The Fortunes of Springfield (7 page)

Next day, the birthday party took place, and Caroline
arranged
a very sumptuous tea on the kitchen table. She compensated for the fact that it was in the kitchen by picking all the early daffodils from the sheltered
corner
s of the garden and making the whole room bright with flowers. She had reminded David of this occasion and hinted that it might be a good move to appear, if only briefly, at the party, and show Wendy that he was interested. Wendy, however, would not have known whether to expect him or not. If she had ever had a birthday party before, it had been when her mother was alive and she did not remember it. This, in effect, was the first and she was thrilled and excited by it, enthusiastic about the small presents her friends brought, elated by her own importance
.
Babs was inclined to be jealous, and was only consoled by the promise of a party for herself when her birthday came along.

David put in an appearance in time for the cutting of the birthday cake. Duncan Wescott was with him, and the two men added considerably to the gaiety of the occasion. It was when Wendy had blown out the candles and the whole party was singing loudly “Happy Birthday to You,” that the door opened to admit another arrival, and Miss Weedon stood be
aming
at the scene.

“Well, Miss Weedon, you are just in time for the cutting of the cake,” said Duncan, including her in his general bonhomie.

“I met Wendy on her way home from school,” Miss Weedon explained. “And she was, of course, full of the birthday party. And I’ve brought along a little present.” The little present was a very prettily woven little basket filled with sweets. Caroline guessed that she had had the basket by her, but it really was very well hand-made, and Caroline was glad on Wendy’s account. Miss Weedon was invited to sit down and given tea and birthday cake. She accepted with alacrity, intrigued at finding both Mr. Springfield and Mr. Wescott here, and noting every one of their actions and glances with her gimlet eyes. It did not escape her that Mr. Wescott spent most of his time looking at Caroline; and she thought that Mr. Springfield was well aware of this, although he concealed what he was thinking better than his friend. Miss Weedon’s busy
mind
began to weave probabilities around the people here; and when the tea was finished, and the children went into the garden with Caroline for some organized games, Miss Weedon left to carry her news elsewhere.

At the bottom of the drive, she saw the butcher’s van, and immediately hailed it.

“Do you want a lift, Miss Weedon?” asked the driver.

“Please. Which direction are you going?”

“Back to town.”

“Oh, good. Then would you be so very good as to drop me at Mrs. Close’s house?”

This the young man did, and Miss Weedon, looking at her watch, decided that Mrs. Cl
o
se might still be at tea, and walked along the drive to the front door of the house.

Patricia saw her coming from the drawing-room window.

“Miss Weedon,” she informed her mother.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Close.

“Can we be out?” asked Patricia, her hand on the bell ready to summon the maid and give her the message.

“I
don’t
think
we can do that, dear. She’d be quite likely to walk round the garden on some excuse, and look in here and find us.”

“It would serve her right,” said Patricia.

“No, she’d better come in. But we have an engagement pretty soon.”

Miss Weedon came in, delighted to find the tray still on the tea table. She was effusive in her greeting, because she considered Mrs. Close “a real lady”—a tribute she was not ready to accord to all her friends— and, somewhat to her annoyance, she always felt a trifle inferior in her presence.

She accepted tea and small sandwiches, and, the topic of the weather exhausted, said she had come from dear little Wendy’s birthday party.

“Of course, I didn’t stay,” she said. “I just popped in with a little gift for her, which I do believe she liked very much.”

“How kind of you,” said Mrs. Close. “I wish I had known myself that it was Wendy’s birthday. And how kind, too, of Caroline, to plan a party on top of everything else she has to do
.”

“They were certainly all enjoying themselves very much,” Miss Weedon went on. “Of course, Mr. Springfield and Mr. Wescott were the life and soul of the party.”

“Were
they
both there?” asked Patricia.

“Indeed they were. Mr. Springfield was helping Wendy cut the cake, and making a great to-do about it.”

“I thought he never came in for tea,” said Patricia.

“Well, he was there today, very gay and making jokes for the children. And, of course, Mr. Wescott is often there.”

Mrs.
Cl
ose and her daughter exchanged glances. It was no good querying Miss Weedon’s statements. She always knew.
How
she knew, they had never decided, not knowing how systematic and
how
persistent a visitor, news-gatherer and gossiper Miss Weedon was.

“I expect Mr. Wescott can be a great help to David,” said Mrs. Close. “After all, David has been out of this country for a long time, and Duncan can show him the ropes.”

“Of course,” said Miss Weedon, “but, if you want my opinion, I think there is another attraction at Springfield.”

Mrs. Close, who did not want her opinion, changed the subject. She pointed out the flower arrangements, asked Miss Weedon how
her
garden was getting on, and began to talk about the next meeting of the Garden Club. But when Dorothy, the maid, came to call Mrs. Close to the telephone,
Patricia
worked her way back to Springfield almost at once.

“What a pity we didn’t know it was Wendy’s birthday,” she said. “I would have liked to send her something. Perhaps it isn’t too late even now.”

“Perhaps you don’t go over there very much?” asked Miss Weedon curiously.

“No, we don’t. We feel Caroline has plenty to do without entertaining us; but
o
f course we’ve always been great friends of the Springfields and we are interested in the children.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind entertaining Mr. Wescott.
In fact, I should say she was enjoying the company of both Mr. Springfield
and
Mr. Wescott.”

Patricia looked at Miss Weedon, longing to ask more questions but too proud to do so. She said simply:

“Well, it must sometimes have been dull for her at Mrs. Webster’s.”

“Exactly. Very old company she must have had there. But I must say she is making the most of the opportunities she has now. I suppose nobody can blame her. She has her future to think of.”

David, wondered Patricia? Surely not David? Oh, my goodness, Patricia, surely you know Miss Weedon well enough by now to pay no attention to her innuendoes. But the thought worried her. She raised her eyebrows a little, and said jokingly:

“You surely don’t think, Miss Weedon, that Mr. Wescott is interested in Caroline? I’m sure he has plenty of business reasons for visiting the farm.”

Miss Weedon smiled. She was not deceived. It was not Duncan Wescott that Patricia cared about. She said:

“
Oh dear me,
I’m
not saying anything. I only saw that they all seemed very happy together; and, after all, it must suit Caroline to have more than one string to her bow. You can understand how a girl like that, brought up in an orphanage, with no family of her own, has to keep an eye on her future
...
And I suppose,” she added thoughtfully, “either of them would be a very good catch.”

Mrs. Close came back into the room.

“Patricia, dear, we shall have to be starting
soon,” she said. “I’m sure Miss Weedon will excuse us. We have another engagement, Miss Weedon—I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course, dear Mrs. Close. So kind of you to give me tea. It’s always such a pleasure to be in your lovely house.”

Patricia smiled at her determinedly as she went, but Miss Weedon knew she had left food for thought behind her. So it was David Springfield that Patricia was interested in, was it? Well, Patricia was twenty-eight, and perhaps she was getting a little scared that marriage would pass her by. It would be interesting to see what she would do next
.

Patricia was indeed thoughtful. She did not know much about Caroline. She had seen her at Mrs. Webster’s house but never paid much attention to her. She had heard a great deal about her, and everything to her good; but that did not preclude her from having very determined plans for her future. Perhaps Caroline
did
see David as a good catch; or Duncan, for that matter, although he might seem a bit old for her. And Caroline lived at Springfield. Therefore, she was able to see far more of David than Patricia could possibly manage. Just how much, wondered Patricia. Did they have meals together? No, she supposed not, but it was quite possible that David, in the middle of a day’s farming, would take his lunch in the kitchen. Perhaps they had innumerable opportunities of becoming acquainted, of becoming friends, even more. She felt that she must find out what was happening at Springfield, and she said to her mother:

“I thinly we ought to have got something for Wendy.”

“We can still get her something. She will not mind it being a day or two late.”

“I feel we ought to invite them here, too. Take more Interest in them. And I daresay it would encourage Caroline if we did.”

“My dear,” said her mother, with a little smile, “your time is your own. If you want to fill it with good works, it is entirely up to you.” '

So Patricia took the car the next day, and went shopping for a present for Wendy, and drove to Springfield, hoping to see David while she was there. He was not to be seen, so she went round to the kitchen and found Caroline cleaning silver.

“Good afternoon, Caroline. May I come in?”

“Oh, Miss Close. Yes, do. Do you
mind
if I go on with this?”

“Not a bit, I don’t want to hinder you. I’ve brought a present for Wendy. We
h
ad no idea it was her birthday until Miss Weedon told us yesterday.”

“Wendy will be delighted. Everybody was so kind—she had a lovely birthday.”

“Yes, Miss Weedon told us she found a lively party going on. Apparently, Mr. Springfield and Mr. Wescott were helping it to go with a swing.”

“Yes, indeed. I dropped a gentle hint to Mr. Springfield that he ought to appear—he doesn’t usually come back to the house in the afternoon.”

Patricia was taking her parcel out of its brown wrapping and putting it on the dresser. She did not seem to take much notice of what Caroline had said, but she turned back to the table well content with her first piece of information.

“I suppose he has his meals at all different times from the children,” she said. “It must make it difficult for you.”

“Not really. I’m rather glad to get the children off first in the morning: and while Mr. Springfield has breakfast I get started upstairs. He isn’t always here to lunch; and the children are in bed before I have to get his supper
.
”

“Does he use that enormous dining-room?”

“No. I haven’t finished
w
ith it yet. I want to get it into apple-pie order. But it would be rather big, anyway. I put his supper in the mo
rn
ing-room, which is really a very pleasant room. And it doesn’t take so long to heat: I can light a fire there at tea-time and it is so comfortable for him for the evening.”

“And you, I suppose, have to sit here?”

“Yes. It’s quite cosy, you know, when the curtains are drawn and the fire opened.”

“A shade lonely, perhaps, when the children are in bed?”

“Not really,” smiled Caroline. “Sometimes, if they have been having tantrums, a welcome relief.”

“
And I daresay you have some talks with Mr. Springfield?”

“Well, no. He has more to do than come to the kitchen and talk to me. He has a lot of catching up to do, you know; and with the spring coming too—the busy time—he has very little spare time.”

“Well, you must come over and see us, Caroline. You don’t want to bury yourself too much. Bring the children over to tea with us.”

“That
is
kind of you, Miss Close. I won’t promise to bring Terence, because he is obstinately naughty; but it would do the little girls good
.
”

Caroline thought it exceptionally good of Patricia to be concerned about whether she was lonely; but Patricia, in truth, was not concerned about Caroline at all. She had discovered what she wanted to know, she had decided to keep a watchful eye on Caroline; and she went away to look for David on the farm, feeling that Miss Weedon had once more seen what did not really exist.

Perhaps some of Patricia’s concern would have returned if she had been at Springfield that evening. For Caroline was tackling the heavy crystal chandelier in the dining-room when David found her there. This particular chandelier had worried Caroline for some time. There it hung, a beautiful thing engrimed with the dust of years, its sparkle dimmed. It was far too heavy for Caroline to take down, even with the help of Mrs. Davis, and David seemed to have forgotten about it, so Caroline had brought in a small, strong kitchen table to stand on, and, with unlimited supplies of hot water, was washing the chandelier where it hung. To reach the top, she had put a strong wooden box on top of the
table, and on this somewhat precarious perch she was standing when David opened the drawing-room door.