The Fortunes of Springfield (20 page)

He stopped speaking and looked into her eyes. She thought for a moment that he was going to kiss her, but he did not. He leaned forward and touched her cheek lightly with his own, and then released her.

“Now I’m going to get Mrs. Davis to bring you a tempting supper; and when I’ve had my dinner, I shall come back to sit by Terence.”

Caroline sank back into her chair. She heard him go downstairs, listened to his footsteps receding, and fell into a reverie, comforted as he had meant her to be comforted, free of self-reproach as he had meant her to be free.

CHAPTER TWELVE

DUNCAN was one of many visitors who called at Springfield in the next few days, and he saw that Caroline was going to be busier than ever for some time ahead. When he called, she was giving tea to Mrs. Close and Patricia, who had also arrived to enquire after the young patient, and who, by their suggestions and comments, obviously thought that Terence would be better cared for in hospital.

“
We don’t
think
it necessary,” said Caroline. “He was taken to hospital by ambulance to be X-rayed, but when they found he had two cracked ribs, they strapped
him
up securely and said we could have him at home.”

“But with all you have to do already, you won’t have time to look after him.”

“Mrs. Davis is always a great help to me, and she is willing to be here longer for a week or two. And the doctor is at hand if we want him. We can manage perfectly well, thank you.”

Caroline’s voice was clear and a little cold. She would never so far forget her good manners as to tell them to
min
d their own business, but the coldness of her voice said something of it for her. Duncan looked at her more sharply. There was a difference in Caroline today.

Mrs. Close said gently:

“Caroline, we all admire your spirit tremendously. We know that you took on quite a full job when you came here, and because I was instrumental in bringing you here, I always feel a little concerned lest you should do too much. But, my dear, you cannot really claim to be experienced with children, and I do feel that with
Terence, perhaps, you are not quite on the right lines. Forgive me for saying this, Caroline, but it is so easy to feel that one is in the right when one is not. In this case, for instance, Terence will obviously get better nursing in a hospital than at home.”

“If he w
e
re seriously hurt, Mrs. Close, nobody w
o
uld be more glad than I to have him in hospital; but the fact that the hospital people were willing to send him home means that he doesn’t need expert nursing. And if you really feel so strongly about Terence and the other children, then you should speak to Mr. Springfield and not to me. He is their guardian, and he is perfectly satisfied with what I am doing here.”

She was quite calm, even a little triumphant; and under her calmness, both Patricia and her mother could feel a certain firmness that they had not noticed before. They let the matter drop, and, soon after, they left. Duncan breathed a sigh of relief.

“I was hoping they would go,” he said. “I wanted to speak to you alone.”

“Yes, it’s much nicer without them, isn’t it? They are always so firmly convinced that they can have their own way about everything; but they are not going to get it about Terence.”

“So now you are nurse as well?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Is there no end to what you have to do here?”

She smiled happily.

“Apparently not,” she said. “That’s how it is with children. Measles, accidents, tantrums, temperaments—all in the day’s work. But there are compensations, you know.”

“Oh, Caroline, Caroline, leave it all; and come to me and get some peace. I want you so much; and your life could be so much easier.”

“But, Duncan, I don’t want peace, and I don’t want an easy life. That will do for when I am old. I am young and in the current of life, here. And do you really think I would leave it all just when I am needed most?”

He looked at the glint in her eye, and the confident carriage of her head, and he said:

“You are different today. What is it, I wonder?”

“I feel encouraged, Duncan, and appreciated, and very much needed. And that is good for anybody.”

“So I have to go on waiting for you.”

Suddenly, she was very serious.

“No, Duncan, please don’t. Don’t wait for me. Give up the idea of marrying me altogether. I feel that it would not be fair to you to keep you waiting; and also it would not be fair to me to make such a marriage. Marriage should be for love—not the kind of fondness that I have for you. And I do not intend to leave these children as long as they need me. Whether Mr. Springfield marries or not has nothing to do with it. If they need me, I shall stay; and I can see that they may heed me for years ahead. Babs is nearly five. T
h
at is very young, Duncan, and she will need the kind of care I can give her for a long time.”

She paused, then smiled at him ruefully.

“I am really sorry to say this. I have played so often with the idea of living in your lovely house. I suppose most people would say I was mad to give up the idea of being mistress there, with all the advantages that you could give me, Duncan, for the sake of being housekeeper here; with very few advantages. But there it is. It is what I want, and what I have decided to do.”

“You are turning me down?”

“I’m so sorry, Duncan.”

“I am too old for you.”

“It isn’t that, my dear. If I had loved you, it would have made no difference, your being older.”

She saw that he did not believe her.

“But this is going to be such a hard life for you, Caroline.”

“It isn’t hard. It is busy, which is different. And the children love me—even Terence who hates to show it. Come and see him, Duncan. He is being such a good little boy.”

Duncan, however, was not in the mood for talking to a small, sick boy. He made his excuses and went away, telling himself that, after all, his life would go on as it had always gone on; but feeling that he would always, now, miss what Caroline could have brought to him.

Caroline went upstairs to see Terence. He was, as she had said to Duncan, being amazingly good, doing everything that he was told to do, causing no disturbance, playing quietly with his little models or reading his books. He had lost his surly manner, even with the visitors who came to see him, and there were many of them in those first few days. Patricia and Mrs. Close had been, Duncan had seen him previously, Miss Weedon had got in bringing an adventure story with her, and Jimmy Davis was allowed to go up and have tea with him every day, as Mrs. Davis was helping Caroline. He was rather silent, but invariably polite. Surely, thought Caroline triumphantly, they can all see what a nice child he
can
be, when he wants to.

But this afternoon she was amazed to find him in a flood of tears, and, immediately, she was at his bedside, smoothing back his rumpled hair, speaking consoling words to him.

“What is it, Terence? Are you in pain?” she wanted to know.

“No,” he sobbed.

“What is it then? What is upsetting you? Tell me all about it. There isn’t anything for you to cry about.”

“I didn’t mean to crash the tractor,” he sobbed.

“But we
know
you didn’t,” said Caroline at once. “We know it was an accident.”

“Uncle David will be angry with me.”

“No, he won’t. He only thinks you aren’t old enough yet to touch the farm machinery. If you promise not to, he won’t be angry at all.”

But this consolation did not stop the flow of tears.

“What is it, Terence? Let me help you. I’m sure it is
some
thing
we can settle.”

After a little more persuading, he jerked out between sobs:

“Now Julian and John can’t come to stay.”

“Well, that is a bit awkward. You see, by the time you are better, it will be time for them to go back to school. They can always come some other holiday, but I know it’s a disappointment now.”

“Well, why can they go to school—a special school for boys—and I can’t go?” he sobbed. “I have to go to a silly school with girls.”

“But there are lots of other boys there.”

“Yes, but girls too. It isn’t a proper school.”

“Do you
want
to go to boarding school, Terrence?”

“Yes, I want to go to Julian and John’s school. It’s an important school, not for girls; where they live all the
tim
e and do exciting things. And I thought if I was friends with them, and very good, you would let me go to school too.”

“But, my darling, you can go to school with Julian and John if you want to.”

“Can I?” he asked, astounded almost into forgetting to cry.

“Yes. You see, you were such a naughty little boy that I thought you would have a bad time at boarding school. They don’t like boys who are rude or sullen or who do bad things. But if you can behave yourself, and
I
know you can, Terence, you can go as soon as you are better.”

He looked at her wide-eyed.

“Will Uncle David let me?”

“Yes, I am sure he will; if you are good.”

“I will be good,” he said.

“And I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll have Julian and John over for a few days anyway; and they can tell you all about the school, and you can tell them all about the farm. You can have a couch in the garden, or downstairs; or perhaps the doctor will let you get up soon. And you won’t be able to run about, but you’ll be able to make friends with the boys. Would you like that?”

He said he would, and Caroline went away later, marvelling. That was why he had played truant, she thought, after coming back from the first visit to the Evertons. A school with girls was not good enough for him. That was why he had been at loggerheads with the twins on the second visit: their vaunted superiority had maddened him. And she had worried about sending him to school, had thought that she might be shelving her responsibilities by sending him away!

When David came in from the farm, Caroline was waiting for
him
in a s
umme
r dress of sky-blue cotton. He noticed
w
hat a pretty picture she made with her sun-tanned arms and legs, and with a new sparkle in her eyes.

She said:

“Can you spare a few minutes for me to talk to you?”

“Certainly.” He put his riding crop on the hall table. He had been riding round the farm, and wore riding breeches with an info
r
mal open-necked shirt. His hair was wind-blown.

“I do believe, Mr. Springfield, that we’ve got Terence straightened out.”

“Good for you. Isn’t it a bit sudden? How did it happen?”

She explained how she had found him weeping, and succeeded in getting his grievances out of him.

“Isn’t it surprising?” she said. “When we first went to the Evertons, I thought we were beginning to get
somewhere with the boy; but I remember now the twins were terribly uppish about this new school they were going to, and Terence was apparently filled with resentment because they could go, and he could not. And the more he had to go to the prep school here, the more annoyed and resentful he was, until of course he just decided not to go, and played truant. And the second visit to Janice piled fuel on his resentment. I do think it would be a marvellous idea if he could go to this school that Julian and John go to. Do you think it could be arranged? He may not be well enough at the beginning of the term, but perhaps soon after.”

“I don’t see why not,” said David. “He’s at the age when he would normally go. Actually, I thought he’d get a pretty bad time of it if he insisted on being such a nuisance.”

“Well, I don’t think he is going to be a nuisance any more. And will it be all right if I ask Julian and John to come here for a few days? They can tell
him
about the school, and see the farm, and I have an idea they might be good for him.”

“Of course, do whatever you wish; but after the holiday experience, I should think you mi
gh
t be asking for trouble.”

“I don’t think so,” said Caroline cheerfully. “I
thin
k
we’ve got over
that
hurdle.”

So Julian and John came to spend a few days at the farm, driven over by their father and Janice, who returned to their home the same day. By
t
hat time, Terence was allowed to rest on a couch downstairs or in the garden, or to be wheeled about in a wheelchair. The flesh wound on his leg was healing well, but still not sufficiently healed for
him
to walk.

Julian and John were delighted with every
thing
.
They frankly envied Terence his life here, and enthused about the animals and the stream and the quarry and all the places to which Terence directed them. They were also
frankly full of admiration for his exploit with the tractor, and asked so many questions about it that Terence had to invent a few details to make the incident worthy of such curiosity.

Caroline stood by and watched, and was satisfied.

They went on picnics, Terence being wheeled to the chosen spot. They were allowed to take the dinghy on the stream, since, if it spilled, the stream was not deep enough to drown them. David let them ride the horses, under supervision, and smiled to see them go after rabbits with an air rifle. Terence, as the host, albeit an immobile one, felt puffed up with elation and pride. When Janice telephoned to know what was happening, and how the experiment was working, Caroline had nothing but good to report.

Then the twins were taken away again, and Caroline went to see Terence settled down for the night.

“Well,” she sighed, “it all worked very well, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” sighed Terence.

“And of course, they want to come and spend all
their holidays here.”

“Can they?”

“A part of the holidays. Their family wants them too. Well, Terence, your Uncle David has been to see the headmaster of the twins’ school, and everything is fixed up.”

“Can I go?” asked Terence eagerly.

“Yes, as soon as you are better. As soon as the doctor says so. Anyway, it will take us a little time to get all that you want. You must have a trunk and a tuck-box and all sorts of special clothes, and Julian tells me that nearly all the boys have a bicycle too.”

“Gosh,” said Terence, overwhelmed.

Caroline talked to him a little longer, then wait to glance at the girls in their bedroom, already fast asleep; then went on down to the kitchen. The house seemed
empty without the turbulent twins—it would seem emptier still when Terence had gone. She went to the oven, where David’s supper was cooking, and then began to mix a salad.

Later that evening, all her work for the day finished, she walked in the garden, in the soft darkness, to get a breath of fresh air before going to bed. The lawn was soft beneath her tread. It had been a lawn for so long that even Gerald’s neglect of it had not been able to ruin it completely, and already it was coming back into condition. Light streamed out from the drawing-room windows, and Caroline kept away from them, respecting David’s privacy. She could smell the fragr
a
nce of the roses and carnations as she passed them. It was lovely out here now, after the stress of the day, and she made for the garden seat at the end of the lawn, so that she could sit and absorb the peace and tranquility. It was not until she was almost there that she realized that somebody was already occupying the seat.

“Oh,” she exclaimed involuntarily.

“Don’t go away,” said David’s voice. “Come and sit down. It’s lovely out here tonight.”

“Yes,” agreed Caroline, seating herself beside him.

For a long time they sat in silence, both enjoying the silence, neither feeling a need to rush into speech and break it. That was nice, thought Caroline, to sit at peace like that. And when the silence was broken, it was because they both started to speak at once.

“Sorry,” said David, “what were you going to say?”

“I was going to say good night,” she said. “That is all. And you?”

“I was about to say that I wanted to talk to you, that I was coming in when I saw you come out, but thought it might
be a little late. However, now you are he
r
e
.
..
”

“Yes?” she encouraged.

“Caroline, I’ve been
thinking
about you. There will not be the same need for your services when Terence
goes to school. He has really been the biggest problem. And Babs is five now, and that means that she could go to school with Wendy. So that, if you wanted to leave us, you could really do so with a perfectly clear conscience.”

“But could I? Terence will still have long holidays, you know. And Babs will need extra attention when
she
gets home from school; it can be quite an upset for a
child.
Not that it will with Babs—she already has the idea from both the others that school is something wonderful. And, anyway, she is too little to walk as far as that—she should be taken in the car every day, especially in the winter—even if she walks home.”

“Now you are just making difficulties. Don’t you want to go?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“My dear Caroline
...”
He hesitated, and then went on: “No, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay—indefinitely. We all need you here. But that is pure selfishness on my part, and we have no right to keep, you if you want to go; no right to keep Duncan waiting any longer.”

“Duncan?” she asked.

“Yes. Aren’t you going to marry him?”

“No,” said Caroline.

“But you gave me to understand you were—and so did everybody else.”

“Everybody else knew nothing whatever about it.”

“But you implied that you loved Duncan.”

“That
was
because you were being unbearably unkind about him. I didn’t imply that I loved him. I only said, what if I did? But I don’t, and I have told him so, and that I will not marry him. I told him that I would much rather stay here and look after the children.”

“Ah,” said David.

There was a pause, before David asked:

“Why do you want to stay, Caroline?”

“
Because I love these children.”

“Only the children?”

“I don’t understand you,” she said slowly.

“Caroline, if you aren’t going to marry Duncan, stay here with us. Always. Stay here with me. I need you, the whole place needs you, just as much as the children. I love you, Caroline; marry me and stay here with me.
”

H
e put out a hand and drew her into his arms. In the sweet darkness of the night, his lips found hers and kissed them long and deeply. Caroline sighed a long sigh, and relaxed against him.

“It doesn’t really make sense,” she said contentedly, a little later.

“What doesn’t?” asked David, his lips on her hair.

“That you should love me. All those everybodies who thought I was going to marry Duncan, thought that you were going to marry Patricia. Patricia did, too.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that. I never gave her cause to think so.”

“Not when you redecorated the house together?”

“But that was for
you,
Caroline; for you, my angel.”

“Oh no.”

“Of course it was. Patricia butted in, and I was
glad
of her help in some things; but the same day that you went away, and I returned to the house and found it so empty, I had the wonderful idea of getting it all beautiful for you to come back to.”

“And my room?” she asked. “Who did that?”

“I did. At least, I did the choosing. Patricia had nothing to do with that. But you, unappreciative child, barely said a thank you.”

“Because I thought Patricia did it.”

“Darling, you were jealous?”

“Of course I was. Achingly, miserably jealous, because I loved you so much.”

“What, all the summer, Caroline?”

“All the summer. Ever since I set eyes on you. But I honestly never thought it possible that I should marry you.”

“Why not? What could be more suitable?”

“Because I’m such a nobody, dear, dear David. You haven’t forgotten that children’s home in my distant past?”

“It makes me love you more. It makes me think of all the things I can do for you in future to make up for the past. Let us get married at once, Caroline; and then, as soon as Terence is at school, we’ll pack the little girls off to Janice—or Mrs. Davis can look after them—and we’ll go off on a long honeymoon. Where shall it be?”

“Well,” said Caroline, “the last time I planned a honeymoon it was going to be Paris first for a few days, and then somewhere high in the mountains. Oh, we were going to take a car and make a long tour. Does that sound nice?”

“There,” said David. “You must admit I had cause to think that you would marry Duncan, if you had even planned your honeymoon.”

“It was make-believe,” she said, “to console Duncan.”

“There’s nothing make-believe about this, is there?”

“Oh, David, I think there must be. I can’t really think it is happening. Prove to me that it is.”

The proof he furnished seemed to be completely satisfactory. They stayed in the garden until the night air became a little chill and damp, and then, David’s arm about Caroline, they went into the house, and, with a last long kiss, he sent her off to bed.

Caroline went up the beautiful sweeping staircase. She really belonged to this house now, as it also belonged to her. She would no longer sit in the kitchen for her meals, but have them in the dining-room with David, and somebody else could reign over the kitchen. They would entertain here, and Caroline knew that all the people who had had other ideas about herself and David would be pleased to come; all the gossips who had thought her inefficient would forget about that now. She went into
the
girls’ room, and, by the light from the hall, looked down on their peaceful faces. Then into Terence’s room, remarking how angelic he always looked asleep; and then on into her own. She might have children of her own later, but she would never forget the love and gratitude she owed to these three, for being the cause of bringing herself and David together. Tomorrow morning, he had said, they would settle the details of the wedding. He did not mean to waste time. Caroline felt a thrill of love and desire as she walked to her window to draw the curtains. She stood and looked about her at the room that David had planned for her, and found it beautiful. “This is my home,” she said softly, and knew that it was the first time in her life that she could say those words truly; and knew, far beyond the physical presence of Springfield, the land and the house and its contents, deep down in her heart and her spirit, that she was, indeed, truly at home.