Instead of the Thorn Page 2

  Aunt Anne was very excitable on the subject of women’s rights. She wanted to be in Parliament and to sit on juries, and even Mr. Hengist could not argue with her because she became so angry and so illogical, and said that she had not patience with him or with anyone else. And when Elizabeth, wrinkling her pretty brow, said that she thought women would be rather silly on juries, Aunt Anne told her that she was only a child and didn’t know what she was talking about. So the Rights of Women were not spoken of at home; it was safer that way.

  Elizabeth became a flapper and tied her hair back in a large bow at the back of her neck. Lawrence began to notice her and said, By Jove, what a beautiful girl she was going to be! He called her his pretty little daughter, and Elizabeth went at once to study herself in the mirror. She had always thought that she was nice-looking, but until Lawrence called her pretty she had not realised to the full the beauty of her great brown eyes with their long lashes like shadows about them, or the fascination of her short upper lip and little straight nose. She fingered the masses of her dusky hair, and discovered breathlessly that her shoulders sloped slightly and were milk-white.

  Lawrence began to talk of her coming out as soon as the War was over, but Miss Arden begged him not to think of that yet.

  “I want to keep the baby as long as possible,” she sighed.

  Lawrence thought this was absurd, but he supposed all women felt like that.

  “Well, I don’t know.” he said. “Personally I don’t see that there’d be any harm in it.”

  “It’s such a pity to let her grow up so soon,” Miss Arden answered. “I don’t want to see the bloom knocked off yet.”

  This sounded rather alarming; Lawrence had an idea that he had heard the expression before.

  “Oh, but she’d be chaperoned!” he said vaguely.

  Miss Arden shook her head and became melancholy.

  “It can never be the same again,” she said.

  “The same as what?” Lawrence was dense, so like a man.

  Miss Arden knew quite well what she meant, but unfortunately it was difficult to explain. She sought refuge in a well-used formula.

  “Ah, you can’t understand, Lawrence! You’re only a man.”

  It was conclusive; Lawrence had no pretensions towards understanding his daughter. He did not say any more.

  Since the War had broken out Mr. Hengist had fallen very low in Miss Arden’s estimation. He made munitions, which was most worthy, of course, and he would talk about the War in front of Elizabeth. Miss Arden found him impervious to hints; she was forced to speak plainly. She said:—

  “Mr. Hengist, I wonder if you would mind not talking ‘War’ here? Atrocities and things. We know they happen, but I don’t think there’s any need to speak about them.”

  “You know they happen,” he answered. “Does Elizabeth?”

  “I hope not,” she said gravely. “I don’t approve of young girls reading about all these horrors.”

  “Most girls of Elizabeth’s age are doing War-work, and facing facts.”

  “Elizabeth is only seventeen,” she reminded him frigidly.

  “She’s old enough to know that life isn’t always romantically rose-coloured.”

  Miss Arden rose, and put a stop to a possible discussion.

  “I think I am the best judge of what is best for Elizabeth, Mr. Hengist.”

  Mr. Hengist checked a groan. It was hopeless to argue with Miss Arden; she defeated you at every point.

  But the War ended and there was no need to talk about it any more. Elizabeth began to attend classes, and went on a sketching tour, with Miss Arden in the background, to Brittany. She enjoyed herself immensely, and when she came back her father cried, By Jove, she was taller than ever and quite a young lady!

  He began to picture himself in the role of proud father. It would be rather jolly to take Elizabeth out to parties. He cast a surreptitious glance at the mirror and imagined his friends’ surprise at finding that he possessed a grown-up daughter. Really, Elizabeth was quite lovely; moreover she was quiet and docile, unlike these terrible modern girls who wore short skirts, swore, and bobbed their hair. He thought how delightful it would be to display her, virginally shy, at the Opera, when people would surely wonder who that distinguished-looking couple were. Probably he would be taken for an elder brother, or perhaps a youthful uncle. Except for an almost imperceptible silveriness at the temples he had worn well, remarkably well, and kept his neat figure. So many men, notably poor old Hengist, seemed to have become baggy and stout.

  Miss Arden did not fit in with the picture at all, which was annoying. Poor Anne, she had become woefully thin, and she could never wear her clothes as though they belonged to her. He reflected, conscious all the time of disloyalty, that Anne had never had the dress-sense. She followed the fashions of five years ago, or more, and somehow she seemed unable to wear the right clothes for the right occasion.

  Lawrence admitted that he knew very little about women’s clothes, but he rather thought that he had an eye for colour. Anne was too fond of mixing her colours: she would wear black shoes with a brown frock, and perhaps a grey golf-jersey, and always powdered her nose inadequately.

  Secretly he decided that Anne would have to be left out of a good many parties. Probably she would prefer to stay at home. When one came to think of it it would be positively unfair to expect Anne to chaperon Elizabeth everywhere. He would do that; it was his duty, and certainly he would not shelve it on to Anne’s shoulders. Besides, it was no longer the custom to chaperon debutantes, and although he by no means approved of this laxity, he thought it would make Elizabeth less conspicuous if he performed the rite. No one would think that he was Elizabeth’s father.

  He became affectionate towards Elizabeth, and thought that it was not every man who possessed so beautiful a daughter. He said:—

  “What has my little girl been doing with herself all day?” and stroked her hair.

  Elizabeth looked at him, rather puzzled, and answered that she had been doing the usual things. She wished that he would not stroke her hair; she hated to be touched.

  “We shall have to think about bringing you out, eh?” he said, smiling. “What about putting this hair up?”

  Elizabeth glanced at her aunt.

  “Can I, Auntie?”

  “Oh, it’s very early days yet, darling! Lawrence, I thought perhaps when she’s nineteen—”

  “Oh, nonsense!” he said. “You’re quite old enough now, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, of course I am. Do let me, Aunt Anne!”

  “You must do as your father wishes,” Miss Arden replied in a tone that warned Lawrence that if harm came of it the blame was his.

  He was relieved to find how easily he had won his point, and rubbed his hands together, nodding at Elizabeth.

  “And my little girl will have to have some frocks, won’t she? I’ve been thinking of making you a dress-allowance for some time. What do you think of that?”

  Elizabeth thought it a delightful idea, but she wished her father would not talk to her as though she were a child.

  “Thanks awfully, Father,” she said dutifully. “I’d love it.”

  “And will yon let your old Daddy come and help you choose your pretty dance-frocks?”

  Elizabeth had never called her father Daddy, and she looked at him now in undisguised astonishment. So did Miss Arden, but her look said frankly that she thought Lawrence was mad. This new attitude he had adopted was wholly unnecessary. It was almost as though he were trying to draw Elizabeth away from her.

  “And is Auntie to be shut out of all these exciting plans?” she asked brightly.

  “Oh, Auntie!” Elizabeth cried, embracing her. “How can you!” But even as she said it she was conscious of a wicked little hope that Aunt Anne would not always want to be one of the party. She didn’t care for Father much —at least, she loved him, of course, because he was her father—but going to dances with him sounded more attractive than going to them wit
h Aunt Anne. And very desperately she hoped that she might be allowed to choose her own frocks, and—more desperately still—her own lingeries. Aunt Anne said that the modern lingerie was almost indecent, and that it was most unsuitable to have everything made in silk; she inclined to stout materials with high necks, and buttons down the front. Elizabeth always agreed that they were far more sensible, but secretly she hated them, and longed for a set of silk underclothing, in primrose, she thought, just to see what it was like. Perhaps this new, playful Father would understand, only it would be rather difficult to broach such a delicate subject to him.

  Lawrence paid her allowance into the bank, and gave Elizabeth a cheque-book, which made her feel most emancipated and important. He criticised her efforts at hairdressing, and for a whole hour, under the hostile eye of Miss Arden, taught her how to put it up so that the wave in it showed to the best advantage.

  He was cunning when he took Elizabeth to choose her evening frocks. He came home from the office at midday, quite unexpectedly, and said that he was going to take Elizabeth to Bond Street. He pretended that he had forgotten it was the afternoon set apart by Miss Arden for the Mothers’ Meeting.

  “Can’t you put it off?” Miss Arden said, rather snappily. “You really can’t go and choose Elizabeth’s frocks. It’s hardly a man’s sphere.”

  Lawrence began to feel very guilty, but he brazened it out.

  “Rubbish, Anne! After all, I am her father. But I’m sorry you can’t come. Too stupid of me. I can’t think how I could have forgotten this was your Mothers’ day. I suppose you couldn’t desert the meeting for once?”

  “It’s most annoying,” said Miss Arden. “Of course I might send a note to Mrs. Hemingway ...” She considered, drumming her fingers on the table.

  Both Elizabeth and her father sat quiet, watching her, and trying not to hope that she wouldn’t come. Elizabeth looked mournful; Lawrence was anxious.

  “No, I can’t possibly cut the meeting,” Miss Arden said at last. “It’s a pity you didn’t tell me before.”

  “It only just occurred to me to-day,” Lawrence explained, “or of course I should have.”

  Miss Arden was hurt; you could see it in her face; hurt and cross.

  “Perhaps we could put it off,” Elizabeth suggested.

  Lawrence thought that was unnecessary of Elizabeth. He shook his head sadly.

  “I’m afraid not. I shall be tied to the office all the rest of the week. This is really my one free day.” He thought perhaps this sounded too ungracious. “Never mind about the meeting, Anne. I’m sure the Mothers can spare you.”

  Elizabeth wished that Father were not so anxious that Aunt Anne should accompany them, but she choked the wish down, and said, “Do come, Auntie.”

  But Miss Arden refused. She went away to the meeting, martyr-like, and Elizabeth felt a dreadful joy at seeing her go.

  Home was in a tidy backwater of Kensington, called The Boltons; Lawrence hailed a taxi chunking up the road, and put Elizabeth into it.

  “It was a pity your aunt couldn’t come,” he remarked as he got in beside Elizabeth.

  “Yes, wasn’t it?” she agreed.

  “Though I’m not at all sure she wouldn’t have been too tired,” he went on. “One has to be careful that she doesn’t overdo it, you know. We probably shan’t be back till dinner-time. I shouldn’t have liked to feel that we were dragging her about till that hour.”

  Elizabeth thought that he could not know Aunt Anne very well if he imagined that she would be tired after one afternoon’s shopping. A faint suspicion dawned in her mind that Father was talking like this simply to salve his conscience. She banished the suspicion and thought that after all there was some truth in what he said. Aunt Anne was too eager to sacrifice herself to others. She told Lawrence this, and he was pleased with her, and said that she had hit the nail on the head.

  It was not until after tea, when three frocks had been chosen, that Elizabeth dared to ask about the silk lingerie. She had become more at ease with Lawrence, and he had liked all the prettiest frocks.

  Elizabeth paused tentatively before a shop-window, and blushed.

  “Father—I think I ought to have—if you don’t mind— just for evening wear—some of—of those things.”

  Lawrence turned to look at the shop, and then he stared at Elizabeth. She kept her eyes downcast, and thought how awful it was of her to have spoken.

  “Well, well!” Lawrence broke into a laugh. “I can’t very well go in there with you, can I?”

  Elizabeth’s lashes fluttered upwards.

  “I could go alone—if you’d wait! I’ve—brought my cheque-book.”

  The afternoon had been a success; Lawrence felt indulgent.

  “Well, in with you,” he said. “I wonder what your aunt will say?” Then he thought this was being disloyal, and hastily added, “Of course she won’t object, as they’re only to wear with the dance-frocks.”

  “Oh, yes, only with them!” Elizabeth agreed.

  She was a long time in the shop, but Lawrence, who had been buying cigars, did not realise this. He patted her arm and hoped that she had got what she wanted.

  Elizabeth thought of the piles of silken garments set aside to be sent to her, and stepped out briskly.

  “Yes, rather!” she said.

  Lawrence said that she was a little puss, and put her into another taxi. On the way home he confided to her that he had long considered buying a car.

  Chapter Three

  Elizabeth looked so pretty in her new clothes that Miss Arden said nothing about the silken lingerie. She told herself that it was only for the evening, and gradually she was able to believe it.

  When Lawrence bought a four-seater coupe she said that she couldn't get over it. Lawrence told her that she wasn’t expected to get over it, only into it, and because he was palpably delighted with the joke, Miss Arden and Elizabeth both laughed at it.

  Lawrence learned to drive the car, but there was also a chauffeur, which was just as well, as if anything went wrong Lawrence didn’t know what to do. He lived in morbid dread of punctures, and whenever the car back-fired, which was often, he got out and felt all the tires. However he was very proud of being able to drive a car, and he looked very important when he sat behind the wheel.

  “There’s a great deal in driving,” he told Mr. Hengist, confidentially. “It’s by no means so easy as it looks.” He saw a large lorry approaching, and became agonised. Once safely past:—“I suppose any fool can drive a car, but it needs practice and a cool head to be able to drive well.”

  “Yes, I’ve no doubt you’ll improve in time,” said Mr. Hengist cruelly.

  Luckily Lawrence was changing gear, a noisy and a perilous process, and he did not hear this remark.

  “The fellow who taught me said that it’s amazing how dense some people are about learning. Then too, lots of men start driving much too fast. I don’t approve of that at all.”

  “Thank God!” said Mr. Hengist fervently.

  “The whole point about a car, to my mind, is enjoyment,” Lawrence said, swerving drunkenly to avoid a pothole. “There’s nothing enjoyable in scorching.” Experimentally and cautiously he removed one hand from the wheel. It was rather daring, he felt, but impressive. “Elizabeth wants me to teach her,” he said. “I don’t think there’d be any harm in it. Of course I shouldn’t let her drive about alone. Either Jenkins or I would go with her in .case of accidents. It was really an excellent idea of mine to buy a car. I can’t think why I never did it before. By the way, what do you think of my little girl? I took a hand in choosing her clothes. Poor Anne —she means well, but she can’t dress. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed it? I flatter myself Elizabeth looks very well in her new things, very well indeed. What do you think?”

  “She’s very pretty,” Mr. Hengist agreed.

  “Not only that, Hengist. Of course you don’t know her as I do, because you’re not her father, but I assure you her beauty isn’t only facial. Whe
n I see all these modern young minxes with their cigarettes and their backless gowns, I realise what a complete success Elizabeth’s upbringing has been. No offhand manners and horrible slang words, but—well, I often think myself that she’s just like a violet. Some poet or other, I’ve forgotten for the moment who it was, wrote something remarkably apt about a violet. Just fits my little girl. Something about ‘modest violet in the dell.’ I daresay you know what I mean?”

  “No, but it sounds fairly mawkish. I’m willing to admit that Elizabeth has nice manners. She spoils herself by being insincere.”

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” said Lawrence. “I don’t believe my little girl has ever entertained an unkind thought about anyone. She has such an affectionate disposition.”

  “When did you discover all this?” Mr. Hengist asked.

  Lawrence looked rather hurt.

  “It’s natural that her father should know what she’s really like,” he said.

  They came into traffic so that out of consideration for his own safety Mr. Hengist forbore to retort. A van-driver asked Lawrence what the ruddy hell he thought he was doing, but otherwise there was no unpleasantness. Lawrence emerged triumphant and remarked that one soon got into the way of guiding a car through traffic.

  “It would not surprise me if that van-driver was the worse for drink,” he said severely. “A most uncalled-for piece of impertinence. What were we saying? Oh yes, about Elizabeth. I’m taking her to Mrs. Carfew’s dance on Wednesday, and perhaps to the Opera next week.”

  “Who are the Carfews?” Mr. Hengist asked.

  “Oh, some people Anne called on not so long ago. I know old Carfew in the City, and now that Elizabeth is ‘out’ I thought it might be as well for Anne to call on Mrs. Carfew. I am making a point of getting to know more people.”

  “You’re certainly doing your duty, even if it is belated,” Mr. Hengist admitted grudgingly. “Is your sister going to the dance too?”