Читать книгу Six Cousins at Mistletoe Farm - Enid blyton - Страница 6

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The first two days were rather difficult. Melisande seemed determined to weep at the slightest encouragement, and talked about “Poor dear Mummy” till Jane could have screamed as loudly as Roderick.

Cyril still kept up his grave, grown-up pose, which eventually made Jack retire into himself, and not say a word. Uncle David looked terribly worried. The children soon discovered why.

“I say! Did you know that Three Towers wasn’t insured?” said Jack to Jane the second night. “Apparently Uncle David let the insurance lapse—didn’t bother to pay it when it was overdue.”

Jane whistled. “My goodness! Does that mean he won’t get any money to buy another house and furniture?”

“Yes. It does mean that,” said Jack. “I heard Daddy telling Mummy. And he said, ‘It’s so like David. He always was irresponsible. And Rose is a butterfly, so what can you expect?’ ”

“Did he really say that?” said Jane. “Well—if he can’t get the money to buy another house, what’s going to happen? Oh Jack—surely, surely they won’t expect Daddy to keep Melisande and the others here?”

“Uncle’s got other money,” said Jack. “But not much. It won’t buy a house like Three Towers. He’s going to look for somewhere, and make a home for Aunt Rose when she comes out of hospital. Anyway, Cyril will have to go back to his public school in two weeks’ time, so we’ll get rid of him. He’s an awful ass, isn’t he, Jane?”

“He’s so pompous,” said Jane. “That’s the right word for him. And I’m sure he’s going to spout poetry at me sooner or later. I shall scream if he does.”

“Does Roderick go to boarding-school?” said Jack, trying to remember. “I bet he doesn’t. He’s a real mother’s boy. I always thought Susan was pretty young for her age, but, honestly, Roderick’s worse.”

“Well, if he doesn’t go to boarding-school, he’ll stay here and go to school with you, I expect,” said Jane gloomily. “And I know Melisande had a private governess, and just went to dancing classes and painting classes and things like that. So she’ll be parked on us too, if Uncle David can’t get a house.”

This was a very gloomy prospect. Mistletoe Farm didn’t seem the same place with three townspeople in it. You couldn’t count Uncle David as a town person, because he and Daddy had been brought up together at Mistletoe Farm.

Roderick seemed to have forgotten about the fire by the time he had been at the farm for two days. Melisande was still inclined to weep and loll about, but was thinking better of her repeated statement that she “couldn’t eat a thing.” She had begun to eat very heartily, to Mrs. Longfield’s secret amusement.

Cyril was really the greatest trial. He seemed to consider that he was on a level with the three grown-ups, and would listen to their conversation with a grave and wise expression that really infuriated his Uncle Peter. His father seemed too unhappy and weary to notice his behaviour. Jane privately wondered how long it would be before her father showed Cyril the rough side of his tongue. He could not bear posing of any kind.

He was good to his brother, and tried to help him with advice. But, as he said to his wife afterwards, “David never would take advice even as a boy—he just listens, and nods, and promises—and that’s all. He’ll never get a house with all those large ideas of his—and if he happens to find a small one, Rose will never consent to move in.”

“Well, what will happen then?” asked Mrs. Longfield. “We really cannot house the whole family—for one thing, there isn’t room. And for another thing, we couldn’t afford it. We have a pretty tight squeeze for money as it is.”

“Farmers always do,” said her husband. “Well, Linnie, we can’t turn them out, that’s certain. Rose has money of her own. Perhaps she’ll think of something. Maybe she’s not such a silly butterfly as we imagine.”

But, as the days went on, it became quite clear that Uncle David was quite helpless at managing his affairs, now that he hadn’t endless money to draw on. He had lost thousands of pounds of property in the fire, and could not claim one penny in insurance. Worse still, a lot of the money in the property belonged to Aunt Rose.

Her husband saw her often at the nursing-home to which she had now gone. She cried, and begged him to do impossible things. She wanted another Three Towers. She wanted her lost fur-coats and her beautiful dresses. But they were gone, and there was not the money to throw away on things like that again. Uncle David, charming as ever, but weak as water, promised her everything “some day soon.” And when he told her about a little house he had at last found not far from Mistletoe Farm, she cried with rage and grief.

“How could you expect me to live there!” she stormed. “After the life we’ve had, David. And the poor children, too. I couldn’t think of it.”

One day her sister-in-law, Mrs. Longfield, went to see her. It was difficult to leave Mistletoe Farm, now that there were six children to see to, but she managed it. When she saw the dainty, beautiful Rose lying in bed, looking perfectly well, Mrs. Longfield felt angry.

“When are you going to get up, Rose?” she said bluntly. “David needs you. And the children need you too.”

“When David has found a nice house, we’ll all be together again,” said Rose in a feeble voice.

“He won’t find a nice house,” said Mrs. Longfield. “How can he? You should be up and about, helping him to find some place to make a home.”

“Oh, Linnie—are you trying to tell me that my children are a nuisance to you?” said Rose in a tearful voice, and two tears rolled down her cheek. They made Mrs. Longfield think of Melisande and her easy tears. “My poor children! It wasn’t their fault that the house got burnt. I blame David bitterly for letting the insurance lapse. I shall never forgive him for that. After all, the man of the family should at least be a responsible person.”

“I agree,” said Mrs. Longfield. “But the wife should also be a responsible woman, Rose. And you are not. You won’t take up your responsibilities. You don’t help at all. You are trying to escape all the tough things of life.”

“Oh, Linnie—you have such a lovely life,” said Rose, weeping again. “That lovely old farmhouse—your nice husband—and glorious farm.”

“Rose, don’t be such a hypocrite,” said Mrs. Longfield, wishing she could shake her hard. “You know you’d hate to live in a farmhouse and manage hens and ducks, and make butter and cook. You’d hate to have a husband who came in every day smelling of cow-dirt and of the pigsty. You wouldn’t like to be without constant hot water. You’d hate oil-lamps. So don’t talk like that to me, as if you envied me.”

“You’re very hard and cruel,” said Rose, and she turned her face away.

“No, I’m not,” said Mrs. Longfield. “I’m trying to make you be sensible. You’ve a husband who needs help. You’ve three children to see to. You should get up from this bed and dress and go to your duties.”

She stood up, half sorry she had said so much, and half glad to get it off her chest.

“I’m having to take on your duties, Rose,” said Mrs. Longfield as she pulled on her gloves. “I’m cooking for your children, and seeing to them, doing all kinds of extra work for a family that has doubled in number. I don’t mind a bit—but they’re your duties, not mine. You’ll be very sorry. You’re trying to escape from your difficulties, and there never is any escape from difficulties, never. They have to be faced and fought. Goodbye, Rose.”

She went out, and left Rose alone. What was she thinking? Would she get up and face things? Would she take the children and see to them, and help David?

Mrs. Longfield didn’t think so. She went home very thoughtfully indeed. What was to happen to Melisande, Cyril and Roderick?

Jane, Jack and Susan wanted to know this too! The time was going by, and school would be starting again soon. Jack went to an old and famous public school in the next town that took day-boys as well as boarders. Jane and Susan went to a girls’ private-school not far from Jack’s school. They all rode in on their ponies each morning, and back again at tea-time.

If their cousins were staying on at Mistletoe Farm, what was to happen to their schooling? Could Uncle David afford to go on paying for Cyril at his expensive public boarding-school? What would happen to Melisande, who had never been to school? And what about poor Roderick, the mother’s boy, who had been so coddled?

Jane asked her mother what was going to happen. “Aren’t they going away yet?” she said, anxiously. “I do so want my bedroom to myself, Mummy. I just hate to keep on and on having to tidy it up for Melisande’s sake.”

“Well, that’s very good for you!” her mother said. “For once in a way you’ve had to learn to be really neat. I can’t tell you yet what’s to happen to your cousins. Daddy, Uncle David and I are having a sort of family council about it to-night.”

The council was held. It was quite clear from the first what was going to happen. Rose was not going to leave her comfortable nursing-home and face any difficulties. David hadn’t found a house. He hadn’t enough money to send Cyril to an expensive school any longer. But he had enough to pay for the three children’s board and lodging and clothes and ordinary day-school fees, if his brother would let them stay on at Mistletoe Farm.

“Linnie, I know it’s asking a lot of you,” he said. “But I do admire you so, and the way you’ve brought up your three children—I know you’d be awfully good for mine. I’ve had a good job offered me in Scotland. I want to go up there and try it, and see if I can make some money. Will you take my children on till Christmas-time this year? By that time I ought to have my job going well, Rose will be with me and can find a home for the children, and we’ll hope to be all together by Christmas.”

“What’s this job?” asked his brother.

“Farming,” said David. “Oh, I know Rose won’t like the idea of that, but after all, it’s the thing I know best. You and I were brought up on this farm, Peter—and you know that I have always loved the country. It was just that Rose wanted a town life—and she had so much money. I hadn’t the heart to say she was to go my way and not hers.”

“This sounds, David, as if you’ve set about settling your affairs properly at last,” said his brother, pleased. “Well, Linnie must decide about the children. That’s her job, and she’ll have to bear the brunt of that.”

“I’ll take them on,” said Mrs. Longfield in her warm, quiet voice. “You needn’t worry. But I must have a free hand with them, David. They haven’t been brought up well, you know. They’ve a lot to learn. And I think they can teach my children a few things too. My two girls are such tomboys, and dear old Jack hasn’t very good manners. I’ve no doubt they’ll all shake down together, and be very good for one another.”

“It’s kind of you to say all those comforting things,” said David. “Of course you can have a free hand. Do whatever you like! Cyril can go to Jack’s school, can’t he? And Roderick can go too. And Melisande can go with Jane.”

“Right,” said his brother. “That’s all settled, then. We wish you the best of luck in this new job, David.”

“I’ll make a success of it,” said David. “I’m up against things now. Do you remember what our mother used to say to us, Peter? When obstacles crop up, just use them as stepping-stones, my boy, and you’ll get somewhere!”

“I hope the children will be happy—your children, I mean, David,” said Mrs. Longfield. “It’s such a very different life for them. Up till now they’ve just been visitors—but from now on they’ll be family. And that’s very different. I’m afraid there will be squabbles and fights and jealousies and calling of names!”

“Let there be,” said Mr. Longfield. “There always is in families as big as ours will be! They’ll shake down and rub each other’s corners off. You can have the job of telling them all, Linnie. I fight shy of that!”

It was not an easy job to break the news to six dismayed children. Melisande, Cyril and Roderick could hardly believe that they were not to go back to some life like the one they had known. And their cousins viewed with the utmost dismay the long weeks ahead of them that would be shared—and spoilt—by Melisande and the others.

“I’ve never been to school!” wailed Melisande. “It’s too bad. Why can’t I have a governess?”

“What! Go to Jack’s day-school?” said Cyril in such horror that Jack stared at him in angry astonishment.

“Mummy! Am I to go on sharing my bedroom with Melisande?” said Jane, almost in tears.

“What about Cyril?” demanded Jack. “I can’t pig it with him in my room any more. I want my room to myself.”

“We—we haven’t got to share our ponies with them, have we?” said Susan’s small voice.

“I want to go and live with my mother,” wailed Roderick, his whole world falling to pieces at the idea of having to live with his noisy and rather alarming cousins. He looked as if he was going to howl.

“Mother’s boy!” said Susan scornfully. And then Roderick did howl! But this time his aunt didn’t put her arms round him and comfort him. She looked at him sternly.

“Roderick! Behave yourself! You’ll have a dreadful time at Jack’s school if you act like this. Don’t be a baby.”

Nobody had ever spoken like this to Roderick before. He looked quite shocked, and stopped howling at once. Crackers watched him in interest, his head on one side. He wouldn’t make friends with Roderick, and would never come when the boy called him. He had not forgiven him for pushing him away when he had first arrived.

“Now listen to me, all of you,” said Mrs. Longfield. “It isn’t going to be easy for any of us. I have much more work to do, and so has Dorcas, looking after six children instead of three. Melisande, you and the others will find life harder here than at home and not nearly so comfortable. Jane, Jack and you too, Susan, will find it difficult to share your home with three cousins so unlike yourselves.”

She paused and looked hard at all of them. “But,” she said, firmly, “it’s got to be done, and done as happily as possible, and we’ll do it. There’s going to be no argument about it, no whining or grumbling from any of you—so it’s no good getting out your hanky, Melisande! It’s all decided, and you’re all going to help me as much as you possibly can. Will you?”

“Yes,” said everyone, even Melisande, and nobody said any more. Mrs. Longfield smiled at them all and went out of the room.

“Well!” said Jane, letting out a big breath. “So that—is—that!”