‘The nurseries are always furthest from the lower floors,’ said Faith.
‘Yes, that is what I said, dear. But why?’
‘We don’t want too many nursery sounds,’ said Eleanor.
‘I thought they were the most beautiful sounds in the world. I don’t seem to understand the things I have missed. But I daresay that is natural.’
The schoolroom children were lying back in their chairs, listening to Miss Mitford reading aloud. They rose, looking rather conscious of their self-indulgence.
‘So they are in spirits again,’ said Eleanor, who took any form of recreation as a token of this.
‘How do you know they are?’ said Hope. ‘Miss Mitford may be trying to distract them.’
‘I hope she has met with a measure of success. They are themselves again, are they, Miss Mitford?’
‘No.’
‘Are they not? Why?’
‘Because their father has left them.’
‘But they are up to enjoying a book.’
‘Anyone is equal to something done by someone else.’
‘Well, I hope your time is not being quite wasted. What are you doing, James? You don’t seem to be listening.’
James did not say he was sunk in the lethargy of exhaustion. He sat up and alertly indicated a box at his side.
‘I am tidying my case of curiosities.’
‘They do not look as if they had had much attention,’ said Eleanor, smiling in the belief that a boy could pursue such an occupation without result. ‘You had better ask Venice to help you.’
‘Why Venice?’said Hope.
‘She is our obliging little woman.’
‘Miss Mitford said she would help me to put labels on the things,’ said James.
‘Well, that would bring order out of chaos. Why do you prop up the box on a book? I never knew a boy put books to such odd purposes.’
‘It goes down without it,’ said James, drawing out the book so that the box dropped with a crash, and taking the box into his arms as if to protect it.
‘Where did you get the book?’ said his mother.
‘From the dining-room,’ said James, in immediate, cordial response.
‘I saw a space on the shelves. Did you take more than one?’
‘Three all the same,’ said James, holding the box with his chin, while he adjusted his hands beneath it. ‘Two of them are in my room.’
‘Then run and fetch them, my dear. They are not books you want to read.’
James looked for someone to whom to entrust his box, yielded it to Faith’s ready hands, and scampered upstairs.
‘What is the book?’ said Hope.
Eleanor met her eyes, while she addressed a casual remark to Miss Mitford, and everyone knew that the subject was not one for Isabel and Venice, including the pair concerned. James returned and put the books into Eleanor’s hands without looking at them, and carefully retrieved his box.
‘Why did you take them?’ said his mother.
‘They looked as if they were interesting,’ said James, in an almost confidential tone. ‘They have covers like Miss Mitford’s German fairy tales. And there were nine all alike. But perhaps the leaves wanted cutting.’
‘And can’t you do that?’ said Faith, at once.
‘I always tear them, if I do it,’ said James, looking at her with frankness in his eyes, if in no other part of him.
‘That would not do for the dining-room books,’ said Eleanor. ‘They must be left alone in future.’
‘Would you like to have a paper knife?’ said Faith.
‘Is that a knife for cutting pages?’ said James, with his customary unawareness of the purposes of things.
‘Yes. I will bring you one next time I come.’
‘Then I shall have one like Miss Mitford,’ said James, betraying that he had seen this one in use.
‘Isabel looks tired, Miss Mitford,’ said Eleanor. ‘And she has had a sleep. She cannot spend her life resting.’
‘Certainly not, on such a day as this in her family.’
‘Everything possible has been spared her.’
‘I am sure it has. But that could hardly be much.’
‘They would be better in bed,’ said Eleanor, taking an accustomed outlet for her anxiety and other feelings.
‘You need not stand, children,’ said Luce. ‘We know you have had a long day.’
‘Need they sit either?’ said Hope. ‘I think they like to lie down. Are they prostrated by their father’s going?’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Mitford.
‘I expect they would like to be rid of us,’ said Faith, going with decision to the door. ‘After all, they did not invite us in here, did they?’
‘You seemed to have a standing invitation, dear,’ said Hope.
‘What an open expression James has!’ said Faith, when she gained the landing.
Luce touched her arm and her own lips, and motioned towards the open door, and Faith nodded and smiled in suitable dumb response.
‘Well, that wasn’t a very gracious welcome,’ said Eleanor, to her children. ‘It is kind of people to come and see you. Don’t you think it is, Isabel?’
‘I don’t suppose so, or they would not come so often. People are not so fond of being kind.’
‘I don’t think you have any reason for saying that, my dear. You have had great patience today.’
‘Oh, so have you,’ said Isabel, raising her hands to her head.
Miss Mitford made as if to resume the book, and Eleanor left the room without requiring James’s offices at the door, indeed shutting it herself with a certain sharpness. Her expression for the moment resembled Isabel’s. Her daughter was at the end of her tether, and so was she.
The party went upstairs to the nursery, where Honor and Gavin were employed at the table, and Nevill was sitting on Hat-ton’s lap, looking flushed and rumpled.
‘Too tired to sleep,’ he said, as he turned to the guests.
‘Is he, Hatton?’ said Eleanor, with a certain weariness in her own manner.
‘He missed his rest, madam. He will be all right in the morning.’
‘But not go to bed yet,’ said Nevill, in a sharp tone.
‘I hope he isn’t sickening for anything,’ said Eleanor.
‘You must hope so,’ said Hope. ‘I am sure I do too. Indeed I hope no one is.’
‘What are the others doing?’ said Faith.
‘We are painting arrows for our bows and arrows,’ said Gavin. ‘Miss Pilbeam helped us to make the bows. The arrows were in the shop.’
‘He has a bow-and-arrow,’ said Nevill, pronouncing the last three words in one, and indicating a production of Mullet’s on a chair.
‘That is not a real one,’ said Gavin.
‘A little bow-and-arrow,’ said Nevill, in a contented tone.
‘What will you shoot with them?’ said Faith, with some misgiving in her tone.
‘Oh, birds and animals and things,’ said Gavin. ‘They are not toys. They could give a mortal wound.’
‘I don’t suppose we shall hit much,’ said Honor. ‘And they are not poisoned arrows.’
‘He will shoot a bird,’ said Nevill, his voice rising with his thought. ‘He will shoot a chicken; he will shoot a cock.’
‘A duck would be easy to shoot,’ said Gavin.
‘A duck,’ agreed Nevill, settling down on Hatton’s lap.
‘They must not make havoc among the poultry, Hatton,’ said Eleanor.
‘Then how are they to manage?’ said Hope.
‘Why don’t they have a target to shoot at?’ said Faith.
‘What is a target?’ said Gavin.
‘A piece of wood made on purpose for shooting,’ said Faith, with mingled eagerness and precision. ‘It has holes or marks on it, so that people can aim.’