More Tales of the West Riding by Phyllis Bentley Page A

very ill,” said his grandmother in a constrained tone.
    â€œThen why must she go to Switzerland?”
    â€œJust a precautionary measure.”
    Edward felt that there was more behind this than he was told. He was disappointed about school, too, for he had had hopes of the junior football team in his Hudley school. Of course he was too firm in character to show his dismay. He held his head up and was ready to bark in north-country style at any boy who showed a lack of proper respect for him. But as it turned out this didn’t prove necessary. The first lad he met was Jack Clarkson; they became friends at once and the friendship lasted for life.
    A few days before Christmas his father turned up. He looked older than Edward remembered him, for his hair was quite plentifully streaked with grey. He had come to fetchEdward home. Edward perceived at once that his grandmother opposed this. There were long arguments between old Mrs Milner and her son, which ended abruptly whenever Edward entered the room. Really grown-ups were extraordinarily simple, quite foolish in fact, reflected Edward impatiently, if they believed they could conceal happenings of that kind from their children. Eventually his father won the argument—his father usually won arguments; he was a determined sort of man, thought Edward approvingly—and the two set off on the long journey north together. Annie had preceded them by a couple of days.
    At first Ted Milner was cheerful. He seemed happy to have his son with him and heaped small indulgences on him—ice-cream and orange squash and comic papers. Edward found this affection warming. He enjoyed lunching with his father in the restaurant car, and felt very grown-up when one or two men came and had a word with his father on textile subjects. Ted introduced him: “This is my son, Edward.” The men, puffing comfortably at their cigars, said in their deep Yorkshire voices: “Chip of the old block, eh? He’s the image of you, Ted. What’s your name, sonny?” It was all very pleasant.
    But when the train entered Yorkshire and the first mill chimneys began to appear, suddenly cheerfulness fell from his father’s shoulders like a doffed coat. He looked not only old but haggard, almost ill. Often he turned to Edward as if about to speak, but as often turned away without saying anything. Edward began to feel uneasy, chilled. What was wrong? He gazed imploringly at his father, and suddenly, when the train was actually puffing up the cutting towards Hudley, Ted exclaimed roughly:
    â€œYou’ve got a little sister now, Edward.”
    Edward almost laughed with relief. Was that all? Did his father really think that Edward, whose recent birthday had brought him into double figures, knew nothing about womenhaving babies? Of course it was all a trifle vague as yet, Edward was not at all sure exactly what—or how—people were always squeamish about mentioning it, he knew—but still, a lot of fellows’ mothers had babies. It was nothing to make a fuss about.
    â€œWhat’s her name?” he asked, putting the matter firmly on a practical basis.
    â€œLeila.”
    Privately, Edward thought Leila rather a silly name. But girls were rather silly in many ways, he reflected; one just had to put up with it. He said no more on the matter.
    It was dark when they got out of the train at Hudley, and Hudley always looked its best in the dark. The chains of lights shooting along the sides of the valleys and climbing laboriously up the dark hills—“diamonds on black velvet”, somebody had once said in Edward’s hearing, and he thought that a very good description—made beautiful patterns, and suddenly he found he had missed the West Riding terribly, and was terribly glad to be home. This feeling mounted and mounted as they drove towards the Hall, so that he actually ran into the drawing-room, which was very bright and warm with a glorious fire