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.