The Children's Hour (16 page)

A child paused to look up at her, a small fair-haired boy with Timmie's eyes, puzzled by her unnatural immobility. Georgie stared back at him, remembering. Of course, these two tinies were Timmie and Nest and the other two, the grown-ups, must be Timothy and Mama. She chuckled to herself . . .

‘I know a secret,' she said to the child – but, before Toby could take her up on this, Mina turned quickly, thankful that the ebb and flow of conversation had covered Georgie's words.

‘Toby,' she said, ‘take this cup to your mother, darling. Carefully, now. Don't spill.'

Distracted, Toby carried the coffee to Hannah and then flopped down beside the Bosun, stroking his smooth head and kissing him upon the nose.

‘I wish we had a dog,' he murmured plaintively, and his parents rolled their eyes despairingly at one another.

A discussion about the fors and againsts of bringing up children with dogs around started up, and a tiny ‘po-po-po' of relief escaped Mina's lips, but she felt tense and fearful, as if awaiting a blow of some kind. Nest, catching her eye, raised her brows questioningly but Mina felt unable to respond lest someone should see her. She smiled reassuringly at Nest and glanced again at Georgie. She had the look of one who had been unfairly thwarted; she hunched her shoulders, as if bridling, and her lips were compressed. Yet there remained an air almost of triumph; the air of one who wielded a secret power and relished it.

Lyddie was explaining, now, that she didn't work on her computer, that she used it for typing and filing but that she didn't edit on it.

‘It's a different way of working,' she was telling Jack, ‘and I have actually turned down work because it's on disk. I'd have to learn it and, somehow, I just don't want to go there.'

‘You should be more flexible,' he said teasingly. ‘You should be ready to embrace new technology. Look at Aunt Mina and her e-mail.'

‘Well, there you are.' Lyddie smiled affectionately at her aunt. ‘But then, Aunt Mina has always been a trend-setter. She's a yes-person.'

‘Absolutely right,' declared Jack. ‘That describes her perfectly. A yes-person.'

‘Oh, no.' Georgie had been wriggling in her corner, listening intently, watching for an opportunity. ‘Not always, were you, Mina?'

Mina clasped her hands together. ‘I don't think I know what any of you mean,' she countered lightly, praying for some kind of distraction.

‘Not always,' insisted Georgie eagerly. ‘You didn't say “yes” to Tony Luttrell, did you?' She began to smile, watching their faces, seeing surprise fading into anxiety and curiosity, enjoying the sudden, uncomfortable silence.

‘Much too long ago to be interesting.' Nest used the voice that had once quelled classes of young students to good effect. ‘Aren't you going to take these children down to the sea, Jack? The poor old Bosun is waiting for that walk you promised him.'

‘The sea! The sea!' chanted Toby, scrambling to his feet, whilst Flora, who had been enjoying a little doze on Hannah's lap, woke suddenly and began to wail. The party broke up rapidly and Georgie was left alone, sitting on the sofa, still smiling.

‘I know a secret,' she murmured – but there was nobody left to hear it.

Early in the evening, after the younger members of the family had gone, Mina, in her turn, walked down to the sea with the dogs.

‘Will you be OK?' she asked Nest. ‘It's just that I need to be alone for a bit. Georgie's asleep so I think you can safely relax.'

‘I'll be fine.' Nest watched her anxiously. ‘It's you I'm worried about.'

Mina managed a smile. ‘No need. I shan't be long.'

She pulled on her blue Guernsey cardigan, picked up her stick from the brass holder by the front door and went away, along the terrace and through the small wicket gate that opened on to the path to the sea. It was rocky underfoot, stepped with roots from the trees that climbed the steep sides of the combe, and Mina walked carefully. The dogs were well ahead – scrabbling after a squirrel, who leaped and swung to safety in the branches of a tall beech – racing for the sheer joy of running with a thousand scents to lure
them onwards. The stream tumbled along beside them, in full spate after the recent rain, cascading over the smooth, rounded boulders, lapping at the ferny banks. The dogs' high, excited barks were drowned in the sound of its rushing, although Polly Garter trotted back to encourage her mistress onward to the sea. Mina was scarcely aware of her; she was travelling back in time, remembering a springtime fifty-five years before.

It seems contrary to Mina that she should meet Tony Luttrell at a party given by the Goodenoughs; those Sneerwells whom she dislikes so much.

‘Do come, Mina,' says Enid, having driven over one afternoon in the early spring of 1943 with the faithful Claude. ‘It's not a terribly smart event. Just a little get-together with some officers of the SLI. I suppose you've heard of the Somerset Light Infantry?' she says lightly to Lydia, whom she considers almost mentally deficient, buried away at Ottercombe. ‘They've been busy defending our Somerset coastline but I understand that they'll soon be off on a more dangerous mission.'

She likes to imply that she is in the know and Lydia, who has had a visit from one of the officers in regard to the beach at Ottercombe, is nevertheless quite happy to allow Enid her sense of superiority.

‘We need some pretty girls,' says Claude with his sneering smile. ‘There's a terrible shortage of them, don't you know? We need Mina to swell the ranks.'

‘And what about Henrietta and Josie?' asks Enid. ‘Surely Henrietta is old enough for parties? Will they be home from school for the holidays?'

‘Oh dear.' Lydia grimaces a little. ‘It will have to be both or neither, I'm afraid. There is only a year between them,
you know, and I simply couldn't stand the fighting if Henrietta goes but not Josie.'

‘And will Mina mind the competition?' Enid raises her thin brows teasingly.

Lydia looks at her daughter, knowing her dislike of the Goodenoughs, not wishing to see her upset or coerced.

‘Of course I shouldn't,' says Mina, almost relieved, feeling that there will be safety in numbers. ‘It sounds rather fun. But Josie is only fifteen, you know, and they can both be a bit silly, sometimes. I hope they'll behave themselves.'

‘Quite like the Bennet sisters,' sniggers Claude. ‘Now, are you an Elizabeth or a Jane, I wonder?'

‘Mary Quilter's coming,' says Enid encouragingly, feeling that Claude has gone far enough and anxious that her party should be a success; three pretty girls, even if two of them are young and silly, are better than one. ‘You know Mary, don't you? Her brother is an officer in the SLI. It will be fun, I promise you.'

Mina feels a flicker of excitement. ‘But how shall we get over to you?' she wonders. ‘I suppose we could cycle to Parracombe and catch the train to Lynton. Or maybe Seth might give us a lift . . .?'

‘Don't worry about transport,' says Enid kindly. ‘We're all clubbing together with our petrol coupons so that one person can do a round trip. It'll be a bit of a squash, mind, but that's part of the fun, isn't it? We've decided that we deserve a little bit of excitement. Now that's settled, then.'

Once they've gone, Mina looks apprehensively at her mother.

‘It will be fun,' says Mama comfortingly. ‘And you don't get much fun, Mina. I'm only sorry that you'll still have Henrietta and Josie to keep an eye on. You have quite enough of that kind of thing here. Although it's so much
quieter, now that Jean and Sarah and the babies have gone.'

‘I don't mind them coming. Actually, I'm rather pleased. I should feel terribly shy all on my own. You have to remember that I shall hardly know anyone there.'

‘You won't have time to feel shy with Henrietta loose,' predicts Mama. ‘And now we must think about something to wear. I have some pretty things that should make up into something nice for you. There's that lovely green shantung, which suits our colouring so perfectly. It's much too long, of course, but we can do something about that. We'll telephone Georgie and ask her what the latest fashion is in London. Do they still have fashions, I wonder, in wartime?'

‘But that's one of your best frocks,' says Mina, startled. ‘It would be such a shame to cut it.'

‘Nonsense.' Mama touches her lightly on the cheek. ‘I shall never wear it again. Let's tell the Tinies that you've been invited to a party. They'll be so thrilled.'

‘And what about Henrietta and Josie?'

‘They must wear their school party frocks,' answers Mama firmly. ‘Quite suitable for girls of their ages. And please don't mention it in your letters to them. No need for them to know until they come home.'

Mina feels that this is a shame – her sisters will lose all the thrill of anticipation – yet she knows that it is a wise decision. There will be no time for them to fall out over small pieces of finery or quarrel about whose garment is the prettiest.

The Tinies are, indeed, excited by the forthcoming party.
The Midnight Folk
is being read during the children's hour and they are enacting the story privately. Having endowed the young hero, Kay Harker, with a sister, Gerda – a sub-conscious nod to
The Snow Queen
– they spend their time searching for the Harker treasure. The owl in the woods is
Blinky and the fox that they see in the gorse-covered slopes above the cleave is Mr Rollicum Bitem Lightfoot. They are rather at a loss, however, for substitutes for the evil Abner Brown and terrifying Sister Pouncer.

‘We could use the Sneerwells if they came oftener,' says Nest sadly, ‘but it seems rather unfair to use Mina and Mama.'

‘We'll simply have to,' Timmie answers robustly. ‘It can't be helped and, anyhow, they needn't know. We'll use Henrietta and Josie when they come home for Easter.'

‘If only we had some cats,' grieves Nest, ‘for Nibbins and Blackmalkin and Greymalkin. Jenna says Tiddles has had kittens but Mama says “No” because of her asthma.'

The party distracts them a little. Timmie wants to know all about the SLI and Nest is enchanted by the pretty frock that is being made up for Mina – ‘Shoulders are square,' Georgie tells them firmly. ‘I'll send some shoulder-pads down and a pattern' – and Mina takes time to sew a short, flaring skirt out of the spare pieces of shantung for her small sister. Nest takes off the inevitable gingham, passed down from her older sisters, and swirls happily before Mama's long looking-glass.

Two weeks later, squashed into Claude's roomy, dark green Rover 16, Mina feels almost sick with excitement. Her long, shining black hair is swept upwards, held in place with tortoiseshell pins, although feathery strands escape to slide around her throat, and the soft silky shantung feels deliciously sensuous against her cool white skin. Happiness and expectation lift her above the wrangling of her younger sisters, who are still arguing over which of them should have been allowed to wear the most respectable pair of party shoes. They are only silenced when the car stops at the eleventh-century church at Martinhoe to pick up another
two members of the party, and they travel on in an amicable, rather shy silence until they arrive at the Goodenoughs' house, high above the little town of Lynton.

As they put their wraps in the guest bedroom, and Henrietta and Josie barge each other in an attempt to stand before the glass, Mina catches a glimpse of herself between their elbows. The minimal amount of make-up Mama has allowed lends a glow to her cheeks and emphasizes her eyes, which stare back at her, huge in her small, oval face; the high-piled hair gives height and sophistication, and the softly falling folds of silk accentuate her slenderness. Her sisters turn away, sweeping her with them, and they hurry down into the wide, brightly lit hall – ‘I wish
we
had electric light,' says Henrietta discontentedly – and into the drawing-room, where some of the other guests are already assembled.

‘Ah, here they are at last,' cries Enid Goodenough, with a show of affection that surprises all three girls. ‘Now, come along and meet these young men who have all been waiting for you.'

Dazed by so many strange faces and names, Mina smiles, shaking hands again and again, until the young officer who has been part of a small circle of people in the corner turns to meet her. His blue eyes light up, as if she is, indeed, the one for whom he has been waiting, and he takes her hand in his warm fingers.

‘Hello,' he says. ‘Isn't this fun? I'm Tony Luttrell and you must be one of the beautiful Miss Shaws.'

For all of that April, and for part of May, the cleave and the beach, and the down high above the channel, become their private sanctuary. Here they walk, arms entwined, amongst the uncurling bracken, looking down upon the waves rolling in, driven by a westerly gale, to beat against the tall,
grey cliffs; or, on hot afternoons, they sit close together on one of the flat boulders that edge the beach, watching the sleek otters chasing and rolling in the surf, water droplets flying and flashing in the sunshine; or, on still, quiet evenings, they stand beneath the trees, the scent of blue-bells all about them, locked in long, dizzying embraces that shake them both and make them long for more. The frenzied, urgent needs of wartime lovers, and the changing world beyond this small corner of Exmoor, have left Mina untouched, and Tony, only twenty-one and yet to be in any real danger, is no more experienced than she, so it seems the natural course for him to approach Lydia so as to ask formally for Mina's hand in marriage.

The interview takes place one May evening in the lamp-lit drawing-room. The french windows stand open to the soft, warm air and a thrush is singing in the wild garden.

Lydia listens gravely to Tony's stammered declaration of love, careful not to smile at his earnestness. During these last four weeks she has grown deeply fond of him, her maternal instinct, reaching out to his youth, warmed by the sweetness he shows to her beloved daughter. He brings the Tinies little gifts, enters into their games, and the affection with which he treats Lydia goes some way to healing her own unhappy, grieving heart.