The Headmistress

CHAPTER I-5

Rightly interpreting her younger son’s question as a desire to know where his bedroom was, she said on the second floor, just at the top of the stairs.

“There is a basin with hot and cold,” she said, hoping to placate him, “and a bathroom next door. Elsa’s room opens into it too.”

“Good. I’ll lock her door on the bathroom side,” said Charles. “Where’s the telephone?”

As he spoke the telephone bell sounded.

“I’ll find it,” said Charles. “I’m expecting someone to ring me up,” and shedding his béret and gloves he strode out of the room leaving the door open. His parents put up a very good show of neither seeing the mess nor feeling the draught, knowing well that any attempt to tidy the room would be taken as criticism and fuss, and resented accordingly. So they sat saying nothing, acutely conscious of the shattering noise which still burst out at intervals.

“It’s Elsa,” said Charles, reappearing. “She got a lift as far as Southbridge and can’t get on. Copper hasn’t got his bike started yet so I’ll tell him to go and fetch her.”

Before his parents could answer he had gone into the hall, flung open the front door and was shouting to the invisible Copper in a voice that dominated all other noise. The engine gave a last desperate death-rattle and the shattering noise went away towards Southbridge.

“I like this house,” said Charles, letting himself fall into a large chair. “I’ve wanted a fixed basin in my room all my life, and a bathroom next door. I wish old Mrs. E.-H. had left it to me instead of her nephew. Why haven’t I a rich aunt with fixed basins? I saw the nephew in church once—one of those black-shaving rather sad-looking naval fellows. Funny how a naval uniform shows up dirt. They need much more brushing than khaki.”

“Navy blue is the very worst colour for showing dust and fluff,” said his mother, grasping at a subject on which she could speak with authority. “When I had a maid, years ago, she used to sponge and press my blue tailor-mades every time I had worn them.”

“Well, I wish you had one now,” said Charles kindly. “I’d get her to press my trousers. But I dare say Wheeler will. Now, I think green is a jolly good colour.”

Having brought the conversation to this point he paused. His parents felt there was a clue which they ought to take up, but couldn’t quite guess what it was. His mother, looking once more at the horrid heap of clothes which she had not the courage to tell him to remove, began to talk at random, as her nervousness with her beloved child so often made her do, and said, for the second time that afternoon, that his béret was very nice colour. Instead of being offended he assumed a gratified expression, much to her relief.

“It’s all right,” he said carelessly. “Striking.”

Mr. Belton said he must have seen some like it somewhere but couldn’t exactly say where.

“You couldn’t have,” said Charles. “They’re only just out, Triple-A.”

“What is Triple-A?” said his mother, guided for once by maternal instinct to what proved to be the right remark.

“Well,” said Charles, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees thus causing both his parents to feel how very handsome his face was with the firelight on it, “all this is very secret, but everyone knows it, so I might as well tell you.”

His parents made noises expressive of readiness to die under torture before betraying a word.

“You know Tanks,” said Charles.

His mother said “Yes,” a little too eagerly and his father said “Carry on,” which was quite the wrong thing to say. But, being anxious for an audience, Charles magnanimously forgave him and continued.

“And you know anti-tanks. And of course we’ve got something that goes one better now; anti-anti-tanks they’re called. So some genius has brought out something very hush-hush that knocks out the anti-anti stuff; and that’s what I’m on now. That’s why it’s called Triple-A.”

His father nodded wisely. Charles decided to overlook this and pursued his theme.

“We are the only ones that wear the light green béret. It’s a marvellous show. I can’t tell you about it of course, but it’s going to be an absolute knock-out. Three of our fellows got themselves killed on manœuvres, which just shows.”

“Oh, Charles!” said his mother.

“Silly chumps stuck their heads out against orders,” said Charles.

“But supposing it had been you,” said Mrs. Belton.

“My dear good mother,” said her son with slight impatience, “I’m not a silly chump. At least not when it comes to looking after myself. But I can tell you one thing that isn’t generally known.”

He then, to his parents’ intense pride and interest, talked for ten minutes or so about his work, moving them deeply by his young seriousness and absorption in his deadly games and his entire unselfconsciousness. The September daylight was fading, the fire flickered on a young face full of life and vigour though more finely drawn than it used to be, and his parents wished that time would stand still. Then Wheeler came in to do the blackout, the telephone bell shrilled again, and the spell was broken.

“It’s old Freddy,” said Charles, who had rushed out to answer the telephone. “He’s got the week-end off from the Admiralty and he’s stuck at Nutfield station. He’d forgotten the bus was taken off. I told him to wait and I’ll get Copper to go over and fetch him as soon as he has brought Elsa. What time is it? Seven. He can easily get Freddy here by half-past and then we’ll all go to the Nabob.”

“Dinner’s at half-past, Mr. Charles,” said Wheeler.

“Not to-night,” said Charles. “Give Cook my love and say just to stop cooking for half an hour. Here’s Copper.”

The noise again drew up at the door. Charles went out to speak to it, there was confusion in the hall, the noise went shatteringly away again and a good-looking girl, with her father’s expression, came in and kissed her parents.

“Back in the mud hovel,” she said, and sat herself on a hassock near the fire. “Never mind, the fisherman and the fisherman’s wife look very nice. And how lovely to be home, even if it isn’t home. It’s a heavenly house, father.”

“I hope you will like it even more when you have seen it,” said Mr. Belton, very glad that his daughter approved. “Your mother and I had to decide everything so quickly we couldn’t let you all know in time to come and inspect it.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it all right,” said Elsa. “That’s why I asked you if I could have that bedroom in front with the view north.”

“When was that, darling?” said her mother. “I didn’t know you had been here before. I somehow never got to know old Mrs. Ellangowan-Hornby.”

“It wasn’t her,” said Elsa inelegantly, “it was Christopher. You know, the old lady’s nephew, the one the house belongs to now. He took me all over it.”

“You never told me,” said her mother. It was said merely as a statement, not as a reproach, and her daughter took it as such, quite in good part.

“It was when she had a stroke, mother, two years ago, and Christopher was on leave because he was at sea then and he came down to see her and I’d met him somewhere in town, so he said would I like to see the house. I simply adored it and I specially liked that bedroom in front with the bathroom next door.”

“Charles is at the back, so you’ll share the bathroom,” said Mrs. Belton.

“Then I’ll take the key out of my door or he’s sure to lock it,” said Elsa. “I’d better do it now. Oh bother, I expect he’s gone up to take it himself.”

With a scurry she jumped to her feet and fled upstairs. From the second-floor landing sounds of friendly argument conducted with stampings and shriekings drifted down. The telephone rang again several times with friendly greetings from various county neighbours and offers of home produce ranging from a young cockerel to fatten for Christmas to the offer of a mount for any young Belton who was on leave during the cubbing season. By the time all these calls had been answered Mrs. Belton was feeling that a bath before dinner was the most important thing in the world, and if dinner was to be at eight, as she supposed it now would be, she had time to go and have one. But even as she set her foot on the lowest step of the perfect staircase the shattering noise came tearing down the street and rose to a hideous climax at her front door. The door bell rang through the house, Elsa and Charles rushed downstairs like thunder, Wheeler came through the hall and opened the front door and disclosed Commander Frederick Belton, R.N., on the doorstep.

“Hullo, Freddy,” screamed his brother and sister in chorus. “Come on, we’re all going to the Nabob.”

Commander Belton, ignoring their outcries, forced his way like a strong swimmer into the hall, hugged his mother, shook hands with his father and saluted Wheeler.

“Now I’ll attend to you two,” he said to his brother and sister. “What time is dinner, mother? Eight? Very well. One quick one at the Nabob and back you both come.”

“Charles dear, what about your friend on the motor-bicycle?” said Mrs. Belton whose first instinct was to hospitality. “Won’t you bring him back to dinner?”

“Who? Oh, Copper,” said Charles. “If he stops the engine he’ll never get her going again. He’s all right, mother. Come and talk to him.”

He propelled his mother out of the door, down the front steps on to the pavement. The man on the motor-bicycle pushed back his crash helmet, revealing a pale, long-nosed face and ginger hair.

“How kind of you to go to the station for my son, and to fetch my daughter, Mr. Copper,” said Mrs. Belton. “Can’t you stop and have some dinner? It’s rather a scratch meal as we’ve only just moved in, but we would be delighted.”

Even as she spoke she became aware that the obliging Copper would not be in the least a suitable dinner guest. He grinned sheepishly, showing rather unpleasant broken teeth, and went bright red, mumbling that the officer would know.

“It’s all right, Copper,” said Charles. “It’s only my mother. I told you Copper wasn’t his real name,” he added, addressing his mother. “His name is Bobby, so he’s called Copper. He’s one of the ground staff at the aerodrome near us and he’s got leave and a motor-bike and petrol, which is more than we ever get, and he’s going home to Rickmansworth to-night, but he doesn’t want to get there till his mother-in-law has gone to bed. That’s right, isn’t it, Copper?”

The amiable Copper grinned again.

“Well, come on and we’ll see what the Nabob can do,” said Charles. “Rev. her up, Copper.”

The ginger-haired bicyclist shoved his helmet onto his forehead again, saluted and roared away up the street, followed by Elsa and Charles. Commander Belton lingered for a moment on the doorstep.

“Go and have your bath, mother,” he said. “I’ll bring the liberty men aboard at ten minutes to eight, so don’t worry. I think I like our new home very much. I’ve always wanted to go over Arcot House since I was a little boy and Mrs. Ellangowan-Hornby gave me some preserved ginger because I got her cat down out of a tree. Hornby’s a good fellow too. We must have him down here.”

He went up the street with long strides and Mr. and Mrs. Belton went back into the house. Wheeler shut the door, collected Charles’s things from the drawing-room and took them upstairs. Then she turned on Mrs. Belton’s bath.

“Oh, Wheeler,” said her mistress’s voice from her bedroom, “do you know if Mr. Charles has got the key of Miss Elsa’s door into the bathroom? They were arguing about it and I really don’t want a bear-fight over my head.”

“I’ve got the keys of both the doors, madam,” said Wheeler, “and that’s where they’ll stay. They’re just the same as they was in the nursery, always up to some mischief. There’s a bolt inside Miss Elsa’s door and that’s quite enough. Now you have your bath, madam, and I’ll get those bedrooms a bit tidy before dinner. And one of Lord Pomfret’s men came over, madam, on one of the farm horses and he brought a bottle of whisky with his lordship’s compliments and he wished it was a dozen of champagne.”

Mrs. Belton, getting with a sigh of relief into a steaming bath, felt that though she had a thousand things to be thankful for, life at this particular moment was just a little too much for her.