Sister of the Housemaster (6 page)

“
And we are all ready for you,
”
she said.

“
It looks most welcoming,
”
he said, nodding at
the table.

“
I
’
m sure you have no doubt about your welcome.
”

It could have been meant as charmingly as it was spoken, yet there was a slight strangeness in the intonation
that challenged Patrick. He looked quickly at her, but she was adjusting things on the dining table with an air of innocence. He said:

“
I
’
ll put my bag in my room, and wash my hands. Have I time for that?
”

Arnold accompanied him, and in a few minutes both men were back. Patrick lifted his sister into an arm-chair and arranged her at the table so that she could rest her leg, while Ingrid brought in dishes and placed them before Arnold. They gathered round and began their meal. At first, the conversation stumbled about among the politenesses, but after Sylvia had temporarily exhausted her complaints it became more interesting, and
Ingrid found that she was listening to Patrick
with absorption. She was not sure how this had come about. They had been talking about the boys. Arnold had talked of the need for ideals in the present-day world, and Patrick had seized on this at once. It was, he said, the only hope held out for the world; that people should be tolerant and friendly and wise.

“
We are all too close now to be anything else,
”
he said.
“
There was a time when what happened on one half of the world did not affect the other half of the world. But not any more. Mode
rn
progress has put us all on top of each other. How long did it take Hannibal to get across the Alps with his elephants? Or the Pilgrim Fathers to get to America? Or the old tea clippers to reach India, or the woo
l
traders, Australia? And how long does it take us today to fly from here to any part of the world
?
Every fresh design that leaves my drawing-board brings the people of Africa, India, New Zealand or China nearer to us. The only hope for the world that I can see is that ideal of tolerance and friendliness. And that is where Arnold and people like him come in. They must catch the young idea.
”

Arnold took him up. The two men talked and Ingrid and Sylvia listened most of the time, Sylvia unwillingly, because it was a conversation in which she did not figure, Ingrid with more and more interest. Suddenly, Patrick turned to her, as she listened, and asked:

“
What do you think, Ingrid? Don
’
t you agree?
”
She almost had to shake the absorption out of her eyes, as she answered:

“
Oh yes, I agree with you absolutely.
”

It was after that, as she went into the kitchen with the sweet plates, and brought in the cheese, that
she
reminded herself of her resolve not to become one of the herd. He was charming. She admitted it. He would charm the birds out of the trees. See how he had worked it just now, turning to her with intimate friendliness in the middle of a conversation, to ask her opinion, supposing that she took an intelligent interest in the affairs of the world
—
but probably finding out, too, if she were listening, how she was looking, if the charm was working on her. She decided that she did not want to be a scalp on anybody
’
s belt.

When the meal was finished, Patrick helped her to clear the table.

“
Does all this have to be washed up now?
”
he asked.

“
No. We are paying one of the school maids to come and do it for us. There is only coffee to be made now, and the tray is ready.
”

“
Why so many cups?
”

“
Miss Everton is coming in, and Mr. Pinder, and Mr. Hastall, who is a science master, and perhaps Miss Orindean.
”

“
Quite a party.
”
commented Patrick.

“
It makes a little liveliness for Sylvia.
”

And brings your Pamela in to see you, added Ingrid in her thoughts; while Patrick noted that Laurence Pinder was included in the party, no doubt by Ingrid
’
s choice.

One by one the guests arrived, Laurence first, Pamela last, and gathered round the welcoming fire, glad to be out of the cold night. Ingrid dispensed coffee, and the evening hew past in pleasant conversation. No music, no radio, no television, thought Ingrid, just pleasant and interesting conversation, and how relaxing, and yet restoring, it was. Arnold had to disturb himself to go on a round of the House, and the necessity for such a round was confirmed as soon as he had left his own vestibule and
approa
ched
the school side. From one of the big studies
number four he judged, which held eight boys, an appalling noise was
issuing, and he made his way there with dispatch. He opened the door quietly, but there was no need for quietness, for the boys would not have heard him had he thrown it open violently. A game of follow-
m
y-leader was in progress. In one corner of this big study there was a flight of stone steps. It led nowhere, since the door it had originally led to had long since been blocked up. The boys were running up these steps, catching hold of a pipe that ran across the high ceiling, travelling along it hand over hand, dropping on to a table, then the f
loor
, and climbing an obstacle of piled chairs, before starting the whole process over again. Helpless with laughter, whooping and clattering, they did not see Arnold standing there. At last one boy saw him and became instantly still, thus attracting the attention of others. Inevitably, there was the one boy who went on clowning when all the others had stopped, who realized what was happening at last with considerable embarrassment. Arnold stood silent, motionless, until there was perfect silence.

“
I want this place perfectly tidy, and all of you back at your preparation, in five minutes
’
time,
”
he said then, and turned and walked away. There was a frenzy of activity to have everything ready against the Housemaster
’
s return. It was Ingrid who reminded him that he had not returned.

“
Aren
’
t you going on your visit of inspection?
”
she asked.

“
No,
”
said Arnold.
“
They will go on expecting me, so they will have to behave. I
’
m much too comfortable here.
”

Pamela was the first to go. She had come in her own car, and Patrick went out with her to see her safely off.

“
Come to dinner on Sunday evening,
”
said Pamela.

“
I have to go back on Sunday evening.
”

“
Tomorrow, then.
”

“
It
’
s very kind of you, but I feel guilty at deserting my sister when I am visiting her.
”

“
I don
’
t think Sylvia will mind, but you ask her. If you think she doesn
’
t like it, ring me up; otherwise I will expect you.
”
She was quite certain that Sylvia would make no objection. She held out her, hand to Patrick in farewell, and then drove competently round the quadrangle, under the Norman arch, through the courtyard and away from the Cathedral precincts. Patrick stood and looked about him. It was still frosty, but it was a wonderful night, so clear, so remote. He did not want to
go back yet. He would stay out here, and enjoy
a cigarette.

As he smoked, pacing slowly backwards and forwards on one side of the quadrangle, Arnold
’
s side door opened, and Mr. Hastall came out. A rather querulous old boy, decided Patrick, but he seemed to have fallen a victim to Ingrid
’
s charm
s in a nice, fatherly way. Hasta
ll went stumping off on the far side of the lawn, and Laurence and Ingrid came to the door. They were framed in the lighted doorway, and stood talking for a few moments. Apparently, Laurence was persuading her to walk a little, for she went away, came back with a coat over her dark red dress, and rejoined him in the doorway. They came out together, closed the door, and Patrick lost sight of them. After
a while
, he realized that they were coming closer to him, and then he saw them, arm in arm, stepping briskly through the cold night. He heard Laurence say:
“
Comfortable
?
”
and heard Ingrid
reply: “Perfectly, thank you.” He had
no
inten
tion of hiding himself. He went on walking and
drawing on a cigarette, and the small red glow attracted their attention. They walked quietly.

“
Good night
,”
he called.
“
You are taking th
e
air, too
?
”

They realized who he wa
s.

“
It
’
s such a lovely night
,”
said Ingrid,

“
Yes, it is,
”
replied Patrick.

“
Good night,
”
called Laurence, and he and Ingrid went on, their footsteps receding in the direction of the Black Alley. And what there, wondered Patrick
—
a quick turning into each other
’
s arms in the darkness, kisses of youth happily given, happily shared? They seemed to be very happy together
—
this Laurence was yet another victim of Ingrid
’
s charm. She was well supplied with admirers.

Patrick was wrong about them, however. In the Black Alley, they continued to walk briskly.

“
We will go to the end,
”
Ingrid was saying,
“
and past the Archdeacon
’
s house, and round the Cathedral, and through the little corridor to Arnold
’
s House. And then I must hurry in to help Sylvia to bed.
”

Their walk continued briskly to its end, and they came to the garden entrance of the House. Laurence took both of her hands in his.

“
I enjoy every moment I have with you, always,
”
he said.
“
I hope you
’
re not too bored with me.
”

“
I
’
m never bored with you, Laurence,
”
she replied.

He kissed her hands, clasped them warmly for a moment, and let her go.

“
Good night,
”
she called to him, going through the garden.

Patrick was alone in the living-room,

“
Where is Sylvia?
”
asked Ingrid.

“
Gone to bed
—
Arnold too. They said good nights for you.
”

“
But who helped Sylvia
?
”

“
Miss Everton, I believe, before she went.
”

“
Oh dear, that was bad of me. I shouldn
’
t have gone off until I had helped Sylvia to bed.
”

“
My dear chi
l
d, Sylvia didn
’
t mind. Why should she? She was pleased that you were enjoying yourself. She made some comments on love
’
s young dream, and did not expect you back for some time. She was quite pleased to have Miss Everton help her. You need not have hurried.
”

Ingrid looked at him in silence. Several things
—
explanations, justifications
—
trembled on her lips, but she did not say any of them. He had the wrong end of the stick, but it did not matter. It was hardly likely to be of importance to him. He had his own absorptions.

CHAPTER
FOUR

ON the night of the birthday celebrations of Pamela
’
s brother Bruce, the guests who were to attend from the school foregathered in Sylvia
’
s living-room. Sylvia, a determined opponent to the doctor, who had advised against the outing, was dressed in blue with rhinestones, and was sparkling in anticipation of the evening festivities before her. Arnold and Laurence, ready in their evening clothes, were invested with the glamor which Ingrid considered this immaculate black, and white outfit always gave to men. She herself was resplendent in a new white dress of net, which suited her young dark beauty to perfection. It was a present from Arnold
—
in gratitude, Ingrid knew, for what she wa
s
doing in the household. It was a beautiful dress with a frothy, swirling skirt, and Laurence, knowing she was to be dressed in white, had sent red rosebuds for her to wear. If anything more had been needed to complete his subjugation, it was supplied by her appearance this evening. Sylvia, in her oblique way, had let Ingrid know that she had been invited from a sense of duty and that Laurence had been invited for her benefit; but neither of the young people minded Sylvia
’
s obliqueness. They were going to dance, to enjoy a festive evening, to be young and gay and carefree; and for both of them such an occasion was sufficiently a rarity to be doubly enjoyable.

They were all waiting for Patrick. He was a little late, but as he had a long drive to reach them, they were prepared for that. He was to take Sylvia, since
his
car was larger than Arnold
’
s and would be more comfortable for her, and the other three would travel in Arnold
’
s more utilitarian car.

At last he arrived. He came in swiftly, smiling
,
and at once he was the focus of attention. Almost, thought Ingrid, one could feel the others expanding under his charm. They all liked him, responded to him. Well, she thought, either you do or you don
’
t. Either you respond or it leaves you cold, and I
’
m afraid it simply leaves me cold. But she had to admit that the other two men, even Laurence who was so magnificently tall and broad, seemed less glamorous than they had, beside Patrick
—
Patrick with his shining gold head, his confident movements, his grey eyes that looked at one so keenly and disconcertingly. And her heart warmed to Laurence with a strange feeling of atonement. 

“
I suppose you would like to get off at once?
”
Patrick asked his sister.

“
Oh, I think we have time for a drink, haven
’
t we, Sylvia?
”
asked Arnold, who had the tray of drinks ready,

“I
think so,
”
said Sylvia.
“W
e must give Patrick time to get his breath.
”

She was dotingly proud of him. Surely, Pamela would be too. She was, in fact, proud of all three men who would escort her. She was used to Arnold, of course; every day she saw him around in his tweed clothes, with his bla
ck
gown
fl
apping behind him; or in his plain dark suit, and occasionally in evening clothes. She had forgotten how distinguished
his r
ather lined, good-looking face always was. At times like the present, it was brought home to her anew, and she could remember the days when she had been dotingly proud of Arnold. It was a necessity to her to be proud of her possessions
—
human or otherwise. Love without pride was unknown to her. Patrick, Arnold, Laurence. Yea, she thought with satisfaction, few people could have a handsomer escort.

Laurence carried her out to Patrick
’
s car, and Patrick set off with her. Arnold took the driving seat of his own car, and Laurence sat with Ingrid at the back. He held her hand in his, and whispered to her that she was beautiful
—
a good beginning, thought Ingrid, to an evening of pleasure.

The whole evening was certainly a new experience. Ingrid had never been a guest in so grand and luxurious an establishment. The ballroom was magnificent, lit by many crystal chandeliers. The conservatory, too, had been hung with festoons of colored lights. The buffets were incredible in their lavishness, and in the depths of imagination which had been plumbed to make them possible.

“
Are they millionaires
?
”
Ingrid asked Laurence, watching with him the kaleidoscope of beautiful dresses in the colorful scene.

“
I don
’
t think so. Bruce is the only son
—
and his coming-of-age something very important.
”

“
I suppose he inherits all this
?
”

“
Yes.
”

“
And Pamela nothing?
”

“
I expect Pamela will be provided for. Your sister-in-law says she has already been left two fortunes
—
from maternal aunts or grandmothers or some such. Easy prey for fortune hunters.
”

“
Not so easy, I should think,
”
said Ingrid.
“
I imagine Pamela knows her own mind.
”

“
Her own mind at the moment seems to be engrossed with Patrick,
”
said Laurence casually.
“
I don
’
t think I should care to marry into the Orindeans
—
even with two fortunes added. My taste is for something much simpler.
”

“
Shall we dance?
”
asked Ingrid.
“
Pity to waste this music.
”

“
Do you know anybody here?
”

“
Only the ones we came with. And you?
”

“
The same. Well, that
’
s fine. We can dance together most of the evening.
”

With a few exceptions, they did keep together all the evening, having supper together, sitting out together, exchanging comments on the other guests, feeling delightfully at home simply because they had each other. Once or twice Ingrid went to Sylvia
’
s side to see if she was all right, but it was obvious that Ingrid was not wanted. Sylvia was holding court. Pamela had introduced nearly everybody to her, and she had no lack of company. On one of these little visits, Ingrid was claimed by Patrick.

“
I haven
’
t been doing my duty,
”
he said.
“
Will you dance?
”

“
Thank you, no,
”
said Ingrid
“
I don
’
t want to be anybody
’
s duty.
”

“
Forgive me
—
an unhappy figure of speech. Wi
l
l you give me the pleasure?
”

“
You have raised a doubt in my mind,
”
said Ingrid.
“
I can
’
t be sure now that it would be a pleasure.
”

A glint appeared in his eye.

“
Contrary girl,
”
he said,
“
come and dance.
”

As he had taken her by the hand, and was pulling her gently away from Sylvia, she had no choice. He put his arm about her and began to dance. She was slender and supple, but so were most of the girls here. She was beautiful in her white dress, but there were dresses even more beautiful, from the salons of London and Paris. Yet there was something about her that specially pleased him
—
was it her complete lack of an attempt to impress him? or the sweet, washed smell of her hair? or the fragrance of her red rosebuds? or the silence with which she gave herself up to the dance?

“
We must do it again later,
”
he said, but they did not do it again, When next she saw him, he was looking for Arnold, because Sylvia was tired and wanted to go home, and Patrick also thought she had had enough.

“
I can quickly drive her home,
”
said Patrick,
“
if you will tell Arnold where we have gone. I can
’
t find him anywhere.
”

“
He is probably closeted in some little back room, with a few precious cronies, having absorbing discussions. But if you are taking Sylvia home, I ought to come too. She can
’
t get to bed without help.
”

“
Can
’
t I find that nice Everton girl to help?
”

“
Oh, she will be in bed now. No, I can easily
come with you, and Laurence can find Arnold and tell him what has happened.
”

Laurence would rather have been going with Ingrid, but since somebody must tell Arnold, he agreed to find him. He helped Patrick get Sylvia to the car, touched Ingrid
’
s hand in good night, and watched Patrick drive away.

“
Oh,
”
said Sylvia on a long sigh,
“
I haven
’
t enjoyed anything so much for years. It was a great treat. I met so many interesting people, and everybody was so sweet and sympathetic. Dr.
Maxwell was utterly wrong about it
—
I feel I
’
ve had a real tonic. I
’
m tired now, of course, but it
’
s been really lovely.
”

“
You must stay in bed tomorrow and rest,
”
said Ingrid.

“
Yes, I will probably do that,
”
At the moment, however, Sylvia was too stimulated to rest or even to be quiet. She chattered all the way home, and Ingrid, thinking that she probably would not sleep, persuaded her to have a sleeping tablet when she was in bed. Then she went back to the living-room where Patrick was waiting for her.

“
Are we going back to the dance?
”
he asked her.

Ingrid looked at the clock. It was well past midnight.

“
I don
’
t think I will. It will be after o
n
e when we get there. You go.
”

“
There isn
’
t any hurry. Let us have a drink.
”
He had drawn together the ashes of the fire, while she was helping Sylvia, and had put on one or two logs, so that now there was a cheerful blaze. He brought her a glass of wine, and toasted her from the other side of the fire.

“
I was sorry to deprive your escort of the chance of bringing you home,
”
said Patrick.

“
It didn
’
t matter,
”
replied Ingrid.

“
I hope you enjoyed your evening.
”

“
Very much. It makes a delightful change. All this.
”
She spread her billowing white skirt to indicate what she meant by
“
all this,
”
and leaned her cheek sideways to touch the coolness of the rosebuds.
“
I think,
”
she went on,
“
that it is just because it is a change that I liked it so much. I shouldn
’
t like to lead that sort of life all the time.
”

“
No?
”
asked Patrick.
“
Why not?
”

“
So useless,
”
said Ingrid.

He smiled at her.

“
You look beautiful and useless and decorative yourself just now,
”
he said.
“
Yet some would say you had your uses
—
as you are.
”

He is trying the famous charm on me, thought Ingrid.

“
I like people to be useful,
”
she said,
“
to do a useful job in the world.
”

“
And which are the jobs that you call useful?
Do I do a useful job?
”

“
But of course.
”

“
I breathe relief. And Arnold and Laurence, of course?
”

“
Without doubt. And Miss Everton
—
all the people here. And revue artists, who lift people
’
s morale, and comedians, who make people laugh, and painters and writers,
who
make
relaxation
enjoyable, as well as the
dustmen
and
grocers
and bus drivers
...
The people I can
’
t stand are the ones who spend their time between the hairdresser, the dressmaker, the cinema and restaurant, and golf and motoring, and I
’
ve seen a lot of them tonight.
”

“
There aren
’
t nearly as many of them as there used to be. You
’
re very severe, aren
’
t you?
”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“
For a young person who lives in a glass house.
”