Cold Pastoral (21 page)

Smiling in agreement, she explained to David. “Philip has something
special. I know by his walk. I expect it's a baby.”

“My dear,” he said startled, “does he discuss his cases with you?”

“He didn't at first,” she admitted, “but I asked him questions and then he began to tell me things. I love hearing! Operations can be exciting.”

“I don't think so,” he disagreed. “I hate the vile body and its disgusting details.”

For once she was very severe.

“It can't be disgusting, David, if it's natural.”

“As you say, darling,” he agreed in mock humility; “but I haven't got your natural philosophy. Just when I'm expecting the dryad I get a hard-headed young realist. What an unaccountable young thing you are! I thought you might let me anticipate your next form of expressionism. If you give me an inkling it will save wear and tear. Felice said I grew a grey hair.”

The true black of his head denied the charge, but she accepted the possibility as an offering. Mocking her gently about her drowning, he stimulated her to wild curiosity about her rescuer.

“Could I see him?” she asked guilelessly.

“Certainly not! He's committed to guns and ships. As a family we're against hero-sons. They might take your mind off—”

“No,” she denied at once. “But much wants much, doesn't it, David?”

“Single-minded people don't,” he said as if he could follow her well.

“Do they have fun?”

“They're not looking for your kind of fun, Mary. Many people can't see beyond surface-sight, and they're apt to mistake certain intensifications…”

“I don't know what you mean, David. Philip wasn't cross,” she said musingly.

“Is he such a martinet?” he asked casually.

“No,” she said, shocked, “but when it's my fault I mind more. When I'm sure grown people are foolish I let them have their say and it's over quicker.”

“Indeed!” he said. “Most comfortable.”

For a brief flash he saw her from within, absorbed, inscrutable, pursuing her own way while giving the smile of acquiescence to all demands. His brown eyes held hers, and he recalled what he had noticed before, that she could smile with her lips while her eyes remained cold. Now they rested on his without shifting, as if she were conscious of his extra knowledge of her. The man in him shrugged in a baffled way. Her expression was too old, suggesting elements bearing investigation. Too tolerant to take her to task, he had no wish to add his voice to the many directing her. He was sure he had been fanciful when she gave a childish spring.

“He wasn't even cross when he saw Betty-Wetty and Mitchy-Bitchy.”

David became tentative, venturing delicate inquiry.

“Just what, Mary…?”

“Two girls I hate in school, David. Betty Wilson and Mitchy Morris. Mater says I must not be combative or pert, so I have to be polite to them. But, as I go on feeling combative and pert, I inked their faces on my toenails. Then when I'm in the bath I make faces at them, and by the time I get to school I can be polite. I'm afraid the ink was very good because it remains in the seams of my toes, and when Philip saw my feet he was shocked, so I had to tell him. He didn't mind, but right away he got something out of his bag, ether or something, but though he took quite a long time…” Her voice seemed to suggest that Philip had enjoyed his task. “Though he took quite a
long
time, he didn't do away with them completely. Look…”

With impulsive unconcern she thrust her two feet out, placing them on David's knees. The delicate flesh was disturbing and he handled the offending toes gently.

“Yes,” he said gravely. “I see some remains, but identification is difficult. What special annoyance has Mitchy-Bitchy—?”

“She wants to touch me. Mom would call her a great big staragon or do I mean stallion, David?”

“Staragon, I think, whatever it is,” he said with cathedral gravity. “What's Betty-Wetty's trouble?”

“Oh, she's just spoiled,” she said dismissingly. “But she calls me bay-noddy. I expect I am, but I'm still having voice during the holidays, so by the time I get back I think I'll be able to tell her she sounds
quite
American—”

“Oh, Mary, Mary,” he said, shaking his head. “Dryad indeed! It's the most self-contained, calculating, wicked—”

“No, no, David!” she protested, making a forward spring into his arms. “Don't scold me, please. Let me say what I like to you. Some days—”

Breaking off, she sighed against his face with her arms round his neck. It had the effect of reducing his doubts to water. The privilege of beauty, he thought, with the double-barrelled attribute of personality. Perhaps Philip was to be the ideal influence in her life. In his single-minded possession she would have little opportunity of tantalising other men. It was impossible not to hold her affectionately.

“What did you promise Phil?” he asked gently.

“To sleep, David.”

“Then,” he said, putting her back on her pillow, “you can begin now. Felice sent her love and said to tell you she would be in on Wednesday for tea, and then you're all coming to the cottage for dinner. It's a public holiday, so Phil will have most of the day. In the meantime promise me not to jump off the roof of the house.”

The very niceness of him made her kiss him with sunny appreciation. “David, you're lovely,” she said in his ear, relishing the small jokes that make bonds between people.

“You're lovely, too,” he laughed. “Now I'm going to tell Mater you're sound asleep.”

Drowsing the afternoon away, she returned to twilight induced by the trees. It was shadowed, tranquil and full of rest. Through the screened window came sounds from the down-curve of the day. Flies tried to enter and a curtain tried to get out; branches touched the house, heavy with the weight of leaves. The blur of her content was shattered by Tim's whistle, holding a screech of command. What had come to Tim? The whistle came again with urgency increased. Quietude fled, ousted by curiosity. It was impossible to go out! It was impossible to stay in bed, with Tim blasting in her ear. Something must have gone wrong. Auntie Minnie had laughed too hard at the quartette? Torment came out of the whistle, making the mercury of her spirit rise to a high degree of fever. She had to go!
No
, she could
not
go! Incredible to hurt them when they were so kind! Lying down, she put her head under the clothes, trying to retreat to Fitz Henry Place.The whistle blasted again, shrilling through attempted muffling. It seemed to assault the trees and shiver the veins of the leaves. Tim was disturbed past mind and manners. She would go, and commend herself to God.

She was out of bed, standing on a pile carpet of old-fashioned patterning. No sound came from the house save the languid swishes of rooms open to the air.

She would not commend herself to God! There were other departments with a greater understanding of sin.

“Mary Magdalen,” she breathed, belting a blue robe round her waist, “Mary Magdalen, you were a sinner once, pray for me, pray for me!”

Bending towards felt slippers, she asked for intercession.

“Mary Magdalen, you couldn't let me hurt them when they're so good, but you'd have to go yourself if Tim whistled in your ear. Remember when you were a sinner and give them something to do away from the windows. Intercede for me, I beseech you, and don't let me be taken in adultery!”

Stepping on muted feet she went into the hall, standing a few feet away from the gallery. The mater was having tea and discussing with Hannah some details of the house. Thankfully she heard the mater say, “Don't disturb Miss Mary, Hannah, she's sleeping.” So far so good she thought, laying her spirit at the feet of the sinner-saint. Gliding towards the rear of the hall she opened a door with exquisite caution. It led to a staircase running from the back porch to the attic. Down she went like a moving silence. From the underground kitchen Lilas was singing her doubts of this life.

“There's no disappointment in Heaven,
No weariness, sorrow or pain,
No hearts that are bleeding and broken…”

“Stay there, Lilas,” she breathed, “and you'll get what you want in Heaven. Mary Magdalen will arrange it.”

With the face of a saint she stepped into the sun, running like a streak to the privet-hedge. Turning, she saw Tim crouched on the grass.

“Gretel,” he cried, “you were drowned! You're hurt! You're in your dressing-gown.”

Kneeling beside him, she clamped her hand over his mouth hoping his silence would be aid against detection. Through his half-open lips she could feel the jut of his two front teeth.

“Hush, Tim,” she said to the inarticulate mumblings against her palm, “I can't stay a second. I'm in bed because I was drowned. Is that why you were rude with the whistle?”

Questioning him she denied him response. Above his muffled mouth his eyes smiled at his incapacity of speech. Impossible to use his strength against her when she knelt with one arm round his neck. Close to him she could see the curl of his hair and the way it was sun-bleached at the temples. Unlike the great girl in school she liked the smell of his hair. It was like earth on a warm day. Tim was a clean, dry boy, even though his arms came out of his sleeves. Free of anxiety about her he relaxed, nuzzling against her palm.

“No, Tim, you can't talk,” she said severely. “You're bad for bringing me out. You know I've got to go, don't you?”

An energetic nod of his head convinced her, and she conceded him half his mouth.

“Gretel,” he whispered in acknowledgement of her danger, “I'm sorry I made a row, but I was crazy to see you. Some of the fellows came in last night and told me about the accident. When they said it was you I tried not to show anything, but I saw Mother looking at me. When they went she said I could go out. It was decent of her! I climbed the fence and hid behind a tree, and I was there when you got back. The lame fellow was driving and the doctor carried you in. I nearly walked out and asked him how you were, but I was afraid I'd get you in wrong.”

“Tim!” she ejaculated, awed with such devotion.

“I waited until I saw Lady Fitz Henry pulling down the blinds. When the lame one drove away I thought you must be O.K. or he wouldn't have gone.”

“I was, Tim,” she assured him, “only I had a headache and felt wuzzy when I stood up. Philip was lovely, but he fussed and made David drive us to town. Now I've got to go! I'm dreadfully afraid they'll find my bed empty.”

One knee flexed to rise, he detained her with his arms round her waist.

“Gretel, I'll write you a letter tonight and wrap it round a present I bought for you after school.”

“Tim!” she almost screamed, and then clamped her hand apprehensively over her own mouth. “Tim,” she whispered, “I don't want you to spend your allowance on me. You know you're crazy to buy the records of Tristan.”

For a second she rubbed her face against his hair.

“It was like a record of Tristan,” he smiled with maddening mystery. “Listen to-night, when the doctor's car is parked I'll blow the tiniest whistle from here. Then you can let down a string—”

“Oh!” she said, thrilled to her very being.

“Will you be too sleepy to wait?” His tone held anxiety.

“I'll say I won't,” she said fervently. “I've been asleep all afternoon.''

“O.K., then! I'm so glad you're safe,” he said, detaining her longer with the quality of his smile. Very lightly he touched the smooth line of her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Gretel?”

“Yes,” she said instantly, putting her face against his. “'Bye, darling Tim, good-bye!”

“'Bye, Gretel!” he said, following her flight with his heavy-lidded smile.

Men's mouths were gentle she told herself, thinking of the two men and a boy who had kissed her since she came to town. Love was nice and kind-making, with a better feeling than prayers! Lovely, said her flesh, as she fell into an animal walk. Inside the back porch she heard Lilas still singing about Heaven. This time she was jubilant about houses without taxes or rent! It was not Mary Magdalen's department.

In bed, trying to emulate the peace of the day, she planned Acts of Mortification that would not be obtrusive to Philip. Visiting her as soon as he entered the house, his face showed a shade of annoyance as he felt her pulse.

“My dear,” he said, shaking his head, “if you don't slow down a bit, you'll have to stay in bed tomorrow.”

“I'm well,” she said, looking at him with eyes like yellow lamps. Then he put his hand on her face, looking for fever. “I'm well, Philip. I could get up now and dance a couple of hornpipes.”

“Well, you won't then,” he said firmly, “you'll have a light meal and settle down early.”

“Yes, Philip,” she said very obediently.

The success of the afternoon made an augury for the night. The gods were benign, smiling at Tim and herself. In their interests the mater and Philip went to bed early, and, at eleven, she drew the clock into bed, for fear its ticking should trouble their rest.

The string? Fitz Henry Place was high!

Out of bed without a creak of betrayal, she culled the contents of a drawer. Possibilities were gathered and laid on a chair: two shoe-laces, three pieces of baby-ribbon, a bit of real string, a chiffon handkerchief to be tied corner-wise and a pair of stockings. Knotted together they made a string of many feet.

Infinite care went into the removal of the screen at the window, but even to her own ears she made no sound. Leaning out to the waist she nearly plunged her face in a mountain ash. A swing of her arm sent the string down to the ground. She had the world to herself, but not for long. A sound as soft as tuneful breath came from the top of the garden. Would he come from under the trees or down the gravel path? Would he remember that stones would crunch under his feet? When he stepped from the shadow of a trunk, she acclaimed him as a boy of sense. In their ears they could hear each other's laughter and the secret thrill of their blood. Neither thought that the present could have been tendered in the shade of the privet hedge. This tingling risk was the only way! High romance claimed them, and the soft stealth of the night. She saw light touch his stooping head, until he rose with a wave of his hand. The parcel was tied and the stage set for her. Hauling in hand over hand, she held her arms out so that the parcel would not thud against the side of the house. When it lay on the sill her arm was raised in exultant possession. Voicelessly she thanked him while he waved back from the tree. Then he faded against the trunk and she was inside with her treasure. When the screen was replaced she crept into bed and very softly opened her parcel.