THE "BOY AT LAST"
To begin with, when people say they're going to turn up "at
tea-time," why don't they find out first when tea-time is?
At the Moated Grange it is always five o'clock.
Aunt Victoria is so embedded in her old-fashioned, old-maidish ways
that she doesn't realise anybody else could have it at any other
time. She didn't dream of altering her hours, or her habits, or even
her afternoon siesta, as she calls it, just because to-day was The
Day. I mean the day when the first draft of camp-of-instruction
soldiers were to come down to Mud Flats. Even yesterday there'd been
some signs of life about the place.
A big car full of khaki had driven up to the "Pearl and Oyster,"
which is the one-eyed hotel of our hamlet. It's now the headquarters
for the officers of the permanent staff. Meaning, the instructors of
the classes they're going to have here for destroying houses and
blowing up bridges and wrecking railways and whatever else they have
got to do.
It sounds all very jolly and destructive, doesn't it?
The butcher's wife said, with a grave waggle of her grey head, that
she "reckoned Mud Flats would never be the same place again after all
this."
We do so hope it won't.
There has been a general buzz going on in all the little shops of the
village here. The talk has been about nothing but how many men Mrs.
So-and-So has got to find room for in her place: also which
particular lot are paying two-and-sixpence a day and which three
shillings. Also about the difference it will make having to cook for
these lads, and the preparations that will have to be made....
Plenty of preparations, for example, at the Moated Grange.
Aunt Victoria had still got on what we call her "Paroxysm of
patriotism," brought on, of course, out of perverseness, just because
I had pretended to be "so against" the billeting.
I am against it now, considering what has happened, but I am coming
to that presently.
We had made the spare bedroom, which was to be given over to the
young officer, into a perfect vision of comfort--snowy curtains, the
best towels, a huge tablet of scented soap on his washing-stand. As
a last touch Nancy had put the pink eiderdown from her own bed, if
you please.
"Charity blankets would be quite good enough for a mere woman," she
declared. "We simply must have the best of everything for our brave
defenders."
"He has not begun to defend us yet," suggested Evelyn, in her rather
squashing voice.
But I know she is just as keen as anybody on making things nice for
him. For at that moment she was arranging in an old cut-glass
finger-bowl upon his dressing-table a bouquet of all the flowers we
have got left now that it is autumn. Namely, some bright yellow
button chrysanthemums, a spray of red berries, and the last pink
monthly rose that I could find blossoming over our porch. We had put
a fire in the bedroom, too, in case he found the air of Mud Flats too
chilly after Salisbury Plain. Mrs. Miles at the post-office said
that "a tidy few of them" were expected to come from Salisbury.
As for the tea which we had prepared for the creature--well, it was a
case of nine whole pennyworth of cream to start with. Then we had
brown bread and butter and white, with no end of butter spread on it.
Evelyn had made a gingerbread cake, which she is very good at, and I
had made lemon cheese (which, if I had only known then the sort of
person I was making it for I shouldn't have squeezed a single
lemon!). Then, again, Cook, usually the grumpiest old soul alive,
who grudges any one "mucking about" in her lovely big warm
kitchen--even Cook unbent until she wasn't one bit the cross old
thing that she seems by nature! She herself volunteered to make
delicious sandwich-paste out of the cold fish that was left over from
breakfast.
"There's nothing that gentlemen fancy more than some sort of a little
relish with their tea," she told me as she went to the cupboard for
the red pepper. "They'll give all the sweet things that's going for
something savoury in the anchovy line, or a nice taste of potted ham!
Yes, you mark my words, young ladies, it will come in handy to you
some day when you have got a house and gentlemen of your own to
provide for.
"Dear me!" she went on quite expansively, "there will be some
satisfaction in cooking meals now, such as there never is when it's
just a parcel of ladies, that is content to make a meal off the top
of a breakfast egg and a teaspoonful of raspberry jam! There will be
a difference in the order I shall have to give to the butcher as soon
as the young orficer-gentleman arrives."
The one thing that all of us hoped about him was--well, what do you
suppose? That he was dark. For if you have lived all your life in a
household of fair heads (even Aunt Victoria is fair turned to grey--a
most depressing tint) you will realise how one simply pants to see an
opposite colour. Evelyn is golden blonde: Nancy is much lighter, a
regular ash-blonde. I am betwixt and between: in fact, what they
call "a honey-blonde." "How lovely!" a lot of people would say. But
what I think is, "How insipid!"
"I hope the young man is going to be as black as jet," I said
decisively, "with midnight eyes like pools of--of black currant tea:
and an olive skin and a black moustache like the mark of candle smoke
on his upper lip. That'll make all of us look so dazzling by
contrast. A fair girl one can put up with, after all. But what I
say is, there's no devil in a fair man."
"Rattle!" remonstrated Evelyn in her best "shocked" voice.
"Sorry if I've said the wrong word again," I apologised. "When I
said 'devil' in that sense, of course what I meant was
'individuality.' I should never dream of marrying a man who hadn't
got plenty of that."
"You'll wait till you're asked, like everybody else," said Evelyn,
who is really very simple, in spite of being the eldest. "And that
depends entirely upon the young man himself."
"Oh, does it? Oh, does it?" I cried, taking a taste of hot
lemon-curd out of the spoon as I talked. "I bet you the young
orficer-gentleman won't have a chance against Little Me if I take it
into my head it's me he's got to fall in love with. Didn't he come
out mine first of all in the cards? And doesn't Shakespeare say the
same thing?"
"Shakespeare?" echoed Nancy.
"Yes, Shakespeare. I don't understand what half of those sonnets of
his are about as a rule. But this one I mean is pretty clear.
Something about:
"'For when a woman woos, what mother's son
Will rudely leave her till she do prevail?'
"So you see that if I intend to 'prevail' upon this Mr.----"
"Really, Rattle, one would think you had been engaged at least three
times already," said Evelyn, "instead of never having had the vaguest
hint of a love affair, you absurd child."
"Makes no difference at all to a person of any imagination," I told
her cheerfully. "Haven't I had the run of all the novels in the
house? And isn't it just the same as if I'd met all these eligible
young heroes I've read about? Yes. I'm so well up in the love
scenes by this time that I know exactly what the most successful sort
of young girl does at those emergencies.
"You needn't think I shouldn't know how to handle the situation. You
needn't think that just because I've lived in this little mud-puddle,
with nobody but my sisters to talk to, that I shouldn't be perfectly
capable of coping with a fascinating young man. Oh, dear, yes. I
should be very offhand with him, too," said I, warming to my subject.
"I should start away by saying to him, 'Now, Billet Boy'----"
"Now WHO?" demanded Nancy, rather startled.
"'Billet Boy.' That would be my name for him," I said, raising my
voice so that they should hear what I said as I stood with my aproned
back to them, stirring away at my double-cooker over the fire. "I
should say, 'You know, I'm going to call you Billet Boy, because I
think Mr. Lascelles is too long and pompous a name for a mere junior
subaltern. As for Frank, it's too affectionate.'"
Here Nancy, quite suddenly, gave a loud cough. I thought it was just
the red pepper that cook had left on the table. So I took no notice.
I went gaily and recklessly on, talking as quickly as I stirred.
"You see, girls, the affection will all have to be on the young man's
side. Anyway, at first. Perhaps, a good deal later on, at the end
of the six weeks that he's going to be here, perhaps then I shall
turn round and----"
Here, with the lemon-curd spoon still steaming in my grasp, I did
turn round to sort of give point to the remark....
Point?
Oh, horrors! If you only had seen the point that the remark had
unconsciously taken!
For what did I behold? My two sisters standing there quite paralysed
with embarrassment. Evelyn crimson and Nancy magenta with blushes.
And beyond them, having just pranced in through the back kitchen
door, was a small, red-haired figure in khaki, with a floppily-soft
cap, high brown boots, and a Sam Browne belt.
In one horrified flash, of course, we had all realised who it was.
The young man who was coming here to be billeted. Second-Lieutenant
Frank Lascelles himself!
* * * * * * * *
(_Here follow some impressions of Francis Lascelles, Esquire,
Temporary Second-Lieutenant R.E._)
Jolly ripping billet this! Startling contrast to what I'd expected,
namely, a bleak, tumble-down villa kept by the oldest inhabitant as
ugly as sin. Anything but, by Jove! Found myself landed in a
bright, cosy kitchen full of a heavenly smell of cooking and a
regular beauty-chorus of tall girls. Two of them very pretty. Can't
think why girls don't always wear white aprons and trot about in red
firelight. Suits them A1. Third girl (seems to be the youngest),
Some Peach. All of them goddess-built with smothers of golden hair.
Just as I blew in The Peach was holding forth to the others. All
about my humble self and what she was going to call me when I arrived.
Personally don't care what she calls me as long as can persuade her
to let me take her out in the side-car of my motor-bike: but afraid I
dropped rather a brick by way of a start.
(_Here the youngest girl resumes._)
The brute: the little brute! Eavesdropping, I call it. It's all
very well for Nancy to say she did cough to let me know he was there.
It's all very well for Evelyn to say it wasn't his fault that I would
go gabbling on.
Why did he laugh?
That's the unforgivable thing!
If he'd behaved like a gentleman and pretended he hadn't heard
anything, then perhaps I could have thought no more about it. I
could have overlooked his really dreadful personal appearance-- But
I'm coming to his appearance later on. When I've got time to spread
myself on it.
I'll go back to that first awful minute when he stood framed in the
open doorway of our back kitchen, creasing up his eyes and showing
all his teeth, and rocking with idiot laughter, while we stood like
three Lot's wives, turned to pillars of salt, in aprons.
Evelyn was the first to collect herself.
Evelyn came forward, rather pink still, but holding herself as
dignifiedly as if she had swallowed both rolling-pins as well as the
kitchen poker. I really felt proud of Evelyn as she turned to the
intruder. She said, in a voice that sounded just as if it were quite
a swagger party in her own drawing-room, "How do you do? It's Mr.
Lascelles, I suppose?"
"Yes, it is," said the odious little creature. He pulled himself
together, looked up from one to the other of us as he put his hand to
his floppy cap and saluted briskly before he took it off.
This was the first time any of us girls had received a salute from a
man in uniform.
I knew exactly how the other two girls felt about it. I could read
it on their faces.
They were thrilled. Wasn't it funny? They were simply tingling with
the pride of it from their hair down to their toes.
As for me--No, thank you! I shall wait until something a little more
attractive salutes me before I feel anything but annoyance at the
cheek of its daring to look at me.
He said, "How d'you do? I say, I am so awfully sorry, don't you
know, at bursting in upon you like this. I know it's round the other
way. But I did go to the front first, and I couldn't get the servant
to hear me."
That was because cook had gone over "to row that butcher," and Mary,
our housemaid, had what she calls "popped up-street" to the
post-office-and-drapery to get herself a fresh Peter Pan collar to
wear in honour of the new arrival, not realising how much too soon he
was going to arrive.
I shall never forgive either him or her for that!
Evelyn, becoming more and more the credit of the family, was smiling
graciously down upon the little horror, and telling him that it
didn't matter one scrap, and that she was very glad to see him, and
that she hoped we should be able to make him comfortable.
To which he replied, without a moment's hesitation, "Oh, thanks
awfully. I'm sure you will. Are you Mrs. Verdeley, may I ask?"
"No," said Evelyn, growing about an inch visibly before our eyes with
pride at being taken for Married. "My aunt, Mrs. Verdeley, is
usually asleep at this hour of the afternoon: that is why she did not
hear your ring. I am her niece, Miss Evelyn Verdeley, and this is my
sister Nancy."
Here Nancy dimpled at him, and apologised for her gingered, floury
hands.
"And this," Evelyn went on, turning to me, "is my youngest sister."
Here she paused. She said afterwards that it was because she forgot
for a moment what my other name was besides "Rattle."
And I think I could quite well leave off that nickname now, and pass
it on to the creature that we have got to have billeted with us.
For he is a "rattle," if you like. At least ten times more so than
I, and a far sillier kind of one. For he actually began to hum that
tune out of the Alhambra revue that we have got the music of:
"_Here's my youngest sister. Take a look at her. Take a look at
her----_"
At the same time he _was_ taking a look at me, and twinkling all over
himself in a way for which I simply longed to boil him.
"It's too sweet of you," he then said, "to be making lemon cheese on
purpose to please me. Absolutely nothing I like so much, I assure
you----"
I determined then and there that I'd never make another eggspoonful!
And I said in a truly forbidding voice, "I don't think I was making
it on purpose for you exactly."
"What? Not for the Billet Boy?" he said. And tried to make me smile
at him. Me! I could have taken the double-cooker full of hot curd
and flung it over his red head! (Wait: I'm coming to his red hair
presently.) I gave him a look that--well, I can't describe it. You
should have seen it. Anyhow, I gave him a look that chilled him.
For he left off twinkling at me at last, and turned to the two other
girls.
And actually had the insolence to ask in a plaintive voice if it
would be possible to have the first detachment of tea now, in the
kitchen. It was then a quarter to four. Of course, he ought to have
been told tea would be ready in an hour and a quarter. I'm ashamed
of Evelyn and Nancy.... In less time than it takes me to write about
it they got the creature's tea.
They fetched out the best afternoon tea-cloth. They laid it on the
kitchen table. They spread it with all the lovely things we'd been
preparing, including my lemon-curd, I'll trouble you. I left off
counting how many slices of bread-and-butter, plastered with it, the
young man ate: going on from that to cook's fish-paste, then to the
ginger-cake--ginger was appropriate enough. Then back to more
lemon-curd, washing it all down with great gulps of hot, sugary tea.
At last he said, "You girls must think I'm a cormorant."
Girls! Before he'd known us twenty minutes.
"The fact is," he said, "I didn't manage to snaffle any tiffin on the
way down to this God-forsaken--I mean down to this place. And after
we arrived--Thanks. Was that my sixth cup? Seven is a lucky
number.... Yes, there was only time to get our lads fed."
By the look in Nancy's eyes I could see exactly what she was
thinking, namely, how splendid it was of him to see about getting his
men fed before he thought of having lunch himself. I could see that
she was within an inch of melting into tears over the idea. I think
that I mentioned before how utterly sentimental Nancy is.
And, of course, it was absurd to think anything of that. Naturally
an officer thinks of getting his men fed first. It is only his duty,
after all. Why make a fuss about it?
Why, men with horses have to attend to them first. I shouldn't have
thought much of this little Lieutenant Frank Lascelles if he had gone
and gorged himself instead of attending to his Tommies. Goodness
knows, he was making up for lost time now.
I didn't see why I should stop in the kitchen and watch him do it.
He's going to have plenty of attention and spoiling without me.
So, humming a careless tune, I left that orgy in the kitchen and came
away to sit by myself in the Lair. The Lair where we'd had so many
conversations about what "our billeted officer" was going to be like.
Little did I ever think how painfully unattractive the young man
would be!
I said so to Evelyn and Nancy to-night, when they came in to brush
their hairs and gossip as usual before we all went to bed. They were
all flushed and sparkly ... evidently their first impressions of Mr.
Lascelles were very different from mine. I told them what I thought
of him. "To begin with, so small!" I said disgustedly. "So
shrimpesque!"
"Nonsense! He's five-foot-six-and-a-bit. He said so. That's not a
bad height," said Evelyn. "It's only because we're such a family of
young giantesses that he may look a little short----"
"A little!" I scoffed. "He's what I call two teacups and a rim high!
He's tiny!"
"Small men make the best fighters," ventured Nancy. "Look at Nelson.
Look at Napoleon."
"How can I possibly? Don't be so silly," I said. "All I can look at
is the creature and his awful looks. His hair! That _hideous_ shade
of ginger! And sprinkled with freckles all over his absurd face!"
"Still," Evelyn reminded me very unkindly, "he did 'come out yours'
in the cards!"
"I abdicate," I said, tying a bit of pink ribbon found the ends of my
plaits with a jerk. "Not any, thanks," I said, imitating the
curate's voice at tea. "I resign my first chance. I'd rather marry
dear old Penny the gardener. Even a black wig is better than carrots
grown on the premises----"
"Rot----"
"And I've just made up a lovely poem about it, too." I ignored them.
"I call it '_Repudiation_.' Here it is:
"'_Oh, I will never marry
A man who is shorter than me,
A man who has not enlisted,
Or a man in the N.C.C.
The R.A.M.C., or a red-haired R.E.,
Would be likewise definitely barred by me._'
"So if one of you wants to get up Our Great Khaki Romance with the
Lascelles lad, ending in a war-wedding and an arch of swords, prrrray
don't let any thought of your youngest sister stand in your way. Do
you hear, Evelyn?"
"I hear you talking more nonsense in half an hour," said Evelyn,
"than ten ordinary girls get through in a day. Who began the idea of
a Khaki romance? Not I----"
"Then perhaps it'll be Nancy's," said I, skipping into bed and
drawing the pillows well down into the nape of my neck. "Blush,
Nancy; the bride's always supposed to. I shall be merely the
bridesmaid. No! _I_ shall be the 'Best Girl'; that's what they have
nowadays. The best man always has the ring to find when it drops
through a crack in the floor; so I suppose my job will be to keep the
bridegroom from getting lost? Goodness knows he'd be small enough,"
I said, cruelly. "And I don't see how there's going to be room for
anybody to sit on his knee ever, not in our family. But anyhow the
game is between you two girls now. Good-night. Good luck!" And I
curled myself up to my well-earned rest.