Authors: Juliet Armstrong
Realizing the panic which this town-bred waif, utterly unused to animals, must have endured, Catherine dropped on to her knees, and held the child close to her.
“
Well, my pet, it
’
s all over now. It was very brave of you to go climbing after Crusoe, but the best thing, another time, would be to go for a grownup person.
”
Then, taking out her handkerchief, she
wiped the tears away from Maureen
’
s white cheeks,
and kissed her.
“
Cheer up, now. Look at Crusoe there, chasing his tail. He
’
s forgotten his fright already.
”
“
Well, you
’
re a nice trio!
”
A shadow fell between them and the frolicking kitten, and looking up startled they saw Andrew standing there, very large and rather untidy in his working clothes, and with a puzzled expression on his sunburned face.
“
What are you up to? Practising to become steeple-jacks?
”
Catherine, conscious for the first time of her extremely dishevelled appearance, got up quickly, flushing. But before she could speak, Maureen, pressing close to her again, said shakily:
“
I climbed after Crusoe, and Miss Cat
climbed after me. Crusoe and I were both pretty frightened; but
she
wasn
’
t. She never is. Not of dogs that bark a lot or very tall trees or—or horrid people who hate children—or anything.
”
Andrew took a minute or two to digest this statement. Then he said, with a faint smile:
“
‘
She,
’
I presume, is
‘
Miss
Cat.’
But why on earth do you call Miss Emberley by such a peculiar name?
”
“
It
’
s my very special pet name for her,
”
Maureen explained, with an adoring glance at Catherine.
“
The worst is everyone is beginning to call her that now.
”
“
She certainly lives up to the name when it comes to climbing.
”
Andrew was still smiling, as he looked at Catherine, but there was something in his expression
w
hich she could not quite interpret. And then he observed briskly:
“
It was a smart piece of work, getting the pair of them down like that. But a more sensible proceeding would have been to come to the farm and ask someone to bring a ladder.
”
“
No doubt,
”
was Catherine
’
s cool, response. Scratched and dirty, she felt slightly irritated by his assumption that she had behaved foolishly, and without due thought.
Maureen, however, felt it necessary to make further explanations.
“
That
’
s just what she wanted to do,
”
she admitted, looking very shamefaced, but I
was frightened of being left another minute. I thought I was going to fall.
”
“
Well, you didn
’
t—and I didn
’
t—and Crusoe didn
’
t!
”
Catherine forced herself to speak lightly.
“
And now it
’
s high time we were getting home. If Matron arrives back to find three of us missing, whatever will she say?
”
“
I
’
ll walk back with you, if I may,
”
Andrew said suddenly.
“
You run on ahead with Crusoe, Maureen.
I want to talk to Miss Cat—if I
’
m allowed to call her that!
”
And he glanced from one to the other, his blue eyes twinkling.
“
Yes, you can call her that—certainly,
”
Maureen conceded graciously.
“
It
’
s the other children doing it that I
don
’
t
like.
”
And she ran happily ahead, chased by, and chasing, the irrepressible bundle of fur.
Left alone with Catherine, Andrew
’
s mood changed abruptly. He asked, with a return of his usual brusqueness:
“
What did that child mean by her reference to
‘
horrid people who don
’
t like children?
’
You ought to teach her that a good many grown-ups are at their worst with children, simply because they are shy.
”
She looked at him with a
s
tonishment, then added quietly, after a moment
’
s pause:
“
If you imagine she
’
s thinking of folk of your sort, you
’
re very wide of the mark. The children—all of them—are slightly in awe of you, it
’
s true. But they
’
re not in the least scared: they like you, as I should have thought you would have seen by now.
”
His face cleared slightly.
“
I like them, too—the ones I
’
ve talked to. But I still don
’
t quite understand
—”
“
I don
’
t suppose you do,
”
she cut in quickly.
“
I didn
’
t realize, till I came here, that a child could be hated—for the very fact of its existence. I thought that kind of thing belonged to the old-fashioned fairy tales. It
’
s not physical cruelty—it
’
s the knowledge that her stepmother hated her, that has
peopled Maureen
’
s mind with terrors.
”
And then, as he did not respond, she went on evenly:
“
People like you and me, with a reasonably happy childhood behind them, can
’
t easily comprehend
—”
“
A happy childhood!
”
His voice broke in on a rough note that startled her.
“
Speak for yourself! However,
”
and, ashamed of that bitter exclamation, it seemed, his voice took on a gentler tone:
“
You
’
re already on the way to healing Maureen
’
s bruises. There
’
s nothing like ordinary, warm-hearted affection for giving a child confidence: an ounce of that is worth any number of heavy tomes on child psychology—at least that
’
s my ignorant opinion.
”
“
One can
’
t help loving these children,
”
she said broodingly;
“
they
’
re so dependent on one
for their happiness. They look to us for so much more than the impersonal kindness they get, for instance, from their teachers: it
’
s mothering they expect from us.
”
“
They get it from you, I know.
”
He was looking at her with an expression she had never seen in his eyes before and, coloring, she exclaimed impetuously:
“
And yet, on Sunday evening, you, seemed to agree with Miss Osworth, when she inferred that Maureen was terrified of me.
”
“
You heard her remark, did you? I
’
m sorry. But, you mustn
’
t blame Beryl, or me, too badly.
Mauree
n
’s
way of—of cowering is misleading, to say the least of it.
”
And then he added persuasively
,
“
There
is
Beryl over there, with Cecily, Can you spare just a second to stop and pass the time of
day with them? Cecily was very disappointed at not seeing you on Sunday, and I know she
’
d like to tell you so herself.
”
Following his keen glance, Catherine caught sight of the two girls sauntering towards them. They were only the length of a field away, and
politeness demanded, she knew, that she should wait for a moment and speak to them.
But politeness did not, alas, win the day.
Apart from their trim appearance, so sharply in contrast with her own untidiness, it seemed to her that their coming had introduced a jarring element, just when she and Andrew were on the verge of a better understanding, and that while she herself was, secretly, most keenly disappointed by the interruption, Andrew himself almost welcomed it.
“
I
’
m extremely sorry, but I
’
m painfully late as it is,
”
she declared hastily, with a perfunctory glance at her watch.
“
Please make my apologies to your sister.
”
And giving him no chance to say another word, she hurried after Maureen and the kitten, and almost ran with them in the direction of Garsford House.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Ashamed o
f herself afterwards for having behaved with such gaucheness, Catherine hoped that she would have the good fortune to run into Cecily again before long—and not in Beryl
’
s company. She wanted to make amends for her seeming rudeness.
Still more, in her heart of hearts, did she long to encounter Andrew. There had been so many loose ends left hanging about in that curiously intimate conversation with him. She longed to know, for instance, what he meant by that surprisingly bitter reference to his own childhood. Why should he have been unhappy, brought up in a prosperous family With a little sister whom he obviously adored, and who as plainly loved him deeply in her turn?
But she saw nothing of Cecily—who, had she known it, was away on a visit to Beryl
’
s family, at their Thameside house—and though she caught a glimpse of Andrew from time to time, working ceaselessly in the fields with his men on the unrelenting business of the harvest, she was never within hailing distance of him.
The weather was glorious—day after day of unbroken sunshine, of which every farmer in the district was taking full advantage. At Garsford House the children, revelling in their summer holiday, spent every possible moment out of doors, taking all their meals, breakfast included, in the garden. Even Hilda, grown like the children, brown as a berry, caught something of the carefree spirit, and forgot to frown when the children came in late for tea, or even when Matron, launching one of her
special
“
surprises,
”
whisked, the seniors off on a bus ride and picnic at the very last minute, thereby upsetting the whole routine of the day.
Hilda was still, it was true, slightly shocked at Matron
’
s vagaries, but she was beginning to see that they sprang not from casually good-natured impulses, but from a deep understanding of
the children
’
s needs. Monotony, Matron declared, was inseparable from a large, unwieldy institution, of the old-fashioned kind: without a strict adherence to routine, chaos would result. But in a small Home like Garsford House there was no excuse for a slavish clinging to rules and regulations, in holiday time, at any rate. After all, when ordinary
‘
parents suddenly decided to
“
give the kids a bit of a spree,
”
they didn
’
t start fussing over all sorts of silly domestic trifles. They just cut a few sandwiches, banged the back door, put the key under the mat, and cleared off. And if Johnnie missed his dose of tonic, or Jill her afternoon rest, what did it matter, for goodness
’
sake? A treat, dropping from the skies, would do more good than either.
Catherine realized soon that Geoffrey Barbin, who was a constant visitor to the Home, exercised a welcome influence over Hilda in this respect. She had gradually forgotten, it seemed—or at least forgiven—
his traitorous siding against her in the matter of Andrew Playdle
’
s broken hedge; and when he teased her about her own childhood, forcing her to admit that she had not only adored
“
surprises,
”
but regarded them as her natural right, she began to reflect that there might be something
,
after all, in Matron
’
s occasional eccentricities.
Nevertheless a good many of the inmates of Garsford House breathed a sigh of relief when, towards the close of the holidays, Hilda took leave of absence for a weekend. Capable, conscientious and kindly as Hilda undoubtedly was, it was difficult to relax when she was around; indeed Catherine overheard Nicola saying confidentially to
Ruth one
afternoon:
“
When Miss Dewney
’
s away, it
’
s like getting out of your boots into your slippers.
Comfy,
if you know what I mean!
”
Rather ashamed of her secret agreement with this point of view, Catherine found herself wishing she could perform some small act of kindness for Hilda before she returned. But before she could settle on anything more original than giving her room an extra
“
do
”
and putting fresh flowers on her chimney-piece, a more pressing claim was made, on her philanthropy.
Geoffrey, deliv
er
ing a large sack of carrots for winter storage on the
F
riday evening of Hilda
’
s absence, happened to comment on the long hours he was being forced to work, through the illness of one of his most useful men.
“
I get through the ordinary jobs all right,
”
he observed philosophically, as he folded up his empty sack.
“
It
’
s the extra ones that I can
’
t seem to cope with. And somehow whenever one wants a chap for a bit of casual work—
”
“
Can
’
t we help you?
”
Winnie, who was putting away the supper things, looked across at him eagerly.
“
I
’
ve only two or three days left—I start work at Askworth
’
s shop, in Great Garsford next week, learning dressmaking—but if you want some potatoes
lifted
—”
“
Potato lifting! Not on your life, Winnie! You
’
ve got to keep those hands of yours as soft as silk now.
”
He was smiling at her in that friendly, boyish way of his.
“
In any case, the job that
’
s haunting my dreams is one for a man—and a pretty tall one at that. It
’
s the painting of that greenhouse of mine in the lower field; the woodwork will be rotting away if I don
’
t do something about it before the winter. However, I don
’
t
doubt I
’
ll get down to it one of these evenings. Needs must.
”
And with his cheerfulness unimpaired, and with a promise to Winnie to bring her a
n
bag of apples occasionally,
“
If
they
’
ll let anyone like me into that grand place!
”
he went off, humming the latest dance-hit.
When he had gone, Winnie turned to Catherine, her face very thoughtful.
“
That particular greenhouse isn
’
t very big,
”
she said.
“
I know it quite well. Don
’
t you think if several of us went down, with some paint and brushes, we could make a job of it? As a surprise, you know.
”
“
Paint
’
s pretty expensive,
”
Catherine began dubiously.
“
I know. But most of us have quite a bit of pocket-money saved up. Look at all the things Mr. Barbin gives us. We ought to do something for him in return, if we get the chance.
”
Matron came bustling along just then, fresh from saying goodnight to the ten-year-olds, and had, of course, to hear all about Winnie
’
s great idea. And, characteristically, she was able to produce a solution to the main difficulty.
“
We
’
ve quite enough paint stuffed away in the tool shed to give the outside woodwork of Mr. Barbin
’
s greenhouse one decent coat,
”
she declared.
“
The builders left it behind when they decorated the house, just before we moved in. It
’
s all odd scraps, cream and white and green, mostly—but if it
’
s mixed together with some turpentine, it will be quite good enough for a job of this sort. There are some old paint brushes in there, too, which will be quite serviceable if they
’
re cleaned up.
”
Winnie, her eyes shining, looked appealingly at Catherine.
“
Do you think we could possibly go and have a hunt round now? I
’
m allowed to stay up longer now I
’
ve left school, and I
’
ve a good twenty minutes still.
”
“
Can we, Matron? I
’
ve finished all my jobs for the night.
”
Catherine, in her turn, looked at Matron.
Matron smiled
.
“
So long as you don
’
t ask me to help you. Rooting about in a dusty tool shed by the light of a torch isn
’
t at all my idea of a comfortable evening.
”
Winnie flew to the dresser and seized the torch that was always kept there for emergencies.
“
Come on, Miss Cat,
”
she exclaimed, grabbing Catherine by the hand.
“
We must get as much ready as possible tonight. It won
’
t be fair, perhaps, to actually
mix
the paint: the others will want to help with that. But if we fix on
w
hat we can use, and give the brushes a good
cl
ean, it will be something.
”
And then she added childishly:
“
I
do
love messing about with paint, don
’
t you!
”
Catherine was able, fortunately, to admit to sharing this very common predilection. But next morning it transpired—not quite so fortunately, perhaps—that the whole household, right down to the tinies, were of like mind. Each and every one was clamoring for a pot of paint and a brush, and the right to steal over to Mr. Barbin
’
s lower field and commence operations on his greenhouse.
Matron
’
s resource and buoyant good spirits, however, saved the situation. Only the four eldest girls were allowed to join Catherine in the painting sortie; but coloring jobs of sorts were found for all the stay-at-homes. Tins and boxes were produced, to be enamelled for Christmas presents, cards and crayons were
h
unted up for the smaller children, and the toddlers were given some sets of new bright bricks to play with, kept hitherto for Sundays and birthdays.
The first problem for Catherine
’
s little party was, of course, to slip across to Geoffrey
’
s lower field without attracting undue attention, and this was achieved on Catherine
’
s suggestion, by disguising themselves as a picnic party, concealing their tins of paint and their brushes in brown paper bags. Fortunately they ran into no one who mattered—had they met Geoffrey, all but Catherine and the sedate Winnie would certainly have collapsed in fits of giggles—and having reached their objective they set to work, so far as they knew, unobserved, the greenhouse being situated at some distance from the part of the holding in which Geoffrey was at present working, and being screened from two directions by a fairly high fence.
Once at work all tendency to giggles disappeared. To scrape off the pe
e
ling paint neatly was not so easy as it looked; and painting, they found, under Catherine
’
s fairly expert direction, was by no means a matter of slapping about joyously with a large brush. But they thoroughly enjoyed the self-imposed task, all the more because of Catherine
’
s insistence that they should do it well.
It seemed to some of them, towards the end, as though the job would never be finished, ju
s
t at last it was done—even the door which, luckily, they had found standing open
.
“
I really don
’
t think it
’
s bad,
”
was Winnie
’
s quiet comment, as she surveyed their handiwork with satisfaction.
“
It was a very good thing we kept some of the white paint separate for the window
frames.”
“
But it
’
s wonderful!
”
Ruth protested.
“
None of Mr. Barbin
’
s other greenhouses look half so nice. He
’
ll want all of them painted that lovely pale green color now.
”
“
M
’
m. I
’
m feeling that I
’
d like some tea, to take away the taste of paint,
”
another child put in.
“
In fact, I—I think I shall be sick if I stay here much longer.
”
Faced with this grim warning, Catherine delayed no longer, but collected her troop together and started back for Garsford House.
Once again they were lucky, and met no one who showed any particular interest in them or their activities. But when they reached the dusty high road, paint-stained and bedraggled, who should they run into but Andrew Playdle, accompanied this time, not by the ubiquitous Beryl, but by his sister.
There was no question of giving a brief greeting and passing on. Good manner dictated that Catherine should say something courteous to Cecily about the visit she had paid with Ruth and Maureen to the Manor that Sunday
’
afternoon—that she should refer with polite regret, to the other girl
’
s unfortunate headache. And, having made the effort she was exceedingly glad she had done so.