Saplings

  ‘I can’t remember my exact words, but I should say I was more likely to have used the expression “drinking too much”.’

  Dot had her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her uniform jacket, a custom with her when she wanted to hold herself in to say very little, and what she did say, say well.

  ‘She thinks you called her a drunkard, and she thinks you told her that we should take her children from her and, if necessary, put the business in the hands of a lawyer, unless she gives up her friendship with an American. . . .’

  Selina piped up tactfully with the exact question Dot wanted asked.

  ‘Has what Lindsey said given Lena a nervous breakdown?’

  Dot pressed her hands so hard into her pockets that she nearly burst the seams.

  ‘After Lindsey left she tried to kill herself.’

  There was appalled silence. Then Sylvia said:

  ‘Poor Lena. Oh dear, it’s dreadful. But, of course, something had to be done. I mean, children are so noticing and if there was immorality. . . . Andrew says . . .’

  Lindsey spoke through the rest of Sylvia’s words, her eyes on Dot.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘By a piece of luck I heard something was wrong and I went straight down to see her. As you know, Laurel and Tuesday go to the same school as Alice and Maria. The junior house is run by a Mrs. Fellows. There was some talk of Tuesday’s tonsils being removed and she rang Lena up. The children’s nurse, who is now cook, answered the phone. She sounded in such a state that Mrs. Fellows, who’s awfully nice and very sensible, tracked me down at my office and told me it sounded worrying and did I know what it was all about. I got on first to the children’s nurse, who said Lena had been taken suddenly ill, and when I asked what was the matter she said would I wait and she would see if she could get the doctor. I gathered from him that somebody better come down at once.’

  Selina was gaping at Dot.

  ‘How did she try to do it?’

  ‘Sleeping tablets. There’s an awfully nice doctor, somehow or other he avoided calling the police. He says it was a good thing she took them at midday as he was called in time. If she had taken them at night it would have been well on into the next day before anyone noticed anything wrong. Apparently she often sleeps late.’

  Sylvia looked near tears.

  ‘And then she would have died.’

  Dot shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘The doctor didn’t say that, he said it was more difficult to kill yourself than most people thought, but he seemed to have had to be fairly drastic with Lena. I didn’t see her until the next day, and even then she looked ghastly.’

  Selina was gaping like a surprised school girl.

  ‘Isn’t it awful? Who’s looking after her now?’

  ‘Two nurses.’ Dot turned her eyes back to Lindsey’s. ‘The doctor says she has been at breaking point ever since Alex died. Stupid handling and she was sure to go to pieces. Now she’s collapsed with a very bad nervous breakdown.’

  Lindsey lit a cigarette. Her hands were trembling, she almost dropped her lighter. When she spoke the other three could hear anger piling up behind her words.

  ‘We know you, Dot, you’ve always ordered us about and tried to decide for the rest of us what’s right and what’s wrong, but now we’re middle-aged,’ she heard a gasp from Selina, ‘yes, even you, and make our own decisions. Prophets never have any honour in their own countries, so it doesn’t surprise me you don’t appreciate that I’m considered something of an authority on child psychology.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Dot, ‘of course we know. We are all asked endlessly how you come to be so understanding about children.’

  Sylvia laid a hand on Lindsey’s arm.

  ‘We’re very proud of you. Andrew . . .’

  Lindsey shook off Sylvia’s arm.

  ‘Imagine my feelings when a stranger told me what was going on. Alex’s children! Psychologically the worst background they could have.’

  Dot decided it was time recriminations ceased and they got down to business.

  ‘Well, they won’t have that background this summer. The doctor says Lena must have absolute quiet and rest for three months at least.’

  Sylvia broke in.

  ‘We’ll . . .’

  Under the table Dot pressed Sylvia’s foot. She hurried on:

  ‘He believes that with care by Christmas she’ll be fit again.’

  Lindsey said:

  ‘But how will she be behaving?’

  Dot went on as if there had been no interruption:

  ‘He says that the idea that’s she’s not fit to bring up her children is a contributory cause of her breakdown. That knowing they are coming home for Christmas will help her to recover.’ Dot took her hands from her pockets. Her voice pleaded. ‘Do let’s be careful. In lots of ways Lena’s a good mother, and the children see no wrong and are fond of their home. If we let it break up what have we got to offer?’

  Sylvia’s words fell over each other.

  ‘Of course Andrew and I haven’t the sort of home they’re used to. As a matter of fact, now it’s not comfortable at all because we can’t get any help and I do it all, and you know I was never any good at housework, but I expect Nannie would come with them. I’m awfully fond of their Nannie and so’s Andrew and...’

  Dot checked her.

  ‘You can’t take them all, Sylvia. You look dead tired as it is.’

  Selina burst out:

  ‘What a pity Mother and Father had to move.’

  Dot tried to sound as acid as she felt.

  ‘Yes, lovely for us if we could just park them on the parents. However, there’s barely room for themselves in that ghastly bungalow, so the question of what happens to the children in the summer holidays is ours.’

  Lindsey tapped some ash off her cigarette.

  ‘I think the best plan would be for Sylvia to take the two boys and you, Dot, the girls. They’re the same age as your two and go to the same school.’

  It was the moment Dot had been listening for. She pressed her toe with added firmness on top of Sylvia’s.

  ‘I’m too busy myself to undertake more than one extra child. I think what would be fair is that we each take one.’

  Selina ran a mental eye over the Wiltshire children.

  Tuesday would need a good deal of supervision. Laurel and Tony had never been very kind to Bertie and Fiona, of course ordinary children could hardly be expected to understand unusual ones. She had always thought Kim a tiresome child, but he would fit in best with her family.

  ‘I’ll take Kim.’

  Sylvia was cowed by the pressure of Dot’s foot.

  ‘I’m not tired really... I’d have liked . . . but if we’re only to have one we’d love it to be Tony. A boy of that age Andrew says . . .’

  Dot looked at Lindsey.

  ‘Will you have Laurel or Tuesday? You can choose. Laurel is Alice’s friend and Maria and Tuesday are the same age, so it’s all one to me.’

  Lindsey had various techniques for getting gracefully out of situations for which she did not care.

  ‘I know, with you all being so splendid, I sound a meany, but I don’t honestly think I ought to say I’ll take a child. You see, my little house isn’t suitable. I’m away a great deal and when I’m home I have to work, and that means shut up by myself. My secretary says there are days when she’s ashamed to say good-morning because I really haven’t time to answer her.’

  Dot faked an air of surprised interest.

  ‘What are you busy at?’

  ‘Apart from lectures, my new book. Surely, Dot, as the two girls are friends of your two you could manage.’

  ‘No. I’m too busy.’

  ‘But surely the W.V.S. does without you in the holidays.’

  ‘I can’t throw it all up. I’ve a big job.’

  ‘I’m sure you have, but you also have children, don’t they come first?’

  ‘My children are all right. The point is about you
. What’s it matter if your book isn’t written?’ Lindsey had not, during her writing career, heard such a suggestion. She was for a moment speechless. Dot took advantage of this. ‘Anyway it’s only one holiday that’s under discussion, about two months.’

  Selina wanted, as she was in London, time to do some shopping. She tried to hurry Lindsey.

  ‘I should have Laurel. She’s fifteen. A girl of that age can look after herself.’

  Dot had taken her hands off the table and had laid one on Sylvia’s knee. Lindsey saw that even Sylvia was failing her, tiresome though it might be, she must give in. Nobody could do that more charmingly than she. She smiled sweetly.

  ‘Very well, I’ll have Laurel. It will be rather fun really. I adore adolescents. I think they’re absorbingly interesting.’

  Dot knotted her scarf and pulled on her gloves. She looked at Lindsey.

  ‘Right. I’ll take Tuesday. Have you said anything to the parents about all this?’ Lindsey shook her head. ‘If you all agree I suggest we don’t for the moment. Mother’s looking dead anyhow.’

  Selina got her mirror and powder box out of her bag.

  ‘They’ll have to know Lena’s ill.’

  Dot considered, and discarded telling them that the Colonel was already partially informed. Her upraised eyebrows questioned Lindsey.

  ‘Just that she’s ill I think, don’t you? I’ll be seeing them soon, will you leave it to me?’

  Lindsey was thankful to hear that Dot considered it was better to keep the whole story from her parents. It was queer, but true, that it was almost impossible to grow away completely from family ties. It was still a cause of discomfort to be aware of parental displeasure. Much as she disliked Dot she trusted her. If Dot said she would keep the full story from the parents she would stick to it. She nodded acceptance. Selina sighed.

  ‘How nice you look. I wish I was a successful novelist.’

  Lindsey felt better.

  ‘As you will be making arrangements about Tuesday, Dot, could you let me know where and when to meet Laurel?’

  Dot asked Sylvia to lunch with her. Words burst from Sylvia the moment they were alone.

  ‘It seems so awful to separate them. I may look tired but mostly it’s because I’ve no time to do anything about my face and hair. Andrew and I would gladly have them all. . . .’

  Dot took her sister’s arm.

  ‘Don’t be a goose. Of course they ought not to be separated, but, what is even more important is that eventually Lena should get all right and they can go to their home. If we take the children Lindsey is quite likely to upset that.’

  ‘Why should she?’

  ‘She’s a writer and not a mother. On paper her psychology is fine, but there’s more in bringing up children than she sees. She lacks the nappy, school bills, sick in the train knowledge that we’ve got.’

  ‘But ought the children to go back? If it’s true Lena and that American are...’

  ‘The children don’t know a thing about it. He’s a dear, I’ve met him. They never would have known, he’d see to that. He’s devoted to children.’

  ‘It all seems so queer. Andrew...’

  ‘Fix your mind on one thing. We want to get Lena back in her right mind, it’ll take time and care and we don’t want Lindsey interfering. Believe me, when she’s had a schoolgirl about the house for over two months, she will take endless trouble to see she doesn’t have her again.’

  ‘I’m not happy about it. You’re much more clever than I am, but it seems hard on Laurel.’

  Dot laid a restraining hand on Sylvia to prevent her stepping into the road under a bus.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re right there.’

  XLI

  Walter felt wretched. He was in something from which he did not seem able to get disentangled. The trouble lay in his decency and soft-heartedness. Nobody could wish to spend their free time travelling on a slow train to see a woman who either cried or talked in gushes and outpourings. Lena was often lying in a darkened room, for on her worst days she thought that people were spying on her, and only with the curtains drawn did she feel secure, and then, every minute or two, would ask to have the door opened as she was certain someone was listening at the keyhole. On her good days she was over-excited and full of plans. She must get new clothes, she must have a face massage, she was looking a perfect fright. She was sure the doctor was fussing unnecessarily, she would be quite strong enough by August to have the children home.

  Every time Walter came down to see Lena he felt worse about the children. The country was looking beautiful. Stroch grew more engaging every day. In talks with the servants, he could feel he had them with him. Mustard shook his head.

  ‘They wouldn’t make no noise. It ’uld do her good,’ he nodded towards Lena’s bedroom, ‘even if she never saw nor heard them to know they was safe where they did ought to be.’

  Nannie found the nurses hard to bear with, and knew life would be far harder if the children came home, yet there dropped from her, rather than was said as a considered opinion, ‘Children are best where they belong. They miss not having their rightful things.’

  Mrs. Oliver, quite unaware that her tongue was the cause of the family crisis, was the most outspoken.

  ‘Lot of nonsense, if you ask me. I don’t believe there’s much wrong that a good shake wouldn’t cure. It’s enough to make anybody feel rough havin’ these two nurses ’angin’ round. “Do this.” “Don’t do that.” “I’d don’t do that them, if I had my way.” Can’t have the children home! Unnatural I call it. I never let mine leave me. “You let the two eldest go away while baby’s coming,” the district nurse said to me, but I said, “Never.” Seein’ a woman ’ave a baby is ’ealthy and natural, pushin’ them into places where they don’t belong is un’ealthy and unnatural.’

  Walter would have liked to have cut away from the whole business, and would have done so if Lena had not become so hysterical when he even hinted at the idea. He was fond of Lena, and she had certainly made his life exciting, but that was finished. He felt badly about the children, for he could not hold himself entirely blameless. He wished there was something he could do for them. One day, visiting Lena, it came to him what that thing was. He would temporarily adopt Stroch. Lena was writing no letters and was not well enough to take a decision. He approached Nannie.

  Nannie had just come home with the shopping. Unable to get a seat she had to stand in the bus with her two heavy bags. She was still on the spread and standing in a bus made her feel self-conscious, for once the driver, when he took her fare, had made a joke about two tickets. Amongst her heavier parcels were some pounds of horseflesh. So it happened Walter chose a moment to speak when Stroch was particularly on Nannie’s mind.

  Nannie was not fond of cooking and cooking horseflesh for Stroch she disliked, but she had given her word to the children to take care of him and she would have gone without herself rather than he should go hungry. In the afternoon she faithfully took him for what she considered a good walk. It was a slow amble up the ride to the main road. Although Stroch, when Mustard was not looking, had dug hard for rabbits, he was not getting sufficient exercise, and was on the portly side.

  Nannie had never allowed herself to think about Walter and Lena. She had tried so hard to keep ideas about them out of her mind that it often gave her the rather grim, disapproving look which had irritated Lena. Nannie had never admitted even to herself that Lena drank. The mothers of her children did not drink and that was that. In spite of the fact that he had brought trouble to the house she liked Walter. He was wonderfully good to the children, and always pleasant. He often asked her advice about gifts for the children in a way which reminded her of Alex.

  Walter sat on the kitchen table and watched Nannie plod round putting away her purchases.

  ‘Would you think it would please the children if I took on Stroch till their mother’s well? He’s getting a bit on the puffy side and I can fix to exercise him. He can feed well with us, shan’t need
to queue up for horse.’

  Nannie was putting the fat ration in the refrigerator. She might not have heard what Walter said. Walter watched her, his eyes twinkling but affectionate. Presently, as he knew they would, sentences dropped from her.

  ‘I do my best and so does Mr. Mustard, but things aren’t as the children would wish.’ ‘We couldn’t make a change, not without asking them.’ ‘Tuesday is the one to be most upset. Always been one for a dog, even that Pincher.’ ‘Tony and Kim would think it right.’ ‘Best to write to Laurel. She’ll know how they’ll feel.’

  Walter took out a notebook and a pencil.

  ‘Can anyone write to a school girl?’

  Nannie unwrapped from newspaper her slices of horse, and put them on a tin plate.

  ‘I write to one or other each week to say how their mother is. You go along to the bureau in the drawing-room and write to Laurel. I’ll put the letter in with mine.’

  The letters at Greenwood House were laid out on a table in the hall. There was a vague rule that the girls only received letters from those people with whom their parents wished them to correspond. In actual fact Miss Clegg could rely on over three-quarters of the letters received coming from suitable sources. The last quarter were written to the sort of girls who needed watching. What Miss Clegg styled ‘rather the silly type’. With these girls she now and again queried a letter, but in most cases the parents were of the same mentality as the girls, and thought what Miss Clegg styled ‘silliness’ fun.

  Laurel had suffered more than the three others from the news of her mother’s illness and the plans for the summer. She was terrified at the thought of being packed off alone to stay with Lindsey, but fear of that was partially overlaid by her dread about her mother. Was Aunt Dot telling all the truth? Was it just what they called a nervous breakdown, which Aunt Dot said meant being overtired, or was Mum ill? Was she terribly ill? Was she going to die? If Mum died what would happen to them? What happened to orphans?

  Seeing Nannie’s handwriting she opened her letter standing in the hall. Nannie had written to her twice since her mother had been ill and both letters, in their complete nannie-ishness had been wonderfully reassuring. She was surprised when four pieces of chewing gum fell out of the envelope. She saw there was an enclosure but she did not think of it, for her eyes were devouring Nannie’s words.