Read Online Scruffy - A Diversion by Paul Gallico - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Gallico
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eminently fitted to a sailor’s wife and the daughter of a baronet, while her sailor husband was away at sea. The habit formed was never broken, and the Admiral was once said to have confided in a convivial moment that when Lady French slept her fingers still continued the movements of running needle and wool through the holes of the pattern.
Felicity’s chubbiness did not stem from her but from her father. Lady French was tall, slender and cool. Her hair was still golden; she had been a great beauty. When she had married the consensus was that she had thrown herself away. But now she was Lady French, and an Admiral’s wife, so it actually had worked out all for the best. Still, it might not have done, and she had a quiet determination that her daughter Felicity should not expose herself to the same hazard. She was glad she had her come out to the Rock for the summer. In one sense it was a small, narrow, tight-fitting community, but as a Naval and Colonial base it was full of eligible young men of good families on the threshold of important careers.
Lady French looked up from completing a stitch and said, “Felicity darling, must you make so much noise? You know, you aren’t sixteen any more. In fact, you’ll have to be thinking very soon of—”
“Getting married,” Felicity completed for her, for this was one she had heard before. “I think of it all of the time, Mummy. Guess what! I’ve just met the nicest young man. Maybe I could marry him.”
Lady French was startled by this announcement, for she never knew when her daughter was joking. But ladies, in the lexicon of the Admiral’s wife, did not show emotion. She disciplined herself with three more stitches before she replied, “Really, dear? How very nice. Is it anyone we know?”
Felicity’s lovely clear eyes were bent upon her mother with an expression of quizzical tenderness. She replied, “Captain Bailey.”
Lady French sent the blunted needle four more times through and back, drawing the piece of red wool after it while she assessed rapidly the information her daughter had revealed. Like all mothers she felt that every young man her daughter met was a potential husband. A Captain was starting close to the top indeed; at the same time it posed another problem. “My dear,” she said, “isn’t the company of a Captain a little bit old for you?” She lifted her own beautiful golden head and looked out across the town to the mole. There was nothing there but a pair of destroyers already tied up for a fortnight, a Naval collier, and a couple of rusty freighters plus the cruise ship. A puzzled frown now appeared upon her own handsome brow and she murmured, “ Captain Bailey? Is there any ship in now with a Captain Bailey?”
Felicity struggled and won the battle to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching. She felt somehow that she ought to say, “Hang on to your needlework, Mum—this is going to be a real snorter.” But she refrained, and instead said demurely, “Captain Timothy Bailey of the Royal Artillery, Mother. Army.”
The tapestry needle was blunt, but Lady French still managed to run it into the end of her finger. She then let fly a good round Navy swear word she had learned from her husband. Thereupon as she sucked at the drop of blood that appeared on her finger the lady inside Lady French scored one more imperishable triumph. She said quite quietly: “Oh no, Felicity—not Army, surely?”
Felicity said, “Yes, Mother— Army.”
Lady French then asked, “Who is he?” Three words which in these circumstances constituted a three-page questionnaire and included such vital items as: What is his family? Who is his father? What was his mother’s maiden name? What, if any, armorial bearings? Have they any money? What schools did he attend? Is he at the very least the General’s A.D.C. and headed for Staff College?
Felicity thought that she might as well complete the job, since her mother was really bearing up wonderfully.
Felicity’s chubbiness did not stem from her but from her father. Lady French was tall, slender and cool. Her hair was still golden; she had been a great beauty. When she had married the consensus was that she had thrown herself away. But now she was Lady French, and an Admiral’s wife, so it actually had worked out all for the best. Still, it might not have done, and she had a quiet determination that her daughter Felicity should not expose herself to the same hazard. She was glad she had her come out to the Rock for the summer. In one sense it was a small, narrow, tight-fitting community, but as a Naval and Colonial base it was full of eligible young men of good families on the threshold of important careers.
Lady French looked up from completing a stitch and said, “Felicity darling, must you make so much noise? You know, you aren’t sixteen any more. In fact, you’ll have to be thinking very soon of—”
“Getting married,” Felicity completed for her, for this was one she had heard before. “I think of it all of the time, Mummy. Guess what! I’ve just met the nicest young man. Maybe I could marry him.”
Lady French was startled by this announcement, for she never knew when her daughter was joking. But ladies, in the lexicon of the Admiral’s wife, did not show emotion. She disciplined herself with three more stitches before she replied, “Really, dear? How very nice. Is it anyone we know?”
Felicity’s lovely clear eyes were bent upon her mother with an expression of quizzical tenderness. She replied, “Captain Bailey.”
Lady French sent the blunted needle four more times through and back, drawing the piece of red wool after it while she assessed rapidly the information her daughter had revealed. Like all mothers she felt that every young man her daughter met was a potential husband. A Captain was starting close to the top indeed; at the same time it posed another problem. “My dear,” she said, “isn’t the company of a Captain a little bit old for you?” She lifted her own beautiful golden head and looked out across the town to the mole. There was nothing there but a pair of destroyers already tied up for a fortnight, a Naval collier, and a couple of rusty freighters plus the cruise ship. A puzzled frown now appeared upon her own handsome brow and she murmured, “ Captain Bailey? Is there any ship in now with a Captain Bailey?”
Felicity struggled and won the battle to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching. She felt somehow that she ought to say, “Hang on to your needlework, Mum—this is going to be a real snorter.” But she refrained, and instead said demurely, “Captain Timothy Bailey of the Royal Artillery, Mother. Army.”
The tapestry needle was blunt, but Lady French still managed to run it into the end of her finger. She then let fly a good round Navy swear word she had learned from her husband. Thereupon as she sucked at the drop of blood that appeared on her finger the lady inside Lady French scored one more imperishable triumph. She said quite quietly: “Oh no, Felicity—not Army, surely?”
Felicity said, “Yes, Mother— Army.”
Lady French then asked, “Who is he?” Three words which in these circumstances constituted a three-page questionnaire and included such vital items as: What is his family? Who is his father? What was his mother’s maiden name? What, if any, armorial bearings? Have they any money? What schools did he attend? Is he at the very least the General’s A.D.C. and headed for Staff College?
Felicity thought that she might as well complete the job, since her mother was really bearing up wonderfully.
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