Westwood (33 page)

‘Well, I couldn’t find her blinking socks,’ Cortway said defensively, seeing Margaret’s frown. ‘Half the side of the house blown out and the hospital across the road blazing – I thought me heart would have stopped when I came round the corner and saw it.’

‘But what happened? Was the cottage hit?’ said Margaret, raising her voice to make herself heard above Zita’s noisy exclamations.

‘Near enough,’ said Cortway grimly, reaching across to Jeremy and beginning to pat him mechanically. ‘I was just turning on to hear the news –’

‘Oh, it was dreadful!’ interrupted Grantey faintly. ‘I was just getting Emma settled in the shelter and Barnabas was being such a good boy and helping me (Jerry was asleep, thank goodness; bless his little heart, he never stirred) and suddenly there was that awful whistling noise – you know –’

‘I went under the table the tooter the sweeter I can tell you,’ said her brother. ‘Like old times, that was.’

‘– and the most awful crash and then a sort of sighing sound and the Anderson kind of heaved up and down and then I heard the bricks come tumbling down. Oh, I was frightened! There, there, there’s a good boy,’ and she feebly turned towards the baby, whose cries were becoming less as Cortway steadily patted him.

‘They copped it just across the road at the Black Bear and the front of Lamb Cottage was
blown out,’ said Cortway. ‘The wardens got me on the ’phone and I went over and fetched Alice and the kids in the car. Nice state of affairs for Mr and Mrs Niland to come home to, I don’t think,’ he ended. ‘Half your house gone and your kids frightened into fits. “
Oh, ain’t it a lovely war!
”’

‘I’m not frightened,’ said Barnabas suddenly.

‘Of course you aren’t,’ said Cortway, giving his white face a glance of approval. ‘And you was a great help to Grantey too, and took care of your little brother and sister, didn’t you? And now I’m going downstairs to make us all a nice hot cup of cocoa. How’ll that be, eh?’

‘I shall like that,’ said Barnabas. He glanced across at Margaret. ‘How is Emma now?’ he demanded.

‘Better, thank you, Barnabas. Look, she’s nearly asleep,’ and she gently moved aside a fold of the fur coat and showed the peaceful little face, with eyes dreamily watching the flicker of the fire, the lids slowly falling and then opening wide again.

‘I’m glad,’ said Barnabas. ‘When will Mummy and Daddy come home?’

‘Very soon now, sonny,’ said Cortway, and went off to make the cocoa.

‘Oh dear, I do feel so bad,’ said Grantey fretfully, ‘and it’s not at all like me to give way. It’s this
heart
, I suppose. The doctor said shock would make it worse.’

Margaret glanced inquiringly at Zita, not having heard of Grantey’s heart before, and Zita made an ominous face. In fact, Grantey had kept her trouble to herself, merely letting it be known that she was not well and must take it easy – the latter prescription being a cause of much ironical laughter on her part.

‘Douglas, Douglas – can’t you make it tea, not that nasty heavy cocoa?’ she now called imploringly after her brother. ‘Make cocoa for Barnabas and the rest of us’ll have tea.’

‘A goot strong cup of coffee,’ said Zita longingly.

‘Tea for me,’ whispered Margaret, looking up from the child with a warning grimace. But it was too late; Emma sat upright, cast off her coverings and looked about her.

‘Co-co?’ she said inquiringly.

‘There!’ said Cortway. ‘Now we’ve done it. She loves cocoa.’

‘I will come und coffee make,’ said Zita, hurrying away. Grantey sank back again, but she looked slightly less exhausted and her gaze rested with languid satisfaction upon the children.

‘Poor Miss Hebe, what she must be going through,’ she murmured, as if to herself.

Poor Miss Hebe, indeed, thought Margaret scornfully. Why couldn’t she ring up here? At that moment the telephone-bell did begin to ring, startlingly loud in the dreamy hush.

‘Oh dear – that’ll be Miss Hebe,’ exclaimed Grantey, struggling up.

‘I’ll go – here, you take her,’ said Margaret, quickly but gently putting Emma down on her lap, and she hurried across the hall.

‘Hullo?’

‘Is that Highgate 00078? Hold on, please; Martlefield wants you.’

A pause, and then a voice said:

‘Is that Highgate 00078? Mr Challis’s house? This is Lady Challis speaking. Are you all right?’

‘All the children are safe but Lamb Cottage is damaged,’ answered Margaret loudly and calmly.

‘Oh dear! Badly damaged?’

‘I don’t know, I’m afraid.’

‘Are Hebe and Alex all right?’

‘I don’t know, Lady Challis,’ answered Margaret with heart beating fast, ‘they aren’t back from the theatre yet.’

‘Oh yes – I’d forgotten. How did the children get over to Highgate? (Who are you, by the way?)’

‘(I’m Margaret Steggles, a – a friend of Zita’s.) Mrs Grant was with the children in the shelter when a bomb came down opposite, and Cortway went over in the car and fetched them.’

‘Are they very upset, poor little things?’

‘No, they don’t seem to be.’ A smile came into Margaret’s voice as she glanced over her shoulder at the group by the fire. ‘Barnabas has been so good, and Emma is asking for cocoa. Jeremy’s asleep.

‘Co – co!’ repeated Emma cooingly from Grantey’s lap.

‘Thank God,’ said Lady Challis cheerfully. ‘And how’s my poor Grantey?’

‘She – she seems rather tired but –’ said Margaret hesitatingly, glancing round again and receiving a series of violent shakes of the head from Grantey, ‘but there’s nothing really wrong with her, I think.’

‘You mean that her heart’s bad and I don’t wonder,’ retorted Lady Challis. ‘Well, that’s all I wanted to know, so I shall ring off now, but give them all my love, and if Hebe and Alex are all right don’t ring me up; only ring up if there’s anything wrong. Good-bye,’ and she rang off.

Margaret returned to the fire and took Emma on her lap again.

‘I hope you didn’t give her ladyship the idea there was anything the matter with me,’ said Grantey, with a touch of her old sharpness. ‘There’s enough to worry about without me. When I think of all Miss Hebe’s things blown to pieces –’

‘Piccy –’ suddenly cried Barnabas, and burst into tears. ‘Oh, poor Piccy – I left him behind!’

‘It’s his monkey,’ explained Grantey, looking anxiously at him. ‘Now cheer up, there’s a good boy; I’m sure Piccy’s all right, and to-morrow Grantey’ll go over and find him and bring him back.’

‘Piccy! Piccy! I want Piccy!’

Margaret went quickly over to the fire with Emma and sat down on the hearthrug.

‘Look, Barnabas,’ she was beginning persuasively, when there was a confused sound of the front door hastily opening and of voices, and the next moment she almost lost her balance as Hebe snatched Emma up and smothered her with kisses, while her eyes, looking black in the extreme pallor of her face, darted from Jeremy to Barnabas as if to make certain of their safety.

‘Mummy! Mummy!’ screamed Barnabas, stumbling over to her, and Jeremy stirred, awoke, and began to cry. Alexander, who had come in behind Hebe, looked tired and dirty, and had no hat, and his coat hung open, showing his evening clothes. He stared at the children as if he were bewildered.

‘We thought we’d
never
get here,’ said Hebe with a long sigh, sinking on to the hearthrug and putting the laughing Emma down on the outspread skirt of her dress while she gathered Jeremy into her arms. ‘We tried to ’phone the cottage from the theatre, and of course we couldn’t get through and we couldn’t get a taxi for
any
money and so we had to go by tube; jam-f and everybody smelling like mad. Well,’ turning abruptly to Margaret, ‘let’s have it. The cottage is flat, I suppose?’

Margaret started violently; she had retreated into a dark corner and was hoping to slip away unobserved.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she replied hesitatingly, ‘I think the bomb fell on the Black Bear. It’s the front of the cottage that’s damaged, Cortway said.’

‘
The Shrapnel Hunters
is what I’m thinking about,’ muttered Alexander, who had seated himself on the hearthrug beside Hebe.

‘Front blown clean out, sir,’ said Cortway with gusto, approaching with a laden tray. Behind came Zita, carrying another tray. ‘I couldn’t see much because of the dust and those silly bleeders (begging your pardon, Miss Hebe) of wardens getting under your feet and telling you off, but it looked like the drawing-room’s a gorner, and the nursery too. Nice goings-on!’ he ended deeply, and put the tray down rather hard.

‘If they’re gone,
The Shrapnel Hunters
will be gone as well.’

‘I couldn’t say, sir. All the windows are gorn, for certain.’

‘Und all the glass into the canvas has been driven,’ said Zita funereally. ‘It will be ruined – your masterpiece, Mr Niland.’

Alexander stared miserably at her.

‘Sit down, sit down, for goodness’ sake,’ said Hebe impatiently, waving a sandwich at her husband. ‘It’s probably quite all right; I put it in the cupboard before we came out. I always do.’

Alexander knelt down and put his arms about her and Jeremy, whom she was supporting with one hand.

‘You darling girl, thank you very, very much,’ he said, taking her sandwich.

‘Yes, well, don’t get in such a flap,’ said Hebe, returning his kiss and taking another sandwich. ‘And now have something to eat, do. Here –’ and she pushed the plate across to Margaret with her satin-sandalled foot. Margaret gave a nervous laugh and remarked that she really ought to be going, but as no one took any notice and she very much wanted to stay, she accepted a sandwich and ate it in her shadowy corner, glancing from time to time at Hebe surrounded by her children and deciding that she might be rude and a flirt, but that she undoubtedly did love them.

‘I pour out?’ inquired Zita, kneeling among trays and children in front of the fire.

Hebe nodded, working off her shoes by rubbing one against the other. Barnabas was sitting between his father’s knees eating a piece of Spam which he had picked out of a sandwich.

‘This is the latest I’ve ever sat up,’ he said proudly. ‘What’s the time, Grantey?’

‘Nearly ten. You’ll all be dead in the morning,’ she said resignedly, but she looked less exhausted and her colour had returned.

‘Co-co,’ implored Emma sweetly, holding out her arms.

‘In a moment you shall haf,’ said Zita, smiling down at her and giving her a biscuit. A peaceful silence followed, filled with sippings and munchings. Nobody seemed inclined to talk about the play, and Margaret, who had looked forward to discussing it with Zita, suddenly found herself so tired that she only wanted to go home and get to bed, but she did wonder how the Challis’s party at the Savoy was going, and presently observed in a low tone to Zita:

‘I do hope Mr and Mrs Challis are all right?’

‘Oh, no bomb would dare fall on Pops,’ said Hebe, making signs to Alexander to carry Emma, who had fallen asleep, back to the chair where she had first been lying, ‘especially on a first night. Look, Jeremy’s asleep too, isn’t he a lovekin.’

‘I go und put up the beds,’ said Zita, standing up.

‘Put Alex in the Peach Room and all the brats in with him,’ called Hebe after her. ‘I’m dead, and I want some sleep to-night. You don’t mind, do you?’ to her husband, who shook his head.

‘I’ll take Jeremy in with me, Miss Hebe,’ said Grantey, beginning to bestir herself. ‘The cot’s in the first attic; Douglas, get it down into my room, will you? I’ll be there in a minute.’

‘Can I help?’ asked Margaret, also getting up.

‘So I should hope!’ said Zita, with the laugh that meant she was cross. ‘Dere is much to do und
we all are tired.’

As she followed Zita across the hall Margaret heard Hebe mutter, ‘I suppose this means camping here for the next week or so. What a bore.’

It was nearly two hours later that Margaret at last left Westwood, having seen all the beds made up and the children asleep in them. The only exciting event in the latter part of the evening had been a telephone-call from the Savoy to know if everything were all right, and she had gathered that Mrs Challis, not Mr Challis, had made it after many failures to get through which had naturally alarmed her, and that she would come home at once. (Margaret herself had telephoned to her mother while she and Zita were waiting at the Tube station, and told her not to wait up as she might be late.)

The waning moon was rising as she walked quickly down the hill. In the air there was the beginning of that beautiful sensation, which reaches its height in full summer, of night being not a separate condition but a deepening of the day in which hidden beauties become visible. There was no sound save the ring of her footsteps along the empty street, and although she had intended to think about
Kattë
and make up her mind about it, the stars and the strangely shaped setting moon and the bright veils of cloud drifting swiftly across the sky were all so beautiful that she ended by thinking of nothing but how delightful it was to be walking alone at night.

The next morning she was aroused out of a deep sleep by someone shaking her and her mother’s voice saying crossly: