Beryl was alone in the living-room when Stanley appeared, wearing a blue serge
suit, a stiff collar and a spotted tie. He looked almost uncannily clean and
brushed; he was going to town for the day. Dropping into his chair, he pulled
out his watch and put it beside his plate.
“I’ve just got twenty-five minutes,” he said. “You
might go and see if the porridge is ready, Beryl?”
“Mother’s just gone for it,” said Beryl. She sat down at the
table and poured out his tea.
“Thanks!” Stanley took a sip. “Hallo!” he said in an
astonished voice, “you’ve forgotten the sugar.”
“Oh, sorry!” But even then Beryl didn’t help him; she pushed
the basin across. What did this mean? As Stanley helped himself his blue eyes
widened; they seemed to quiver. He shot a quick glance at his sister-in-law and
leaned back.
“Nothing wrong, is there?” he asked carelessly, fingering his
collar.
Beryl’s head was bent; she turned her plate in her fingers.
“Nothing,” said her light voice. Then she too looked up, and smiled
at Stanley. “Why should there be?”
“O-oh! No reason at all as far as I know. I thought you seemed
rather—”
At that moment the door opened and the three little girls appeared, each
carrying a porridge plate. They were dressed alike in blue jerseys and
knickers; their brown legs were bare, and each had her hair plaited and pinned
up in what was called a horse’s tail. Behind them came Mrs. Fairfield
with the tray.
“Carefully, children,” she warned. But they were taking the very
greatest care. They loved being allowed to carry things. “Have you said
good morning to your father?”
“Yes, grandma.” They settled themselves on the bench opposite
Stanley and Beryl.
“Good morning, Stanley!” Old Mrs. Fairfield gave him his plate.
“Morning, mother! How’s the boy?”
“Splendid! He only woke up once last night. What a perfect
morning!” The old woman paused, her hand on the loaf of bread, to gaze
out of the open door into the garden. The sea sounded. Through the wide-open
window streamed the sun on to the yellow varnished walls and bare floor.
Everything on the table flashed and glittered. In the middle there was an old
salad bowl filled with yellow and red nasturtiums. She smiled, and a look of
deep content shone in her eyes.
“You might cut me a slice of that bread, mother,” said
Stanley. “I’ve only twelve and a half minutes before the coach
passes. Has anyone given my shoes to the servant girl?”
“Yes, they’re ready for you.” Mrs. Fairfield was quite
unruffled.
“Oh, Kezia! Why are you such a messy child!” cried Beryl
despairingly.
“Me, Aunt Beryl?” Kezia stared at her. What had she done now? She
had only dug a river down the middle of her porridge, filled it, and was eating
the banks away. But she did that every single morning, and no one had said a
word up till now.
“Why can’t you eat your food properly like Isabel and
Lottie?” How unfair grown-ups are!
“But Lottie always makes a floating island, don’t you,
Lottie?”
“I don’t,” said Isabel smartly. “I just sprinkle mine
with sugar and put on the milk and finish it. Only babies play with their
food.”
Stanley pushed back his chair and got up.
“Would you get me those shoes, mother? And, Beryl, if you’ve
finished, I wish you’d cut down to the gate and stop the coach. Run in to
your mother, Isabel, and ask her where my bowler hat’s been put. Wait a
minute—have you children been playing with my stick?”
“No, father!”
“But I put it here.” Stanley began to bluster. “I remember
distinctly putting it in this corner. Now, who’s had it? There’s no
time to lose. Look sharp! The stick’s got to be found.”
Even Alice, the servant-girl, was drawn into the chase. “You
haven’t been using it to poke the kitchen fire with by any chance?”
Stanley dashed into the bedroom where Linda was lying. “Most
extraordinary thing. I can’t keep a single possession to myself.
They’ve made away with my stick, now!”
“Stick, dear? What stick?” Linda’s vagueness on these
occasions could not be real, Stanley decided. Would nobody sympathize with him?
“Coach! Coach, Stanley!” Beryl’s voice cried from the gate.
Stanley waved his arm to Linda. “No time to say good-bye!” he
cried. And he meant that as a punishment to her.
He snatched his bowler hat, dashed out of the house, and swung down the garden
path. Yes, the coach was there waiting, and Beryl, leaning over the open gate,
was laughing up at somebody or other just as if nothing had happened. The
heartlessness of women! The way they took it for granted it was your job to
slave away for them while they didn’t even take the trouble to see that
your walking-stick wasn’t lost. Kelly trailed his whip across the horses.
“Good-bye, Stanley,” called Beryl, sweetly and gaily. It was easy
enough to say good-bye! And there she stood, idle, shading her eyes with her
hand. The worst of it was Stanley had to shout good-bye too, for the sake of
appearances. Then he saw her turn, give a little skip and run back to the
house. She was glad to be rid of him!
Yes, she was thankful. Into the living-room she ran and called
“He’s gone!” Linda cried from her room: “Beryl! Has
Stanley gone?” Old Mrs. Fairfield appeared, carrying the boy in his
little flannel coatee.
“Gone?”
“Gone!”
Oh, the relief, the difference it made to have the man out of the house. Their
very voices were changed as they called to one another; they sounded warm and
loving and as if they shared a secret. Beryl went over to the table.
“Have another cup of tea, mother. It’s still hot.” She
wanted, somehow, to celebrate the fact that they could do what they liked now.
There was no man to disturb them; the whole perfect day was theirs.
“No, thank you, child,” said old Mrs. Fairfield, but the way at
that moment she tossed the boy up and said “a-goos-a-goos-a-ga!” to
him meant that she felt the same. The little girls ran into the paddock like
chickens let out of a coop.
Even Alice, the servant-girl, washing up the dishes in the kitchen, caught the
infection and used the precious tank water in a perfectly reckless fashion.
“Oh, these men!” said she, and she plunged the teapot into the bowl
and held it under the water even after it had stopped bubbling, as if it too
was a man and drowning was too good for them.
