Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman (3 page)

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Just before luncheon, Clementine was on alert to the arrival of their son, Harry. She heard the rough purr of the two-seater Bugatti long before the butler came to announce that Lord Haversham had just arrived and to ask if they would need to hold luncheon.

She said no, she felt sure that Lord Haversham and Mr. Ellis would be quite ready to eat at one o'clock, and walked out to greet her son as he pulled up at the east portico of the house with a spray of gravel and a shout of greeting.

Used to her son's habitual energetic exit from his motorcar, she was surprised to see him open the door and climb out with what appeared to be the burdened weariness of a middle-aged man. Intrigued, she immediately glanced at Ellis Booth, whom she regarded as a steadying influence on her son's often exuberant and unchecked disposition, but Ellis's round and rather placid face was studiedly noncommittal. There was a brief, muttered exchange between the two young men as they divested themselves of caps, goggles, and the huge gauntlet gloves they insisted on wearing whenever they traveled in Harry's open motorcar, and she caught a rather admonitory glance pass from Ellis to Harry before her son walked up the steps toward her.

She noticed that as he grew older Harry resembled his father more closely. They were both tall men, athletic in build, and had the same high-crowned shape to the head and the dark, almost-black hair of the Talbot family. But most of all she realized that they shared the same air of authority that riches, rank, broad acres, and ancient lineage bestow on men with the providence to be born first in line to the right family. Harry certainly resembled his father, she thought, but there the similarities ended. Her son differed from his father's entrenched traditional views, and like many young men of his generation he had a fascination for the modern world and a love of mechanized speed and motorcars; whereas her husband viewed all change with concern and, if given time, with some sort of reluctant acceptance.

“Well, here you are, and so admirably early.” They were already half an hour late. “You look like you were certainly spanking along in that motor of yours, what's it called again?” She could never manage to remember the stupid thing's name.

“A Bugatti T-22, Mother. It goes like the devil, did close to sixty the other day up the Great North Road.” It didn't take much to restore Harry's good humor, she thought. But goodness, why were they both so disheveled and dusty with their hair all over the place? She laughed as if she approved of Harry's rather dangerous love of speed, which she didn't, as she was determined not to appear too critical when he had only just arrived.

“We are taking luncheon outside by the lake, so we can keep out of the way of the final flurries to get us ready for the ball tonight. Join us when you've had a moment; your father is outside already.” She knew he would understand her polite code for
Don't keep him waiting; cut up to your room for a wash and brush-up, and be quick about it.

When Harry and Ellis came down to join them they were almost on time for luncheon. Clementine was sitting under the loggia, enjoying the business of doing nothing as she watched her husband encourage his Labrador to retrieve a small tree limb, twice the dog's length, from the center of the lake. At her feet lay Harry's old dog, Percy, asleep with the sun on his belly, his feet twitching as he dreamed of past quests for game birds.

Lord Montfort turned to greet his son with a welcoming, “Harry, well here you are.” He placed an affectionate arm across his son's shoulders and walked with him to the loggia to say hello to Ellis.

“Good drive down?” he asked them both. “You're on time for once, must have been cracking along! What's that new motor of yours again?” Harry and Ellis rushed to interrupt each other as they related the glories of the motor and what it was capable of, until Hollyoak bent to inform Clementine that their luncheon was ready.

When they had finished their meal, she was pleased to see that all three men were relaxed and enjoying the afternoon. There seemed no trace of the ill humor Harry had displayed upon his arrival, or of her husband's grim preoccupation when he had returned to the house after his morning ride. If their son seemed a little inattentive, his father seemed not to mind. He had glanced in Harry's direction several times during their meal, obviously as happy as she was to have him home for the summer.

“Always feel I might be in Valtravaglia when we eat out here; we should perhaps go back there.” Her husband turned to look at her as he sat back in his chair and reached for a delicate peach from the estate's glasshouses.

“I'd love to. Let's make a plan for next spring. It will be beautiful then,” she said as the butler bent to speak in her ear. “The first of our guests have arrived, sadly too late to join us. Teddy and Oscar Barclay are being given something to eat in the house; I'll pop in on them later.”

At the mention of his cousin's arrival, Harry came out of the preoccupied state he had fallen into since they had finished their meal. “Father, perhaps I could have a word before tea?”

“Yes of course, why don't you walk over with me to the estate office. I have an appointment with our new agent, Archie Pommeroy, and it would be a good time for you to meet him. Ellis, what about you, want to walk along?”

“Thanks, but I think I'll run up to the house and say hullo to Mallory and Barclay.” Ellis was already on his feet.

Their luncheon over, her husband and son left in the direction of the estate office in the stable block and Ellis wandered off in search of Teddy Mallory and his friend Oscar Barclay, leaving Clementine to join the butler and housekeeper for one last walk-through of the house.

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With her inspection complete to her utmost satisfaction, Clementine decided to take a stroll before her guests arrived at five o'clock. She put on her hat and set off in the direction of the lime walk to spend a happy hour with Mr. Stafford, discussing under-plantings for shade and to see what was happening with the new garden before she had to change for tea.

On her way back to the house she chose the path that came from the lake through a dense shrubbery of tall rhododendrons and azaleas. Their somber, heavy foliage concealed her approach as she came up to the back of the boathouse building. But as she drew closer she heard, quite distinctly, voices lifted in anger. She stopped, uncertain for a moment what to do. She listened as the shouting started again and was surprised when she recognized one of the voices as Harry's. Walking forward, she could clearly see into the boathouse garden while remaining well hidden among the tall shrubs.

Standing on the back steps of the building were Harry and Teddy. Teddy had his back to her, but she saw Harry's face and he was furious. She had never seen her son so angry before.

She watched Harry haul Teddy toward him by his shoulder and shirt collar with both hands. Harry's face was red and distorted with anger and at that moment he appeared immense, almost unrecognizable. He shook Teddy so hard that his cousin would have fallen if he had not been held in such a strong grip. Seeing them close together, she realized how much taller and heavier Harry was than his cousin; his anger seemed to have increased his size. His hostility was so palpable that she felt a thump of adrenaline surge in her stomach.
He's going to hit him!
she thought.
This simply can't be happening.
But it was happening. In one lunging, stiff-armed push, Harry shoved Teddy down the boathouse steps and onto the lawn. Teddy sprawled on the grass, drew up his legs, and raised his arms over his head. He cringed as Harry bore down on him from the top of the steps. Harry pulled him to his feet and started to shake him again. He was even angrier now and gave Teddy a shove back toward the path leading into the orchard.

In considerable alarm, Clementine withdrew into the shrubbery and retreated down the pathway. What on earth was happening? This was quite awful. Harry's voice was so magnified by rage that even at this distance she clearly heard some of the words he was shouting.

“… Get out of here … you bloody little swine … I'll break your damn neck…”

Despite her horror and disgust, Clementine couldn't help but walk forward to see what was happening. Harry was at least making a supreme effort to pull himself together: he had turned from his cousin but was still beside himself with rage. She watched Teddy brush grass and dirt from his trousers, saw him shrug his shoulders back into his coat and reach into his pocket for his cigarette case, bending his head to light a cigarette. He threw a nervous look at Harry and, reassured that his fury had passed, sauntered off through the boathouse garden-gate into the orchard and disappeared in the direction of the adjoining stable block as if nothing in the world had happened. Clementine was aware that her heart was beating rapidly and her throat felt tight and dry.

She was not so naïve that she didn't understand that young men sometimes fought, but she imagined that by their early twenties they would surely have outgrown adolescent posturing and moments of mad violence. She was frightened to see her considerate and civilized son behave so brutally, and couldn't begin to imagine how Teddy could have had such a profound and ugly effect on him. Something had gone quite terribly wrong between them. She stood still for a moment, trying to make sense of what she had seen. She fervently hoped this was the end of their quarrel and not the beginning of something more disturbing.

 

Chapter Three

When Clementine came downstairs to join their guests before dinner, the red drawing room was thronged with glossy, glittering, and impressively attired men and women, all of them the product of the minute attentions of their valets and maids. She briefly tuned in to her husband's conversation with Colonel Jack Ambrose and Sir Hugo Waterford—on Purdy's or Holland's for guns—and quickly walked farther into the room.

There was an exclamation and a shout of laughter from her son, Harry, and she turned to see him with Oscar Barclay, Ellis Booth, and Lucinda Lambert-Lambert in a tight group at the far end of the room, having the time of their lives. How loud they were! What on earth could they be drinking? She signaled to Hollyoak not to serve them any more. At the rate they were going, they would be pickled by midnight.

Turning away, she crossed the room to where Lady Agatha Booth sat in a low chair, her large square head supporting a heavy Victorian tiara of dingy diamonds. On her lap she clutched a little dog of the sort of breed that had a squashed and crumpled face, and on either side of her stood her eighteen-year-old twin daughters. Pansy and Blanche were casting yearning looks in the direction of Harry and Oscar but not daring to leave their mother's side.

“Clemmy darling, how lovely…” Constance Ambrose, pretty, diminutive, and all shining gold curls, looked up gratefully at Clementine's arrival and patted the sofa next to her. Lady Harriet Lambert-Lambert, large, stately, and handsome, turned her dark head and shot her a look of exaggerated resignation. Clementine assumed that she had interrupted one of Lady Booth's pronouncements.

“… I simply won't go to that dreadful play, it's ridiculous and unbelievable; a cockney barrow-girl can't be coached to act and speak like a lady. These things cannot be taught, they are bred-in.” With a large gloved hand Lady Booth indicated her daughters and the generations of marriage to cousins they represented. Clementine could see out of the tail of her eye that Harriet's shoulders were shaking.

“I nearly wore my new Fortuny this evening, deep yellow, such a gorgeous shade.” This from Constance, who was no doubt anxious to divert from a lecture on well-bred young girls, thought Clementine.

“I avoid yellow, such a strident color and only looks well with a swarthy complexion. Oh my dear, what has Gertrude Waterford got on, she looks quite half dressed!” Lady Waterford was a favorite of Clementine and she quickly glanced over to see what her friend could have done to cause such an exclamation from Lady Booth.

Gertrude Waterford, who always looked to Clementine as if she were made of alabaster, ivory, and silver-gilt, was wearing a magnificent narrow dress of filmy, indigo silk that elegantly but clearly whispered
Paul Poiret
. It was cut so low at the bosom and back that it was evident she could not possibly be wearing a corset of any kind whatsoever. She reclined against the cushions on her sofa, eyes half closed, as Lord Albert Booth broke away from his conversation and bent over her to light her cigarette in its amber quellazaire. If Gertrude was surprised by such close proximity in public she made no sign, and Clementine could have sworn that Lord Booth's hand brushed lightly against Gertrude's upper arm. Lord Booth, usually ebullient with charm and charisma, was uncharacteristically subdued this evening, Clementine thought, as she watched him seat himself at a respectable distance from Gertrude on her sofa and start a conversation about a mutual friend who was interested in buying his mare.

Clementine smiled to herself and looked across the room in time to see Teddy Mallory's late arrival. Sleek and well groomed as always, she thought, as she watched him saunter across the room to talk to Lady Shackleton.
How do some people do that?
she asked herself.
Behave as if nothing has happened at all, when they have been given a thorough trouncing just a few hours ago.
Teddy was standing with his fair head bowed as he listened to Lady Shackleton's account of her recent dinner party; Clementine was close enough to hear Olive quite clearly.

“He was just about the dullest man you could possibly imagine, so dreadfully reserved, it was an awful disappointment.”

“What? Who was?” It seemed that Teddy was unimpressed. He made no effort to conceal his boredom. In fact he almost yawned.
How impertinent he could be sometimes,
thought Clementine. She rose to her feet as Olive answered.