Mrs. Tim of the Regiment (14 page)

I feel better after this is settled, and am surprised to find how much it has been weighing on my mind.

Decide to go to evensong, as I was too preoccupied in the morning to attend to the service as I should. Church is very full, but I manage to get a seat in our usual pew immediately behind the Bowaters of Nether Biddington.

Miss Bowater is known to Tim and me as The Foolish Virgin, for no other reason than that her appearance suggests a general incompetence. She is tall and thin and round-shouldered, with a pale face and a floppy mouth; and her eyes have a yearning expression which Tim thinks is due to her lack of oil. Her hands are loose and clammy, obviously quite incapable of the niceties of wick trimming. One of Miss Bowater's least endearing peculiarities is that she does not always wash behind her ears, and tonight I am reminded,
malgré moi
, of the first time that this dereliction of duty was observed by Bryan. The subject happened to be a sore one with him at the time, and he improved the occasion by remarking to me in a triumphant whisper, ‘Mummie, Miss Bowater does not wash behind her ears
either
.'

In spite of these digressive thoughts I follow the service with assiduity, and listen with interest to the sermon which is all about St. Paul. Mr. Black makes him quite human – even lovable – and I feel sorry to think that hitherto I have misjudged him, deeming him a misogynist of the deepest dye.

Twenty-second February

Am engaged in counting china in the pantry and making list of breakages to replace, when Annie appears at the door and asks in a mysterious manner if she can speak to me. My heart sinks into my shoes with dark foreboding, but I reply brightly that she can.

Annie says, ‘Is it true that Miss 'Ardcastle isn't going to Westburgh?' Reply that it is true. Annie then goes on to say that she would like to look after Miss Betty – ‘Do 'er 'air and bath 'er and all that' – unless of course I have someone in my eye.

Realise at once that this would be an excellent plan. I have known Annie for two years and found her trustworthy and pleasant, which are the essential virtues; she gets on well with Betty, and, last but not least, I shall have somebody that I know and who knows me and understands my ways in the strange land for which I am bound. Reply that I have nobody in my eye, and that I would be willing to accept her in the rôle of Betty's keeper, but does she really think she would like to settle down in Westburgh so far away from all her friends. Annie says she has thought about that and would like to come for six months anyway; she thinks a girl ought to go about a bit and see new places before getting married and settling down. Agree with her fervently.

Annie then says in a ruminative manner that Bollings has never been to Scotland – he has been to India, of course, and the tales he tells – well a girl has to take tales like that with a bit of salt – doesn't she?

Agree again with equal fervour. I now perceive that Annie hopes, after her visit to the Far North, to be able to cap Bollings' Indian stories with some of her own adventures, and can thoroughly sympathise with her in her endeavour to be upsides with her future husband, as I have been suffering all my married life from an inability to cope with Tim's Traveller's Tales and an inferiority complex resulting from same. I do not anticipate any hair-raising adventures in the law-abiding precincts of Westburgh, but must hope for Annie's sake that her imagination will be equal to the task of manufacturing some of a sufficiently plausible nature.

Having settled this important matter to our mutual satisfaction. Annie and I set to work once more on the glass and china, which (chiefly owing to Bollings' misguided vigour) we find to be lamentably depleted. So much so that even Annie is left with no illusions on the subject, and remarks (sotto voce) that when she is married she will do all the washing up herself.

Twenty-third February

Receive a postcard from Tim to say that he is returning today by train and will arrive at Biddington late tonight. He is leaving Cassandra at Westburgh to await our arrival, having been completely disillusioned as to the theoretical economy of doing the journey by car.

Am wildly excited all day at the prospect of Tim's return as I have not seen him for a whole week. Husbands are annoying at times, but they are a habit which grows on one, and life is extraordinarily dull without them. Spend the day tidying up and putting fresh flowers in the vases, though I do not suppose for a moment that Tim will notice them.

Tim looks well and seems quite pleased with his new job which he is to take over officially on 17th March. He has been twice to Kiltwinkle to arrange various matters with the Mackenzies. The inventory is to be taken the day we go in – he has ordered coal – and agreed to take on the telephone. He feels sure that we shall be extremely comfortable at Loanhead. It will be rather fun to be away from the regiment, absolutely on our own, and he (Tim) going in daily to his work like a civilian.

I agree with all he says, as a good wife should. And so to bed.

Twenty-ninth February

Receive a bulky epistle from unknown lady residing in Kent asking for information concerning a certain Alice Bowles who was with me as cook. Must be quite eighteen months since she left me as Katie has been here for a year, and I had various other horrors before that. Letter enquires whether Alice is sober, honest, and respectable, thoroughly trustworthy and conscientious about her duties, clean and tidy in work and person, willing and obliging, cheerful in the house and amiable in the kitchen. Will she do what she is told with a good grace? Has she good manners? Are her people of a nice respectable class? Do I consider her a
really
good cook, hygienic and economical? Does she take a
real
interest in keeping down expenses? Is she particularly good at nourishing soups? Can she bake well? Is she capable of sending up a good dinner for eight or ten people at short notice? Has she any men friends? As such are not allowed to enter Kent lady's establishment women friends are allowed in strict moderation. Can she keep order in the kitchen without unpleasantness, etc., etc.?

Feel that the Kent lady really requires an angel straight from heaven to fulfil her requirements recollections of Alice Bowles point to the conclusion that she falls far short of this; decide that I must try to write a reference which, while being mainly true, will yet not blight disastrously all chances of her getting the situation.

Find the task beyond my powers as my recollections of Alice are distinctly hazy, and include watery stews, and interminable rows in the kitchen. Ask Tim in desperation whether
he
remembers her, to which he replies, ‘By Jove yes she tried to get off with Bollings, didn't she? Or was she the one who cleaned my new brown shoes with black boot polish?'

Leave the letter to be answered at leisure as I have an appointment with the dentist, made several days ago when my tooth was rather troublesome.

Today it is perfectly well and the moment I see the dentist's chair I know that I have been a fool to come. Is it too late to escape? Shall I feign a sudden indisposition?

Mr. Hood smiles at me encouragingly, and I climb into the chair only because I am too much of a coward to run away. The window in front of me looks out into a small garden where Mr. Hood's pyjamas and Mrs. Hood's stockings are tossing gaily in the breeze. There are also some small garments which obviously belong to several sizes of little Hoods. Beyond this cheerful scene is a street – an errand boy passes on his bicycle whistling gaily. Reflect on the cheerfulness of errand boys. What a happy life they lead! Am overwhelmed with self-pity.

Mr. Hood seizes an instrument like a deformed buttonhook, inserts it into a long metal holder to give him more purchase and plunges it unerringly into the heart of my hollowest tooth. I can feel the point sticking into my spine – my scalp rises – ‘This will have to come out,' says Mr. Hood cheerfully.

An hour – or is it a year – later, I emerge into the street with tottering steps.

March

Third March

Tim announces at teatime that he quite forgot to tell me that Ledgard is coming to dinner, but he supposes it will be all right. Reply in the affirmative with more confidence than I feel, and rush to the kitchen to see what can be done about it. Katie says she will put some curry in the rabbit, but there's no soup and it is the half day. Annie says there is only one apple and a few nuts for dessert.

Send Miss Hardcastle and Betty round to Grace McDougall with S O S message asking if she can lend me a tin of soup and some fruit for dessert, also a bottle of soda water as I know that Captain Ledgard drinks whisky. Tell Katie to make an omelet and remind her about coffee (which Tim and I never take at night as it is supposed to keep us from sleeping). Look through table napkins with Annie and find one for our guest without too many thin places and darns. Revive the flowers (which are slightly jaded) by cutting the stalks and putting an aspirin tablet in the water. Send Bollings down to the station for two packets of cigarettes.

Tim follows me about saying that he doesn't know why on earth I always make a fuss when he asks a feller in to dinner. Ledgard is only a bachelor and can easily take potluck. He only asked the chap because he felt sorry for him having to eat the food in Mess. And do I think Ledgard is likely to notice the flowers? Reply that bachelors notice more than you think, and try to make it sound as mysterious as possible to keep Tim quiet.

Miss H. and Betty return from their foraging party with a tin of tomato soup, four apples, three bananas, and half a siphon of soda water. Feel that Grace is indeed a noble character.

It is now seven o'clock so I rush upstairs to change. Come down to find the drawing-room fire nearly dead. Revive it with sticks and paraffin because Annie is busy laying the table.

Annie comes in to say that Bollings was polishing the glasses and a tumbler ‘slipped out of his hand' so will I have a kitchen tumbler as there's only two dining-room ones left. Reply that I will have
no
tumbler, only wineglasses. Rush up to the bathroom to wash my hands which is very necessary after my struggles with the fire. Am just washing my hands, and reflecting that the evening has started stickily when I hear Captain Ledgard arrive and Tim asking in hospitable tones if he would like a wash. Rokesby only boasts one lavatory so I am trapped and have to lie low while Tim rattles the door handle and says angrily that there is evidently someone there.

At dinner the conversation turns inevitably on to the Regiment; Tim saying that Hardford will never get command because he was Stellenbosched at Gallipoli. Captain Ledgard says Hardford
will
get command because his sister's husband has got a job at the War House, and anyway everybody has forgotten all about the war now. Look at Threadmorton of the 12th who commanded a brigade for eight months and they have brought in a feller from the Midshires to command his battalion. As if a chap who commanded a brigade in the war couldn't command his own battalion in peacetime!

Tim says he wonders if Morley will retire, as if so Lester will get the foreign battalion and Stoddart the home battalion, but if Morley doesn't retire –

Ledgard says it is just touch and go whether
he
ever gets command at all before being superannuated. Whereupon Tim says, ‘My dear chap, don't be so pessimistic. Crighton's bound to go, and Watt will never get command and McPherson is frightfully bad with malaria at Julaparajapore.' And Ledgard says gloomily, ‘Not so bad as you think, and he hasn't a bob to his name so he's bound to go on as long as he can stick it.'

Then Tim says, ‘What about Carruthers?'

And Captain Ledgard says, ‘
What
about him?'

And Tim says hasn't Ledgard heard that Carruthers' rich uncle has gone west at last and left Carruthers all his money?

And Captain Ledgard says, ‘No, by Jove! Has he really? That's the best news I've heard for a long time. Perhaps he will get married now, he's a perfect nuisance in Mess.'

And Tim says, ‘Perhaps he will retire?'

I leave them hard at it and run upstairs to say ‘Good night' to Betty (who wants to know what we had for dinner) and to have a little chat with Miss Hardcastle (who is obviously gloating over a letter from her young man) and then down to the drawing room where I have time to write a letter to Bryan before Tim and Captain Ledgard appear.

After that I sit and listen while Tim and Captain L. discuss the musketry returns and fulminate on the degeneracy of the last batch of recruits from the dépôt, and digress from that to comment bitterly on the incompetency of the new R.S.M.

Then Tim says that Benson is nothing but an old woman, and if it were not for Morley the battalion would go to pot. And Ledgard replies that Morley isn't much better and he's got far too much money anyway. And Carruthers is the worst P.M.C. they've ever had. He wonders that they have not all been poisoned long ago. And as for the new subalterns they are beyond words. They think of nothing but girls and cinemas.

Tim agrees wholeheartedly and says that in
his
time subalterns were kept in their place, but now they seem to think the Mess belongs to them.

At last Captain Ledgard says he really must go as he is captain of the week and has to go round the guards, and that's what comes of being a wretched bachelor and living in Mess. And he does not know what on earth we ladies are thinking of not to have found him a wife before now.