The Fortunes of Springfield (12 page)

In the afternoon of that day, the whole party was assembled on the beach. It was the warmest day yet, and all the children were in swimming trunks or sundresses. James Everton was stretched out on the sand reading a detective novel, while Caroline and Janice knitted cardigans for the little girls. All the children were interested in pursuits of their own. A lazy air of well-being surrounded them all. Later, Emily would bring out the big jugs of tea, and stay to have tea with them.

“We were so lucky to come back to this lovely spring,” said Janice, breaking a long silence. “It’s the sort of English weather you dream about when you are away, but I know from experience that one doesn’t often get it.”

“It’s been ideal from the point of view of convalescence,” said Caroline. “It’s a long time since
I
have enjoyed myself so much.” She paused for a moment, then went on: “And that, of course, is entirely due to you and your family. You’ve been so kind.”

“No kinder than you, my dear Caroline. It’s been just as much of a pleasure for me, and when we get our own house you must come to see us there. I shall look forward to it.”

“So shall I,” said Caroline. Then, looking out at the sparkling sea, she added:

“I think I shall have a quick swim before tea. Coming?”

“No,” said Janice. “The water looks enticing, but is still too cold. I’ll wait until it is warmer.”

“Well, I may have to go home soon, so I shall make the most of the sea while I am here.” And Caroline, her dress whipped off and her sandals left with it on the sand, was off towards the sun-glinting water, tucking her hair into her sw
imming
cap.

A few minutes later, Emily came out of her cottage and began to cross the strip of turf towards the beach and the party gathered on it. She was not carrying the jugs of tea. A tall, dark man walking beside her carried them; and as they came, his eyes picked out the people of the group. Wendy and Babs he saw at once, busy on their sand-castle. He guessed that Terence was the
lonely figure farther along the beach, absorbed in his own affairs. The others must be the Evertons, for he did not see Caroline Hearst there.

But as he approached the group on the sands, he became aware of another person, a slender girl coming out of the sea in a brief swimsuit, and running across the sands as she pulled the cap off her head and shook her hair loose.

James said:

“I’ll take her her towel,” and rose lazily and went to meet Caroline with it. David’s eyes narrowed as he watched. Caroline took the towel, laughing, and began to dry her face as she walked along. She had not seen him, and he had time to marvel at her lovely, rounded slenderness, her air of youthfulness, the blitheness that sat so unexpectedly upon her.

“Oh,” she gasped, picking up her coat of blue towelling from the sand, “it
was
cold, Janice. Brr.” She wrapped the coat round her, thrust her feet into the sandals. “I can do with a nice hot cup of tea. Oh good, there is Emily...” Then she broke off suddenly, for as well as Emily, she had seen David. “Oh,” she said, and her
heart gave such a leap that it felt as if it had turned right over.

He had put the tea jugs down beside Janice. Now he smiled across the group at Caroline.

“I surprised you,” he said.

“You certainly did,” said Caroline unsteadily. Her eyes were still looking into his. His unexpected arrival had shaken her, and she felt that he would be able to see her trembling. She sought for distraction. She said, in some confusion: “Y
o
u haven’t met Mrs. Everton? And Mr. Everton?” and went on making introductions. Wendy and Babs caused a diversion when they looked up and saw Uncle David and rushed at him from their sandcastle.

“Well, they look better for their holiday,” David said, while Janice began to pour out tea, and Emily to arrange eatables on a big cloth.

“They
are
better,” said Caroline. “This place has suited them very well.”

“It seems to suit you very well, too,” he said, his dark eyes still on her glowing face, her windblown hair, her lips curving in a happy smile. He thought she looked about eighteen at that moment. He wondered that he had ever thought her sufficiently responsible to take over all the work of his household: yet she had proved herself that.

Janice was offering her a cup of tea.

“I’ll drink this, and then go and dress,” said Caroline, and sat down on the sand near Emily. Babs came up behind her, straightening the wisps of hair that the wind at once blew out of order again. Caroline put an arm round her, and the child gave her a warm kiss on the cheek. Terence, called for tea and now coming near, scowled as he saw it. Caroline wondered if he still considered his sisters traitors for going over to the enemy.

David and James Everton were soon deep in talk: David from New Zealand, James from Singapore— they had plenty of experiences in co
mm
on to discuss. When Caroline went to the cottage to dress, she thought them absorbed in themselves, but David’s eyes followed her all the way.

It was not until evening that they were able to talk privately, when the children were in bed and Emily served them with an appetizing supper on the enclosed sun-porch of her cottage. David intended to drive back the same night, but he was in no hurry. He liked night driving, when the roads were empty, and did not mind if he drove through the early hours. So, after supper, they walked together on the dark and sandy beach.

“I came to see how the children were really getting o
n
,” he
s
aid, “and I can see for myself how much good this holiday has done them.”

“I was going to ring you up this evening,” said Caroline. “I wondered when you wanted us to come home.”

“There’s no hurry,” said David. “We’re getting along all right at Springfield.”

“Mrs. Davis looks after you properly?”

“Excellently, thank you. And I dine out quite a lot
.”
Patricia, thought Caroline at once.

“If you could do without us a little longer, I think it would be good for the children to stay. Emily seems to like to have us.”

“Then do stay. Stay another fortnight. These Evertons seem nice people, and it must be a welcome change for you. You seem years younger here. I feel that I put too much responsibility on to your shoulders.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” said Caroline.

“And I shut you up too much at Springfield, too.”

“No, you don’t. I have quite a feeling of freedom there. You see, I’ve always been shut up, Mr. Springfield. Shut up in the children’s home, at first; and I went from there straight to Mrs. Webster, who was kind but old-fashioned and had definite ideas about how I should be treated. She did not allow me to be out alone very much. So you see at Springfield, where I am almost my own mistress, I feel very free and unconfined. That is one of the things that attracts me so much to the Evertons: they are so gay and unconfined, and so interesting too. I can listen for hours to all their stories of Singapore and Burma and India and Hong Kong. It’s a new world to me. All most fascinating
...
I like them very much and I shouldn’t have met them if I hadn’t come to you at Springfield.”

“I don’t wonder,” said David, “that other parts of the world have such glamour for you, when I think of
the life you have had so far. But although I can understand it, I hope you won’t go away from Springfield.” His voice had a deep sincerity which touched her.

“But we have a pact,” she said at once. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“That was when the children were ill and needed you.”

“
And now they are well, but still need me. I don’t feel that my job with them is finished yet.”

“That is good hearing. There was another thing, Miss Hearst, that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Davis tells me—and I quite agree with her—that your room at home needs redecorating; and I thought it would be a good idea to have it done while you are away. I want you to tell me what colour scheme you would like; and what kind of curtains and so on, so that the builder can get on with it.”

“My room doesn’t need doing. Now if you wanted to have the children’s rooms done, that would be really nice.”

“What I am interested in just now is in doing yours. Tell me what colour scheme it shall be.”

“It’s so nice of you, Mr. Springfield, really I do appreciate it, but it isn’t at all necessary. There is so much of the rest of the house that needs it more.”

“You must let me be the judge of that. Now, are you going to tell me, or shall I do it without your help?”

“Why
should
you bother about mine, if I don’t?”

“Because I want to keep you with us, perhaps.”

“But I don’t need a bribe for that.”

“It isn’t a bribe, Miss Hearst. I want to do it. Can’t you leave it at that?”

She was silent. After a little struggle with herself, she said:

“All right. I give in. What I should like best of all is a soft sea-green, and all the woodwork white.”

“A soft sea-green and white woodwork. It shall be done. It will be ready for you when you come home.”

“But it makes me feel guilty that you should bother.” He did not reply to that. They walked on until they came to the sand-dunes, low hills of sand growing a thick coarse grass.

“We can go up this way,” said Caroline, “but the night is so dark that perhaps it would be better to go back the way we came.”

“Let us go up here,” said David. “I can see the path glimmering. Can’t you?”

“No,” admitted Caroline, “I feel quite helpless.”

“Give me your hand,” he said. “I will guide you.” He took her hand. His was warm, hers cold.

“Why, you are cold,” he said and curled her fingers, and engulfed her hand in his to warm it. Caroline followed
him
, unthinking; feeling only the warm clasp that sent a current of longing all through her. Because she was not bothering about the path, she stumbled once or twice. He laughed.

“You
are
helpless,” he said. “Come here.”

He put his arm about her shoulders, and guided her to the top. It seemed a little lighter there.

“All right now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, almost inaudibly.

His arm tightened about her for a moment fiercely. Then, as she wanted nothing so much in the world as to turn into the circle of his arms, he let her go. Disappointment in her was intense. She could hear his hard breathing, and wondered that such a short climb made
him
so breathless. For herself, it was a struggle to repress tears; and they stood in silence for long seconds.

“Well,” he said a
t
last, “I must get going, if I am to get to Springfield tonight.”

“It will be tomorrow morning,” she said, as she turned to walk beside him.

At Emily’s cottage they said good-bye. Emily wanted him to have a last hot drink, but he would not stay. He would come himself to bring them home, he told Caroline, and then was off into the darkness, while Caroline took herself up to her little room to dream about him. No good any longer to persuade herself that what she felt for David was only an infatuation. She felt a hopeless, despairing love that amazed her by its intensity and its deep melancholy.

The
Evertons said they had liked Mr. Springfield immensely. They were obviously curious about him, and his relationship with Caroline, but Caroline was so correct, speaking of him invariably as her employer only, that they tried to hide their curiosity. So that when Duncan came to see the cottage party, and they were introduced to him and found
him
too very likeable, they were even more interested in their new friend.

Duncan made no attempt to hide his devotion.

“It has been a long fortnight without a glimpse of you,” he told Caroline. “How much longer are you staying?”

“Another fortnight. It is doing the children so much good.”

“I find time long without you, Caroline, my dear. How is it that I found myself self-sufficient for so long, and now not a day goes by without my wanting to rush off to Springfield to see you—and then have to stop myself when I remember that you’re not there? Caroline, couldn’t you give me a little hope? Couldn’t you find it in your heart to marry me?”

“No, Duncan, I don’t
think
I could. I’m so sorry, but I don’t love you in the way you want; and it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“If you were fond of me, that would be enough.”

“It wouldn’t, you know; not for you, nor for me. You would always know you were missing something, and perhaps the fact that you have waited a long time for it would make you more anxious to have it quickly.”

“Then let us wait a little longer. Don’t say no.”

“I ought to say no,” said Caroline rather wistfully.

“No. Don’t say that. Let us wait
.
”

“I couldn’t, anyway, Duncan, leave the children. They really do need me.”

“I need you too.”

“But not as they do.”

“Somebody else could be found to look after the children, but nobody but you would do for me.”

“It wouldn’t be easy to find somebody for the children; not that I could trust to love them and car
e
for them as I do.”

“What if David marries, Caroline? Would you still feel yourself indispensable to them?”

She tried to hide the pang his words had given her. “That would depend on whom he married,” she said.

“Nearly all their friends think it would be Patricia Close,” he said. “Would you trust her to look after your beloved children?”

“Oh,” she said, and when he looked at her quickly, she went on, with a brave effort at a gay smile:

“Oh, I suppose I
think
nobody but myself could do it properly. Sheer conceit, Duncan, puffed up with a sense of my own importance. But I really do
yearn
over those children. They were so suspicious when I came, so quick to draw back, so expecting punishment; and though Wendy and Babs are improving tremendously, I still haven’t got to grips with Terry. I want to
finis
h the job. I suppose I’m an egoist
...
But, to tell the truth, I expect Patricia Close would do her best for them.”

“You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she cried; but not for the reason that he chose.

“But, Caroline dear, if it happened; well, would you feel more like accepting my offer then?”

She was silent, and the doleful quality of the silence made itself felt to him. He put a hand over hers, gently, tenderly.

“Caroline, you could have children of your own. These aren’t the only children in the world.”

“I know,” she said, and smiled suddenly at him. “You are far too good to me, Duncan.”

“But you haven’t answered my question. If David married somebody who would look after his brother’s children, would you marry me then?”

“I might,” she said. “But don’t take it as yes, Duncan, please.”

“I take it more as yes than no,” he smiled, looking suddenly years younger. He put out an arm and pulled her towards him, and kissed her soundly on her unexpectant lips. “There’s only one t
h
ing for me to do,” he said. “I can see that. I must get David married off as soon as possible to somebody who will set you free; and seeing that everybody thinks he will marry Patricia anyway, Patricia it had better be.” He held her securely, comfortingly, in the circle of his arm, and went on more seriously: “Caroline, if only I could get you to marry me; if only I could get you into my house, I’d be the happiest man alive.”

Caroline did not answer. She stayed where she was, held comfortingly against the warm roughness of the tweed that covered his shoulder, because thus he could not see her face; but her heart was filled with anguish for herself and with deep regret for Duncan.