The New Moon with the Old (18 page)

Drew smiled. ‘Quite true. One just has a horror of appearing mercenary.’

‘I’d advise you to
be
a bit mercenary, if you can. It’ll help you to stick this job. Seriously, Blanche has nobody to leave her money to but one very well-off niece whom I happen to dislike, and those midgets in the kitchen. Thank God, she let me talk her into making provision for them. Her mother wouldn’t; to be fair, she feared they’d leave Blanche if she did, but it was pretty shocking – not one penny after well over fifty years of service. She got them from an orphanage and paid them eighteen pounds a year each, which with princely generosity she eventually raised to twenty-five. Imagine! With domestic service at a premium, they were still getting less than ten shillings a week each when she died.’

‘Good Lord! What are they getting now?’

‘Oh, the same, from Blanche. I told you, she’s half convinced she’s ruined. But I’m paying a normal wage into an account for them and I’ve made them understand they’ll always be taken care of. I daren’t let them know quite how shockingly they’ve been treated in case they count it against Blanche. There’s something approaching enmity there – on both sides. I’ve no idea why. It’s just one of the mysteries of this frightening household.’

‘Frightening indeed,’ said Drew. ‘And I can’t understand how such a fantastic state of affairs could have gone on so long here. This house isn’t—’

‘Its inmates were, by the iron will of one old woman. But don’t harrow yourself about the past. Just concentrate on making the present as comfortable as possible, for yourself, Blanche and those poor victimized midgets – who would, by the way, be utterly lost if ever I had to send her away and close the house. Tomorrow you must start spending money; that’s always cheering. And now let’s have Blanche down. I’ll tell her I’ve given you my blessing and do my level best to behave nicely.’

Drew went for Miss Whitecliff. She came out of her room still looking distressed and seemed unable to believe that all
was now well. Only after considerable effort on Mr Severn’s part did she relax. He treated her with a mixture of gallantry and playful brusqueness which, to Drew, was most obviously false; but it undoubtedly pleased her and by the time tea came in she was responding gaily and laughing her pretty laugh. Her whole manner, particularly the delicate flicker of her eyelids, had a faded coquetry Drew found heart-breaking.

‘Well, I must get back before my office closes,’ said the solicitor at last, and bade Miss Whitecliff an almost lover-like farewell. Drew then accompanied him to his car.

‘Didn’t do too badly, did I?’ said Mr Severn, once they were out of the house. ‘But, oh my God, the strain! Now drop into my office whenever you need to and I’ll fix a date for you to dine with us; but don’t, I implore you, ask me to see Blanche more than is strictly necessary. Oh, I know I’m heartless.’

‘A heartless man wouldn’t mind seeing her,’ said Drew.

‘Still, I don’t acquit myself – and I’ve no right to feel such rapturous relief on getting away from the poor dear.’ He waved gaily to Miss Whitecliff at the drawing-room window, then turned again to Drew. ‘Well, don’t dislike me too much. How nice of you to look genuinely astonished at such an idea! I suspect you haven’t acquired the knack of disliking people. Good night, my dear boy, and the best of luck.’

Drew, watching him drive away, asked himself if he’d ever really disliked anyone and couldn’t remember doing so. Perhaps it was a bit milk-and-watery of him. But he took a pride in being able to see other people’s points of view and once one did that … He certainly saw Mr Severn’s point of view. Darling Miss Whitecliff was harrowing enough even when one hadn’t shared her youth.

Turning to go in, he looked up at White Turrets. Such a cheerful house, with all its gleaming paintwork! He shuddered to think of its cheerless past – and reminded himself of
the good dinner Lizzie would be cooking. Now Annie was drawing the bedroom curtains, and Miss Whitecliff had come to meet him at the front door. Why should these three harmless old women feel ‘something approaching enmity’ for each other? Well, he’d go on doing his best for them all.

The next morning he took Mr Severn’s advice as regards spending money. Miss Whitecliff’s name, and instructions to send all bills to Mr Severn, instantly secured him credit wherever he went. After that shopping spree he was never able to recapture his first picture of Whitesea as a town embalmed, for there was no lack of modernity if one wanted to find it rather than avoid it. Indeed, he amused himself by wondering if he had invented that first town to please his mood, and was now inventing a second one to fit his needs. Certainly there were shops overflowing with electrical equipment, all the latest gadgets … He had to resist the temptation to streamline the entire kitchen; for the moment it would be enough if he ordered a refrigerator, new saucepans, and a radio for the midgets. (He had now accepted Mr Severn’s name for them; it finally ousted ‘the fiends’.) For Miss Whitecliff and himself he bought a radio and gramophone combined and a first selection of records. He also chose four electric fires, one intended for the midgets’ bedroom, wherever in the heights of White Turrets they slept; and was promised that an electrician should start work at once on the necessary new wiring. Only when he went to inquire about a telephone was he warned there might be some delay.

Having finished what he thought of as the solid spending he got flowers and chocolates, including some of each for the
kitchen, also some books for himself. And on his way home in a taxi he decided Mr Severn had been right: spending money was certainly cheering. One was, in fact, just a little drunk on spending.

And his pleasure was increased by Miss Whitecliff’s pleasure – at having him back, at the history of his shopping, and his purchases in hand and to come. Before setting out he had merely told her they needed many things which Mr Severn said she could afford and ought to have, and they were all to be a lovely surprise. This had delighted her and she was even more delighted now. Told that a refrigerator was coming she confessed that, in spite of her mother’s views, she had often wished for one because it would make ice-cream. Drew doubted this but if she wanted ice-cream he would, of course, get her some. He gathered that she’d had none since she was a girl, when it had been made ‘for garden parties in a funny kind of bucket’. He’d neither seen nor heard of such a bucket; this must be a gap in his knowledge of Edwardiana.

Lizzie and Annie, too, were pleased about the refrigerator. He had already noticed that their outlook had been changed by the women’s magazines, which he had several times found them studying through steel-rimmed spectacles. (The advertisements interested them most; he guessed that their imaginations had not had enough practice to let them enjoy fiction.) And the general excitement rose higher in
mid-afternoon
, when the refrigerator, radiogram and electric fires were delivered. None of them could be used as yet and Drew felt it was just as well their potentialities should be considered before their actual performance. He was beginning to fear his three old ladles were a bit too excited.

Miss Whitecliff’s spirits suffered a set-back when the afternoon post came. Having read the only letter it brought, she turned to Drew with dismayed eyes. ‘It’s from my great-niece. She’s
coming here – on Saturday. Oh, dear, she always makes me so nervous.’

‘Well, we won’t let her, this time,’ said Drew firmly. ‘And think what fun it’ll be to show her all your new possessions – including me.’

Miss Whitecliff regained her spirits and laughed her pretty laugh. ‘Oh,
yes
! And I shall tell her how much Cyril likes you, and then she won’t dare criticize. Rosalind is critical.’

Rosalind! It was a name he particularly liked. He had never been romantically attracted by any living girl but had often been half in love with girls in history and literature. Of these, Shakespeare’s Rosalind took pride of place. He instantly pictured Rosalind Whitecliff as tall, boyish yet essentially feminine, striding through the Forest of Arden in spring. He was strongly disposed to fall in love with her – if only for practice. One was confident Mr Severn was right in believing one would not become ‘willowy’; but it was high time one became
something
.

‘Does she usually have my room?’ he asked. ‘I could easily move out.’

‘Oh, she’s only coming for lunch, on her way somewhere else. She’ll drive; she always does. Imagine, a girl of nineteen, driving her own car! Though I remember now, at her age I longed for a bicycle. I suppose a car to her is only what a bicycle would have been to me.’

He was glad to hear her say this; it suggested a dawning acceptance of a changed world. He asked if she’d ever had the bicycle.

‘Good gracious, no! Though father was on my side – well, just a little, at first. How well one remembers! I still hanker for that bicycle.’

‘I’m afraid you’d find it …’ He broke off, interrupted by her charming laughter.

‘Oh, I only hanker for it
then
, not
now
. It’s strange, but “then” is often quite as real to me as “now”, sometimes realer.’

He wondered if that was the cause of her slight derangement, if her will-power was paralyzed because she was imprisoned in her youth, subservient to authority that no longer existed. But surely she was showing signs of independence? Unless, of course, in accepting new ideas, she was now merely subservient to
his
authority.

He was, anyway, certain she was acting independently when, the next morning, she asked him to take a letter to Mr Severn and did not tell him what it was about. He found himself faintly irritated, particularly as an electrician had just arrived and needed instructions.

‘Couldn’t I just post the letter?’ he asked.

‘I
particularly
want him to have it this morning.’

Independence, certainly even a touch of bossiness. Well, one ought to be pleased. And a little more shopping might be useful, to ensure a specially good lunch for Rosalind. So he swiftly instructed the electrician and then hurried out.

Having delivered the letter and made sure Mr Severn would soon be in to receive it, he did his shopping. This, on a sudden inspiration, included something he paid for with his own money. He had noticed that Miss Whitecliff sometimes wore a long chain to which small charms were attached. He had the good luck to find a charm in the form of a bicycle.

She received it with ecstasy. And when he had put it on her chain for her she repeatedly looked down on it and fingered it. What with this, and the fact that the radiogram was now working, she passed the rest of the day in a visible daze of bliss. The refrigerator, too, was in action and Drew saw that the midgets were going to be fondly possessive of it. When he suggested Miss Whitecliff should be invited to see it working, Lizzie said: ‘Not till we’ve had a little more practice, sir.’

Mr Severn’s reply came the following morning. Miss Whitecliff, having read it, looked pleased and important.
‘I have to see Cyril at once,’ she informed Drew. ‘He’s sending a car for me.’

Drew felt guilty at having failed to protect Mr Severn. And this was the morning of Rosalind’s visit. He asked Miss Whitecliff if she had forgotren that.

‘Oh, I shall be back in good time,’ she said, airily.

He offered to see Mr Severn for her but she smilingly refused. ‘It’s something I have to do myself. And you mustn’t ask me what it is. You’ll know later.’

She looked so happy that his slight annoyance faded. He said: ‘Well, anyway, I’d better come with you, hadn’t I?’ So far, he’d never known her to set foot out of the house alone.

But she said firmly: ‘No, you must stay here in case Rosalind
should
arrive before I get back. Oh, I do hope you’ll like her!’

‘Let’s hope she likes me,’ said Drew. He did not usually worry as to whether people would like him, perhaps because they usually did, just as he usually liked them. But he was very, very anxious that Rosalind should like him.

The car came and he saw Miss Whitecliff off. She was wearing a voluminous fur coat – squirrel, she told him; she’d had it for her twenty-first birthday and always taken great care of it. He imagined it must have gone in and out of fashion (well, never quite in) at least half a dozen times. At the moment, it was a foot or so too long.

Left alone, he was conscious of behaving like a houseproud young wife before her first luncheon party. He visited the kitchen, discussed with Annie the laying of the table and approved a lace-edged tablecloth. (The épergne was now filled with clove carnations.) He then turned his attention to the drawing-room, moved various vases of flowers and then moved them back again, placed a screen round the too modern radio-gramophone on which he put, in readiness, a recording of Mendelssohn’s
Songs Without Words
, bought
because Miss Whitecliff had played them in her girlhood. He would start the record, very softly, when Rosalind’s car drew up. She should enter a flower-filled, warm room (an electric fire was now augmenting the coal fire) which had become comfortable without any sacrifice of its own period charm.

He was fully ready by eleven and watching for her. She arrived at twelve-thirty.

Quickly he switched on the record-player, then turned again to the window. Rosalind was just coming through the gate, a tall girl, tall as Miss Whitecliff and of the same slim build though not, as her great-aunt was, painfully thin. Was there a facial resemblance? In the eyes, surely. And Miss Whitecliff’s faded hair must once have been the same bright brown as Rosalind’s, now stirred by the wind. A scurry of leaves blew down on her and she flicked one from the white lamb collar of her russet leather jacket. His Arden in spring changed to Arden in autumn. And he was suddenly sure he would remember this moment all his life.

The front-door bell rang. Should he go out and welcome her? Better wait here; the hall would be cluttered by Annie. He heard the door opened, a murmur of voices. Then Annie, with strict formality, announced: ‘Miss Rosalind Whitecliff’, and withdrew.

He said: ‘I’m Drew Carrington. I believe Miss Whitecliff wrote to you about me.’

She failed to return his smile. ‘Yes, indeed. What’s been going on here?’ She was now looking around the room.

He thought her tone rude but hoped she was merely astonished. Still smilingly, he said: ‘I think you’ll find things a little more comfortable.’

‘Comfortable? Those flowers must have cost a fortune. Does Mr Severn know you’re here?’

There could now be no doubt about her rudeness but he could still make excuses for her. She had surely a right
to be suspicious until she knew more about the situation. He said:

‘Oh, yes, I’ve met Mr Severn. He’s been most—’ She interrupted him. ‘Where’s my aunt?’

Before he could reply the front-door bell rang. Glancing quickly towards the window, he saw Mr Severn’s car and said, ‘This’ll be Miss Whitecliff, now.’

Rosalind was again staring around, now seeking the source of the music. Looking behind the screen she said, ‘My poor dear aunt must have gone quite out of her mind at last.’

‘She’s well and happy,’ said Drew, suddenly angry. ‘And please don’t say anything to distress her.’

Rosalind glared at him. ‘I shall say exactly what I like. It’s what I’ve come for.’

‘As you please. But I warn you, don’t upset her. If you do, I shall put you out of the house.’

The words astonished him as much as they astonished her; but he didn’t regret them. She had barely time for one scornful snort before Miss Whitecliff entered laden with carrier bags.

‘Oh, you’ve met!’ She kissed her great-niece affectionately, then disentangled the strings of the carrier bags. ‘I’ve been shopping. This is for you, dear Rosalind. And this is for you, dear Drew – Cyril thought it would be right for you. And this is for me. Cyril made me buy it, though I shan’t really need it now the house is so beautifully warm.’ She took a lacy shawl from her own bag.

Drew had taken an expensive cardigan from his. As he thanked her for it he caught sight of Rosalind’s expression and flushed deeply. She was now smiling but it wasn’t a pleasant smile; he felt assessed as a youth who cadged presents from old women. But she had, presumably, heeded his warning for she said nothing to distress Miss Whitecliff, merely thanked her for the silk scarf which was her own present and asked how she was.

At that moment Miss Whitecliff delightedly noticed the music. ‘Oh, Mendelssohn’s
Spring Songs
. You must see our marvellous machine – or does one call it an instrument? But first come upstairs and take your things off.’

Drew quickly recovered himself. It was only a question of time; Rosalind would soon see she’d made a mistake. But he blushed again, remembering her supercilious smile on seeing the cardigan – which was, incidentally, exactly what he would have chosen for himself; he gave Mr Severn full marks.

Nothing untoward appeared to have been said upstairs, judging by Miss Whitecliff’s unchanged cheerfulness when she and Rosalind came down to lunch. The meal was certainly a success as regards the food. But Rosalind never once spoke to him, nor he to her. However, he doubted if Miss Whitecliff noticed; she was too busy talking herself. Never before had he seen her so confident. She was still dominating the conversation when they returned to the drawing-room for coffee.

‘Dear Drew always pours it for me,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘And afterwards I want him to play to you, and sing some of your great-grandparents’ songs.’ She proceeded to chat proudly about Drew’s talents and his many improvements in the house, appearing not to notice that Rosalind showed no interest whatever. Embarrassed, Drew drank his coffee and tried to make plans for convincing Rosalind he wasn’t whatever she thought he was. Suddenly he was astounded to hear Miss Whitecliff say: ‘And I haven’t told you the most exciting thing of all. We’re going to have a motor car.’

He had never seriously considered getting a car, let alone mentioned it. He was about to ask if Mr Severn had, when Rosalind, ignoring the reference to a car, said: ‘Aunt Blanche, I have to leave quite early. And before that, I want to see you alone.’

He looked at Miss Whitecliff anxiously. She smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, Drew. I knew she would. Please take your time off as usual.’