The Nutmeg Tree (16 page)

These last words, in conjunction with the disastrous fortunes she had dealt herself the night before, struck Julia as ominous. Could it be that the arrival of Sir William, to which she had so much looked forward, was to prove fatal to her peace and happiness in the character of young Mrs. Packett? Was he going to see through her, like Bryan, and—unlike Bryan—denounce her and turn her out? His aquiline features, even in repose, looked terribly stern; what would they be like when agitated by righteous indignation? “Grand!” thought Julia involuntarily; for already she admired Sir William very much indeed. She was like a passenger in a small boat who, fearful of a storm, would nevertheless enjoy seeing the ocean rage. Sir William's wrath would be terrible, but it would be a fine sight. “I'm all right so far,” thought Julia, summoning her courage. “I've just got to keep my head.…”

All through lunch, therefore, she said hardly a word. She wiped her mouth both before and after drinking, took no second helps, and was very attentive to Mrs. Packett. Bryan, after his momentary relapse, was on his best behaviour too, and almost equally silent. Susan and her grandmother talked to Sir William, asking after common acquaintances—several of them, to Julia's pleasure, with titles—and about his tour through France. But the meal as a whole was unusually dull, and no one sat long over coffee. Julia in particular was so exhausted that she went straight to her room and slept for two hours.

After tea Sir William took them all for a drive. Susan sat in front, Julia with Bryan and Mrs. Packett in the back. The car was a beauty, and they saw some very nice scenery. Then they came home and dined, and after dinner played bridge. Bryan (his behaviour was fluctuating like a fever-chart) suggested poker, but Julia felt herself bound to sit on him. “I hate gambling,” she said virtuously, “I think it's so bad for the character”; so they played several rubbers, Mrs. Packett sitting out, at twopence a hundred. At half-past ten Susan yawned; at a quarter to eleven Julia revoked, and no one but Sir William noticed it. Then Claudia brought in the barley-water, and they all went to bed.

“I'm so glad Sir William has come,” said Mrs. Packett to Julia, as they passed through the lobby on the way to their rooms. “It will make things a little gayer for you.”

“Not half,” said Julia grimly.

But she said it only to herself.

4

By next morning it was obvious that Susan's doubts had been justified; the weather was breaking, and the expedition to the Grand Colombier was by common consent put off. Julia was not altogether sorry; she had little desire to sit for another two hours—and possibly longer—cooped up with Bryan and her mother-in-law. Even in a Daimler, it wasn't worth it. The morning hours, however, now that their plan had fallen through, seemed unusually long; she would have liked to tell herself some more fortunes, but feared lest Sir William should see and despise her. He was wandering about rather aimlessly, now in the house, now in the garden; Susan had retired with her French, Bryan was nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Packett, in the billiard-room, was busily engaged with what would probably turn out to be a small cookery-book. Julia looked in on her, and went hastily away. From the hall she caught sight of Sir William's tall figure on the porch steps. He was really beautifully set up! He had the straightest back, for his age, that Julia had ever seen, and for a moment she stood contemplating it with genuine pleasure. Then Sir William turned round, so quickly that she had no time to fall into an effective pose; and thus he too received an unexpected and attractive impression. For there was about Julia, when she forgot herself, a certain charming simplicity: she stood there admiring him with the happy candour of a child before a Christmas tree.

“Come up to the rock,” invited Sir William, “and look for Susan's clouds.”

“I don't mind if I do,” said Julia. But her spirit, as she joined him, was wary. She was still rather afraid of his profile, and her anxiety to make a good impression almost tied her tongue. However, the opportunity was in many ways favourable; there was at least no Bryan to upset her with his too understanding looks, or with his overemphatic agreement whenever she made a cultured remark.…

“Do you care for Galsworthy?” asked Julia, as they began the ascent.

Sir William replied that he did. Which just showed—and Julia only wished that Susan had been there to hear.

“I've got
The Forsyte Saga
,” she continued. “I think it's wonderful.”

“A very fine piece of work,” said Sir William. “Particularly
To Let
.”

Since Julia had not yet reached that, this was rather a stumper. But she kept her end up well.

“
I
like
A Man of Property
. I think it's wonderful.”

Sir William agreed with her again. Their conversation was not exactly animated, but it was of the most superior kind.

“Mrs. Packett looks remarkably well,” said Sir William.

“Doesn't she?” said Julia.

It was surprising how soon a subject became exhausted. Julia, whose turn it now was, racked her brains in vain. There remained of course the whole great topic of Susan's marriage, but until she knew Sir William better—until her good impression had been made—Julia preferred to leave it untouched. He was too valuable an ally to be approached without due precaution.

“Do you like Aix?” asked Sir William.

“No, I don't,” said Julia, taken unawares. “Not that I've ever been there,” she added hastily. Sir William was too polite to notice the inconsistency, but the necessity for not noticing somehow killed that topic as well. They mounted for a while in silence, and soon Julia could not have spoken even if she had found anything to say. She needed all her breath to keep from panting. Sir William, with the privilege of his sex, frankly wiped his forehead; Julia made an effort to contract her pores. By the time they reached the foot of the rock her chief emotion was regret for her absent powder-box.

“Close, isn't it?” she gasped, as they came to a standstill. She could feel the blood beating in her cheeks, the hair clinging to her temples: it would have astonished her to know that Sir William found the effect most attractive. “Florid,” Mrs. Packett had written; “glowing,” substituted Sir William; he thought that if only Julia would keep silent—or at any rate stop making genteel remarks—he could enjoy her company very much indeed.

“I love a nice view,” said Julia, regaining her breath. She gazed raptly over the plain: clouds had drifted in over the encircling hills and lay like a canopy at a level somewhat below their summits. Through great ragged gaps, however, the sun still struck down, picking out here a village, there a little hill: Magnieu lay in shadow, the roofs of Belley shone. Where, in all that, was the Midi? wondered Julia; but she did not care to show her ignorance by a direct question. Instead she asked what Sir William thought of the weather.

“It's certainly unsettled,” he told her, “but I haven't Susan's local knowledge. If we do get a thunderstorm, it'll be a big one. Shall you mind?”

“Not in the least,” said Julia untruthfully. Thunderstorms were a terror to her, and if one happened in the middle of the night, when she was all alone, she really didn't know how she could bear it. Louise was just the same—except that she, with the energy belonging to her red hair, at least got some excitement out of them: she used to rush out in her best nightgown and have no end of a time. “I'd better put on my pink satin,” thought Julia. “I'd be too scared to change.…” She shivered in anticipation.

“You're getting cold,” said Sir William. “There's more breeze up here than one thinks.”

He turned to lead the way down, and Julia willingly followed. It was lovely to have him hold aside the branches for her, and give her a hand over the rough places, but the necessity—as she conceived it—for making polite conversation was still a dreadful worry. Sir William had apparently thrown up the sponge; they descended two thirds of the path in complete silence. At the turning under the pavilion, however, among the nut trees, an odd memory came into Julia's head, and she thoughtlessly gave it utterance.

“I had a little nut tree”—

recited Julia suddenly—

“And nothing would it bear

“But a silver nutmeg—”

She broke off, feeling rather foolish; but Sir William stood smiling at her.

“—And a golden pear,” he finished. “You have a wonderful gift for completing the moment.”

Julia didn't quite know what he was talking about, but she nevertheless felt flattered. Her spirits rose, and on a reckless impulse she said incautiously:—

“Do you know who taught me that? A Clown!”

“Circus or pantomime?” asked Sir William.

“Pantomime. When I was small, my mother used to play Columbine, and sometimes I waited for her in the dressing-room. And once, I don't know why, I was crying about something, and the Clown came in and took me on his knee and recited that about the nutmeg. It was ages before I found out that he hadn't made it up himself.”

“And did it stop you crying?”

Julia hesitated. Since Sir William, for some reason, evidently thought highly of the rhyme, and since she herself thought highly of Sir William, she would have liked to say yes; but honesty forbade.

“I don't know,” she confessed. “I
did
stop, but it was more likely because of the sausages. He let me play with them—and his poker.”

“A Clown who recited nursery rhymes,” said Sir William thoughtfully. “You must have had some wonderful stories to tell Susan.”

Julia looked quite shocked. Tell Susan about her grandmother being a Columbine! What next! Fortunately the girl was not inquisitive, but should the question ever arise Julia had long made up her mind what to say. “Your grandmother on
my
side, dear, was the daughter of a clergyman.” Which was quite possibly true, since Julia had never so much as heard her own grandfather mentioned; if she didn't know that he
was
a clergyman, she equally didn't know that he wasn't.…

Aloud she said, brusquely, “I've never told Sue anything. As I expect you know, I haven't been much of a mother to her.”

“If you had,” said Sir William, “you'd neither of you be half what you are now.” And irrelevantly, absurdly, he quoted the rhyme again:—

“… a silver nutmeg

“And a golden pear.”

“I don't know about you,” said Julia, still put out, “but I'm dying for a drink.”

5

It would have taken more than barley-water (which was all she got) to restore her equanimity. She had accompanied Sir William into the vine for the sole purpose of making a good impression on him; what on earth had possessed her, then, to go gassing away about Clowns and dressing-rooms? Why, with all the beautifully correct present to draw upon, must she go and dig up her peculiarly incorrect past? For he would never have guessed, thought Julia fondly; if only she'd held her tongue he'd still be taking her for a real lady.

She sat down to lunch in low spirits. It was just as dull a meal as that of the day before—with this difference, that besides being bored she was now nervous as well. She had a dreadful fear that Sir William might say something about Clowns, or Columbines, or even make some direct enquiry as to her early career; and indeed his attempts at conversing with her were alarmingly numerous. But Julia suppressed them—all. Even on the subject of Galsworthy she refused to be drawn. Galsworthy had written for the theatre, and theatres had Pantomimes, and Julia was taking no risks. After a while Sir William gave up trying, and devoted himself instead to old Mrs. Packett. At that Julia drew an easier breath, and by the time Claudia was clearing the meat-plates had recovered sufficient aplomb, and also sufficient appetite, to ask Susan what was the sweet.

“Harlequins!” said Susan gaily.

Julia started. Then surprise gave way to indignation as a most appalling thought flashed through her mind. He couldn't—he couldn't have told Susan
already?

Susan's next words showed that he had not.

“The French for ‘left-over,' I'm afraid, Uncle William. There's half last night's tart to be eaten, and a cream cheese.”

Julia heard, comprehended, and felt her heart sink back into its proper place. But her peace was once more shattered, for across the table, in that moment, she had just caught Sir William's eye.

Chapter 15

1

Julia's rôle as young Mrs. Packett now began to present greater difficulties than ever. It had been tricky enough at first—with Bryan always giving the wrong cue, Susan on the look-out for slips, Mrs. Packett perpetually trying to introduce a sub-plot; but the presence of Sir William, as Julia at once perceived, was going to make everything ten times worse. He was as dangerous as Bryan, as observant as Susan, and would quite likely take an interest in the cakes. To crown all, Julia was very much attracted by him.

“I would be!” thought Julia glumly.

For the first time in her life the prospect of a new sentimental encounter—with its delicious alternations of hope and despair, its exciting approaches to intimacy, and hardly less stimulating checks—gave her no pleasure. She hadn't the time for it. She needed all her wits, all her energy, simply to keep her end up. Her only hope, and she knew it, was to lump Sir William with the rest and make no attempt at individual attention. For she had nothing to fear from him; though he might catch her out as often as Bryan did, he wouldn't give her away. Quite likely, now that they'd settled down again, he'd just stop taking any notice of her at all.

Unfortunately, Julia felt that if he didn't take notice of her she wouldn't be able to bear it.

Just at this time, as if in sympathy with her distress, the weather broke. Julia looked out at the streaming skies and for a moment took pleasure in the general desolation. Then she turned away disgustedly; it simply meant that they would all be cooped up indoors at closer quarters than ever. There was no ground so favourable to love affairs (someone had once told her) as a country house on a wet day; and one horn of her dilemma was accordingly sharpened. To avoid it Julia felt she would have gone on a walking-tour in the Sahara. Then Sir William shut himself up in his room with a quantity of papers, and Julia prayed for fine weather to bring him out again. She was in the most uncomfortable state of mind she ever remembered; and still it went on raining.