THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD
Volume One: The Ormer
Part Five: Betwixt the Heather and the Sea
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Infra Dignitatem
~*o*~
Sunday, August 27, 1939
Mid-day
She did not know how it happened, but after church Cathy found herself sharing the rear seat of the Seaton-Deere's large car with the new Robert.
Harold had made certain to slide in beside her before the car pulled out of the churchyard, for the secret of where they were going after service was out…
They would be dining at Seaton Hall, where they would see horses! And she hoped she would be eating soon, for she was as hungry as a horse.
As they waited for the parents to appear, they had examined the Seaton-Deere's large car in the churchyard crowded with vehicles. Robert had proudly pointed out that it was an Austin 18 Windsor saloon with an eighteen horsepower six-cylinder engine, and that it was big enough to seat seven passengers.
Cathy was not impressed. The diminutive Baby had transported eight people to Church just that morning.
"Certainly, the Austin Motor Company knows how to design a car exuding sophistication," Robert's chest swelled under his hanging gas mask.
He smoothed a loving hand over the black bonnet in which Tori was gushing, Lovely, simply lovely! while viewing her own smiling reflection. Of course, her likeness could also have been seen mirrored in the bonnet of the Baby just as well.
Tori and Stevie ahh'ed over the Seaton-Deere's automobile with its chrome bonnet badge and trim flashing too brightly in the sun. And they ooo'ed over the distinguished Austin Six emblem affixed to the front grille, announcing to the world how many cylinders the engine had. At the same time, Uncle Jim's Baby Austin 7 had a fancy Austin Seven affixed to its grille, which indicated horsepower. That was confusing.
Harold almost died and went to heaven after Robert's fingers reached under the edge of one side of the black bonnet, clicked open the catches, lifted the shining thing by the handle and laid it back. He then proceeded to show off the engine, wires, cables, sparking plugs, accumulator, electric self-starter, magneto, contact breaker, fuel tank…before he shut the bonnet again, resetting the catches.
Tori made special note of the size of the fuel tank, digging her big sister in the ribs.
Her big sister merely thought the Austin 18 Windsor saloon resembled a boat on wheels with the bow sawn off to make room for the fancy radiator grille. It even had what looked like a deckhouse complete with a windscreen and side windows. And it had a stern, Robert said was called a 'boot'. And it had large fenders hanging off the sides to cover the wheel wells called 'wings'. The only improvements it had over a boat were the swinging covers protecting the key holes on each door.
But even the Baby, Jim's Austin 7 saloon – which car Robert had referred to as 'a bath on wheels' – had all those features except in miniature. And because the Baby was a few years older, it had some extra features like wire-spoked wheels, a brass bulb-hooter out the driving side window, and a starting handle sticking out the bottom of the not-so-fancy radiator grille, though it had an accumulator and an electric self-starter, as well.
The Baby was the dearest of the two vehicles, though the Austin 18 had proved dearer in pounds sterling at the alarming price of three hundred and seventy-five as compared to one hundred and twenty-two for a brand-new 1939 Austin 7 Baby, but Cathy still liked the Ormer best.
"An Austin Seven, it has a seven-horsepower engine, eh?" Cathy deduced.
"Indeed," Robert nodded importantly. "It's designed for individuals unable to afford the horsepower tax, my dear young lady."
"Eh?" Harold arched an eyebrow.
"Why, do you not know? It's a tax imposed on horsepower gauged by the quantity and diameter of an engine's cylinders," Robert informed. "We pay a substantial tax for the Austin Eighteen in addition to the insurance cover. We are able to afford it, as our income exceeds two thousand pounds per annum. You are just a lowly five to ten a weeker, and that is all you'll ever amount to if that."
"'Five to ten what?!" Harold huffed.
"Come on, you fool! You know! British pounds sterling!" Robert snapped.
Harold's teeth clenched.
"Insurance cover, eh?" Cathy tried a distraction.
"Parliament requires motorists to be insured," Robert opened his wallet.
"That sounds like another tax, eh," Cathy peered at the card Robert was holding before her eyes on which she had just caught the printed word 'insurance' before he whisked it away.
"Jiminy! Dad, he was spot on! They tax everything here, eh!" Harold gaped. "And I hope none of these taxes applies to boats!"
"And the Austin Eighteen only achieves a paltry eight miles to the gallon," Robert stuck his finely shaped nose in the air. "We can also afford that."
"Gallon of what, eh?" Tori wanted to know.
"Petrol," Robert said longsufferingly.
"Capital," Harold smirked.
"And it has a synchromesh gearbox, and its wheelbase is large enough to be used as an ambulance," Robert tacked on.
"Bully for you, eh," Harold drawled.
"It's a shame the Austin Seven has just been discontinued," Robert was shaking his head sadly at Harold. "You shan't be able to purchase one. It's being replaced by the Big Austin Seven at one hundred and sixty pounds. Certainly, a deal breaker for you."
"Tut, tut," Harold yawned, droopy eyed.
"Oh! And may I add one more thing? In order to drive on the road, one must have the means to pay for the Road Fund Licence. And one must possess a number plate. That also costs money."
"So, taxes are good, eh?" Tori screwed up her face.
"Indeed! It keeps the roads and bridges maintained and brings in seven millions a year."
"But if the taxes were lowered," Cathy was feeling her way, "it seems to me, there'd be more cars on the road, and then more revenue would be collected, eh. And that would benefit far more peop—"
"But if it were that simple to accomplish, my dear, they would definitely do it," Robert cut her off, looking down his long nose at her.
"Simpleton!" Harold spat under his breath…
But deep down inside, Cathy did know how it happened that she and Harold were gliding smoothly over the metalled road surface in an over-powered vehicle more than twice the size of the Baby. She had taken Robert's arm when it was offered upon exiting the Church after the service.
Upon her mother's baffled stare, Cathy had averted her eyes and noticed Uncle Jim driving off in the Baby with his little family. They were bumping back to Hardscrabble and to the Grans needing minding and to the haying having been left unfinished on account of the re-puttying of the draughty old windows that had to be done in order to poison gas-proof all the chambers. And the re-puttying must be completed before the black-out curtains could be mounted by the first of September or else the family would be obliged to pay fines to the County Court, if an A.R.P. warden should see a light shining from the house after sunset.
Grandad was puffing his pipe, looking wistfully after the departing Baby. He had been attempting to convince Granny that he should be doing some haying and harvesting, too, for he was sure it would rain just as it had in late July, which storm had damaged the crops of farms round about in the North Riding of Yorkshire.
"It's a to'ering time fer t' threshin', then!" he fretted himself.
"Noo then, Steve!" Granny had laughed. "That's all blish-blash! T' glass's been mostly steady, and t' weather's been mirak'lous fer weeks!"
"We're due, then, Dorothy," Grandad's long moustaches frowned. "And it'd be aboot time. We need it. Gotta mek t' hay whilst t' sun shines, then. And we mus' assand as t' weather turns. Aye, think back to August last, when t' sun were shinin' afore t' sky went black, and theer wer a reet downpour te ruin t' hay afore it could be fetched in. Nowt better than noo, that's me say-so…"
Hay or no hay, after pointing out that it was the Lord's Day, Granny had prevailed. Grandad would go to dinner at the Seaton-Deere's house instead of merely driving her and Marie there in the old motor-lorry. On the bed sat Ronnie and a smiling Stevie with the hamper. Tori was with them, as well, for she would not take the chance of becoming car-sick again.
At first Cathy was glad Tori had not ridden in the Austin 18, since the windows were fast shut; however, as the car gained speed on the Whitby Road, roaring mightily up to top gear, there seemed to be plenty of cool fresh air circulating in the saloon's interior, whence she did not know. There was also soothing music playing over the wireless set in the dashboard, as well as plenty of room for a long-legged fellow to stretch his legs before him in perfect comfort, just the thing for her father, Cathy was certain.
"Look there! The old windmill. From the top, the view is most delightful," Robert was pointing a long finger at his side window.
Cathy craned her neck to see out the back window a tall stone structure not far from the Church. Indeed, the old engine resembled the many windmills she had seen on the voyage, including the one on Breydon Water in Norfolk tapering as it rose higher and higher, except this one was headless and armless. And she was only able to give it a glance before the car took another turning and she could see it no more.
"We ought to scale it at some point with an electric torch, just the two of us. Inside, there's a staircase that spirals up seven storeys. Somewhat eerie in the dark with a few of the treads missing, but I'll take care of you," Robert leering down on Cathy seated between himself and Harold, cupped a hand over her knee.
"Wherever you take her, you get me, too, eh!" Harold swatted Robert's hand away.
Cathy could feel Robert tensing beside her, the light shifting over his glower, as the car passed under a railway bridge. The seat was wide. There was no need for him to sit so near, but she dare not move away and provoke his anger, until her brother had been shown the North Sea to his satisfaction. She hoped it would not take too many days, and it could not, she reminded herself; there was a War in the making.
"That should be very nice, eh," Cathy threw a bone, though she was sure being armless and headless, the windmill was quite dead.
"Miss Johnson," Mrs. Seaton-Deere ventured from the front seat. "We 'ear you and ya brother sailed all t' way from Jersey in ya li'ul trawler."
"Call me Cathy, s'i' vos pliaît?" she gently corrected Robert's mother for the third time that day, as she removed her straw hat and smoothed her hair, afraid coils of it were sticking out all over.
She was right.
"Oui, madanme. And my Dad, he was skipper, eh," Cathy returned her hat to her head.
Robert made a choking sound. When she turned to look, he seemed healthy enough.
There was a clicking sound and something that looked like a finger with an amber light in it lifted out of the left side-door pillar. Mr. Seaton-Deere shifted down through the gears, and the large car slowed before groaning to the left onto a long dirt drive lined with triple post-and-rail fencing either side meeting up with elm hedgerows of great height up ahead.
Then there was another click, and the finger disappeared, and Mr. Seaton-Deere geared up, charging up the drive, leaving a pall of dust glittering behind for the lorry to plunge through.
Cathy peered out the back window of the big Austin, looking anxiously for the others lost in the golden cloud. At least her mother and Grandad could have cranked up their windows against it, but poor Ronnie and the little ones on the bed breathing in that dust!
"And there's Seaton 'All!" Robert's father announced as the Hall came charging up. "Noo then! Dun't she luk reet grand, Miss Johnson?!"
"Oui," Cathy agreed. For indeed, it was a grand house all of stone but certainly not as grand as Grandad's and certainly not grander than Papa's, even with all the cock-eyed windows roaming over the face of Les Deux Tchênes.
"Reet quaint, them French!" Mrs. Seaton-Deere's chuckle was light and lilting, as she flipped a bejewelled hand at the windscreen.
Harold and Cathy exchanged glances after Robert choked again.
There had been a fleeting glimpse of the front of the house, which faced south like any self-respecting house should, just before the big Austin came to a halt at a side entrance. Then the farm lorry ground to a halt hard by, and there was a sudden silence, loud in the ears.
"'Ey up! Mam says t' young 'uns are t' stay oot t' 'oose til called fer," Robert's father grunted pleasantly, as he hefted his heavy door open.
"Aye! Tek a turn in t' park," Robert's mother waved an elegant hand toward a gap in a hedgerow. "T' ally's just been reet nicely gravelled. A reet good spot fer ge'in' te know each other proper like."
Cathy looked through that gap and down the dead-ending lane of high poplars, certain she should not become better acquainted in such a secluded place.
"I'm quite certain they don't mean you, so you're not obliged. You're welcome to pop into the Manor for a tour if you fancy," Robert dismissed Harold, as Mrs. Seaton-Deere rounded the front of the car on his way to help his wife out her heavy door.
"Me, I'm suddenly obliged, eh," Harold tried to open his own door.
"Why on earth would you say that?" Robert furrowed his brow.
"Whilst Dad's away, Harold, he's my protector, eh," Cathy smiled wryly.
"And whilst your father is at home, then?" Robert stiffened.
"Same," she started to see Robert's handsome face harden and his grey eyes turn stormy, but she would stay close to her brother.
"Oh Lor—!" Robert became aware of Harold's plight. "You're turning the handle the wrong way, my dear fellow! Have you never been in a car before?! This is how you do it!" And without asking leave, he leaned across Cathy, lifted the handle and pushed the door open just to have a whistling wind slam it shut once more.
"For sure!" Harold bristled.
"Patently!" Robert was indignant.
Cathy's cheeks burned to think that Harold had probably never ridden in an automobile until now, except perhaps Slade's bus to Rozel at the week-ends or a Saint Helier bus about Town, but perhaps Robert would not think those counted.
Robert sighed heavily, until Harold finally got his door to swing wide.
"Absolute idiot! Foolish!" Robert's eyes sparked, as he got himself out. Then turning, he offered a hand to help Cathy out, and she took it, though her stomach turned.
And who should meet her as her feet hit the cobbles but two friendly hounds, the breed she did not know. They lapped her hands and wagged their tails, jigging excitedly about, touching noses and racing in circles, just to come back, blundering over each other in their haste to lick again.
Cathy wished Robert were a dog. He would have been far more pleasant.
"Harold! Cathy! Come at once! Ronnie, he says the pretty horses are Cleveland Bays, eh! He says they're over there in the stable!"
It was Tori already bouncing and pointing to the entrance of an enclosed yard, not looking any worse for her dusty ride on the bed of the lorry.
"Jiminy!" Harold hurried toward the place where Tori had disappeared, the hounds dancing about him now, tongues hanging out the sides of their panting mouths.
Robert grasped Cathy's arm, holding her back, unyielding.
"There are only a few in the stables. Come with me, and I'll show you the pasture where they're hiding," he suggested invitingly.
"Oh! But we oughtn't go off by ourselves, eh! 'Twould seem so unfriendly, eh!" she panicked as she watched Harold and his happy new friends nearing the stable-yard entrance.
He looked back, as he waited there, for his sister was alone with this strange grumpy Robert, the parents having already been ushered along a garden path to the front-door by their host and hostess.
"We really should be helping to make dinner, eh," Cathy donned her hat before nudging Robert onward.
"Dinner is served in the evening. Luncheon is served at noon," he droned.
"Then we'll help make luncheon, eh?"
"Too infra dig. Cook's doing that."
"Infra dig., eh?"
"Indeed, are you unaware? It's the abbreviated form of infra dignitatem," his lip curled.
She stared blankly, searching her meagre parish school knowledge of Latin.
"It means beneath one's dignity. That's patently obvious, I'd say."
"Oh. Then, we'll lay the table, eh."
"Mary will do that," his eyes shut long-sufferingly.
"Mary, she's your sister, eh?" Cathy supposed, though she did not understand why a sister of his would have been permitted to stay home from Church, unless she were too ill to attend, then why should she be laying the table?
"Good heavens, no! I've four married sisters, and not one of them would be caught dead laying the table," he scoffed.
"Infra dig., eh?" Cathy guessed.
"Aye."
"Then, who's Mary, eh?"
"Mary's our domestic servant. Parlour-maid, house-maid, scullery-maid, all rolled into one."
"Me, I saw her at Church, eh?"
"Are you asserting or inquiring?" he cringed.
"Asking, eh," Cathy wondered why he had asked.
"You may have seen her," he allowed.
"Me, I hope Harold and I didn't take her place in the car on the way here, eh."
"She walks," Robert winced.
"And she lives where, eh?"
"A factory in Arram where they manufacture iron pigs, for there are no such things as steel pigs."
"Really, Robert!" Cathy's hands were on her hips.
"She resides in the servants' quarters above the coach house!" he barked. "Where else would she live?!"
Cathy's brow furrowed, as she envisaged the big Austin 18 carrying but three people to Church of a Sunday, its excess horsepower roaring past a lone woman on the county road, enveloping her in a noxious cloud. She was a woman who lived with them, trudging in all sorts of weather, rain or shine, summer and winter, to the same Church, where the two Greatest Commandments in Holy Scripture were revered, charging them to love the Lord God with all their hearts and their neighbours as themselves...
"Why so glum? She always walks there and back. She's a robust old thing. She gets along very well!"
Just then Cathy noticed an elderly woman in black bonnet and mourning dress, breathing heavily, as she strode the long dirt drive toward them, very flushed, indeed. She did not raise her eyes as she stepped onto the cobbles nearer the house.
Cathy stood gaping at Robert.
She just could not help it!
"'Ey up! It's less than a mile downhill both ways, and the walk does her a world of good, especially on such a lovely day!" he loosened his tie. "It would be just too infra dig. to have her along, and she knows it! She's a servant, no less, and certainly no more than that!"
"'Twould do you good on a fine day, as well, to walk to Church and home again, eh?" Cathy forced a smile, urging him toward the horses…