The Fortunes of Springfield (14 page)

So that when, at last, the opportunity came of thanking David for the wonderful gift of her new room, a lot of the enthusiasm had gone out
o
f
her; and he was disappointed in her. He gathered that she thought it too luxurious
for her position, and,
in
his disappointment, said the one thing that spoiled the gift still more for Caroline.

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, “if you thin
k
it so un
suitable.
Miss Close did not think so. She agreed with me that, after all you have done here, it was no more than your due.”

Caroline realized that he was disappointed, and it was true that, for both of them, the gesture had gone sour. Caroline could not take the same pleasure in her room, knowing, that Patricia had planned it for her (probably as a conciliation and a temptation). David knew only that Caroline seemed unappreciative and unmoved by what he had done. For he had not discussed this room with Patricia any further than the bare idea. All the planning had been his own, and it had fallen woefully flat.

T
he cottage in which Miss Weedon lived alone was very small and very spick-and-span. She had a small private income, and, because she was very imitative, she did in her small cottage and garden the things that her friends in their larger places did. So that her taste passed for good.

She rose early, and while she breakfasted alone, she talked to her cat and read her letters—for she kept up a voluminous correspondence with large numbers of acquaintances. Breakfast over, she set about her housework systematically and energetically, and had finished by the middle of the morning. Then she set out, her basket on her arm, for a round of the few and small village shops, buying in minute quantities in order to have shopping left for every day, for it was in the shops that she met the people to whom she could pass on her news, and from whom she could elicit fresh details. And if customers were lacking, she could talk to the shopkeepers themselves; and, when h
e
r purchases were complete, she could walk to the Singing Kettle for a cup of coffee, fairly sure of meeting somebody there.

She made it her business to know everybody, and to belong to all the institutes and clubs. If a volunteer were needed to sell tickets or collect subscriptions, or sell flags on a flag day, Miss Weedon was fairly sure to offer; for these thin
g
s brought her into the houses of widely scattered people, and into contact with some she would never otherwise have met. Many people thought her kindness itself and considered she was imposed upon. Many, with whom she was always on her best behaviour, wishing to stand well with them, thought her a good soul. But there were many others who agreed that it would not do to get on her wrong side; and this Caroline, unwittingly, had done.

If Miss Weedon had ever been asked to justify this incessant seeking for a social life, she would have pleaded loneliness. If somebody had loved her and married her when she was young, her inquisitiveness might have been dissipated in many other channels. As it was, it was an eager and concentrated curiosity, that had slowly become more and more malicious. She would have called it an interest in her friends. Caroline had called it gossip, and that she could not forgive.

There was no doubt about it, she told herself, Caroline had tried to freeze her-out from the beginning. She had not wanted Miss Weedon to call at Springfield, and there was probably a good reason for that. She was getting too hoity-toity for words. Mrs. Webster had spoiled her, that was certain; for she was nothing but a child from an orphanage and Mrs. Webster had seen fit to give her a good deal of education and make her into a sort of secretary-companion and, no doubt, given her ideas far above her station. It had always been a sore point with Miss Weedon that she had not enjoyed the warm welcome and friendship from Mrs. Webster that she would have liked, and now she saw it as a part of a malicious move on Caroline’s part. All those times when Caroline had told her that Mrs. Webster was not at home! All on her own initiative, most probably, and not Mrs. Webster’s at all! That girl, decided Miss Weedon, is up to some plan of her own, I’ll be bound.

She lost no time in throwing aspersions on Caroline’s character, in small, subtle ways, suited to her various hearers; and although those hearers usually discounted it, m
u
d-slinging w
as
bound to leave a slight stain behind.

Caroline went on her way, quite unconscious that she had
ma
de
an enemy. She continued to dodge Miss Weedon if possible, unaware that she was thus feeding fuel to a bitter fire.

Miss Weedon called on Mrs. Close one afternoon, to find that she was out and Patricia was in the garden. She went to find her there, and discovered her sitting in a garden chair, in the shadow of a lime tree, reading.

“I called to see your mother,” said Miss Weedon, “but I hear she isn’t at home.”

“No, she has gone over to Lady Barwel
l’
s.”

“Such a pity. I walked all the way here, to ask her if it was decided that Mr. Holden should talk to the next meeting of the Garden Club, because it is time I sent out the notices.”

“You should have telephoned,” said Patricia. “It would have saved you a long walk.”

“Ah, well, some of us have to watch our pennies, you know, Patricia, and if I used the telephone every
tim
e
I had business to transact, I should soon have a big bill
and
have to walk to the post office, to
phone and you know what that Miss Bell is for listening-in.”

Patricia laughed.

“Well, after your long walk, you must want a cup of tea. I’ll go and tell them we’ll have it out here.”

As this was precisely what Miss Weedon had been hoping for, she settled very contentedly into a chair to await Patricia’s return.

“You know,” she said, as Patricia came back across the lawn, “you have such a beautiful, peaceful garden. I
think
it is the loveliest of all my friends’ gardens.”

She said this to most of her friends about their homes, their gardens, their friends and their children. It always pleased people, she had found.

“It is nice, isn’t it?” said Patricia.

“You'll miss this home of yours, Patricia, when you marry.”

“I suppose so; though I should think any woman getting married would be so interested in her new life that she would not really miss the old.”

“Yes, that may be so, of course. But I’m afraid there would be a lot of work to do on the Springfield garden before it could compare with this.”

“The Springfield garden?” queried Patricia, her blank surprise quite
o
bviously assumed.

M
iss Weedon smiled.

“My dear, do you really think you keep it a secret?” she asked.

“Now I think you’re being very naughty, Miss Weedon, and taking for granted something that isn’t official yet.”

“Oh, it may not be official, but everybody can see it coming—and they would be blind if they didn’t. After all, you have already transformed the house, haven’t you? And all in such perfect taste, if I may say so.”

“No, really, Miss Weedon, you must not jump to conclusions. David would be very cross. There isn’t anything at all official yet.”

Miss Weedon knew that Patricia was not displeased that the engagement should be taken for granted. She waited until the maid had brought the tea and arranged it on the garden table, then she started again.

“I must say that I was surprised to find that Caroline was so cool about all the improvement
.
”

“Was she cool?” asked Patricia.

“Very. I suppose she would have liked a finger in the pie herself.”

“Oh no, surely not. I don’t think she would expect to have. After all, she’s only David’s housekeeper.”

“Quite,” said Miss Weedon, “but you wouldn’t think so, the hoity-toity airs she gives herself.”

“Caroline?
But Caroline is never like that
.
”

“Not to you, Patricia, nor to your dear mother. But to some of us, who perhaps do not matter quite so much, well, it’s a very different thing.”

“I should hardly have thought so. She always seems so nice.”

“Patricia, perhaps I shouldn’t say this. I know there
are
people who can’t take a helpful word in the right way; but I don’t t
hink
you’re one of them. You want to watch that girl.”

“Caroline?” Patricia was amazed. “But why?”

“It seems to me that Miss Caroline has plans for her future. After all, she lives in the house, doesn’t she? Twenty-four hours
of the day. And could dig herself in very nicely, by way of the children and so on. I don’t want to say anything against her, but I do think you should be on your guard.”

“Do you know anything about her that makes you speak like this?”

“No, no, no,” disclaimed Miss Weedon so hastily that Patricia felt sure she did. “Only, Patricia, watch her.”

“You know, it’s more likely to be an affair between Duncan and Caroline than anything else,” said Patricia.

“I know that is how it seems, and we can’t blame her for keeping Mr. Wescott in reserve, I suppose; but what young girl really wants to marry a man nearly old enough to be her father if she could marry somebody like David Springfield?”

Patricia laughed.

“Duncan isn’t old. He’s a love, and the most vigorous forty-five I’ve ever known. But I do
appreciate your good intentions, Miss Weedon, and I know you would never have dropped a
hint without good reason.” (Patricia knew nothing of the kind, but she was not one of those
to
put herself on the wrong side of Miss Weedon’s bitter tongue.) “Now have some of this honey
cake—I know it is one of your favourites—and tell me what is going on in the village.”

Although she laughed, however, Patricia did not intend to ignore Miss Weedon’s warning. The engagement to David was nowhere near as
imminent
at people seemed to think, and Patricia was ready to believe that a stumbling-block might exist, which would have to be disposed of. She had already established the habit of dropping in at Springfield very often, of meeting David on the farm sometimes, and inviting him to dinner regularly; so next afternoon she walked over, dressed in a cool and pretty summer dress, to find out what was going on.

She met Mrs. Davis on the drive.

“I don’t think you’ll find anybody at the house, Miss Close, this afternoon. They’re having a picnic.”

“Oh? Do you know where?”

“Down by the stream, I believe, beyond the big meadow. Terence was promised that he should
light
a fire to boil the water for the tea, and my Jimmy’s g
o
ne with them. It’s a half-holiday from school, so Miss Hearst is giving them a treat.”

“Perhaps I’ll walk over and find them. Is Mr. Springfield there, too?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so, miss. He’s too busy to have time for such things as picnics.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“No, I can’t say. He’s not far, because the car is in the garage; but I couldn’t say exactly where?” Patricia went on, and looked in the most likely places, but there was no sign of David. She went into the house, by the back door which was always unlocked, but there was nobody in the house. As she was leaving, she hesitated, struck by a sudden thought. She was curious about the room that Caroline occupied. David had talked of redecorating it, but she did not know if it had been done. She yielded to sudden temptation and curiosity and went upstairs. Of course it would be a little awkward if somebody came in, but she could always say she was looking to see if anybody was at home. She opened the wrong door at first, and then the right one; and she stood and looked about her carefully before closing the door and going slowly down, the stairs again, thinking that Miss Weedon evidently knew more than she would tell, and that she had indeed been right to warn Patricia to be on her guard.

Patricia walked over the big meadow towards the stream, wondering why David should incur so much expense for Caroline’s sake. She never saw them together, and so she had ceased to think of them together; but as Miss Weedon had so maliciously reminded her, they lived in the same house, and who knew what terms of friendliness existed between them? She came over a rise in the ground and saw the picnic party a little ahead of her, and there, bending
o
ver a recalcitrant fire, was David, poking in twigs here and there, trying to get it to bu
rn.

Caroline was seated on the grass, unpacking food from a basket and arranging it on a white cloth spread before her. The four children were running to and fro, bringing wood for David to put on the fire, playing, laughing, shouting. Wendy looked up and saw Patricia, and immediately came running towards her. David looked up and saw her too.

“Hallo, Patricia,” he called. “Come to join our picnic?”

She walked up to the group.

“Hallo, David. I came over to see you, but I didn’t know there was a picnic.”

“Oh, you must stay and have tea with us. At least, I hope there will be tea, but the fire is being obstinate. Terence and I have both had a go at it.” He saw that the fire was beginning to
burn
at last. “Would you like to have another go, Terence?”

Terence took over the job, and was proud to see that he could make a successful fire when Uncle David couldn’t. David stretched himself out on the sweet
-
smelling grass and invited Patricia to sit down too. Terence put the old kettle over the fire to boil, and Caroline went on setting out the food.