The Fortunes of Springfield (11 page)

“
Only
measles,” said David. “My God, all the responsibilities of parenthood without the experience to get one through them.”

“He hasn’t complained of a sore throat—perhaps it isn’t scarlet fever. I think it
must
be measles.”

“Wi
ll
they all get it?”

“Almost sure to,” said Caroline, looking at David with a faint shrug of her shoulders.

“You won’t leave us, will you?” he asked, as if the advent of illness might drive her away.

S
he laughed, involuntarily holding out her hand to reassure him.

“No, I won’t leave you,” she said.

He took the hand she offered, held it closely for a moment or two.

“It’s a pact,” he said.

There was a brief moment of embarrassment between them before he dropped her hand. She said, with attempted lightness:

“I was waiting for the coffee to heat downstairs. I
think
it must be hot now, I’ll go down and have a cup
.
Don’t worry about the children, Mr. Springfield. Whatever it
i
s, we’ll get Terence through it, and with any luck the others won’t have it.”

“You are such a nice person, Miss Hearst, I don’t know what we should do without you.”

She could
think
of nothing to reply to that, so she said good night and went down to have her coffee. But she had had two compliments from him in one evening, and she thought they would last her for a long time.

Early in the morning, before the arrival of the doctor, Caroline sent Wendy down to Mrs. Davis’s cottage to ask her to come to the house and take a look at Terence. Caroline had quite a lot of faith in Mrs. Davis’s common sense and experience, and felt suddenly out of her depth, since, at twenty-three, she had had little experience of children’s illness.

Wendy came running hack very shortly, but alone. “Well?” asked Caroline. “Is Mrs. Davis coming?”

“No,” announced Wendy. “She wouldn’t even let me go in her cottage. She sent me away, because her Jimmy has the measles.”

Caroline looked at David. He was still looking worried.

“It’s only measles,” she said gently.

And three days later she had all three children in bed with measles. They had apparently all contracted the illness at about the same time, probably from the same source, and for the first few feverish days, Caroline indeed had her hands full; for they were quicksilver, temperamental children, highly strung, inclined to be nervous, without a great deal of stamina; and illnesses that other children took lightly, they took seriously.

David was very anxious about them, enquired after them several times a day and went up to visit them at tea-time. Caroline was usually to be found in attendance on them, and she thought a little ruefully of the brief appearance she had made in her dress of misty blue. For one occasion on which he saw her like that, there were ninety-nine when she was wearing an apron, cooking meals, taking drinks up to the bedrooms, washing dishes or wielding an electric polisher. So prosaic, thought Caroline, so very prosaic; he must think of me almost as a piece of the household furniture. The blue dress might be romantic, but the blue dress was shut away in her clothes cupboard. The aprons represented reality and it was reality with which she had to be concerned.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT was such a beautifully warm spring day that the french windows of Mrs. Close’s drawing-room, fac
in
g south, were open to the sunshine and the scent of flowers. Gardening was the chief of Mrs. Close’s many interests, and she had a profusion of spring flowers now in bloom.

She was presiding over her tea table, and Patricia, Caroline and Duncan Wescott sat with her. The three children had been sent to the kitchen, where Cook had made gingerbread men for them, and in their absence their elders discussed them.

“I’m afraid the measles has taken a good deal out of them,” said Mrs. Close.

“Yes,” agreed Caroline.

“And it would do them the world of good to go away for a holiday—
e
specially if this wonderful weather lasts.”

“Mr. Springfield thinks so too. He is quite willing to spare me for a week or two, to take the children away, but the problem is—where to go.”

“We must think about it,” said Patricia, who thought it would be wonderful to have Caroline and the children away, and give her plenty of excuses for inviting David here and for going to see him at the farm.

“He has been away from England so long that he is rather out of touch with possible places,” said Caroline.

“I can think of several places myself,” said Mrs. Close, “and I am just wondering which would be the most suitable. I know that Miss Rowthorpe, who used to be here in the village, is always glad of paying guests at her house in Hampshire, but then she isn’t very keen on children. The ideal person, Patricia, would be Emily.”

“Of course, Mother. Emily would be as pleased as
p
unch.”

“Emily,” Mrs. Close explained to Caroline, “used to be Nannie to my children. I had her for all the older ones, and we were just telling ourselves we would have to dispense with her, when Patricia appeared on the scene, and we kept her a few years longer. Then she went to my sister’s children, and when
they
grew up, my own daughter Elizabeth had a baby, and Emily went to her. She is in Devonshire now—we settled her in a cottage by the sea; but although she has retired, she is still active and she still loves children. She takes holiday people in the summer, but at this time of year I am sure she would be able to have you and the children; and you would be relieved of all cooking and housework, and might be able to have something of a holiday yourself.”

“It sounds ideal,” said Duncan.

“If it could be arranged,” added Caroline.

“I will write to her this evening,” said Mrs. Close, “and let you know the moment I have a reply.”

“And I will take upon myself the pleasure of driving you down there,” said Duncan.

“Oh no,” protested Caroline, “you mustn’t put yourself out for us, Duncan.”

“You know there is nothing I like better than putting myself out for you,” he said. “It is a purely selfish gesture on my part.”

“It would be very nice for you, Caroline,” said Mrs. Close. “Let him do it, my dear.”

“Who will look after David?” asked Patricia.

“Mrs. Davis will keep the house tidy and give him breakfast and lunch; and he insists that the Green Lion will do very well for his dinner.”

“We must keep an eye on him,” said Patricia, “while you are away.”

At this moment, the children returned. Wendy and Barbara each had a little gingerbread man,
carrying
it carefully and thin
ki
ng it far too novel and attractive to eat. Terence’s had already disappeared. He had bitten off the head with great gusto, while the girls watched him laughing, then the limbs, and had then eaten up the body. He then threatened to eat Wendy’s and Barbara’s, so they were keeping a wary eye on
him,
Ba
r
bara ready to yell her head off at the first sign of assault.

Their appearance was the signal for Caroline to depart. Duncan insisted on driving them back to Springfield, and, with expressions of gratitude to Mrs. Close for her help, Caroline shepherded the children into the car.

Five days later, with Terence sitting beside him, with Caroline in the back with the little girls, and the boot loaded with their luggage, Duncan drove to Devonshire and brought them all safely to Emily’s cottage by the sea.

David came home from his day’s work in the late afternoon and found the house empty and strangely silent. Mrs. Davis had
left it tidy, and she and Caroline had given it a last polishing that left everything
shining
,
but David knew that he was not going to appreciate the peculiar quietness of the house, and went to the telephone and called the builder with whom he had already been in communication.

“Could you come over and look at the place this evening, Mr. Parrish?” asked David, and Mr. Parrish, who thought he knew a good customer when he saw one, said that he would, and an hour later was walking through the house with David, nodding at his suggestions and contributing a few of his own. Patricia, arriving to
persuade David to go back to dinner at the Close house, found them deep in discussion.

“Am I intruding?” she asked, finding them in the hall in rapt contemplation of the staircase.

“Not at all,” said David. “You may be very helpful.
I am taking advantage of Miss Hearst’s absence with the children to get some work done in the house. You already know Parrish, I expect?”

“Oh, this is exciting,” said Patricia. “Are you going to redecorate?”

“The hall and reception rooms to begin with: one or two bedrooms afterwards.”

Patricia waited until Parrish had gone, and then asked David to go back to
dinn
er,
but David was
anxi
ous
to decide on colour schemes, to discuss the rival attractions of wallpaper and distemper, to go through the house planning; so Patricia went with him, delighted that he listened to her opinions—in fact, constant
l
y invited them. She thought he had not wasted much time after Caroline’s departure. Perhaps he had wanted Caroline out of the way, in case she had ideas that clashed with his. Perhaps he preferred to discuss his plans with Patricia, having in
m
ind that Patricia might be the person to live with the results. Patricia could only hope this, but certainly she found it flattering that David should value her opinion so much.

It was late when David remembered that they had had no dinner, and rang up the Green Lion to find out if dinner was still available. Then he bundled Patricia into the car and took her along with him, and because they were late, they had the little dining-room to themselves, and went on talking about the house and what they would do with it, until Patricia felt they
might
almost be an engaged couple discussing their future home. It was quite dark and moonless when they came out of the inn, and David drove slowly back to Springfield so that Patricia could pick up her car. They stood on the drive in the soft darkness, and could smell the spring flowers that had come through the weedy borders of the drive in their thousands in spite of long neglect.

“I
have
enjoyed this evening, David,” said Patricia softly.

“So have I,” he said.

“Do let me come over and help. I’m sure there must be lots that I can do.”

“Nothing I should like better. There are still plenty of questions of curtains and carpets and so on. And I expect you know much more about them than I do.”

“Are you going in for this decorating in a big way, David?”

“Well, I want to see the house looking as it used to and as it should. If I’m going to stay here
...”

“Yes?”

“Well, Patricia, I haven’t been quite decided in my mind whether to stay permanently, or whether I should be going back to New Zealand. But I think I shall stay—there is something about the old place, and the old country—at least, until the children grow up and are no longer my responsibility.”

“That’s very good news, David.”

“Is it, Patricia? It’s nice of you to say so.”

“We all love having you back here.”

“You have certainly shown it, in your hospitality. Well, if I’m going to stay, I may as well have Springfield the way I like it.”

“And perhaps,” she said softly, “a little the way
I
like it?”

“That too,” said David. “Knowing what good taste you have.”

She waited for more, but there was no more. I mustn’t rush my fences, she thought.

“Well, I’ll be over again soon, David,” she said. “And ring me up any time, if you want help.”

As she drove away, she was half elated, and half worried by his failure to follow up definite openings. He did not need to be so formal, she thought; especially as he had accepted her offers of help with a readiness that might mean many things.

In the days that followed she was constantly at the house, keeping an eye on the work that the builder’s men were doing, interviewing the man who came to see about curtains and pelmets, deciding on paint colours, suggesting kinds of materials, nearly always with David at her side approving what she did. And quite early in this work, Miss Weedon scented out what was going on, and seemed to pass by Springfield even oftener than usual, and perhaps could not be blamed for reading into Patricia’s calm assumption of authority more than was actually there. In any case, most of' the neighbourhood soon knew that Patricia and David were working together on the improvement of Springfield while Miss Hearst was away with the children; they also knew, because the Green Lion was the one inn of the village, that Patricia and David often dined there. So that it was hardly surprising that many people began to wait for news of their engagement, hardly surprising that they thought Patricia and David were working on the house for their eventual living together there.

Caroline settled into Emily’s cottage with the children very comfortably. Emily herself was comfortable: placid, good-tempered, so convinced that children were capable of anything that nothing they did
surprised her. She was glad of some help from Caroline about the house, but limited that help so that Caroline could be out on the wonderful, sandy beach with the children most of the time. The weather continued idyllic.

On the second day of the visit, they
marts
the acquaintance of the only other family with a house on this particular stretch of beach. The Evertons had recently returned from Singapore, and had taken this house furnished for three months, so that they could look about them at their leisure for a house to buy, settle their children at school, and pick up the threads of English life again. The parents, in their thirties, were attractive, friendly people, and they had two boys of nine who were to go to preparatory school, and a little girl of seven. They had soon made Emily’s acquaintance, and Emily looked after their children for them if they wanted to go out, so that she was invaluable. They welcomed the arrival of Caroline and the children, since it enlarged their circle, gave their children new playmates and added to the fun of the times on the beach.

Terence, from the beginning, would not be sociable. As soon as possible, Caroline explained
him
to the Evertons, and he was allowed to go his own sweet way; but he had to be with the rest of the party for the picnic lunches or teas on the beach, or at the pleasant, happy
-
go-lucky Everton house when Caroline and the children were invited there; and he heard the twins talking rapturously of going to school and of all the thin
gs
they would do there. He took it for granted that this special sort of school they would go to was not for him
—
nothing so good as this sounded ever came his way. Moreover, the twins were really sufficient unto themselves. They were cordial to Terence, always asked him to join in things, but when he refused, sullen or surly, they were obviously very content without him; which served only to increase his sullenness.

Wendy and Babs, however, were delighted with their new acquaintances. One evening, getting ready for bed, Wendy sighed luxuriously and said in a sort of rapture: “Aren’t there a lot of
nice
people, Miss Hearst? I do love Jennifer, and I do love Mr. Everton and Mrs. Everton.” She soaked up all the affection she could get, and was ready to love everybody in return.

Caroline enjoyed herself immensely. She went shopping with Mrs. Everton in her car, bringing all that Emily needed while Emily took charge of the children. She bought some clothes suitable for the beach, with Mrs. Everton’s up-to-the-minute ideas to help her, and looked younger and gayer than she ever had. She had learned to swim at school, and now she bought a trim swimsuit, and a coat of rough blue towelling and blue sandals, and went swimming with Janice Everton. In the months that she had worked for David, she had spent very little of her wages, and felt justified now in making the most of herself.

Day followed day happily and contentedly, the first week slipped quickly into the second, and the second was approaching its end when Caroline began to wonder if she ought to take the children home. Emily was ag
ains
t it. They should have at least one more week, she thought, and Caroline, hoping that David would agree with her, decided to ring him up and ask if they mi
ght
stay; but as he was out of the house most of the day, she would telephone in the evening when he was likely to be in.