CHAPTER XVII
Although no definite suggestion or order had been issued by JanetTosswill, it was understood by everyone in Old Place that special honourwas to be paid to Mrs. Crofton this evening.
Janet, when giving Betty a slight but vigorous sketch of the scene whichhad taken place between herself and Jack, observed, "If she's _that_ sortof woman I think we ought to give her a proper dinner, don't you?" AndBetty heartily agreed.
This was the reason why Betty herself, Tom, who acted as butler, andTimmy, who was supposed to help generally both in the kitchen and in thedining-room, did not sit down to table with the others.
Mrs. Tosswill's sarcastic observation was so far justified in that EnidCrofton did feel vaguely gratified to find herself treated to-night farmore as a guest of honour than she had been on the first occasion whenshe had come to the house. The guest herself had done honour to the feastby putting on the most becoming of her diaphanous black evening dresses,and, as she sat to the right of her host, each of her three femininecritics admitted to their secret selves that she was that rather rarething, a genuinely pretty woman. Features, colouring, hair, were all asnear perfection as they well could be, while her slight, rounded figurewas singularly graceful.
How fortunate it is that we poor mortals cannot see into each other'shearts and minds! Who, looking at Jack Tosswill's composed, secretive,self-satisfied face, could have divined, even obscurely, his state ofmingled pride, ecstasy, and humble astonishment at his own good fortune?To him the lovely young woman sitting next his father was as much his ownas though they had already been through the marriage ceremony, and hefelt awed and uplifted as well as triumphantly glad.
As for Godfrey Radmore, he also was affected rather more than he wouldhave cared to admit even to himself by the presence of Enid Crofton thisevening.
She had become to him something of a mystery, and there is alwayssomething alluring in a mystery, especially if the mystery be young, andendowed with that touch of pathos which makes feminine beauty always atouch more attractive to the masculine heart. He was aware that shepreferred to see him alone, and this flattered him. While he was ableto assure himself confidently that he was in no sense in love with her,his heart certainly beat a little quicker on the comparatively fewoccasions when he went over into her garden, or, better still, into herlittle sitting-room, and found her by herself. He also thought it verygood-natured, if a little tiresome, of her, to put up with so much ofthe company of a prig like Jack, and of a selfish girl like Rosamund.
To-night Radmore wondered, not for the first time, why Janet Tosswill didnot like Enid Crofton, for he felt, somehow, that there was no love lostbetween them. He told himself that he must ask Betty to try to becomefriends with her. Instinctively he relied on Betty's judgment, and thatthough he saw very little of her, considering what very old friends heand she were. And then, when he was thinking these secret, idle thoughts,he became suddenly conscious that Betty was not among those sitting atthe full dining-table.
When Tom came in, bearing a huge soup tureen, and looking, it must beconfessed, very red and embarrassed, Janet observed composedly that theperson on whom they had relied to help them to-night had failed them atthe last moment, and they had decided that it would be simpler for themto wait on themselves.
Radmore muttered to his neighbour, Rosamund, "Where's Betty?"
"In the kitchen. She's the only one of us who knows how to cook. She_loves_ cooking. She'll come into the drawing-room later if she's not tootired."
Radmore felt indignant. It was too bad that Betty, whom he vividlyremembered as the petted darling of the house, should now have become--toput it in a poetical way--the family Cinderella! But as the dinner wenton, and as the soup was succeeded by some excellent fish, as well as byroast chicken, a particularly delicious blackberry fool, and a subtlycomposed savoury, he began to wonder whether some good professional cookhad not been got in after all. He could hardly believe that Betty hadcooked and dished up this really excellent dinner.
All through the meal Timmy flitted in and out, bringing round andremoving the plates, but it was Tom who did most of the waiting.
At last Janet, catching Enid Crofton's eye, got up and deliveredas parting injunction, "Please don't stay too long behind us,gentlemen--we're going to have coffee in the drawing-room."
Jack Tosswill sprang to the door, and tried to catch Mrs. Crofton's eyeas she passed out first, but of course he failed, and as he came back tothe table, he observed: "I do hope Betty won't be too tired to come intothe drawing-room. Mrs. Crofton was saying the other day that she wishedshe knew her better." He was in a softened mood, the kind of mood whichmakes a man not only say, but think, pleasant things.
And then Mr. Tosswill made one of his rare practical remarks. "I havealways thought that every woman ought to be taught cooking," he saidmusingly. "We have certainly just had a very good dinner; I must rememberto tell Betty how much I enjoyed that savoury."
"Did Betty cook it all?" asked Radmore.
It was Jack who answered, "Yes, of course she did. Early in the War therewas a great shortage of cooks in some of the country hospitals, and soBetty asked a friend of ours to allow her to spend a few weeks in herkitchen. So now we have the benefit of all she learnt there."
Five minutes later the three men stood at the open door of thedrawing-room, and at once Radmore saw that Betty was not there. That wasreally too bad! What selfish girls her sisters were!
Acting on an impulse he could not have analysed, he stepped back into thecorridor and walked quickly towards the green baize door which led to thekitchen quarters. Just as he reached it, the door burst open, and Tom,rushing through, almost knocked him over.
"Hullo! Steady there! Where are you going?"
"I'm so sorry, Godfrey, but I'm in the devil of a hurry, for I've got toclear the dining-room. Once that's done, my work's over, and I can gointo the drawing-room." Tom was grinning good-humouredly. "I say, Mrs.Crofton does look a peach to-night, doesn't she?"
Even as he spoke, he was hooking the door back. Then he hurried into thedining-room without waiting for an answer.
Godfrey went on with rather hesitating steps down the broad,stone-flagged passage. According to tradition, this part of Old Place wasmediaeval, and it was certainly quite different from the rest of thehouse. He felt a little awkward for he knew he had no business there,and when he got to the big, vaulted kitchen, he stopped and looked roundhim dubiously. The fire in the old-fashioned, wasteful range had beenallowed to die down, and on the round wooden table in the middle of theroom were heaped up the dinner plates and dishes.
Suddenly he noticed that the door which led into the scullery was ajar,and he heard Betty's clear, even voice saying: "When you've tidiedyourself up a bit, run down and let me see how you look. I'm afraidthey're not likely to play any games this evening. It's a real, properdinner-party, you know, Timmy."
Then he heard his godson's eager voice. "Oh, Betty, do come too! Mrs.Jones can do the washing-up to-morrow morning. If you want to dress I'llhook you up."
"I'm too tired to go up and dress," and Betty's voice did sound veryweary. There was a despondent note in it, too, which surprised the manstanding in the kitchen. Excepting during the few moments, to himintensely moving and solemn moments, when they had spoken of Georgewithin a day or two of his return to Beechfield, he had always seen Bettyextraordinarily cheerful.
"You can go just as you are," he heard Timmy say eagerly. "You couldpretend you'd just been to a fancy ball as a cook!" He added,patronizingly, "If you put on a clean apron, you'll look quite nice."
Radmore did not catch the answer, but he gathered that it was again inthe negative, and a moment later Timmy's little feet scampered up theuncarpeted flight of stairs which led into the upper part of the house.
Walking forward, he quietly pushed open the scullery door, and for someseconds he stood unseen, taking in the far from unattractive scene beforehim.
The scullery of Old Place was a glorified kind of sc
ullery, for, justbefore the War, Janet had spent a little of her own money on "doing itup." Since then she had often congratulated herself on the fact that inthe days when the process was comparatively cheap, she had had thescullery walls lined five feet up with black and white tiles matching thelinoleum which covered the stone floor.
Against this background Betty Tosswill was now standing, a trim, neatfigure, in her pink cotton gown and big white apron. She was engaged inwashing, drying, and polishing the fine old table glass which had beenused that evening.
It was such a relief to her to be alone at last! For one thing, thoughTimmy and Tom both loved her dearly, their love never suggested to themthat it must be disagreeable to her to hear them constantly bickeringthe one with the other, and they would have been surprised indeed hadthey known how their teasing squabbles had added to the strain andfatigue of serving the elaborate dinner she had just cooked.
She felt spent, in body and in mind, and in the mood when a woman craves,above all things, for solitude.
"Look here, Betty, can't I do anything to help?"
She started violently, and gave a little cry, while the stem of thewine-glass she held in her hand snapped in two. But Radmore, to herrelief, did not notice the little accident.
"There isn't anything to do, thank you." She tried to speak composedlyand pleasantly. "I'm going to leave most of the washing-up to the womanwho comes in every morning to help us."
"Then why don't you come into the drawing-room now? I heard what Timmysaid--and it's quite true!"
"What Timmy said just now?" She turned and looked at him, puzzled.
Godfrey Radmore, in his well-cut dress clothes and the small, butperfect, pearl studs in the shirt of which she had heard Jack openly envythe make and cut, seemed an incongruous figure in the Old Place scullery.
He blundered on. "Timmy said that you look as if you had been at a fancydress ball as a cook. He ought to have said 'cordon bleu,' for I've nevereaten a better dinner!"
And then to his aghast surprise, Betty sat down on one of the woodenchairs near the table where she had been standing and burst into tears."I don't want to be a 'cordon bleu,'" she sobbed. "I _hate_ cooking--andeverything connected with cooking." Then, feeling ashamed of herself, shepulled a clean handkerchief out of her apron pocket, and dabbed her eyes."I'm just tired out, that's what it is!" she exclaimed, trying to smile."We had a worrying half-hour, thinking the fish was not going to arrive.You see, Janet dislikes poor Mrs. Crofton so much that she suddenly madeup her mind that it was her duty to kill the fatted calf, and in such acase I have to do the killing!"
"It's such a waste for you to be doing the things you are doing now." Hespoke with a touch of anger in his voice. "Why, you and I hardly ever seeone another! After all, even if you've forgotten the old times, _I_ oftenremember them--I mean the times when you and I and George were so muchtogether and such good pals. I love every brick of Old Place because ofthose days." He was speaking with deep feeling now. "Sometimes I feel asif I should like to run away--it's all so different here from what itused to be."
He saw a kind, moved, understanding look come over her eyes, and firm,generous mouth, and quickly, man-like, he pressed his advantage.
"Look here," he said coaxingly, "don't you think we might hit on somekind of compromise? Won't you allow me just to get some sort of temporaryhousekeeper who can look after things while poor Nanna is laid up?"
She shook her head. "I don't think any of us would like that," she said."But I daresay I have become too much of a Martha."
She got up, feeling painfully afraid that she was going to cry again."I don't see why I shouldn't do as Timmy said--change my apron, I mean,and go into the drawing-room. For one thing, I should like to see Mrs.Crofton's dress. Tom says she looks a regular peach! That's his highestform of praise, you know."
Radmore suddenly resolved to say something which had been on his mind oflate. "Don't you think that Jack's making rather a fool of himself overthat pretty little lady?"
Betty looked across at him with the frank, direct gaze that he rememberedso well. "I'm afraid he is," she answered. "He and Janet had quite a rowabout her this morning. He seemed to think we had been rude to her; hewas most awfully huffy about it. But I suppose saying anything only makesthings worse in such a case, doesn't it?"
"I don't see why I shouldn't speak to _her_. She and I know each otherpretty well. She was a desperate little flirt when I first knew her inEgypt." And then, as he saw a look cross her face to which he had noclue, he added hastily:--"She's quite all right, Betty. She's quite astraight little woman."
"I'm sure she is," said Betty cordially.
She was wondering, wondering, wondering what Godfrey really thought ofEnid Crofton? Whether or no there had been a touch of jealousy in what hehad said about Jack just now? He had said the words about Jack's making afool of himself very lightly. Still there had been a peculiar expressionon his face.
During the last fortnight, while doing the hundred and one things whichfell to her share, Betty had given the subject of Enid Crofton andGodfrey Radmore a good deal of thought, while telling herself all thetime that, after all, it was none of her business--now.
All at once she became aware that Radmore was looking hard at her. "Lookhere," he exclaimed, coming up close to where she was again engaged indrying and polishing the heavy old crystal goblets. "I want to ask youa favour, Betty. It's absurd that I should be here, with far more moneythan I know what to do with, while the only people in the world I carefor, are all worried, anxious, and overworking themselves. Janet saysit's impossible to get a cook. What I want to do if you'll let me--" helooked at her pleadingly, and Betty's heart began to beat: thus was hewont to look at her in the old days, when he wanted to wheedle somethingout of her.
"What I want to do," he went on eagerly, "is to go up to London to-morrowmorning and bring back a cook in triumph! Life has taught me _one_thing,--that is that money can procure anything." As she remained silent,he added in a tone of relief, "There, that's settled! You go up to bednow. I'll be off early in the morning, and we'll have a cook back bylunch-time."
"Indeed you won't!" She faced him squarely. "I know you mean very kindly,Godfrey--I know exactly how you feel. I've often felt like that myself;you feel that
"'Sympathy without relief Is like mustard without beef.'
"That's the organ-grinder's motto, and a very good motto, too. But we'rethe exception which proves the rule. We're grateful for your sympathy,but we don't want your relief."
As he gazed at her, both dismayed and very exasperated, she went on,speaking a little wildly:--"Mustard's a very good thing. I think I neededa little mustard just now to binge me up!"
"But that's perfectly absurd!" he exclaimed. "Why not have the beef aswell as the mustard? And look here. I don't think it's fair to me." Hestood, looking straight at her, his face aglow with feeling. And againit was as if the old Godfrey of long ago, the Godfrey that had beenimpetuous, hot-tempered, unreasonable, and yet so infinitely dear to her,who stood there, so near to her that had she moved, he must have touchedher. She sat down, and unseen by him, she put her two hands on the edgeof the well-scrubbed table, and pressed her fingers down tightly. Thenshe smiled up at him, and shook her head.
"You're treating me like a stranger," he protested doggedly; "howeverbadly I've behaved, I've not deserved that."
He was looking down at her hair, the lovely fair hair which had alwaysbeen her greatest beauty--the one beauty she now shared with Rosamund. Hewondered if it would ever grow long again. And yet now he told himselfthat he did not want to see her different from what she had become.
"Treating you like a stranger? You're the first visitor we've had to stayat Old Place since the Armistice."
As he said nothing, she went on, a little breathlessly, "D'you rememberwhat a lot of people used to come and go in the old days? That was one ofthe nice things about Janet. She loved to entertain our friends, evenour acquaintances. But now we never have anybody. It shows ho
w we feelabout you that we are having you here, like this. But we can only do itif you'll take us as we are."
"Of course I take you as you are," he said aggrieved, "but I don't seewhy I shouldn't do my little bit, when it's so easy for me to do it.People talk such rot about money! They'll take anything in the world butmoney from those who--" he hesitated, and then boldly brought out theword--"love them."
"And yet," said Betty quietly, "you yourself contemptuously rejected themoney that father wanted to give you when he could well afford it--theday you left Beechfield nine years ago."
He hesitated, unutterably astonished, and yes, very much moved, too, atthis, her first reference to their joint past.
"I know I did," he said at last, "and I was a fool to do it. That chequeof Mr. Tosswill's would have made all the difference to me during certainawful weeks in Australia when I didn't know where to turn for a shilling.I've been right up against it--the reality of things, I mean--and I knowboth how much and how little money counts in life. It counts a lot,Betty."
"I've been up against the reality of things, too," said Betty slowly,"and I've learnt how very little money counts. You'd have known that, ifyou'd been with the French Army. That was the difference between theFrench and the English. The French _poilu_ had no money at all, and theEnglish Tommy had plenty. But it made no difference in the big things."