The Bell Family

  Cathy laid down her hammer.

  ‘Is it? Now I wonder what you’re giving him?’ Then she saw her watch. ‘Oh, goodness, look at the time! Send everybody to wash and change, the relations will be here in half an hour.’

  13

  The Relations

  THE RELATIONS HAD the pleased-with-themselves feeling that comes with being sure that, at great personal inconvenience, you are doing the right thing. It was very hot, Alex’s vicarage was in an unattractive, extra stuffy part of London, and they were going away tomorrow, but they were not allowing any of these things to put off the visit. As they drove along they congratulated each other.

  ‘It wouldn’t seem right somehow, going to foreign parts without saying good-bye to Alex, Cathy and the children,’ said Grandmother.

  ‘They would have felt it if we hadn’t gone to see them today,’ Grandfather agreed.

  Rose fanned herself.

  ‘I hope they’re grateful, because really in this heat it is rather an effort.’

  Alfred was sitting in front with the chauffeur. He turned round.

  ‘Never mind, Rose, you’ll soon be lying by the sea in one of those fancy beach get-ups.’

  Veronica felt she was being forgotten.

  ‘And so will I, Dada.’

  Alfred smiled proudly at the thought of what a picture Veronica would be in her beach clothes.

  ‘So you will and all. Dada will be glad to see the roses back in those pale cheeks.’

  Grandmother looked at Veronica and thought she looked remarkably healthy.

  ‘I don’t think Veronica looks pale, and she certainly looks cool all in white.’

  ‘It’s quite a plain frock, though,’ Rose said. ‘I don’t like to dress her up when she’s meeting her cousins, it seems hardly kind.’

  Grandfather and Grandmother exchanged looks. They thought a lot of things were said in front of Veronica which never should be said, for they made her more affected than she was already.

  ‘Oh, well,’ said Grandmother, ‘Jane’s one of those children who looks nice in anything she wears, and Ginnie, bless her, doesn’t care what she puts on.’

  ‘And I reckon,’ Grandfather added, ‘they’ll have every bit as good a time with Cathy’s relations in Berkshire as we’ll have in France, so they’re in no need of pity from us.’

  Alex, Cathy, Esau and the children were waiting outside the vicarage for the relations. Cathy said, looking particularly at Ginnie and Angus:

  ‘Don’t forget, darlings, no one is to say we aren’t going away. If the subject comes up of course they’ve got to know about the fire, but not that we’ve no other plans. Just say where we’re going is a secret, or something like that, but with any luck you won’t have to say anything, for they’ll take it for granted we’re going to Berkshire as usual.’

  The children had been told several times they were not to say they were not going away, and they were bored by the subject. They were particularly bored by it as they thought it was silly of Alex and Cathy to be so secret about their troubles.

  ‘It isn’t as though they’d help,’ Paul said to Jane. ‘Grandfather said Dad should never have a penny of his brass, and he’s stuck to it, but at least it might make them talk less about what they’re going to do in France.’

  Jane agreed with him.

  ‘It might even make them feel sort of ashamed. If I had relations much poorer than I was, I’d feel a mean dog going to France leaving them stewing in London.’

  The relations’ arrival was something of a sensation, for Alfred had just bought a new car. He always had big cars, but this one was bigger and shinier looking than usual.

  Alex, as he kissed his mother, said:

  ‘Alfred’s cars put our stock up in this neighbourhood. No one else round here has cars of this size outside their door.’

  In the drawing-room, just what Jane had been afraid would happen, did. As soon as they got into the room Veronica started to giggle.

  ‘Oh, look, Mummy!’

  Rose looked.

  ‘Good gracious! My old house-coat!’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Cathy; ‘but the chair needed covering so dreadfully badly.’

  Rose had a very tinkling sort of laugh.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. I’m just amused, that’s all. So funny seeing one’s old clothes as a chair cover.’

  Jane’s face had flushed, Grandmother, who had been looking at her, held out a hand and drew her on to the sofa beside her.

  ‘You’re a lucky girl, Jane, to have so clever a mother. Is that dancing school too hard, you’re looking thin?’

  Jane felt soothed by Grandmother’s praise of Cathy.

  ‘Of course it’s not too hard, it’s gorgeous. I love every second. But it’s been a bit hot, hasn’t it, and I expect I look rather end-of-termish.’

  Grandmother nodded.

  ‘That’ll be it. When do you go to your brother’s, Cathy?’

  Out the story had to come. The relations were horrified.

  ‘Good gracious! My old house-coat!’

  ‘Burnt down!’ Grandmother exclaimed.

  ‘I hope they were fully insured,’ said Alfred.

  Alex was glad to be able to answer that satisfactorily.

  ‘They certainly were. Jim’s thinking of building an entirely new house on the old site.’

  Grandfather had noticed that when Grandmother had asked Cathy about going to Berkshire the children had exchanged looks. He scented a mystery.

  ‘If you aren’t going to Berkshire, where are you going for your holiday, Alex?’

  Alex shook his head at his father.

  ‘That’s something you can’t ask, it’s a family secret.’

  Cathy felt they were on dangerous ground.

  ‘Ginnie, Angus and Veronica, it’s very dull for you up here. Why don’t you show Veronica your caterpillars, Angus, and, Ginnie, tell Mrs Gage we’re ready for tea.’

  Grandfather was no fool. He watched Ginnie, Angus and Veronica run out of the room. He listened while Cathy, rather carefully he thought, took the subject away from holidays. Then to himself he said: ‘Something’s oop.’

  Over tea Paul asked Uncle Alfred about the new car, what it would do, how long it would take them to motor to Folkestone, and how long from Calais to St Jean de Luz. Grandfather laughed.

  ‘The person you want to talk to, Paul, is Hodges, he’s doing the driving, not your uncle.’

  Grandmother had an idea.

  ‘Why don’t you let the children have a drive round after tea, Alfred? They could go by the river, the air’ll do them good, and maybe there’s somewhere nice where they could stop for ices.’

  Paul, Jane and Angus looked at Uncle Alfred, who, after a moment’s thought, nodded.

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ He smiled at Veronica. ‘Would Dada’s little sweetheart like that?’

  ‘Well, they mustn’t be too long,’ Aunt Rose whined. ‘We have a long day tomorrow, remember.’

  ‘Nonsense, Rose,’ said Grandfather. ‘’Tisn’t every day I get a chance of a talk with Alex. It isn’t half-past four yet, if they’re back by six it will give us time.’

  ‘Six!’ thought Cathy. ‘Oh, goodness, I suppose Alex will take his father and Alfred into his study, and what I’m to do with the other two I don’t know. Alex’s mother is all right, but an hour of Rose!’ Then she looked at her children, and gave herself a mental slap. What a selfish mother she was, thinking only of herself, of course the children wanted to go out in the new car.

  ‘How lovely,’ she said to Grandmother, ‘to have a real long time together. Hurry up, children. You’ll have time to go to Greenwich and back. It’ll be lovely there today.’

  Ginnie’s heart sank lower and lower. The first treat! The new car! Ices! It was more than could be endured. She looked at Alex, and her eyes asked a question. ‘Must it be this treat?’ Alex’s face was sorry, but a punishment was a punishment. He answered by nodding his head. Ginnie got up.
br />   ‘Can I tell Mr Hodges, Mummy, he’s in the kitchen having tea with Mrs Gage?’

  Hodges was delighted to hear the children were to have a run by the river, for he was proud of the new car, and they were a much better car audience than Uncle Alfred, Aunt Rose and Veronica. But he was still more pleased when he heard Ginnie invite Mrs Gage.

  ‘Would you like to go for a drive in Uncle Alfred’s posh car?’

  ‘Me! Well! If only I’d known I’d ’ave come in me best ’at. I hope Mr Gage sees me, ’e won’t ’alf get a shock. But what’s your Mum doin’ about the clearin’ and washin’ up?’

  Ginnie had not thought of that, but she was fond of Mrs Gage and if somebody had to have her share of a treat she was glad it was her.

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  Mrs Gage started to ask why Ginnie was not coming. Then she remembered the stolen baby. She gave her a kiss.

  ‘Thank you, ducks. Sorry you aren’t comin’, but I shan’t ’alf enjoy meself.’

  Ginnie could not bear to see the others drive away without her, so she told Cathy she would clear the table, and shut herself in the dining-room. The relations, of course, noticed she was not in the car.

  ‘Why didn’t Ginnie go?’ asked Rose.

  Cathy knew Grandmother would guess Ginnie was being punished for something, so she gave her a meaning smile as she answered:

  ‘She stayed to help me.’

  Rose saw nothing odd in Ginnie staying behind. She supposed, in a more or less servantless household, one of the children would have to stay behind to work.

  ‘I’m glad that woman of yours has gone with them. If they get out, I don’t want little Veronica running about getting hot and tired, and of course the woman will see they stop at a nice clean place to have ices.’

  Alfred, too, saw nothing in one of the children being kept at home to work, but Grandfather thought it odd. Instead of following Alfred and Alex into the study he went into the dining-room.

  ‘So this is where you’ve got to, young Ginnie. I hear you stayed behind to help your mother. Very kind of you.’

  Ginnie grinned.

  ‘I bet you didn’t believe it. You know I’m not the sort to give up driving in a gorgeous car, and having ices, if I didn’t have to. I’m being punished.’

  Grandfather sat down and lit his pipe.

  ‘Are you now. And what might you have been up to?’

  Ginnie sat down and told Grandfather all about her Dedication book, and paying for the concert with looking after babies, and what had happened that morning.

  ‘And what might you have been up to?’

  Grandfather was a very good audience. When Ginnie had finished he did not say anything about the baby stealing, for he thought, as she had been punished, there was no need for him to rub in how badly she had behaved. Instead he said:

  ‘Where’s this place you are going for your holiday?’

  Ginnie got up and piled plates on a tray.

  ‘Daddy told you it was a secret.’

  ‘I know he did, but I was always curious. I can’t bear a secret. I just have to find out what it’s all about.’

  Ginnie was enchanted.

  ‘Do you? Then that’s why I’m so curious. I always have to find things out.’ Then she remembered that this was something Grandfather could not find out, but it seemed mean to leave him guessing. ‘Well, actually …’ Then she paused, trying to think of somewhere lovely to pretend they were going, and an idea came to her. ‘We’re going to a posh hotel. It’s by the sea. One of those very big hotels that you see on films.’

  Grandfather took a match and pushed some tobacco into his pipe.

  ‘One of those places with large verandas overlooking the sea?’

  Ginnie was quite carried away by her fairy-tale hotel.

  ‘Yes, and there’s a skating rink … oh, and a fun fair in the garden, where everybody can go on everything, even the giant racer, without paying.’

  ‘And free ice cream by just pressing a bell?’ Grandfather suggested.

  Ginnie skipped with pleasure.

  ‘Of course, every sort and kind, and every colour, only you don’t press a bell. It’s in a shop thing in the hall, with a notice on it saying “Help yourself.” And beside it there’s a sweet shop where you help yourself too. Oh, it’s a stupendous place. Almost I can see it.’

  Grandfather had tidied his pipe.

  ‘When do you leave for this posh hotel?’

  Grandfather saying that brought Ginnie back to earth with a bump. She piled the rest of the plates on to her tray.

  ‘I’m not absolutely sure, and if you don’t mind, Grandfather, I’ve got to go and wash up.’

  14

  The Earners

  THE WEATHER CHANGED. It became wet and muggy. Then a boisterous, gritty wind blew the wet away.

  Then, of all unkind things, just about the time the family would have been leaving for Berkshire, it turned hot and sunny again.

  When people need a change of air, and do not get it, they are inclined to become cross. As the days grew hotter, the Bells got crosser, even Cathy was short-tempered. Alex never got really cross. He thought it wrong to be cross, and so struggled to keep that he was feeling cross to himself. Jane said Alex’s keeping feeling cross to himself was worse than snapping out as ordinary people did, who were not parsons. She thought trying hard gave him a martyred face, which made other people lose their tempers looking at it. Cathy was in despair about her family. Luckily for her she had Mrs Gage to talk to, for Mrs Gage, on hearing the family could not go away, said she would not go away either.

  ‘I would ’ave gone if you was all goin’, but seein’ you’re not, I’d just as soon take a day ’ere and there.’

  ‘But what about Mr Gage?’

  ‘Oh, ’im! I said to ’im, you can take an ’oliday when you like, so you’ll take it when the vicar goes away. Like it or lump it.’

  Cathy sighed.

  ‘When the vicar goes! Poor Mr Gage, I’m afraid that’s not going to be this summer.’

  Mrs Gage thought of the piles of addressed envelopes leaving the house, and the money they were earning.

  ‘Never say die. You never know your luck.’

  ‘Hope you’re right,’ said Cathy; ‘but I can’t think how it’s going to be managed, for we can’t clean ourselves out of savings. But, oh dear, the children look pale, Jane’s a perfect disgrace, she’s a greenish colour, and nothing but skin and bone.’

  Mrs Gage tried to cheer Cathy up, but she, too, was shocked how wretched Jane looked.

  ‘Jane’s one ’oo’s looks pity ’er. My Margaret Rose was the same, always ’avin’ me along to the school they were, askin’ what she ate. Malnutrition, that’s what they call it. I said to the doctor, “I’ll malnutrition you! I’ll ’ave you know my Margaret Rose eats enough to keep your ’ole ’ospital goin’. Don’t ask me where it gets to, all I know is it goes down. I can’t ’elp it, if what goes in don’t show when it gets inside.”’

  Cathy was cooking lunch. She gave some fish she was preparing an angry slap.

  ‘I wish Paul and Jane would give up this secret they’re working on. I think it’s something for their father’s birthday, but it isn’t good for them, shut up in their bedrooms hour after hour. If only they would go out we could do some nice things. I’ve offered them days at Hampton Court, Kew Gardens, Hampstead—anywhere they like. If only they would take a day out the vicar would probably come too, he promised he would take a holiday even if he was at home, but he isn’t. It’s always something, one of his pet parishioners is ill, or in trouble, and off he goes.’

  Jane was nearly in tears

  Upstairs Paul had gone into Jane’s room.

  ‘I’ve just finished. I shan’t start another hundred before lunch.’

  Jane raised her head wearily.

  ‘My people have such awful names, yours are much easier, just plain Mr or Mrs. I do think I ought to get more than one and three a hundred for writing names like Br
igadier Wildensea-Prothero, C.V.O., O.B.E., D.S.O. Oh, Paul, shall we ever earn ten pounds? I’m so stupid this morning, I keep getting the names wrong, and have to scratch them out, and then the envelopes look awful ….’

  Paul thought the envelope Jane showed him looked so awful the agency would not accept it.

  ‘You’ve got some spares, I should use those.’

  ‘I’ve used them.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got some you can have. It’s no good sending this one as it is.’

  Jane was nearly in tears.

  ‘I couldn’t have believed there was such an awful, awful thing to do as addressing envelopes. If only I could do something with my feet, instead of with my hands. I wouldn’t mind dancing the same exercise over and over again, but addressing envelopes….’ She broke off as a sob choked her.

  Paul looked at her in a worried way.

  ‘You better give up. It’s no good getting in a state.’

  Jane was really angry.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind if we had nearly finished, but it takes such thousands of envelopes to earn ten pounds, and when they’re all Right Honourables, or The Dowager Lady Something-or-other, nobody could write fast.’

  ‘Tell you what. You take an afternoon off, and I’ll put in a bit of extra time after tea, and do some of yours.’

  Jane cried worse than ever at that.

  ‘That’ll mean you’ll have addressed envelopes every single minute of the day. Of course I can do mine, it’s only I feel so stupid today.’

  Paul sat down on Jane’s bed.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. If we get rooms for Mum and Dad for a week somewhere, we might manage to camp.’

  ‘What in? We haven’t any tents.’

  ‘No. But Dad was going to spend something on our holiday, so he might manage to hire two for a week. I say, you do look awful. Do leave the beastly things for now, anyway.’

  Jane had the stubbornness people get when they are overtired.

  ‘I won’t till the gong goes. I’m going to finish this hundred. Here’s another beast—Sir Alexander and Lady Corfu.’

  Paul did not know what to do. He hated to see Jane crying, and looking so ill.