The Caxley Chronicles (8 page)

The boys and girls of the two families thoroughly enjoyed the excitement. They cycled up and down the Caxley streets, stuffing pamphlets through letter-boxes and nailing up election posters on doors and railings. There was no hostility between the two parties, as far as the younger generation was concerned. Winifred North and Kathy Howard accompanied each other on these expeditions, and were not above taking one side of
each road and posting both notices through the boxes, with superb magnanimity.

Sep and Bender approached their electioneering in typical fashion. It was the custom to take turns in having the market place for an open-air meeting. Bender addressed the crowd in a hearty voice which could be heard clearly. His eyes sparkled, his arms waved in generous and compelling movements. Here was a man who enjoyed the publicity, the excitement and the fight. His hearers warmed to him.

The evenings when Sep took the little platform, close by Queen Victoria, were much more sedate. Small, pale, his gentle voice scarcely audible, Sep nevertheless managed to command attention. There was a sincerity about him which appealed to his listeners, and moreover his past work was generally appreciated. It was hard to forecast which of the two men would win the election. Caxley seemed fairly equally divided in its loyalties.

On the great day, the schools were used as polling stations, much to the gratification of the local children. Bender and Sep, taking brief spells off from their businesses, ranged the town in their traps to take the infirm to register their votes. It happened to be market day in Caxley, and so the bustle was greater than ever.

By the time polling ended both men were tense and tired. Counting went on at the Town Hall next door to St Peter's. This edifice, built in the middle years of the old Queen's reign, was of a repellent fish-paste red, picked out, here and there, with a zig-zag motive in yellow tiles. It contrasted sadly with the mellow honey-coloured stone of the noble church beside it, but on this day its architectural shortcomings were
ignored, for here, on the red brick balcony would be announced the name of the victorious candidate.

It was almost eleven o'clock when at last the Mayor and other officials made their entrance high above the square. The upturned faces grew suddenly still, and the noise of a distant train could be clearly heard chuffing its way rhythmically out of Caxley Station a mile away.

The three candidates stood selfconsciously beside the scarlet-clad Mayor.

'John Emmanuel Abbott, two hundred and thirty-four,' read the Mayor sonorously. There was a mingled sound of cheering and booing. The little schoolteacher preserved a dignified and tight-lipped silence and bowed slightly.

'Septimus Howard, six thousand, nine hundred and two.' More cheers arose, hastily checked as the Mayor lifted his paper again.

'Bertram Lewis North, four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two,' intoned the Mayor.

Now the cheering broke out anew, and when Septimus Howard, elected once more, stepped forward shyly, someone began to clap and shout: 'Good old Sep!' It was taken up by almost all the crowd, a spontaneous gesture of affection which was as touching as it was unexpected.

Sep bowed his thanks, spoke briefly of the honour done him, and promised to do his best to be worthy of the confidence shown in him. He turned to shake the hands of his opponents, first that of John Abbott, and then Bender's.

At that moment, their hands tightly clasped, Sep experienced a shock. Bender's smile was as broad as ever, his complexion as ruddy, but it was the expression in his eyes, the look of hurt
wonderment, which shook Sep so profoundly. For the first time in his life, Sep felt pity for the great giant of a man before him, and, as well as pity, a new deep and abiding peace.

Amidst the tumult of the crowd and the dazzle of the lights, Sep became conscious of one outstanding truth. Within him, born suddenly of this strange new feeling, was an inner calm and strength. Somehow, Sep knew, it would remain there, and would colour his relationship towards Bender in the years ahead.

L
IKE MANY
other bluff, hearty men who seem to ride boldly through life, Bender was easily upset. The outcome of the election was a considerable shock to him. That his fellow townsmen preferred Sep's services to his own was particularly humiliating. Not that Bender disparaged Sep's industry and sincerity, but he could not help feeling a certain condescending amusement at what he called 'Sep's bible-thumping' attitude to life. As a lifelong church-goer, Bender tended to underestimate the strength of Methodism in Caxley, and though this did not influence the outcome entirely, yet he could not help realising that many chapel-goers had voted for Sep. His easy tolerance of nonconformists now suffered a change. Smarting secretly from his hurt, Bender was inclined to view the chapel-goers with a little more respect and, it must be admitted, with a twinge of sourness.

It was not surprising, therefore, that he was unusually waspish when Hilda told him of her fears about Leslie Howard and Winifred.

'I'm beginning to think,' Hilda said, 'that there's more to it than just being friendly. Our Winnie's at a silly age, let's face it, and Leslie's had plenty of practice turning young girls' heads.'

'Probably nothing in it,' replied Bender, pacifying womanly doubts automatically. 'But we certainly don't want our girl mixed up with the chapel lot.'

'It's not "being mixed up with the chapel lot", as you call it,' retorted Hilda, with unwonted spirit, 'but Leslie's been mixed up with too many girls already! Besides,' she continued, 'there are better fish in the sea for our Winnie than Sep Howard's boy.'

'You've no call to speak like that about Sep,' admonished Bender, secretly regretting his hasty disparagement of the Howards' religion.

'But surely you don't want anything to come of this?' demanded Hilda, putting down her crochet work as though about to do battle. Bender began to retreat. He had enough worries with the uncertainties of the business and the shock of the election without adding this problem to the list. He took a man's way out.

'You have a quiet word with Winnie, my dear. You'll handle it better than I can. And if I get a chance I'll just mention it to Sep and he can speak to Leslie. But ten chances to one, you're worrying yourself about nothing. Damn it all Hilda, our Winnie's not nineteen!'

'I married you at that age,' pointed out Hilda tartly. She picked up her crochet work again, and stabbed sharply, in and out, with unusual ferocity.

As might be expected, Bender said nothing to Sep or anyone else about Leslie's attentions to his daughter. But Hilda approached her task with circumspection one evening when she and Winifred were alone in the kitchen. Her daughter blushed a becoming pink, twirled a tea-cloth rapidly round and round inside a jug, but said remarkably little.

Hilda, washing up busily at the sink, went a trifle further.

'Not that there's anything against the Howards, dear, or you would never have been allowed to be such good friends with the family, but it's as well to let it remain at that.'

'How d'you mean?' asked Winifred.

Really, thought Hilda, fishing exasperatedly for a teaspoon lurking in the depths, Winnie was sometimes very awkward !

'What I say! People are beginning to notice that you and Leslie dance a great deal together, and go for walks alone—all that sort of thing—and naturally they wonder if they're going to hear of an engagement.'

'You'd hear first,' said Winnie briefly.

It was not the sort of answer which gave Hilda any comfort. She began to feel that she was not making much progress.

'So I would hope! It doesn't alter the fact that Leslie is paying you a great deal of attention. He's in his twenties now, and he'll be thinking of marriage before long. You're only eighteen.'

'You were married at nineteen,' pointed out the maddening girl. Hilda tipped out the washing-up water, advanced upon the towel on the back door, and sent the wooden roller rumbling thunderously as she dried her hands energetically. It seemed that the time had come for plain speaking.

'What I'm trying to make you see, Winnie, is that there are other young men in Caxley—and
better placed
young men—who would most certainly make you happier than Leslie Howard when the time comes. Just be warned, my dear, and don't get entangled before you've had a chance to look round you. Leslie's well known as a charmer, and you don't want to
be left high and dry, as so many of the others have, when Leslie's lost interest.'

Winifred continued to polish the jug. Her eyes were downcast. It was difficult to know just how she was taking this little homily, but at least she was not reacting violently. Hilda thanked her stars that Winifred had always been a placid girl. Some daughters would have answered back, or burst into tears, or flounced from the room, thought Hilda with relief.

'And you think Leslie will lose interest in me too?' queried the girl quietly.

'That's up to you,' responded Hilda. 'You certainly shouldn't encourage him. You don't want to find yourself married to a Howard, I hope.'

'Why not?' asked Winnie, setting the jug carefully on a shelf. Her back was towards her mother, so that Hilda could not see her face, but her voice was as calm as ever.

'Why not?' echoed Hilda, now too confidently embarked upon her mission. 'Because your father and I have hopes of something better for you than becoming a baker's wife when you decide to get married. We've always done our very best to introduce you to nice families. You can look higher than the Howards for a husband. Surely you can see that?'

The girl wheeled round and the determined look upon her face shook her mother into silence.

'There's one thing I can see,' said Winnie levelly, 'and that is that I've got a snob for a mother.' And before Hilda could get her breath back, Winnie walked, head-high and unhurried, from the room.

***

It was not only Hilda who had been perturbed by the fast-growing attachment between Leslie and Winnie. Bertie too had watched the pair with misgivings quite as strong, but of quite a different nature. His affection for the Howard boys was unchanged by the years. He was now approaching twenty-one, a thoughtful, intelligent young man, but still harbouring traces of that hero-worship he had felt as a child for the two boys who were his seniors. Jim at twenty-four, and Leslie at twenty-two, seemed to be grown men, and Leslie certainly was experienced in the ways of women. Bertie, of shyer disposition, felt that he knew too little of the world to question the Howards' actions. Nevertheless, his deep affection for Winnie put him on his guard, and he observed her growing awareness of Leslie's charms with uneasiness.

If Jim had been Winnie's choice, Bertie would have been delighted. Bertie and Jim had much in common, both being peace-loving young men, thoroughly engrossed in their jobs and enjoying the pleasant social life of Caxley in their spare time. There was a steadiness about Jim which Leslie lacked. He might be incapable of sweeping a girl off her feet, but he would make a thoroughly reliable husband. Bertie, inexperienced as he was, could not fail to see that Leslie might prove far too volatile for such a lasting institution as marriage.

But this was not the only thing which worried Bertie. He knew, only too well, that there was a streak of cruelty in Leslie. There had been birds' nesting expeditions, when they were boys, when Jim and Bertie had seen Leslie throw a young bird wantonly over a hedge. Bertie had once come upon Leslie in the baker's yard chastising their old spaniel with unnecessary severity because it had chased a cat. Both Bertie
and Jim had made their disgust plain on these occasions, but Leslie appeared unrepentant. Bertie himself remembered many a twisted arm and painful kick delivered by Leslie, for no apparent reason but self-indulgence. As he grew older, and enjoyed his successes with the girls, the same callousness showed in his attitude to those of whom he had tired. He showed not a quiver of compunction. For Leslie, when the affair was done, it was finished completely, and he passed to his next willing victim without one glance behind. It was small wonder that Bertie trembled for Winnie, so young and so vulnerable. Should he say anything to her, he wondered? Or would it simply add fuel to the fire?

He salved his conscience with the thought that almost always the pair were in company with other young people. Besides, Winnie was a sensible girl and had known Leslie and his ways long enough to realise that his affection would certainly not last long. He decided that it would be prudent to keep silence.

Other matters engaged Bertie's attention at this time, distracting him from the affairs of his sister. Kathy Howard, now nineteen and working in the family business, had long been taken for granted by Bertie as an occasional tennis partner or a useful team member when they played 'Clumps' at parties. But during the summer of 1913 Bertie began to find her presence curiously and delightfully disturbing. She was as vividly beautiful as her mother had been at the same age, and attracted as much attention from the boys. Her hair was a dusky cloud, her eyes large and luminous. She could dance all night without flagging, and had a gay recklessness which, until now, Bertie had dismissed as 'showing off'.
When young Mary North, aged eight, had dared her to jump from their garden bridge fully clothed into the Cax, Kathy had done so immediately, and been reproved by Bertie. When the attic curtains blew out from the windows, high above the market square, and became caught in the guttering, it was Kathy who stood on the window-sill to release them before the three boys had pounded up the stairs after her. And it was Bertie again who remonstrated with her.

But these things had happened a year or two earlier, before Bertie's feelings had suffered a change. The very thought now of the risks that Kathy ran made Bertie tremble with apprehension. She was becoming incredibly precious to him, he realised with surprise. Meanwhile, oblivious of his feelings, Kathy continued her carelessly happy way, as dazzling as a butterfly, flitting from one pleasure to the next, with no thought of settling down. And Bertie was content to watch her with increasing delight, and to accustom himself to these new tremors which her presence excited.