Saplings

  Dot, at forty-seven, saw a new world opening before her. She had meant to take up a career but somehow it had not happened and she had married. Paul Enden was a gunner and they had spent the first years of their marriage in India. The problems of India had absorbed Dot and she had really studied and tried to help, and when they returned to England she would have felt thwarted and lacking in interests only almost at once she started to produce Henry. Henry was followed in 1928 by Alice and in 1933 by Maria. When Maria was two, Paul was retired from the Army. Dot had been patient, and had struggled manfully to be tolerant and kind, but she had no patience with a fumbling makeshift existence. She never believed in first the hens, and then the bees, which were to provide the extra money needed to supplement their income. She thought she had succeeded in veiling her disbelief and that Paul had no idea that she looked upon his efforts just as she looked upon Maria’s to build a house of toy bricks. She wondered why he had changed so much, had become so silent and inclined to be dull. When war was declared and after a few months’ delay he was called back into the Army she had been shocked at his gaiety. ‘You men! I believe you enjoy wars.’

  Dot never did anything without purpose. It was perfectly true that she was taking on a war job, it was a fact that it was quite a while since the children had seen their grandparents, but the real reason why this visit was planned was that she needed approval for steps she intended to take. Paul was rather silly about the children, particularly about girls, and, judging by his letters, had got worse since his battery had gone to France. She knew everything that she was arranging was for the best and she did not want Paul to worry. Nothing would allay any worry he might feel more completely than a letter from the Colonel. Paul had a tremendous opinion of his father-in-law.

  The Endens arrived a day earlier than Laurel and Tony. Elsa met them at the station. Driving to the house she told them of her arrangements.

  ‘I hope you won’t mind having Tony in your room, Henry. He’s quite a good little boy. I’ve put Maria and you together in Laurel’s room, Alice dear.’

  Alice wore spectacles. They gave her an earnest look.

  ‘I thought Laurel was coming.’

  ‘Yes, dear, to-morrow. She doesn’t really break up until a day later, but she is being allowed to leave a day early so that the car can pick both her and Tony up at the junction.’

  Alice had stayed with her Wiltshire cousins in London. She and Laurel were almost exactly the same age and near enough in size to share clothes. Alice’s clothes were what her mother called ‘sensible’. To her Laurel had a wardrobe suitable for a princess. When Lena had taken the two to a charity fête Laurel had sensed that Alice had not thought her best frock suitable and had suggested to Lena that one of her own was borrowed. Lena had been charming and enjoyed herself dressing Alice in frilled organdie. It had been a golden day in Alice’s life. She had worn organdie, won a prize at hoop-la and caught a glimpse of royalty. She was a faithful child and, though she had not seen her lately, she had remained fond of Laurel. Like all the grandchildren, she knew about Laurel’s room. She had often slept in it but never when Laurel was there.

  In the bedroom she explained the situation to Maria.

  ‘I’m not going to unpack. We’ll just pretend. I expect we’ll change with Laurel tomorrow. But don’t say anything.’

  Alice was tidying her own and Maria’s hair for lunch when Laurel came into the bedroom. Banishment to a bed in the night nursery had made Laurel angry. There were two beds there, Nannie’s and Tuesday’s. It was true Tuesday’s was a cot but there were plenty of beds in the house. It was deliberate nastiness on Gran’s part. For some reason she didn’t like her, or, more likely, she didn’t want them living with her. That was probably it. She had managed to turn out Kim and Tuesday, and as she had to have herself and Tony she was making their lives as hateful as possible. Very well then, she would be hateful back. It was not her fault she was staying there. With flaming cheeks and stony eyes she slammed the bedroom door behind her and marched to her bookshelf.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, but I’d rather like to have my own books if you don’t object.’

  Alice gave Maria’s hair a final comb and led her to the door.

  ‘Go down. I shan’t be long.’ She closed the door and leant against it. ‘I’ve not unpacked. Maria and I would just as soon be in the nursery, we don’t want your room.’

  Laurel was piling her books on the floor.

  ‘Gran’s arranged it. You’re her favourites.’

  ‘It’s just a muddle I think. She wouldn’t mind our changing if we explained.’

  ‘Thanks awfully but I’m not going to make a show of myself asking favours. I expect your mother said you’d got to have it.’

  ‘Mummie doesn’t care where we sleep.’ Alice crossed to the bookshelf and knelt beside Laurel. ‘Tell you what, let’s change and not say anything.’

  ‘We can’t. Maria’s too big for Tuesday’s bed. Anyway they’d know when they called us in the mornings.’

  Alice began putting the books back in the shelf.

  ‘We can arrange something. I’d ask Mummie only she’s too busy to listen.’

  ‘What’s she busy about?’

  ‘Us. She wants to send me and Maria to a convent. She thinks we don’t know but I do.’

  ‘A convent!’ Laurel forgot herself for a moment. ‘But that’s nuns. You aren’t Roman Catholics.’

  ‘No, but it’s cheap and has an admirable educational standard. I heard Mummie say that on the telephone. She pretended she was talking about other children and I knew it was us.’

  ‘Maria’s very little for a boarding school, isn’t she?’

  Alice nodded.

  ‘She doesn’t know. You mustn’t say anything.’ She put the last book back. ‘I tell you what. You unpack your things here, and I’ll take Maria’s and mine to the day nursery. Then it’s your room except just for sleeping.’

  Laurel considered the proposition. It was far better than nothing. She threw her arms round Alice.

  ‘Sorry I was cross, it’s not your fault.’ Then her mouth tightened. ‘But it’s mean of Gran and I shall show her I know it’s mean.’

  Elsa, after her burst of energy, felt wretched. There was plenty to do and she drove herself to do it, but she had not got back her energy and her nerves were strained. It was, therefore, particularly unfortunate, she thought, that Laurel and Tony, who had been so charming last holidays, should be so difficult this. Laurel she could not understand. She seemed to go out of her way to be tiresome. She had always been such a gentle little thing but now, when asked to run a message, she slammed doors and made a fuss. Tony, always a sunny tempered child, was so morose that she had thought at first he must be ill, only his appetite was so good.

  ‘I’m afraid, Dot dear, it’s jealousy. We’ve had them since the outbreak of war and I suppose they think it’s their home and resent your three.’

  Elsa was sitting in an armchair. Dot brought a stool and lifted her mother’s feet on to it.

  ‘Nonsense, darling. They’re the best of friends. All children have moods. You’ve forgotten Lindsey at the same age.

  ‘No I haven’t. But Lindsey was born difficult. Laurel really is a dear little thing.’

  ‘She’s had an unsettling time. Lena and Alex have always spoilt their children. It’s the best thing that could have happened that they’ve been forced to send Laurel to school. It’ll be the making of her. As a matter of fact, I believe in wartime, with unsettled conditions at home, all children should be in boarding schools.’ Dot paused to frame her words. ‘As a matter of fact . . .’

  Laurel and Tony had been too well brought up not to dislike the knowledge that they were noticeably badly behaved, and yet, when with the grown-ups, they could not be nice. Laurel only intended her disapproval to show to her Grandmother, but when her aunt raised her eyebrows, or her Grandfather said, ‘That’s not the way to speak to your Grandmother, Laurel,’ she found herself being rude to t
hem all and hating herself for it. Tony was not intending to behave badly, but, because he was rather silent, the grown-ups would probe to find out what was wrong. To defend his inner thoughts he scowled and answered quickly and rudely.

  It was the cottage that made the holidays bearable. Alice and Laurel found it. It was on the edge of a long disused quarry and was tumbling to pieces. It was not on the Colonel’s land so the children did not like to do anything to it without permission. Laurel went to her Grandfather about it. He said he would ring up the owner and he was sure it would be all right. It was the first time that Laurel had sought him out since she had come home. He took her hand and made her come to the telephone with him. He would not hurry and tried various hares of conversation. As they neared the house he said, with apparent casualness:

  ‘As your father and mother won’t be here for more than a couple of nights, if anything was upsetting you it might be worth telling me. I can put things right sometimes, you know.’

  Laurel turned her face from him. It was true he could sometimes, like he had on the first day of the snow, but he could not do anything about Gran being deliberately unkind. He must know she was doing it because she did not want them here. She gave an angry jerk to her shoulders.

  ‘Nothing’s upsetting me. What on earth should?’

  The Colonel said no more but, after he had telephoned and gained permission for the children to make what use they liked of the cottage, he took his dogs for a long walk. On his return he wrote to Alex.

  ‘. . . We have muddled things this end I am afraid. Come when you can and straighten affairs out.’

  Henry, who had just gone to Wellington, had been at rather a loose end. He considered himself too old to play with the girls and Tony but the cottage was different. It needed repairs and that was a man’s job. Using Tony as his assistant he re-tiled the roof, rebuilt the walls with bricks and mud, and bought glass and fixed it in the windows and re-hung the doors.

  Alice and Laurel cleaned, made and hung some curtains, borrowed some simple furniture from the attics at the house, and cooked.

  Maria, singing happily to herself, arranged little bunches of primroses on anything that would hold a makeshift vase, and put her dolls to sleep in the bedroom.

  They were all busy and felt important. There was something to show for their efforts. While they were working, and still more when the door was closed and they were eating snacks they had cooked, they felt invulnerable. The adult world, where you were shifted round because of the war; where people whispered about how difficult you were, or whether you were to be sent to a convent, was a shadow; here was reality.

  The Endens left the day before Lena and Alex arrived, and, because it was the easiest plan, Elsa arranged that they should sleep in Laurel’s room. The kitchenmaid had left and another could not be found and the cook was tired and annoyed. An annoyed cook obviously meant a flustered housemaid and parlourmaid.

  ‘Don’t do anything much to the room,’ Elsa said. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Alex are only here for one night and the children are off in three days. We can have a grand tidy after they have all gone.’

  Alex and Lena arrived in time for a late tea. They were greeted in the hall by Laurel, who was dancing with pleasure.

  She flung herself first on one parent and then on the other. Tony clung to Lena as if he could not hug her close enough. There was, Alex noted, an aloofness in Tony’s greeting to himself. Tea was waiting in the drawing-room. Elsa was smiling behind the silver tea tray but Alex, as he kissed her, was concerned to see how tired she looked.

  ‘Sit down, Alex,’ Elsa said, speaking as she always did, as if he could still be ordered about. ‘How are you, Lena dear? I’ve given you Laurel’s room, I hope you’ll be comfortable.’

  Alex took a sandwich and smiled at Laurel.

  ‘Moved out for us? Don’t you mind, old lady?’

  Elsa passed him his tea cup.

  ‘She hasn’t been sleeping there, Alice and Maria . . .’ she broke off, having caught a glance from Alex to Laurel and the look on Laurel’s face. She spoke with a mixture of exasperation and dismay. ‘My dear child, have you been behaving as you have all these holidays because you felt ill-used about your room?’ Laurel muttered something inaudible. Elsa shook a teaspoon at her. ‘You’re a very silly little girl. If you felt hurt why not come and tell me so? Mind you, I don’t say you could have had the room but at least we could have discussed it.’ She turned to Alex. ‘She’s growing up as bad as Lindsey.’

  Alex laughed.

  ‘I won’t have that. Laurel has her faults and Lindsey hers but there could not be two creatures with less in common.’

  Elsa gave Laurel her tea cup.

  ‘I’m not so sure. Your Aunt Lindsey used to harbour grievances, sometimes for months, and nobody could put them right because nobody knew what was wrong.’

  Laurel was sitting on a stool by Lena. Lena put an arm round her.

  ‘Silly goose, why didn’t you tell Gran?’

  Laurel was nearly crying. Had everything she had thought been wrong? Was Gran as loving as always? Was the black misery that had shut down on her as if it were a lid something she had invented?

  Alex came to her rescue.

  ‘It’s growing pains.’

  Elsa beckoned to Laurel who unwillingly came to her. She pulled her down beside her.

  ‘Did you mind my giving your room to those evacuee children?’

  Gran had hold of her hands, the truth was being dragged from her.

  ‘Yes, but I know you couldn’t help it.’

  ‘But you thought I ought not to have given it to Alice and Maria?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then Alice and Maria would have felt slighted.’

  ‘Oh no. Alice offered to change.’

  Elsa gave Laurel’s hands an annoyed shake.

  ‘Really, you are too tiresome! One word from Alice or you and none of this fuss need have happened. Now, listen to this. I can’t promise you that you will always have your own room, but I can promise you that I’ll tell you why I’m putting someone else in it. Will you promise me in return that instead of behaving like a bad-tempered child, which you are not, you will say what’s on your mind? Speak out. I’m not afraid of words.’

  Laurel could not answer. There was a lump in her throat. It was lovely to have Gran back again, brisk and firm, but always kind and a friend. She nodded to show she agreed and stumbled back to her stool. Lena spread some butter and jam on a piece of toast for her. Alex gave one of her pigtails a friendly pull. The room was so full of warmth and kindness that it was unbearable to sit still. ‘Oh God!’ Laurel prayed. ‘Let me remember this exact moment and then I’ll never be a silly fool and make up things again.’

  Alex got Lena alone after tea.

  ‘Find out what’s the matter with Tony. He’s annoyed with me about something.’

  ‘Tell them our news. They’ve been missing us, poor sweets. That’s all that’s wrong.’

  ‘I’d rather clear the air with Tony first.’ He held her by the shoulders. ‘Happy?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Go and be nice to your mother. I’ll talk to Tony.’

  Lena took Tony up to help her unpack. He sat on the bed. She put a box of sweets beside him.

  ‘Half are for Laurel. Have you had nice holidays?’

  Tony told her about the house. Obviously his building operations with Henry had been memorable.

  ‘Will you come and see it when you’ve unpacked?’

  ‘If there’s time. We must see what Dad’s doing. He wants his share of you.’

  Tony was bending over the chocolates.

  ‘Does he?’

  Lena was touched but amused. How alike full grown men and little boys’ reactions were. They kept things to themselves. Alex could worry for days about something and when she tried to find out what was wrong he muttered ‘nothing’ and attempted to push her aside in just the same aloof way. She kissed the top of Tony’s head and changed t
he conversation. She was not going to let Tony out of her room until, at least with her, he was his gay chattering self. She was a brilliant listener when she liked, and Tony was given the full benefit of all her charm and attention. There was no better way of soothing a cross man than to let him talk down to you.

  ‘Tell me, sweetheart, how you rebuilt the wall of the cottage. But don’t talk too fast because it sounds difficult and I want to understand.’

  The children took their parents to see the cottage. Lena, following instructions, fell behind with Laurel. Alex strode ahead with Tony. He wasted no time beating about the bush.

  ‘What’s up, old man?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Rubbish. Something’s upset you. Let’s have it.’

  The dam broke and Tony’s words fell over each other. What the housemaster had said. What the head had said. The gross unfairness.

  ‘And when I said it was something special you never even answered.’

  ‘You are a young idiot, you know. Didn’t it strike you I never got the letter?’

  ‘Letters always get to people.’

  ‘This one didn’t. If it had I should have written or rung you up. You know that.’

  It was to Tony as if he had been walking in a fog and it was lifting. Dad had never got the letter. Love poured through him.

  They discussed the desk situation.

  ‘It doesn’t really matter now because I’d have to share this term anyway.’

  ‘You seem to have behaved like a pretty good ass. Throwing the poor kid’s books about.’

  ‘But they shouldn’t have been there. It was Andrews who should have been picked.’

  ‘Obviously that was a mistake, but throwing the poor new kid’s books on the floor wasn’t an answer. By the time you reached the head you were lucky to get off as lightly as you did.’

  ‘He didn’t let me explain. I didn’t bully Perkins. I explained about the desk to him and I gave him three bars of chocolate to make up.’

  ‘Can you see now that you went about things the wrong way?’