The Fortunes of Springfield (3 page)

CHAPTER
TWO

IT was Caroline’s first morning at Springfield, and Wendy, washed and dressed, came down to the
kitchen
filled with surprise. Everything had been surprising, ever since Wendy had come back from school the afternoon before, and found Miss Hearst in possession, but the pleasant state of affairs begun then seemed to be continuing this morning. Wendy
h
ad been woken by a cheerful voice, to find a bright smile waiting for her. She had been helped with her dressing without the usual
impatience,
and Miss Hearst was not even cross with Terence when he persisted in getting back to bed
again
after she had got him out.

Now, in the kitchen, there was a glowing fire. Wendy and Babs stood in front of it warming their hands, while Caroline boiled their eggs and made toast.

“Come along,” said Caroline. “The porridge is ready. Sit up and have it while I do this.” She was sin
ging
as she worked. Another surprising thing to Wendy.

“Don’t like porridge,” grumbled Babs.

“Then you can
w
ait for your egg,” said Caroline cheerfully, serving Wendy’s porridge. She poured on hot
milk
and put a big dessertspoonful of bro
wn
sugar in the middle. Terence came in as this was being done and suddenly decided that he would have porridge too. Babs began to cry because she had refused it and the brown sugar looked so appetizing.

“I
think
she wants some porridge now,” said Wendy.

“Well, she doesn’t have to cry about it,” said Caroline. “If you want some porridge, Babs, ask nicely for it.”

“I want some porridge,” wailed Babs.

“That isn’t asking nicely, is it?” asked Caroline.

There was a short silence. Wendy whispered to Babs:

“Say ‘Please may I have some porridge,’ Babs.” This was done and Babs was served.

There was a clean cloth on the table. The meal was set out attractively. All the children were surprised, and held themselves silent and aloof about these changes in the household. They were not sure what was happening in their lives. Miss Church never sang while she was getting breakfast, she never lit the fire before they went to school, she did not have the table looking like this at all. She made lumpy porridge which they hated and would not eat, and then she slapped them for not eating it. Babs would bang her spoon down in it and make a mess on the tablecloth, and sometimes Ter
e
nce would put his down the sink while she was not looking, which made Miss Church so cross that he would get another slapping. Terence was always being smacked for something, thought Wendy, remarking in her well-developed little mind that nobody had been smacked for anything this morning.

As she and Terence put on their coats to go to school, Caroline noticed that Wendy had no gloves. “Where are your gloves, Wendy?”

“I haven’t got any.”

“But you must have some gloves. Terence has his.”

“I lost them,” said Wendy in a small voice.

“
Then we must find them. Where did you lose them? Somewhere in the house?”

“I think I lost them at school.” Still the small voice, prepared to be scared.

“Oh dear,” said Caroline. “That won’t help us this cold morning. Do you know what they used to give to children to keep their hands warm in the old da
y
s?”

“No,” said Wendy.

“A nice big, hot, baked potato.”

“Could I have a nice hot baked potato then?”

“
Not this morning,” said Caroline, laughing. “I haven
’
t any. You’ll have to keep your hands in your pockets for today, and we’ll get you some more gloves.” Wendy capitulated. She was the first of the children to do so. Even the loss of the gloves, which had made Miss Church so angry, had not brought a scolding from Miss Hearst. She said:

“Will you be here when we come home?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you going to stay with us?”

“Yes.”

“For a long time?”

“Yes, if we all like each other.”

“
I
like you,” said Wendy.

“And I like you—all of you. Now you must run along to school.” She saw them to the hall door and stood on the step to watch them walk down the drive. “Good-bye, Wendy. Good-bye, Terence,” she called. Wendy looked back with a smile and a wave, but Terence ignored her as if he had not heard her.

“Good morning,” said a voice near her, and she turned to find
David Springfield watching her.

“Good morning, Mr. Springfield,” she said with a smile. “Frost again this morning.”

“Yes, quite a sharp one. I thought you would like these.”

He had a basket of fresh eggs and a large jug of cream.

“Yes, I certainly would,” smiled Caroline. “Those children look as if they could do with some cream.”

“They are the thin and wiry kind,” said David, “but I don’t imagine they have been getting v
e
ry good food.” He handed the basket and jug over to her. “Don’t economize with them. There is plenty more where that came from.”

“Thank you very much,” said Caroline.

“I’m trying to make a good impression,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

“I
think
you’ve succeeded,” she smiled. “When are you coming in to breakfast, Mr. Springfield?”

“Right away, if that’s all right.”

“I’ll go and cook it at once.”

Caroline carried her eggs and cream to the kitchen, and cooked breakfast for David. He came in, washed his hands and sat down at the table.

“It smells delicious,” he said.

Caroline set the food before him.

“I hope I have cooked enough,” she said. “I am used to the appetites of old ladies. But you have been working out in the frosty morning.”

David laughed.

“Well, if I eat all this, I shan’t be able to work for the rest of the day. But we’ll see what we can do to it
.
”

“I think you have everything you need. If you want me, I shall be upstairs.”

Caroline went away to make the beds and tidy the bedrooms. Mrs. Davis had arrived and begun an onslaught on the scullery. It was Caroline’s
i
ntention to go through the house this day, and make a schedule of the work to be done, and the order of its importance. It would take weeks to get the place clean; and after that, when Mr. Springfield was less busy and could see to it, there should be some new paint about the place. Curtains and carpets must go to be cleaned, cupboards and drawers, some of them now crammed to overflowing, must be sorted out, furniture long neglected must be restored and cared for. And all this must be done while the day-to-day routine of looking after the children, cooking for the family and sewing for them went on. Caroline saw some busy weeks ahead of her.

When she returned to the kitchen, David had gone again. If the house was likely to provide Caroline with a full-time occupation, the same could be said of the farm and David; and Caroline thought the farm would never have reached its present state if David had been running it instead of Gerald. For David was charged with energy and was confident, determined and concentrated. He even spoke in a brisk, clipped fashion that matched the rest of him, and the two farm hands had been stimulated by his manner and had pulled themselves together to work under him. He was out from early morning until nightfall, and because the dark came early in these February days, he spent the evenings in the room which Gerald had converted to office use, sorting out
hi
s brother’s papers, dealing with the farm correspondence and forms, and beginning to restore order here, as elsewhere. So that Caroline saw him only at meals, when she set his breakfast before
him
after the children had left for school, at lunch-time and at supper. He did not stop for tea, and Caroline had hers with the children.

It was when they were seated at tea in the warm kitchen one day, that Caroline’s first caller appeared. The kitchen had been greatly improved since the day when David discovered Miss Church there. It was
clean,
tidy and shining; the red-tiled floor
well-polished
and warm rugs brought in from other rooms. This was the place in which the children spent most of their time, so that Caroline had thought it well worth while to put down warm rugs for them to play on, and to take down the faded, dingy curtains and replace them with others of bright cretonne from a spare room. Copper bowls and jugs had been discovered piled in one
corner
of the scullery, no doubt put there by one of the housekeepers who had no time to keep them clean. Caroline and Mrs. Davis had polished some of them and set them on the kitchen dresser to catch and reflect the
sunlight
and firelight. A few early spring flowers were in a vase in the middle of the tea table, and there were scones fresh from the oven, thickly spread with the farm butter.

There came a knock at the back door, followed so quickly by a tap on the door of the kitchen itself that Caroline knew the person had not waited outside for an answer.

“May I come in?” called a voice, and before Caroline could rise, the door had opened and an elderly woman appeared in the doorway. She came in without being invited, closed the door behind her, and advanced into the room.

“I saw the light in here,” she said, “so I came round to the back. I know the back door is unlocked, and I didn’t want to trouble you by knocking at the front
.
The children and I are old friends.” She smiled at the children, but the children did not
smil
e in return. She leaned over Babs and kissed her cheek. She smiled at Wendy, saying: “Now, Wendy’s got a kiss for me, I know,” and was politely kissed. She knew better than to attempt such a thing with Terence, apparently, for she patted him on the shoulder, saying: “And how’s my little man?” He did not bother to answer, and she turned back to Caroline.

“Now we must get acquainted,” she said, and her smile was so shallow, so obviously insincere, that Caroline felt no desire to become acquainted with her. “My name is Weedon—Miss Myrtle Weedon—but then you probably know that already, for, although I say it myself, I think everybody in these parts knows me. And I thought I couldn’t let another day go by without coming to see you, and to tell you how glad I am that the dear children have somebody nice to look after them, after all this time. And I can tell just by looking at you, my dear, how very suitable you will be.” All this time, her eyes were furtively taking in all the details of the room, going from this point to that, lingering on the shining copper, the flowers on the table, the gleaming range, the fresh curtains, the polished floor. “But then,” she went on, “you were with Mrs. Webster for years, weren’t you? Such a charming woman. So gracious. To have been with Mrs. Webster is a recommendation in itself. I was very fond of her.” Caroline had never seen her at Mrs. Webster’s house, and she began to distrust so much gush and volubility. “It is a great relief to me that you are here, and I must congratulate David on having got you; for really, between ourselves, Miss Hearst, your predecessors were appalling. It quite worried me that these little dears were left to her mercies.” (At least one
o
f the “little dears” was scowling at Miss Weedon unmistakably.) “That Miss Church, I mean. Don’t tell
me
she wasn’t feathering her nest at Mr. Gerald’s expense...”

Caroli
ne
interrupted her, and there was a coldness in her voice which her friends would hardly have recognized.

“May I g
i
ve you a cup of tea, Miss Weedon?”

“Well, that would be nice. I’ll draw up a chair, shall I? And just one of these delicious little scones. Do you make them yourself? I wonder how you find the time with everything else to do. Or do you have somebody to help you?”

“Mrs. Davis comes in every morning for a while. I expect you know Mrs. Davis.”

“Indeed yes. Quite a good woman, I believe.” This was said patronizingly, and Caroline thought she could not get rid of this person soon enough, But it seemed to be impossible to make her go, until, at the end of the meal, Caroline had to ask point-blank to be excused as she was so busy.

“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Hearst, to see you, and to know that the girlies and our little man here are in such good hands. I shall look forward to popping in again.”

Caroline asked Mrs. Davis the next morning how well Miss Weedon
kn
ew the children.

“Miss Weedon?” Mrs. Davis clicked her tongue in disgust. “Has
she
been here? I might have known it. She pokes her nose in everywhere, just so that she can carry on all the news and gossip to the next place. She took in every
si
ngle change you’ve made, I’ll be bound, so that she can tell everybody. She lives alone and it’s the only occupation that she’s got in life.”

“But is she a friend of the children’s family?”

“No, of course not. Mr. Springfield—Mr. Gerald, that is—wouldn’t have her about the place. She has a nasty, unkind tongue and is as two-faced as they make them. She’d say nice things when she was with you, and go straight away and say the nastiest
things
about you. You don’t want to encourage her, Miss Hearst.”

“The trouble is to discourage her.”

“I know. She worms her way in eve
r
ywhere. Still, you haven’t got anything to worry about, with all the improvements you’ve made in this place.”

Caroline dismissed Miss Weedon from her
mind an
d
hoped that she would not take it into her head to come too often. She had, in any case, far more important things to think about, and the children figured first on the list.