The Fortunes of Springfield (4 page)

That they were well on the way to becoming problem children was obvious—with the possible exception of Wendy, who was so malleable that it should not be difficult to guide her in the way she should go. It was hardly surprising that they should be difficult, left, as they had been, to the care of housekeepers who came and went, and especially to the care of Miss Church. There
w
as no stability in their life; no secure background. They felt they could trust nobody. Babs was so young that Caroline hoped soon to eradicate the bad traits that were appearing: she would soon forget old ways and learn new ones. She was a problem because she never learned to play alone, and followed Caroline around saying: “I don’t know what to
d
o
.”
She cried on the sligh
t
est provocation, and kept it up much longer than could possibly be justified: but Caroline had high hopes of her. It was Terence who appeared most formidable, and Terence whose memory was longest. He seemed to have made up his mind that Caroline was his enemy, one more on his list of enemies. He did not trust anybody and he would not trust her. He gave her dark looks, which plainly said: What is
she
up to? He swore deliberately, provocatively, and the little girls looked so apprehensive that Caroline knew he must have been previously punished for swearing. She suspected that he had often been punished, and probably hard; and it made him obstinate and truculent. She hardly knew what to do about him.

The first thing, she decided, was to begin to give them a feeling of security: to establish a routine, so
that
the
same
things happened over and over again; so that they could
expect
them to happen. She wanted to become a background for them, so that they would know she was there to turn to. She wanted to treat them with justice and common sense always, but to throw in the love that could transform these admirable but cold virtues. And she could only make a beginning. Why should they trust her right away? She might disappear as others had disappeared, without their knowing how or why. She gave a passing thought to her desire to work abroad: “But this is important,” she thought, “and the other thing will have to be postponed for a while.”

One afternoon, Terence and Wendy returned from school to find that Babs had built a tall and complicated castle of bri
c
ks in front of the kitchen fire. It was quite a step forward for Babs to have stayed so long at one thing, and Caroline had admired the castle extravagantly. Terence, cold and wanting to come to the fire, kicked it down. Babs immediately wailed and showed no sign of stopping. Wendy said:

“Never mind, Babs, we’ll build it again.”

“I shall kick it down again,” said Terence.

“You will do no such thing,” said Caroline. “You will apologize at once.”

“What?” he asked.

“Tell Babs you are sorry.”

“I’m not so
rr
y. I shall kick it down again.” He kicked the loose bricks about the kitchen floor.

“Come and have tea, Wendy and Babs,” said Caroline, “and build your lovely castle again afterwards. We cannot have such a bad-mannered boy as Terence at the table. If you want some tea, Terence, you had better say you are sorry.”

“
I’
m not sorry and I don’t want any tea.”

“Very well,” said Caroline calmly, and sat down to tea with Babs and Wendy. Terence glowered at them and wait
ed
out into the garden.

When they had finished their tea, the little girls ran out to join him. Caroline, washing the dishes, thought he must be hungry but decided he could wait
until
supper-time. But when Terence was hungry, he was also bad-tempered. He had cut a long thin stick from the bamboos growing at the bottom of the garden and was swishing it round and round, so that it hummed alarmingly. With this, he chased the two girls. At first, they took it as a game. Thai they began to be frightened, and to scream a little; and as their self-induced panic mounted, they screamed more.

“Whatever can they be up to?” wondered Caroline, putting dishes away. She went to the window and looked out. Terence was after Wendy, brandishing his cane. Babs had fallen over and was crying again. Even Wendy was really frightened. Caroline went out into the garden.

“Terence,” she called, coming behind him, “give me that stick at once.”

Elated
and
gleeful at the consternation he had caused to his sisters, he swung round, still waving the cane wildly, and caught Caroline a stinging blow on the side of the face. She recoiled, exclaiming in pain, and put her hand up to her cheek. For a moment, she was incapable of action; and in that moment a strange quiet fell on the children. Babs stopped crying. Wendy looked frightened. Even Terence was shocked into absolute stillness. There was a cringing look about the two older children,
and Caroline knew that, they expected an outburst, shrill scolding and punishment
.
She tried to pull herself together, took the stick from Terence and ordered the children into the house. They went, but already the frightened look on Terence’s face was giving way to his usual sullen one. In the kitchen, Caroline stood the stick in a
corner
.

“Don’t you know,” she said to Terence, “that such a stick is very dangerous, and that your sisters were frightened, and that, even if you meant it as a game, you should not frighten them like that? You had better have your supper and go to bed.”

He looked astounded but would not speak. She gave
him
supper and packed him off to his room. Wendy said:

“You have an awful mark on your face, Miss Hearst.”

“Have I, Wendy?”

“Does it hurt yon very much?”

“It stings a bit,” said Caroline with a painful smile.

“Will you cane him?” asked Wendy.

“Cane him? No. He didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. You don’t punish people for accidents.”

“He meant to hit us,” Wendy pointed out.

“But he didn’t hit you,” said Caroline cheerfully. “Now look at your picture books until it is time for bed.”

When they were at last in bed, Caroline looked in the mirror for
the
first time, and wondered how she could conceal the angry weal on her cheek from David Springfield. She might have known it was impossible to conceal it from him. As she carried the supper tray into the
morning
room where she always set this meal, he said:

“What have you done to your cheek?”

“Oh, that,” said Caroline lightly. “It’s nothing.”

She had tried to hide.it with cream and powder, but had merely given a mauvish look to the angry red. He said:

“It’s certainly not nothing. It looks nasty. Let me see it.”

“No,” said Caroline. “It’s nothing to make a fuss about. Shall I serve your soup?”

David got up from his seat, walked round the table, and studied the mark on her cheek.

“That must be painful,” he said. “You’ve had a nasty blow. How did you do it?”

“I walked into something,” she said, beginning to ladle his soup. He put his hand on hers and took away the ladle.

“Miss Hearst, I shall
think
you are hiding something,” he said grimly. “What did you walk into?”

“A stick that Terence was waving about. He didn’t know I was there—it was sheer accident
.
”

He returned to his chair. Caroline served the soup and passed him his plate.

“In other words,” said David, ‘Terence went for you with a stick. You can’t shield him.”

“I am not in the habit of telling lies,” she said.

“You might, to shelter a child, but it would be a mistake.”

“I told you the truth. He was brandishing a long cane from the bamboos in the garden; and I thought it might be dangerous for the other children, so I went to take it away. He did not know I was there, and I got in the way of it.”

“You are sheltering him,” said David, “but this is too much. He is becoming a complete little gangster, and needs a good thrashing.”

“What nonsense,” said Caroline sharply. “It would be the very worst way of dealing with it.”

“You must let me be the judge of that. I am their guardian.”

“And you asked
me
to come and look after them.”

They looked at each other
angrily
across the table. “That doesn’t give you the right to form policy,” he said. “That is my province.”

“You can’t expect me to stay here and condone actions that are against my principles,” retorted Caroline.

“Is that a threat?” he asked her.

“You may take it as such if you wish. If you want me to care for the children, you must let me do it in my own way.”

“You said yourself you had no experience.”

“Have you any more?” she demanded.

“No,” he admitted. “But I can see that you are going to spoil him, to make him even worse, if all you can do is to shield and pamper him.”

“I am
not
shielding him,” cried Caroline. “I told you the truth. He hadn’t the slightest intention of hitting me. Do you believe that?”

He looked at her levelly for a few seconds.

“Very well,” he said. “I believe that.”

“And I don’t intend to spoil him and pamper him. But what would be the good of thrashing him for something that was an accident? What is the good of thrashing him at all? I believe he has had too many indiscriminate punishings. He looks on everybody as his enemy. It isn’t his fault; it’s the fault of the people who have mismanaged him. And I have to sort out the muddle that other people have made. I’ve got to straighten out the kinks, and I won’t have you making it harder than it is already.”

“You are very dictatorial,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak to you like this. You are my employer. But it’s very important. Goodness knows I wish I had more experience with children—
i
t would make it easier now; but I do feel that the way with Terence is not the way of thrashings. Look, Mr. Springfield, the one thing these children haven’t had is love. They don’t speak of their father. Wendy chatters to me quite a lot. She has accepted me. She never talks of her Daddy, but only of Miss Church and things at school and things out of her imagination. Now I want to try the way of affection, and I believe it is the right way, and I do ask you, most earnestly, to let me have my way with the children.”

“All right,” he said, “you can try your way.”

He had succumbed so suddenly that it took the wind from her sails. She said rather stiffly:

“Thank you.”

In an atmosphere of anti-climax, she went back into the kitchen, and David began to eat his soup.

CHAPTER THREE

PATRICIA CLOSE came into the drawing-room at her home dressed to go out. Her dress was of emerald green wool, and her short coat of beaver was matched by the diminutive hat which showed most of her hair. She was looking ve
r
y pretty and very well groomed, and her mother, thinking that she had taken great pains to look nice for her visit to Springfield, wandered if David were the attraction.

“Ready, Mother? I’ve brought the car round.”

“Quite ready, my dear. Did you remember the sweets for the children?”

“Yes, they’re already in the car. I put in some flowers, too, for Caroline. Ours are so early, and I expect the garden there is too neglected for flowers.”

Patricia settled her mother in the car, and drove off towards Springfield.

“I do feel a little responsible,” Mrs. Close said, “for Caroline being in this job: and I would like to assure myself that it wasn’t too much for her. I was saying to Duncan only a few days ago that we ought all to look her up. She’s such a nice girl.”

“She was probably glad to get a job so soon,” said Patricia.

“I daresay she could have found easier ones than this.”

They turned in at the Springfield drive. As there had not yet been time to tackle its weeds and potholes, it was as derelict as ever. Even to the exterior of the house, there was little alteration. Patricia rang the front-door bell and they waited on the doorstep.

The door was opened by Caroline, who had whisked off her little flowered apron coming through the hall, and now appeared in a neat grey dress. She made a great point of changing her dress before the children came home from school, and would not be found by them in working dress or overall. She smiled with pleasure to see Mrs. Close and Patricia.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “Please come in.”

They came into the hall, and Caroline looked at them enquiringly.

“Did you want to see Mr. Springfield?” she asked.

“If he isn’t in, it doesn’t matter,” said Patricia.

“I can get
him
for you, but he is always busy out on the farm.”

“We didn’t come to see David,” said Mrs. Close,
smiling
at Caroline. “We really came to see how you were getting on.”

“Oh. That was nice of you.” Caroline hesitated. “I’m afraid there is only a fire in the kitchen. I light one in the mo
rn
ing-room for Mr. Springfield later, but at the moment it is cold in there.”

“The kitchen will do quite well,” said Mrs. Close, and the three of them made their way there. Mrs.
Close had already observed that the hall was clean and polished, but when she came into the kitchen, she was delighted. The shining range with its glowing fire, the light reflected in the copper jugs, gleamed a welcome. Everything was brighter, cosier, and certainly cleaner than she had ever seen it.

“My dear Caroline, what wonders you have worked here.”

“Thank you,” said Caroline.

Mrs. Close turned to her impulsively, with a warmth in her manner that found an answering warmth in Caroline.

“I’ve been quite worried about you, Caroline, because it was I who thought of you for this job, and it seemed that it might be such a thankless task and such hard work. Now tell me, do you find it too hard for you?”

“Well, it’s hard at the moment, because there is such a lot of catching up to do. It will be easier later, and Mrs. Davis is a great help to me. Let me make you a cup of tea.
”

T
hey protested, but Caroline moved the
sing
in
g
kettle on to the top of the fire and began to arrange a tea tray. Babs came in from the garden, but chose to be shy so that not a word could be extorted from her.

“Does Mr. Springfield come in for tea?” asked Patricia.

“No. He says it cuts up his afternoon. He has a lot to do, you know.”

“I know. Reports reach us that he is working like a slave. He shouldn’t overdo it.”

“We must ask him to dinner, Patricia: it is high time he met his old acquaintances again, and some of the new arrivals in the district.”

“Yes, we’ll do that. If Caroline knows where he is,
I will go and find him before we leave, and ask
him
.
Caroline, I came here once or twice when Miss Church was here, just to see how the children were faring, and it always seemed such an intensely miserable kitchen, almost a prison for them. You’ve made it so attractive: what have you done?”

“Well, it’s cleaned and polished—that alone makes a lot of difference. But I painted all the cupboards that daffodil yellow to make the room lighter, and brought in rugs and curtains from rooms that were not being used. And Mrs. Davis and I polished the copper—quite collectors’
pieces, I think.”

“No wonder it’s hard going.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Close, “that Caroline is the right person here. She loves beautiful things: and this is a beautiful house when it is properly looked after, and filled with beautiful things.”

“It certainly is,” said Caroline. “I found a cupboard in what is called Grandma Springfield’s room, almost full of Wedgwo
o
d. Several pieces too of the lovely green Wedgwood
.
Mr. Springfield said his mother used to have it in the alcoves on each side of the dining
room fireplace, so I have put it back there. It looks so lovely. Would you like to see it?”

Filled with curiosity, the two women followed Caroline to the dining-room.

“I painted the alcoves first,” said Caroline. “I hope to do the whole room when I get time.”

“My dear, what beautiful Wedgwood. How elegant it looks. Really, this is a gem of a house, Patricia. Look at those lovely mouldings, and the graceful decoration on the fireplace. They knew how to build, the Georgians.”

Patricia did not answer. She was thinking: I suppose it belongs to Gerald’s children; but David is their guardian. I wonder if David intends to stay in this country, to live here permanently? What a wonderful place this could be made into; what a beautiful room this for entertaining. True, the dining-table—Hepplewhite, she thought—was badly scratched, but it could be repolished; and was long and elegant Patricia, in her mind’s eyes, saw dinner-parties, with David at the head of the table and herself at the foot, and satisfied guests sitting beneath the crystal chandelier, which was now filthy and needed cleaning.

Patricia,” said her mother, “we were talking to you. What were you thinking of?”

“I was admiring the table, and
t
hinkin
g
what a pity it was so scratched. Hepplewhite, I should
think,
wouldn’t you?”

“Almost certainly,” said Caroline. “The chairs too.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Close, “you are something of an expert, I daresay. Mrs. Webster was so keen about old furniture.”

“
Yes,” smiled Caroline. “We were so often at country sales and antique galleries that I learned a lot about it. Shall we come back to our tea before it is spoiled?”