too, I suppose."

"Toby Two? And I'm Toby One." This pleased the little boy immensely, and he rolled on the grass and chortled with joy.

Gwyneth had no experience of the odd things that a child will find funny, and she was very much intrigued by this display. She was laughing a good deal, too, over the absurdity of it when a shadow fell across her, and, glancmg up, she saw that Van was standing looking down at her, smiling slightly at her pleasure,

"Oh, did you want me?"

"Well, I think the Kellabys are just due back now, and we shall be expected to go round and admire the extension to the Infants' Dormitory."

"Of course," Gwyneth stood up at once. She might be able to glean a few scraps of information, ask a few innocent questions. One never knew.

"Oh, are you going?" Toby got to his feet, too, looking very disappointed.

"Well, I'm going to see the new dormitory," Gwyneth explained.

"I'll show you," he offered pressingly, but she felt bound to veto that

"I think Mr. KeUaby wants to show me. But I'll come back to speak to you before I go, and I won't forget to send you the Toby jug." She smiled at him as she turned away with Van.

But she had not gone more than a dozen steps before—

"I'm coming, too," observed the gruff little voice conversationally—and there he was, trotting along beside her, trying hard to keep pace with her and Van.

Van glanced down from his great height.

"Who is your bass-baritone friend?" he asked her.

"His name is Toby.'*

"Toby One," came in deep tones, slightly to the rear of them now.

"Van"—she slackened her pace—^*'we'U have to go more slowly. He can't keep up with us."

"Is he supposed to be keeping up with us?" Van asked, but he, too, slowed his footsteps. "Look here, young man" —he addressed himself to their shadow—"you run along and play with the others over there."

Toby flung a disparaging glance at the group now some way behind.

"I don't want to play," he stated. "I want to come, too."

"But I don't think you can come with us.'*

Toby stood on one foot and swung the other backwards and forwards at a perilous angle.

"I'm not coming with you," he said. "I'm coming with her."

The subtle flattery was not wasted. Gwyneth felt herself begin to weaken badly.

"Perhaps he could come with us, Van. It's not like an official inspection."

Van looked at Toby. He was not used to individual children—^was, in fact, much more at home as the trustee of many than the companion of one. But the little creature, with its dogged determination and its odd deep voice, was difficult to resist.

"We'll see what Kellaby says," he compromised, and Gwyneth and Toby took this for permission. She held out her hand, which Toby grasped firmly.

Rather more slowly they made their way towards the house, from which Dr. Kellaby, accompanied by his wife, could now be seen emerging.

"I'm so sorry we weren't here when you arrived, but I hope FothergUl made our excuses." Dr. Kellaby, a pleasant, authoritative man in his early fifties, greeted them both cordially, while Mrs. Kellaby told Gwyneth how very pleased they were that she had come down to see the orphanage so soon after her marriage.

For some reason, no one seemed to notice Toby particularly, and almost immediately Dr. Kellaby suggested that they should begin by inspecting the new Infants' Dormitory. They strolled towards the house. Dr. Kellaby explaining as they went:

"The old one was completely redecorated, of course, and is now given over entirely to the over-sevens. Much more suitable for them. But, so far as the new one is concerned " He plunged into detail, and it was evident

that the whole matter was very dear to his heart. Van commented and asked questions in a way which showed he had followed the progress of the building very closely and interestedly, too.

Gwyneth, meanwhile, made conversation with Mrs. Kel-laby who walked in step with her, but on the side away from Toby. It gave Gwyneth a pleasant feeling of conspiracy when anxious little fingers pressed into hers, to indicate satisfaction that so far they were safe. He took it so completely for granted that she was as eager as he, that he should be included in the party.

Just as they reached the entrance, Dr. Kellaby turned to say something to her, and noticed that Toby was still firmly attached to them.

"Here, young man," he said, just as Van had, "you run along and find the others. You ought to be out playing in the sunshine."

This was the voice of recognized authority, and everyone looked at Toby. He* wilted slightly in the full glare of publicity. Then he looked at Gwyneth, and Gwyneth looked at Van.

"I believe," Van said in that grave, rather stem way of his, "that—er—Toby is helping to conduct this tour of inspection. He was going to explain one or two things to my wife."

"Is that so?" The Superintendent looked amused. "But I think "

"Please, I>r. Kellaby, may he come too? I—^we're getting on so well," Gwyneth said, "and it's nice to hear what one of the children has to say about the place."

He hadn't really had anything to say about the place— or its inmates—of course (apart from the observation that Freddie couldn't stand upon his head) but Dr. Kellaby accepted the suggestion with a smile, and the party, including Toby, moved into the house.

"Actually, Toby is rather a favourite of my husband, too," Mrs. Kellaby explained in a tone inaudible to the little boy. "He is the only one of all our children who

comes from north of the Tweed, and, as I expect you can hear, my husband is Scottish, too." She laughed agreeably, and somehow Gwyneth managed to laugh too.

What did she mean, this pleasant, placid woman, who had no idea she was saying anything significant? That Toby came of Scottish parents? That he had been born in Scotland {the only one) and then brought south?

She must say something and say it quickly or the subject would be changed and the moment lost. Even as Mrs. Kellaby began a comment on the size of the new dormitory, Gwyneth cut across the sentence with an eagerness she could not wholly hide.

"Were his—people Scottish?"

"My husband? Yes. They came from—-— **

"No. The little boy's."

"Oh." Mrs. Kellaby glanced at Toby who was still con« tentedly clinging to Gwyneth's hand, unaware that he was being discussed. "I don't really know, because it's one of the strict rules of the place that only my husband knows the full circumstances of each case—so far as the relations disclose them, of course."

"Yes, of course. But your husband—he did say that the child was Scottish? I mean, what made you think he was?"

Mrs. Kellaby laughed.

"I always remember my husband coming in just after Toby had been brought here, and saying: "Well, we've got a real little Scottie this time. Straight from the Highlands, and no more than a week or two old." He was quite delighted. Toby was the youngest child we ever had, I should think, and even then ho. had been in a Scottish children's hospital first, I believe. Possibly the mother died when he was bom. I don't know."

"You mean she couldn't have been so—so heartless as to—part with him otherwise?"

"Oh, I don't know about that. Cuxumstances can be very cruel. It's hard for us even to imagine what lies behind some of these cases, you know, Mrs. Onslie—and it certainly isn't for us to judge," the Superintendent's wife said kindly. And something in the tolerant humanity of that calmed Gwyneth just a little.

She was silent, pretending to pause for a moment to look at the view from one of the windows, pretending to take

the deepest interest in the fire-proof staircase and panelling on the way upstairs. And all the while, clutching her hand —swinging it lightheartedly at times—was Toby, her own child.

Gwyneth hardly dared to look at him. To feel his small fingers was enough. She tried to tell herself that she might be jumping to conclusions too quickly, the the evidence was, to say the least of it, scrappy.

That was all true, but it made no difference. She knew now that Toby was hers. She was not interested any more in any hypothetical little boy—not even if he were as beautiful as Freddie and the admiration of all. She wanted this dear, odd little creature with the gruff voice and the dark blue eyes and the rather absurd hair. She wanted him —^that was the awful part.

Her eyes went then to Van, grave, thoughtful, absorbed in what Dr. Kellaby was saying to him. Van!—^who was entirely unaware of the drama that was being played out beside him, whose complete world would crash in ruins if she said, in effect: "This child holding on to my hand is really my own. I must take him away with me."

No—it was impossible. You couldn't ask a man who was trustee of an orphanage suddenly to swallow the fact that one of the orphans was the illegitimate child of his own wife.

Her head began to swim, and with an effort she pulled herself together again.

And then Dr. Kellaby—Mrs. Kellaby—^what would they think? Not that it really mattered, of course, beside this frantic, growing desire to pick up Toby and take him away with her. But they were part of the problem. They represented the outside world.

"Look," Toby said importantly at that moment. "There's my bed. That's where I sleep."

Until then Gwyneth had hardly realized that they were in the much discussed new dormitory. Now she looked with overwhelming interest at the bed where her little boy slept.

"It's a very nice bed," Toby informed her, and bounced upon it to demonstrate the fact. But a firm word from Dr. Kellaby put an end to that,, and he got off it again rather meekly.

"That table's half mine." He showed her a small table which stood between his bed and the next one.

"Is it?"

"Yes. I shall put Toby Two there."

She saw he had by no means forgotten the promised present, and she supposed with a little wrench at her heart that orphans could not, in the nature of things, have many presents. She thought of the toys and clothes she would love to give him, the miniature furniture that would delight him and make him give his funny, deep chuckle.

It was incredible—^but she could not give him those things! She would have to go away presently, like any other visitor, and apparently not think of him again—except to send him her Toby jug as a pleasant memento from a casual caller who happened to be amused by his name.

"I can't bear it!" thought Gwyneth. "I simply can't bear it!"

But she had to, of course, like everything else connected with this unhappy secret. She even had to bear it when a big bell rang and Mrs. Kellaby said:

"That's lunch-time for you, Toby. Say good-bye to Mrs. Onslie and run along to the dining-room now."

He didn't really want to go, but -the call of food was enticing, and his counter-proposals were more half-hearted this time. It was Gwyneth who wanted to say:

"Let him stay with me—please let him stay with me. I want to see him eat his lunch. Can't he have it with us?"