God Is an Englishman (78 page)

She walked round him and across to the head of the little stone stairway. “I’ll write,” she said, “and tell you my plans. I meant to do that when I came down here, and then slip off without fuss. But watching you, being near you again, well…it seemed furtive. And now I
am
lying. It wasn’t that altogether. I came back to give myself the benefit of any chance there was. It was just possible things were much as they were back in the summer.”

He said, desperately, “I’ll come up to the Crescent the moment I get things sorted out here. At least we could talk…”

“We’ve done our talking. We’ve done too much talking. I’ll write, but I’ll write here. Not that I see Henrietta as a person who would steam your letters open!” and she tugged at the heavy door and went clattering down the steps to the yard.

He rejected the idea of following her, of making some excuse to accompany her and her father to the terminus. Instead he looked down into the dimly lit yard and watched the two yellow lamps of the four-wheeler swing round in a wide arc as the horse made for the open gates at a fast trot. He could not adjust to the fact that she had gone, out of the network and out of his life. But in the back of his mind he accepted the inevitability of her decision, and the essential lightness of her priorities. Alone among all his associates she had the ability to recognise the dedication he brought to the task he had set himself when he first came here, as well as his close, personal in volvement with all the men who wore his badge. She was a strange, fascinating woman, and although he thought of himself as the most obstinate man in the world, he understood well enough that she had courage, refinement, and strength of a quality that very few people possessed and that he was not numbered among that minority.

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The Convent of the Holy Family was a gaunt, stuccofaced building that stood in unkempt grounds off one of the residential avenues run ning at right angles to the foreshore. Its forecourt, carpeted by un trodden snow, was reached through a wilderness of overgrown laurels and leafless elms. From a distance it looked as cheerless as a private gaol.

Adam was old enough to remember a time when the presence of a Roman Catholic teaching order in a sedate English seaside town would have been regarded, by local Protestants, as an outrage, and he wondered if the child’s mother had been a Roman Catholic, or if some other reason had dictated the choice of Deborah Avery’s dumping place. In spite of the Reverend Mother’s letter, politely acknowledging his own, and accepting him as legal guardian of the child during her father’s absence, he wished now that he had con sulted young Stock before setting out on a cold journey to the coast, with some muddled notion of fulfilling an ill-defined obligation thrust upon him by Avery in the last moment of their parting nearly three months before.

The visit, he had to admit, was overdue and would not have been made now, with the Christmas holiday almost upon them, had he not been so unguarded as to mention the child’s existence in the pres ence of his wife and Phoebe Fraser, the governess, that very morn ing whilst seeking feminine advice concerning the child’s Christmas present.

Their joint indignation took him by surprise, and, almost without realising it, he had told them rather more concerning her circum stances than he had intended. Phoebe said, looking at him as though he was responsible for a string of farmed-out bastards, “A lassie of
eight?
Motherless, and abandoned among Papists?” and then, turning confidently to Henrietta, “We
canna
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pass with out making up a parcel for the bairn, ma’am. Stella and little Alex ander have more toys than they need so I’ll set about sorting some out!” and with a bob in Adam’s direction stormed up to the nursery.

“That’s the Presbyterian in her,” said Adam, chuckling. “I never could understand why they should berate the Romans, for when it comes to intolerance no Papist could hold a candle to John Knox,” and he would have dismissed the matter on the spot for he had an important appointment with Blubb in Maidstone that day.

“Go down there today,” Henrietta directed. “Phoebe’s perfectly right. You simply can’t let Christmas go by in those dreadful circum stances. A girl of eight, indeed! How could a mother let such a thing happen?”

“It was that or starve,” Adam said shortly, and explained briefly how Avery had thrown up his commission after seducing his colonel’s wife, although he was careful not to say what had con verted Josh into a fugitive from the law. Phoebe then reappeared carrying a bulky parcel containing a doll and several other gifts des tined for his own children. Within minutes he was obliged to accept the fact that wife and governess had arbitrarily rearranged his day. There was a train to Tonbridge at ten-twenty and a connection to Folkestone ten minutes later. Half-irritated and half-amused by their decree he allowed himself to be driven to Bromley in the gig, stabling it there pending a train journey to the coast where he was lucky to engage an aged cabbie who knew where the convent was and could tell him something about it. The man said it had been established a year or two ago by a refugee teaching order, who made a meagre living teaching French and music to the daughters of local bigwigs, now settling on the coast in increasing numbers since the journey to London could be made in an hour. Beyond that the cabbie knew little about the establishment except that it was still regarded with suspi cion by the Anglicans and Dissenters in the district. He seemed to share their views. “All sorts are making free wi’ the country nowa days,” he growled, with haughty isolationism of his class. “Get ’emselves into mischief over there, come here to catch their second wind, and hatch more devilry while they’m waitin’.

The Guvverment should put a stop to it. Nobody minds ’em making bombs to blow up other forriners but will it stop there? I’ll wait out ’ere under the trees if you don’t mind, sir. More snow before noon be the look o’ the sky.” Adam walked up the drive and presented his card, announcing his purpose to the silent nun who admitted him. She showed him into a fireless waiting room opening out of a hall hung with religious pic tures depicting a wide range of excruciating martyrdoms, so that he thought, gloomily, “Josh could have found GodIsAnEnglishman.indd 419

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a cosier nook for the child but when did he care two straws about anyone else’s com fort or convenience?” and he sat huddled in his topcoat, awaiting the appearance of the Mother Superior.

When she swept into the room and offered her chilled hand he moderated his opinion somewhat. She was a very striking woman, with fine features over which her pale skin was stretched as tightly as the skin of a drum. She had luminous grey eyes, compassionate eyes he would say, and a distinguished high-bridged nose with sen sitive nostrils indicating high breeding that also showed in her car riage and voice. The moment she spoke he set her down as a Gascon and hoping to ease their relationship told her that he recognised the accent, one of the few things he could recall of his mother, a native of St. Jean de Luz. She said, smiling,

“You could pass as a Basque yourself, m’sieu, except for your height,” and then, wistfully, “It is a very long time since I was there and it seems unlikely now that I shall ever return. Our community was uprooted in the troubles of forty-eight, and we have been on the move ever since. First Anjou, then Normandy, now here.” She became very businesslike, saying, “Ordinarily, of course, I could not give you access to the child, but I heard from Mr. Avery the day before you wrote.

He authorised you to exercise full rights of guardianship over Deborah so long as he remained abroad. He will be absent for an indefinite period, I under stand?”

“Very indefinite,” said Adam. “Probably until his daughter reaches her majority,” and looked for the Mother Superior to register sur prise but she did not, saying thoughtfully, “It’s all somewhat unorthodox, but naturally, on hearing from Mr.

Avery, I made inquiries concerning you. That was obligatory, you understand?

Not only are we responsible for his child but Mr. Avery is a generous patron. One could say our sole patron.”

He began to feel out of his depth. He did not quite know what he had expected but whatever it was it was not this, a link between a man of Avery’s stamp and an exiled order of nuns. Neither had it occurred to him that he would be vetted.

“I’ve been a close associate of Mr. Avery’s for a long time, Reve rend Mother.

First in the army, then in business. I believe I am the only friend he has in England, certainly the only one he would trust to keep an eye on his daughter.

But I must admit I’m puzzled to learn that he’s a patron of yours. He never gave me the impression that he subscribed to any religion.” She smiled at that and it was such a tolerant smile that he found himself comparing her attitude with the immature outbursts of Hen rietta and Phoebe at the breakfast table. She said, “Mr. Avery is of our Faith, Mr. Swann. Perhaps, in the army and elsewhere, he would find it necessary to conceal the fact but it is so.

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We have explicit in structions from him to raise Deborah in the Faith. He made no secret, however, of the trust he reposes in you. We had detailed instructions to grant you every facility. In his letter he told us a good deal about you and it was his information that made our inquiries straightforward. You would like to meet your ward now?”

“Not before I’ve cleared up one or two other points. When did you get this letter, and where was it sent from? He hasn’t paid me the compliment of writing since he left the country in October.”

She seemed to consider a moment. “There can be no harm in let ting you know when we received the letter. It was in early December, the fourth of the month I recollect. But as to Mr. Avery’s where abouts, he asked us to say nothing concerning that. He will write in due course, no doubt.”

“I hope so,” muttered Adam, and it occurred to him that he was probably not the only one in the secret concerning the circumstances under which Avery had fled the country. He said, “Do you have any dealings with the child’s mother?” and the Mother Superior said they did not, and that to the best of her knowledge the mother was not aware that Deborah was being educated here.

“What kind of child is she?” he persisted. “You realise we’ve never met?”

“Mr. Avery was here shortly before he went overseas. He men tioned you then as a possible choice for guardian.”

“When
was
that? I’m sorry, Reverend Mother, but I have a right to know. Mr.

Avery might have been explicit in his dealings with you, but he was very cavalier in transferring his responsibilities to me. As I said, he only mentioned the child’s existence moments before we parted.”

“Yes,” she said, with another sad smile, “I’m afraid that was Mr. Avery’s way. It was in October. A rather hasty visit.”

“I can imagine,” said Adam, grimly, and a possible reason for Avery’s delay in putting the Channel between himself and the bailiffs suggested itself.

“As to Deborah,” the Mother Superior went on, “she is a rather withdrawn child—how would you say over here?
Biddable,
I think. Would that be right? She is our sole boarder, of course, and thrown on her own resources on that account.

It is understandable that she should be lonely at holiday time. We give no lessons to local children for three months in summer and at this time of the year. And not, of course, during Holy Week. Deborah’s health is good, and she is very intelligent and observant, but come, as her legal guardian you should judge for yourself,” and she led the way out of the room and down the draughty funnel of a hall to a room overlooking a forest of neglected laurels at the back of the house.

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It was less forbidding in here. There was no carpet or rug on the floor but the boards were waxed, and a fire burned in a clean grate. More religious pictures adorned the distempered walls and the room was obviously used as a schoolroom, for there were two rows of desks, a blackboard, a rostrum, and a map or two rustling in a strong draught from a garden door that opened on a terrace bounded by a fence in the final stage of dissolution.

In the angle beyond the fire was an unhinged door laid upon four stacks of housebricks, the surface having been used as a platform for a crib, with modelled, plasticine figures of the shepherds, the Three Wise Men, and Joseph. A small, flaxen-haired doll had been pressed into service as the Mother of God. Cows, sheep, and a donkey with one ear half as long again as the other, were grouped around the manger and over all, suspended on threads of cotton, angels gy rated in the draught.

Deborah Avery, or Deborah Stanhope to be more exact, was mak ing some last minute adjustments to a shepherd’s crook and was so absorbed that she did not hear their entry. The Mother Superior said, gently, “Deborah, my dear, this is Mr.

Swann, the gentleman I told you about. He is a very old friend of your father’s and has come here specially to make your acquaintance.” The child spun round and made a short, Continental curtsey and perhaps it was this unlikely acknowledgement that made pity rise in his throat so that he suddenly felt embarrassed and had to make an effort to smile. He said, taking her hand, and finding it as cold as the Reverend Mother’s, “I came because it was Christmas, Deborah, and to give you some Christmas presents your father asked me to deliver because he can’t be here himself,” and suddenly he felt grateful for Phoebe Fraser’s forethought and opened the parcel, displaying the doll, some illustrated books that he guessed would be too juvenile for her, a mechanical toy or two, a box of bricks, and some blue and pink hair-ribbons in a box.