Time for Silence

I studied her. She certainly did not look like a child.

“Annabelinda will develop early,” my mother had said.

It was true. She was already shapely. “She’s like her mother…born mature.” That was my mother again, who often expressed her deep knowledge of Aunt Belinda in a way which made it seem like a warning.

“I shall not come to look through the banisters at them,” went on Annabelinda. “It is too childish for words.”

I shrugged my shoulders. I was looking forward to it. The guests would ascend the wide staircase from the hall to where my parents would be waiting to greet them under the big chandelier. The drawing room and dining room were on the first floor and there was a space at the top of the stairs where they talked together before they drifted into the other rooms. It was at this stage that we watched them through the banisters.

Then when they were in the dining room, we would creep down and go into that small room which was reached by ascending a few steps of a back staircase. There we waited. The room contained several cupboards in which all sorts of things were stored. There was a table and some chairs in it and it was around this that we would settle happily, eating whatever Robert brought us. He would creep in with a tray on which would be trifle, ice cream or some such delicacy. He would sit with us in this room—which we called the cubbyhole—while we ate. It was the best part of the evening, and I think Robert enjoyed it, too.

When Miss Grant left us, we went to our point of vantage at the banisters and Annabelinda was with us. She did not explain her change of mind. She just squatted beside us and made critical comments on the appearances of the ladies while she gave most of her attention to the men.

When the guests had all gone into supper we prepared ourselves for the most exciting part of the evening. Silently we crept downstairs, sped under the chandelier, along to the end of the landing and up the four stairs to the cubbyhole.

Charles was finding it hard to suppress his giggles, and almost immediately, just as I expected, Robert appeared with a tray on which were four glass dishes containing syllabub. He had guessed Annabelinda would be there.

She was a little ashamed, I believe, at being seen joining in with the young ones, but as her brother, Robert, had stooped from even greater heights—although he did not seem to be aware of this—she was to some extent reconciled.

We sat down at the table to enjoy the syllabub.

“I knew it would be syllabub,” Charles said. “I heard Cook say. She wasn’t very pleased. Old-fangled stuff, she said it was.”

Everyone ignored him. Poor Charles! But when one is the youngest, one gets used to being ignored, and Charles had a very cheerful disposition. He was content to attack the syllabub with relish.

“I brought you an extra-large portion,” Robert told him. “I thought you might need it.”

“Thanks,” replied Charles, and showed his appreciation with a beaming smile.

“What are they talking about down there?” asked Annabelinda.

“Politics mainly,” said Robert.

“Not still going on about that old election, are they?” I asked.

“Well, it’s the House of Lords really. That seems to be the main cause of the trouble.”

“They oppose everything the Government wants to do,” I said. “There is nothing new about that.”

“Perhaps the new King will do something about it,” suggested Annabelinda.

“Monarchs are constitutional now,” I reminded her, “and the House of Lords is not so important as the Commons—though the laws have to be passed by them as well. My father says Mr. Asquith should create more peers so that he has the balance in his favor.”

Annabelinda yawned, and I went on. “It was wonderful of you, Robert, to bring this to us.”

“You know I always do at these affairs.”

“I know…and I like it.”

He gave me his special smile. “The fact is,” he said, “I like being here…rather than at the party, actually.”

“I should have liked a little more,” confessed Charles.

“What? After that big helping, you greedy creature,” I said.

“Have mine,” volunteered Robert, and Charles accepted with, “If you’re sure you don’t want it. It’s a shame to waste it.”

It was at that moment that I thought I heard footsteps outside the door.

I paused and listened.

“What is it?” asked Robert.

“Someone’s on the stairs. I heard that board creak. It always does…just outside the cubbyhole.”

I went to the door and opened it.

A young man was standing there. He looked startled when he saw me. I noticed his very fair hair and light-blue eyes…as for a few seconds we stared at each other. He was in evening dress, so I knew he was one of the guests.

“Have you lost your way?” I asked.

“Yes…yes…I have lost my way.” He spoke with the faintest foreign accent.

The others had come to the door of the cubbyhole. He looked at us all in dismay.