I'll Never Marry! (16 page)

“
I didn
’
t know she was back,
”
Catherine, thrown off her guard for a moment, stooped to pick up the tabby kitten, a
nd
cradled her hot face in its silky fur.

“
Oh, they
’
ve been home several days, apparently.
”
Matron seemed absorbed in her darning.
“
She
’
s very keen about the Women
’
s Institute Christmas party; wants the school children—ours included, of course—to act a Nativity Play for the benefit of the grown-ups, with a silver collection in aid of the Red Cross. A very good idea, I told her.
”
She bit off the strand of grey wool.
“
That Miss Osworth is coming to stay at the Manor for Christmas, she says, and will be a great help; she
’
s had a good deal of experience with theatricals of all sorts, it seems.
”

“
She doesn
’
t seem particularly at home with children, nor they with her.
”
For the life of her Catherine could not keep back the tart observation.

“
Oh, I dare say she
’
ll be all right if she
’
s working at something she
’
s keen about. And the children will be so excited, they
’
ll go more than half-way to meet her.
”
Matron was dealing with a toddler
’
s suit now, frowning a little over the all-too-numerous thin places.
“
She may be pleasanter, too, when she
’
s happily married. I don
’
t know when the wedding is likely to take place. But I gather there is a strong possibility of her announcing her engagement at Christmas.
”

Misery gripped Catherine then and held her in a vice; she asked, with a heroic attempt at nonchalance:
“
I suppose Mr. Playdle is the lucky man?
”

Matron nodded.
“
No doubt about that. But for some reason, they don
’
t want it talked about yet.
”
She gave a short laugh.
“
Rather ridiculous—considering the whole village has been expecting to hear of the engagement for months past.
”

“
I don
’
t suppose it will make much difference to us here.
”
Catherine hardly recognized the voice that
uttered this quite untruthful remark as her own: it sounded so convincingly unconcerned.

“
Very little, I should think.
”
Matron was careful not to meet Catherine
’
s eyes.
“
It
’
s evident that Miss Playdle will be continuing to live at the Manor for a time, or she would hardly have accepted the secretaryship of the Institute. She and Miss Osworth seem to get on remarkably well.
”

“
Most fortunate, in the circumstances. Of course, they are old friends. They were at school together.
”
The kitten, feeling neglected, scrambled on to her shoulder and, purring loudly, rubbed its small head against hers.

“
Crusoe! Your claws are like needles!
”
Glad of an excuse for the tears which had forced themselves to her eyes, Catherine gently disengaged the kitten, and put it down on the hearth-rug by the sleeping puppy. Then, standing up, she stretched herself.

“
I think I
’
ll turn in now, Matron,
if you don
’
t mind,
”
she said quietly.
“
It
’
s going to be rather a heavy day tomorrow. The Guides are having their sing-song and supper here, you know.
”

Matron nodded.
“
You
’
re very wise, my dea
r
,
”
was her crisp reply. And if the thought that lay behind these simple words was:
“
Get your cry over, Catherine, and you
’
ll feel a sight better,
”
she mercifully gave no hint of it.

But Catherine shed few tears that night. Her unhappiness went too deep for that. For the first time she was realizing, fully and completely, that she loved Andrew, as she had never thought it possible to love any other human being; that, in spite of his indifference and neglect, to tear him out of her heart was beyond her power.

She might scourge herself with bitter gibes, reminding herself of the pitying contempt; reserved for women who gave their love unasked, who attached greater significance to a man
’
s words and looks than had ever been intended.

!t was of no avail. She had learned, un
c
ons
c
iously, it seemed, to love him; and it was a lesson which, she thought brokenly, she would never unlearn, however long she lived.

She found herself trying to analyze, as she lay there, the quality and nature of this strange emotion which had taken possession of her. For it was indeed an emotion, and no more. Other girls, she, well knew, could not dissociate love from such things as engagement rings and house-hunting, the buying of new clothes and furniture. She, foolish romantic that she was, had not even thought of marriage as a
p
ossible result of the growing intimacy between
h
erself and Andrew. Living in the clouds, she had known only that to be in his company gave her happiness so keen
as to be almost painful, that to feel his arms around her, his lips on her hair, as on the night of the dance, brought her the sheerest ecstasy.

Now, however, that Andrew was engaged to marry Beryl, she found herself suddenly awaking to the fact that she was much the same as these other girls, after all. Seeing him as another woman
’
s future husband, she now, for the first time, tormented herself with the thoughts of the joy which marriage with Andrew might have brought her. To live with him, his love, his constant companion, in that mellow, stone h
o
use which had been his childhood home, to bear him sturdy boys and girls who would fill the big rooms with their
c
hatter and laughter—what happier fate could there have been? Oh, it was all very well to remind herself that he had a streak of cruelty in him—that he could be m
o
st desperately unkind. Her head might harbor this knowledge—but her heart refused to listen.

Would his marriage with Beryl turn out happily? That was a question, she, decided desperately, she must not ask herself. Even if she could not stop loving Andrew, she
c
ould hide that love deep down in her heart, accepting his engagement with a dignity not only of bearing, but of mind. To give way, even in her own thoughts, to spite and jealousy, would be not only to increase her wretchedness, but to make her unfit for her chosen work. How could she train these waifs in proper pride and self-respect if she herself failed to live up to the precepts she was seeking to instil?

The knowledge that a keen pair of eyes would be upon her next morning also had a bracing effect on her. Aware, to some extent, of Catherine
’
s feeling for Andrew, it must have been an ordeal for Matron to disclose, in that apparently easy and conversational way, the news of his engagement to Beryl. Nothing but kindness, Catherine felt sure, had prompted her to this step; she had wanted to guard her from hearing the tidings at an awkward moment, when, in public, possibly, and off her guard, she might have given herself away.

But though she nerved herself to behave with courage and serenity in the days that were to come, she hoped with all her heart to be able to avoid Andrew. And it was with a feeling of actual physical sickness that, the very next afternoon, she saw
him
coming down the lane along which she and a bunch of toddlers were making their somewhat erratic and leisurely way.

There was a slight wind blowing from the west, and the babies, looking like elves in their gay knitted caps and rompers, were in their element, shouting and laughing as they chased the bright leaves, bronze and gold and scarlet, which came whirling down from the trees with which the lane was bordered.

Escape was out of the question. True, there was a left-hand turn a short distance ahead, but no power on earth could have marshalled and hurried that round dozen of dawdling infants down that way before Andrew came up with them.

Mercifully—for her!—a diversion occurred just then. Georgie, one of the three-year-olds, who was always inclined to be a cry-baby, stumbled over a stone and fell headlong. And although a quick onceover assured her that he was not hurt, he clung to her yelling, the tears pouring down his chubby face.

Automatically she picked him up and comforted him, adjuring him to remember that he was a big boy now, and ought not to cry over nothing. His only reply, as always, was to burrow his head into her neck, and she was holding him thus, the other children pressing round her, when Andrew drew level with her.

“
You oughtn
’
t to be carrying that great boy; he
’
s too heavy for you.
”
Andrew
’
s voice was sharp and, meeting his eyes, Catherine saw that he looked queerly tired and overstrained. And then he added, with a not very successful effort to appear more amiable:
“
Can
’
t you let the kids run ahead and play? I want to speak to you.
”

“
I
’
m sorry, but I can
’
t do that sort of thing.
”
The brusque assurance of his tone revived all her old bitterness.
“
I
’
m here to look after these children, not to stand gossiping with all and sundry.
”

He went white at that.
“
‘
All and sundry
’
! You
’
ve a sharp tongue, Catherine, for all that sweetly soft expression you cultivate.
”

Her anger increased at the sneer in his last words, and she bit her lip, conscious not only of the hateful smile which twisted his mouth, but of the babies
’
uncomprehending stares, as they gazed from one to the other of these strange grown-ups.

It was left to Georgie, of all people, to speak. He had stopped crying for some moments and now, removing his finger from his mouth, smiled sunnily at Andrew and observed coa
x
ingly:
“
Give I a pick-a-back, man! I fa
l
led and hurt myself just now.
”

“
Of course I will, o
ld ch
ap, if your kind Miss Cat will allow it,
”
Andrew retorted quickly, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

Not a moment did the traitorous Georgie lose in wriggling out of Catherine
’
s arms, and his rapid descent was a signal to the other children, who rushed to surround Andrew, clinging to his coat, and clamoring for a ride.

“
We can
’
t possibly hang about now.
”
Illogical as she knew it to be, the defection
of
the babies from herself to Andrew, made her more indignant with him than ever.
“
It
’
s time we were getting home.
”

“
Very well, if you must play the sulky little spoilsport,
”
he exclaimed under his breath, his blue eyes harder than she had ever seen them. And then he turned to the excited children:
“
Not today, kids,
”
he told them cheerily.
“
I
’
ll have to give you pick-a-backs some other time
.”

“
When, man, when?
”
they implored, surging round him in a mass.

He looked across very coldly at Catherine.
“
Ask Miss Cat,
”
he said shortly.
“
I expect she
’
ll say
‘
When the moon turns blue
’
.
”
And with that he freed himself gently but inexorably from the small clinging fingers which sought to hold him, and retracing his steps, took the left-hand turning and in a moment was lost to sight.