“Stay? Stay? Of course she’ll stay. Stay forever,” asserted Nurse in her bustling voice.
“Funny not to be here when the furniture came,” said Cook.
“Yes, wasn’t it?” echoed Annie. “It was funny. That’s what I thought. How funny, I thought.”
“Not that I suppose things will be what you might call properly arranged just yet?” Cook speculated.
“Everything arranged. Everything arranged,” Nurse snapped. “Nothing to arrange. Nothing to arrange.”
And as if to stifle forever any ability in Michael to ask questions, she proceeded to cram his mouth with a dessertspoonful of rice pudding from her own plate, jarring his teeth with the spoon when she withdrew it.
Then Michael’s lovely mother in vivid rose silk came into the room, and Cook squeezed herself backwards through the door very humbly and so quietly that Annie found herself alone before she realized the fact; so that in order to cover her confusion and assist her retreat she was compelled to snatch away Michael’s plate of rice pudding before he had finished the last few clotted grains. Michael was grateful to Annie for this, and he regarded her from that moment as an ally. Thenceforth he would often seek her out in what she called “her” pantry, there to nibble biscuits, while Annie dried cups and swung them from brass hooks.
“How cosy you all look,” said mother. “Darling Stella, are you enjoying your rice pudding? And, darling Michael,” she added, “I hope you’re being very good.”
“Oh, yes,” said Nurse, “Good! Yes. He’s very good. Oh, yes. Tut-tut! Tut-tut!”
After this exhalation of approval Nurse blew several breaths, leaned over him, pulled down his blue and white sailor-top, and elevated his chin with the back of her hand.
“There’s no need to bother about the drawing-room or the dining-room or my bedroom or, in fact, any of the rooms except the night-nursery and the day-nursery. You’re quite straight in here. I shall be back by the end of June.”
Nurse shook her head very violently at this, and Michael felt tears of apprehension welling up into his eyes. Mrs. Fane paused a moment doubtfully; then she waved beautiful slim gloves and glided from the room. Michael listened to delicate footsteps on the stairs, and the tinkle of small ornaments. A bleak silence followed the banging of the front door.
“She’s gone away. I know she’s gone away,” he moaned.
“Who’s She?” demanded Nurse. “She’s the cat’s mother.”
“Mother! Mother!” he wailed. “She always goes away from Michael.”
“And no wonder,” said Nurse. “Dear, dear! Yes—tut-tut!—but goodness gracious, she won’t be gone long. She’ll be back in June.”
“What’s June?” Michael asked.
“If you ask any more silly questions you’ll go to bed, young man; but if you’re a good boy, I’ll tell you a story.”
“A real story? A nice long story?” asked Michael.
“I’ll tell you a story about Jack o’ my Nory
And now my story’s begun.
I’ll tell you another about Jack and his brother
And now my story’s done.”
Nurse twiddled her thumbs with a complacent look, as she smacked her palate upon the final line.
“That isn’t a story,” said Michael sullenly. “When will mother be back?”
“In June. That’s enough,” said Nurse.
Michael went to sleep that night, trying to materialize this mysterious June. It came to mean a distant warmth of orange light towards which he waited very slowly. He lay awake thinking of June in the luminousness of a night-light shielded from his direct vision by a basin. His hands were muffled in fingerless gloves to prevent thumb-sucking. Suddenly upon the quiet came a blaze of light. Had he reached June? His sleepy eyelids uncurled to the scented vision of his beautiful mother. But it was only gaslight playing and fluttering over the figure of anæmic Annie taking hairpin after hairpin from her hair. Yet there was a certain interest in watching Annie undress. Her actions were less familiar than those of Nurse. Her lips were softer to kiss. Then the vision of June, rising and falling with Annie’s breath, recurred from distances unattainable, faded again into the blackness of the night, and after a while came back dazzling and golden. It was morning, and in a chirping of sparrows and depth of quiet sunlight Michael began to wonder why he was sleeping beside Annie in a big bed. It was an experience that stood for a long time in his memory as the first adventure of his life.
The adventure of Annie was a solitary occasion. By the following night the regular night-nursery was ready for occupation, and the pea-green vegetation of the walls was hidden by various furniture. Nurse’s bed flanked by the two cots occupied much of its space. Round the fire was a nursery fender on which hung perpetually various cloths and clothes and blankets and sheers which, as it was summer at the time, might all have been dried much more easily out of doors. Pictures were hung upon the wall—pictures that with the progress of time became delightfully intimate experiences. They were mostly framed chromolithographs saved from the Christmas numbers of illustrated papers. There was Cherry Ripe—a delicious and demure girl in a white dress with a pink sash, for whom Michael began to feel a romantic affection. There was the picture of a little girl eating a slice of bread-and-butter on a doorstep, watched by a fox terrier and underneath inscribed “Give me a piece, please.” Michael did not know whether to feel more sorry for the little girl or the dog; some sort of compassion, he thought, was demanded. It was a problem picture insoluble over many years of speculation. The night-nursery seemed always full of Nurse’s clothes. Her petticoats were usually chequered or uniform red, preternaturally bright in contrast with the blackness of the exterior apparel. The latter of heavy serge or similar material was often sown with jet bugles which scratched Michael’s face when he played “Hide-Oh” among the folds of such obvious concealment. Apart from these petticoats and skirts, the most individual possession of Nurse’s wardrobe was a moon-shaped bustle of faded crimson which Michael
