‘My nephew, Carey Lestrange, is coming from Stanton St John, in Oxfordshire, to take you to his pig-farm. He has thousands of pigs, a son aged three, a daughter of twenty months, a nice, quiet, friendly, well-disposed, tractable, quite pretty wife, the best servants in England, and a heart of gold. Now don’t be rude about it. Besides, it’s not an invitation. It’s an order.’
‘But — ’
‘And Miss Topas is going as well. She can’t possibly go home for such a short time, and she says she has no money or she would go to Penzance. Now don’t argue, there’s a good child. I am not equal to quarrelling. And why Penzance I don’t know, so don’t ask. And Carey’s servants are called Ditch.’
‘Now look here,’ said Deborah. I’m not going to be packed off for a rest and change, as though I were an invalid or — or a baby or something. If you’ve got to stay, as this is our bad-luck term, I’m going to stay, too. You can’t turn me out. I won’t go.’
‘Well, you must please yourself, of course, child,’ said Mrs Bradley, solemnly wagging her head. ‘It is extremely awkward, because my nephew’s wife has invited two men, and I really don’t see that Miss Topas can be expected to take both of them off her hands. Besides, she told me she wouldn’t go if you didn’t, and I really think that young woman needs some sort of a break. She works extremely hard, and she has been looking forward to your company for the week-end. Still, of course, you must do exactly as you like. I am sorry I didn’t mention it sooner, but I had my reasons.’
‘I bet you had,’ said Deborah, setting her jaw.
‘There, there! Go to bed,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I thought you might do me a favour, and go down with Miss Topas, whose young man, an archaeologist, is going to be there. She told me all about him last week. I don’t wonder she didn’t confide in you. You’re an unsympathetic hussy.’
Next morning Carey came, and Mrs Bradley, to her great relief, was able to wave Deborah good-bye and go back into Athelstan grinning.
The drive from the College to Carey’s place in Oxfordshire was a long one, and they stayed not for brake and stopped not for stone, as Laura Menzies would have observed, except for a brief halt at Leicester for lunch. They reached Stanton St John at six, and were welcomed by Jenny, Mrs Ditch and an enormous supper. Jenny was Carey’s wife.
Seated at table with them were the two men referred to by Mrs Bradley. One, who immediately adopted Miss Topas, and, regardless of the rest of the company, talked archaeology to her in low tones until midnight, was introduced — or, rather, warmly introduced himself — as Professor Sam Dallas, lecturer in history at the State University of Corder, U.S.A. The other, a big, untidy, dark-haired man of thirty, turned out to be Mrs Bradley’s nephew — one of many, he explained to Deborah, over supper — and was named Jonathan.
‘In the morning,’ said Jenny, giving Deborah her candle, ‘you’ll be able to see the pigs and the babies.’
‘In that order of importance,’ said her husband, glancing amusedly at Miss Topas and her American professor, who were disagreeing about Cnossus.
‘In the morning,’ said Jonathan Bradley with finality, to Deborah, ‘all pigs and babies notwithstanding, you’re coming out with me to see Iffley Church. It’s the place I always wanted to be married in. It’s the duck-bills do it, I think.’
Deborah laughed, said good night all round, and went out to ascend the dark stone staircase. She found her candle firmly confiscated by Jonathan, who escorted her to her door, and remarked, as he gave the candle back to her: ‘You’re nervous, aren’t you? You’ll hear lots of noises in this house. They don’t mean anything. Be sure to bring a hat in the morning. I know the cleaner at Iffley. I should like to kiss you good night, but I suppose you wouldn’t like it.’
She did go with him to Iffley in the morning, and by the following Monday night was in the vortex of the most idiotic, exasperating, wholly unsatisfactory love affair that could be imagined. At least, she found it satisfactory up to, but not including, the Monday night. It became serious then, and she no longer knew what to make of it, of herself, or of Jonathan.
Miss Topas enjoyed herself hugely. She and the American professor spent most of their time in the house, seated at Mrs Ditch’s enormous kitchen table, on which they spread maps and plans, sheets of cartridge paper purchased in Oxford, coloured pencils, rulers, dividers and books, books and more books. Thus equipped, they spated forth volumes of learned argument which caused Our Walt, Mrs Ditch’s son, to observe: ‘I say, young Our Mam, do ee thenk their brains, like, ull stand et? Tes like so much wetch-craf’t to I.’
His mother agreed, brooded darkly awhile, and then said: ‘They do be getten on very noice, though; very noice endeed. But I do wesh I could do sommat to gev t’other uns a lettle bet of a shove up. Made for each other, they be. But the Mess Young-I-say, her hangs back. Shy, I reckon, poor maid. Mester Jonathan ded ought to make a bold bed there, and breng her to et violent. Tes the only way. Her’d gev en, easy enough, ef he act forceful.’
When she had arranged for the students’ lunch, Mrs Bradley walked across the grounds to speak to George, who had been given temporary quarters at the Chief Engineer’s house, where he found congenial company, lavish and well-cooked food, and a boy of twelve whose idol he had become during the first week of his stay.
‘George,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘would you have any objection to taking parties of students out during the week- end?’
‘Certainly not, madam,’ replied George respectfully.
‘Not on Sunday, or on Saturday afternoon, of course.’
‘I shall be pleased to take the young ladies out
‘Ah, yes. Miss Vincent,’ said Mrs Bradley. This unfortunate student had been rushed to hospital on the fourth day of term to be operated on for appendicitis. She had been three weeks in hospital, a couple more in the College sanatorium and, to release the nursing sister for a short break, she was to be shipped over to Athelstan for a long week-end. She was to be brought along the communal passage from one extreme end of the building almost to the other in the wheeled carriage, and then the nurse was to go off duty until Tuesday afternoon. This arrangement had been made possible, said the Principal, because Mrs Bradley was a doctor, and had kindly offered to remain at Athelstan for the weekend.
Mrs Bradley herself had been more than a little perturbed when the Principal suggested this arrangement, but she saw no graceful way of objecting, and so had announced her pleasure at the prospect.
