The Fortunes of Springfield (10 page)

“Nonsense. I wish I could say to them: ‘Meet my future wife.’ They will probably guess at such a thing, even if I don’t say it. I suppose I couldn’t, Caroline?” She shook her head slowly.

“Well, not yet, anyway, Duncan.”

“All right.” He pressed her hand warmly and let it go. “I won’t hurry you. But you will come to dinner on Saturday?”

“Yes, if it isn’t too early. Then I can get the girls to bed, and Terence can get himself to bed. And Mr. Springfield can be here to see that everything is all right. Or a not he, then I can find somebody.”

“Good,” smiled Duncan. “I want to show you off.”

“Not much to show off,” laughed Caroline, but his words gave her food for thought. She had two evening dresses, but both of them had been made for her from old ones of Mrs. Webster’s. The local dressmaker had converted them to Caroline’s size, but although the material was expensive and beautiful, it was too old for her and the style too matronly. It would not do for Duncan’s party. If, in the future, she married Duncan, these friends of his would remember their first meeting with her, and they must remember her in something other than Mrs. Webster’s converted dresses.

She was grateful for the legacy that now made it possible for her to go into the town, to go to Jane
Smith’s elegant and exclusive little shop and buy herself her first evening dress. She had thought of something sufficiently unremarkable to be able to be worn many times, but Jane Smith had other ideas.

“Why, it’s Miss Hearst,” she exclaimed, seeing Caroline in conversation with one of the assistants. And she sent the girl away, to deal with Caroline herself. “I haven’t seen you since you left Mrs. Webster’s house. You’re looking very well—do you like it out at Springfield?”

“Very much. It’s quite a change to work with children.”

“Yes, of course, it must be. Well, now, you aren’t calling on Mrs. Webster’s behalf any more. Was it something for yourself you wanted?”

Caroline explained that she wanted a dress for a dinner party. Nothing elaborate, something that would do over and over again.

“Is it a dinner party at Springfield?” asked Jane.

“Indeed no,” replied Caroline, determined to squash any incorrect assumptions that Miss Smith
mi
ght
have. “If it were, I wouldn’t be needing an
eve
ning
dress: I’d be in my apron at the kitchen stove.”

Jane Smith laughed and led Caroline towards the evening dresses.

“
These are ball gowns,” she said, passing by a mass of tulle and lace and frothing skirts, “and dresses for dancing. Here are the dinner dresses—but these are too old for you. Now, something here should do.”

“Something good but not too expensive,” said Caroline.

“I’m afraid the two things rather go together. Good—expensive. It can’t be helped.”

She began to bring out dresses. Caroline shook her head over and over again. Something more conservative. Something less expensive. Something darker. Jane Smith sighed in exasperation.

“Now take my advice, do. Don’t try to bury yourself. What are you trying to do? Make yourself as inconspicuous as possible? Is it a
dinner
date with a lot of old fogies?”

“Indeed no,” said Caroline.

“Then let yourself go. Now, come here. I have the very dress for you. And don’t say it’s too expensive. You will look lovely in it.”

It was a beautiful shade of misty blue. It was a heavy silk brocade type of material scattered irregularly with silver stars and crescent moons and flashing comets. It had a skirt cunningly and intricately cut, contriving to be slim over the hips, yet immensely wide round the ballet-length hem. It was, said Jane Smith, a “honey”. And it fitted Caroline to perfection. She was sorely
tempted.

“Of course the neck is too low,” she said doubtfully.

“Too low?” Jane Smith was genuinely surprised.
“Not a bit of it.”

“Too low for me,” amended Caroline, who was not used to showing so much of her person.

“It’s a beautiful heart-shaped line, and not a bit low. And you have sleeves, too. It’s a most modest frock.”

“
I
feel quite abandoned in it,” laughed Caroline.

“Good for you. Now will you have it?”

With a last look at the terrible expense, Caroline
said she would.

“The two clips don’t go with it. They are extra. Rather expensive, I’m afraid.”

“Yes. I’d love to have them, but I really can’t afford them.”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll lend them to you for your dinner party and you bring them back to me on
Monday.”

Caroline was not at all surprised that Jane Smith should trust her. Gratefully she went away with her beautiful dress and the borrowed clips, regretting that she could not also buy a small fur wrap. Several times before Saturday she went to the cupboard where the dress was hanging, for the sheer pleasure of looking at it, lifting the innumerable folds of the skirt to admire the material. It seemed incredible that she, Caroline Hearst, actually owned such a beautiful thing. It made everything else that she possessed seem so dull. It inspired her to wash and set her hair very carefully; to cream her hands at night and go to bed in loose gloves; to buy a pair of frivolous sandals to wear with it. She had to live up to her new
dinn
er dress, she decided.

David readily gave her permission to go. He would be in the house on Saturday evening and would listen for any disturbance from the children. And he would find himself something cold to eat in the pantry. But this Caroline would not have. She set out an appetizing cold meal in the morning-room, put soup and coffee on the side of the stove which had only to be heated, saw both the little girls to bed, gave Terence his supper, and felt that she could, with a clear conscience, go up to her room to dress.

When she was ready, loth to cover such prettiness with her coat, she suddenly decided to show the dress to Wendy and Babs if they were awake. She picked up her coat and her small bag and went to their room. She could hear them chattering to each other, so she opened the door and went in. They were surprised and enchanted, wanting to touch her, saying how nice she smelled, insisting on another good night kiss, promising to be good girls and not disturb Uncle David.

Then she went to the mo
rn
ing-room, where David was reading by the fire.

“Is it all right for me to leave now, Mr. Springfield?” she asked.

He looked up, and then, astonished, rose to his feet.

“Yes, of course,” he said, looking at her as if she were a complete stranger. “Yes, of course,” not
know
ing
that he had repeated himself. “Yes, yes”—impatiently, as if she had argued with him. Then he pulled
himself
together, regained his usual command of himself.

“You shouldn’t spring surprises like this on people, you know, Miss Hearst,” he said. “You look quite ravishing, if I may be allowed to compliment you. I hope you will have a pleasant evening.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling, delighted beyond all measure at his compliment.

He remembered, somewhat belatedly, that she had still to get to Duncan’s house.

“May I drive you ov
er?
” he asked.

“Thank you, but Duncan is coming for me. At any
minute,
now. I’ve left everything ready for you, Mr. Springfield. You have only to move the soup and coffee over, on the stove.”

“
Thank
you.”

“Will you leave the back door unlocked for me, in case I should be late?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then good night, Mr. Springfield.”

“Good night, Miss Hearst”

Caroline went out, to wait for Duncan in the hall; and almost at once David heard the arrival of a car. He waited for it to leave again, which it did rapidly, and then he turned thoughtfully back to the fire.

It’s disturbing, he thought, very disturbing when somebody you
think
you know quite well suddenly emerges as somebody quite different. For he had taken Caroline completely for granted as the quiet, reserved, efficient person she was about the
house. He had never thought of her as a personality. She kept herself to herself’ very much, doing what she was engaged to do: keeping the house clean and attractive, looking after the children, cooking, sewing and ironing. Never obtruding herself. Wearing quiet clothes, in good taste but completely unremarkable. And now, without a moment’s notice, she appeared before
him
sparkling, in a dream of a dress, with her hair suddenly pretty, seeming to be a different person.

It was unsettling, because this new person did not seem likely to stay permanently in a job that could have few attractions for her. David remembered that she had talked of going abroad, and suddenly he was frightened that she would go. After all, why should she not? What could Springfield offer her but hard work? Why should she bury herself here? Frightened that she would go? Was frightened the word, he wondered and decided that it was. He did not want such a comfortable state of affairs upset—the thought was, indeed, definitely disturbing.

Yet, he thought later, she might go anyway. If there were anything between Duncan and herself. She called him Duncan; and she dressed like that to go to dinner with him. Oh hang, thought David in annoyance. Where on earth would I get somebody as good to replace her?

Caroline might have derived considerable comfort from a knowledge of David’s reaction to her appearance, but she did not know of it. She was, however, enjoying considerable success at Duncan’s little dinner-party. There were only six people present, with Mrs. Drew to wait on them; but it was a friendly gathering. Because she was well dressed, she knew an added confidence in herself. Because Duncan’s friends thought her charming, she
was
charming. Almost, she could have persuaded herself that she had grown in stature that evening, that she had discovered a hitherto unknown and charming side of herself. Duncan was obviously delighted and inclined to be a little proprietorial.

They sat round the drawing-room fire after dinner, a companionable circle, chatting and laughing. Caroline had been given a liqueur with her coffee, and she sipped it slowly. She was not used to the wine she had drunk at dinner, or the liqueur she sipped now, and she was aware of a delightful haziness that made everything seem extraordinarily pleasant. Her chair was very comfortable, her feet in their new wispy sandals were in the thickness of the carpet, she felt the flames from the fire warm upon her. The beautiful room pleased her, and the thought that, by saying one word, she could reign over it, pleased her more.

And Duncan was such a good and considerable host. She admitted that she was getting fond of him. What a temptation for Providence to put in the way of a girl, she thought; such a lovely home, such a kind and thoughtful husband.

Duncan saw her back to Springfield, and took her to the back door, with his arm about her shoulders. She went alone into the kitchen, which was still warm from the dying fire. She slipped off her coat and put it over a chair, and looked in the coffee pot to see if any coffee was left. Mr. Springfield could have drunk very little, because there was a good deal left, and Caroline moved it over the fire to warm it. She would have a cup of coffee before going up to bed. Still
thinkin
g of her delightful evening, she sat down in her fireside chair to wait for the coffee to warm up.

Suddenly the door opened, and David stood there. He was still dressed although it was well after midnight. “I thought I heard somebody come in,” he said.

“I hope you didn’t wait up for me,” said Caroline.

“No. At least, I did, but not for you but because of Terence.”

“What is the matter with Terence?”

“Goodness knows. He started to complain soon after you went. He had a headache, he was thirsty, his eyes hurt him; I thought he was putting on an act at first. But he looked a bit feverish and I helped him to bed; and now I’ve just discovered that he is covered with a red rash.”

“Oh, no,” protested Caroline.

“Yes. What can it be?”

“
I don’t know,” said Caroline, starting for the door.

David followed her up to Terence’s room. Caroline took the boy’s temperature and he certainly was feverish. And the rash was angry looking and spreading rapidly. She gave him a drink, settled
him
down in bed, promising him to send for a doctor in the morning, telling
him
to call her for anything he wanted, and then she went out again with David.

They stood in the upper hall. David ran his hands through his hair, and then flung out his hands in perplexity.

“Well?” he asked her. “Do you know what it is?”

With his hair awry, he looked suddenly absurdly boyish; in his perplexity, suddenly helpless; the big man who was never helpless. Her heart warmed to
him.

“No, I don’t,” said Caroline. “I hope it isn’t scarlet fever. I hope it’s only measles.”