Penhallow (10 page)

Raymond paused for a moment, silently watching the busy groom. Apparently he had no fault to find, for, to the man’s relief, he passed on. The upper halves of the loose-box doors stood open, and a row of beautiful heads looked out. Raymond stopped to caress one of his own hunters; parted the hair on the neck of a bay mare with his fingers; inspected the ears of a neat-headed Irish hunter; entered one of the boxes to examine the hooves of a nervous chestnut under treatment for thrush; and was joined presently by his head-groom, with whom he held a brief discussion of a highly technical nature. He still looked rather forbidding, but his scowl had lightened as it always did when he came amongst his horses. He glanced round the quadrangle, thinking how good were these stables of his own designing, thinking that the new groom he had engaged shaped well, thinking that he would advise Bart to have his grey’s shoes removed, thinking that when Penhallow died — But at this point his thoughts stopped abruptly, and he swung round to visit the harness-room. One of the hands was washing some dirty harness there, which hung on a double-hook suspended from the ceiling; Bart and Conrad, as well as himself, had been exercising horses earlier in the morning, and the three saddles were spread over the long iron saddle-horse. Glass-fronted cupboards running round the walls contained well-polished saddles on their brackets, gleaming bits attached to neatly hung bridles, all in demonstrably good order. A quick look over some horse-clothing, spread out for his inspection, a glance along the shelf stacked with bandages, a nod in answer to a request for more neat’s foot oil and some new leathers, and he passed on to the hay-chamber, and to the granary, with its corn-bruiser, its chaff cutter, and its many bins.

When he left the stables, he strode off to the ramshackle building which housed his runabout, and backed this battered and aged vehicle out into the yard. He decided that he had just time to pay a visit to his studfarm before motoring into Bodmin, and drove off noisily up the rough lane which led to it.

He found Ingram there, talking to Mawgan, the studgroom. The brothers exchanged a curt greeting. Ingram, who was sitting on his shooting-stick, said: ‘I’ve been saying to Mawgan that we’d do well to get rid of the Flyaway mare.’

Raymond grunted.

‘Guv’nor all right?’ Ingram asked casually.

‘Much as usual.’

‘Going to take a look at the Demon colt? I’m on my way to the Upper Paddock myself.’

Raymond had meant to take a look at the colt on which his present ambitions were centred, but he had no wish to do so in Ingram’s presence. He replied: ‘No, I haven’t time. I’ve got to get to Bodmin.’

‘Oh! Did Weens show you that quarter-piece?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dam’ bad,’ remarked Ingram, easing his game leg a little. ‘If you’re going into Bodmin, you might tell Gwithian’s to send me up another dozen of lager. Save me a journey.’

‘All right,’ Raymond said. ‘Nothing wanted here?’

‘Not that I know of:’ Ingram eyed him shrewdly. ‘Bank again?’ he inquired laconically.

Raymond nodded, scowling. ‘Going the pace a bit, isn’t he?’

‘If you think you can clap a curb on him, try!’ recommended Raymond savagely. ‘I’m fed up with it!’

Ingram laughed. ‘No bloody fear! Leave him alone: he’ll quieten down if you don’t fret him. You never had an ounce of tact, that’s your trouble.’

Raymond got into his car, and started the engine.

‘He’s having Clay home,’ he said grimly.

‘Hell!’ ejaculated Ingram.

‘And Aubrey,’ added Raymond, thrusting out his clutch.

‘Hell and blast!’ said Ingram, at the top of his voice.

‘Laugh that one off!’ recommended Raymond sardonically, and bucketed away down the lane.

It did not take him long to reach Bodmin, and his business there was soon transacted. It was when he was coming out of the bank that he encountered his Aunt Delia, fluttering scarves, veils, and ribbons, and carrying a laden shopping-basket in one hand, and a capacious leather bag in the other.

Those who had known Delia Ottery since her childhood said that she had been a very pretty girl, although cast a little into the shade by her sister Rachel. Her nephews, not having known her as a girl, were obliged to take this opinion on trust. They could none of them remember her as anything but an untidy, faded old maid, whose lustreless hair was prematurely grey, and always falling down in unsightly tails and wisps. Girlish slimness had early changed to middle-aged scragginess, and as she had never outgrown a youthful predilection for bright colours, frills, and fluffiness, this was considerably accentuated by the clothes she wore. When she accosted her nephew, becoming quite pink in the face from pleasure at seeing him, she was wearing a straw picture-hat on the back of her head, its brim weighed down by a large, salmon-coloured rose. A veil floated from this structure, getting entangled, in the breeze which was blowing down the street, with the ends of a fringed scarf which she wore loosely knotted round her neck. A frock of a peculiarly aggressive shade of blue was imperfectly concealed by a long brown coat; and since the month was May, and the weather not as summery as the picture-hat would have seemed to imply, she wore in addition a feather-boa of a style fashionable in the opening years of the century. She was of a very nervous and retiring disposition, and appeared to be almost as much frightened as pleased at walking into her nephew.

She gasped: ‘Oh, Raymond! Well, this is a surprise!’ and dropped her handbag.

Raymond, whose innate neatness was invariably offended by his aunt’s untidy appearance, betrayed no pleasure at the meeting. He responded briefly: ‘Hallo, Aunt Delia!’ and bent to pick up the handbag.

She stood there, blinking at him with her myopic grey eyes, and smiling a little foolishly. ‘Well, this is a surprise!’ she repeated.

As Raymond drove into Bodmin never less frequently than twice a week, and Miss Ottery did her marketing there every morning, there seemed to be very little reason for her to feel any surprise. However, the Penhallows had long since decided that their aunt was a trifle soft in the head, so Raymond merely said: ‘I came in on business. You and Uncle Phineas both well?’

‘Oh, yes, indeed, very well, thank you! And are you quite well, dear?’

He replied with a slight smile: ‘Thanks, I’m always well.’

‘That’s right!’ she said. ‘And dear little Faith? It seems such ages since I saw her. I don’t know how it is, but one never has time to turn round these days!’

‘She’s much the same as usual,’ he answered.

They stood looking at one another, Miss Ottery tremulously smiling, Raymond wondering how to get away from her.

‘It’s so nice to see you, dear, and looking so well, too!’ produced Delia, after a slight pause. ‘I was only saying to Phineas the other day — actually, it was Tuesday, because I saw Myra in the town, which made me think, not but what I know you young people have your own affairs to attend to, especially you, Raymond dear, I’m sure — well, I was saying to Phineas that we haven’t seen anything of you for ages. And now here you are!’

‘Yes,’ agreed Raymond. He could see no way, short of walking off, of escaping from her, and added: ‘Can I give you a lift home?’

She turned pinker than ever with pleasure, and stammered: ‘Well, that is kind of you, dear! Of course you have your car here, haven’t you? I was just going into the corn-chandler’s to buy some seed for my birdies, and then I thought I would catch the bus, but if you wouldn’t mind waiting for me, I’m sure it would be most kind of you. Though I oughtn’t to be keeping you, I know, for I’m sure you’re very busy.’

‘The car’s over there,’ interrupted Raymond, indicating its position with a jerk of his head. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

‘I won’t be a minute!’ she promised. ‘I’ll just pop across the road for my seed, and be back in a trice. You remember my birdies, don’t you? Such sweets!’

As it was only three weeks since Raymond had visited the grey house outside the town where Delia lived with her brother, upon which occasion it had seemed to him that as much of the drawing-room as was not filled with glass-fronted cabinets containing Phineas’s collection of china was occupied by love-birds and canaries in gilt cages, all making the most infernal din, he had a very vivid recollection of the birdies, and said so, somewhat grimly.

It was fully a quarter of an hour later when Miss Ottery climbed into the runabout beside her nephew, and disposed her shopping-basket in the cramped space at her feet. She explained her dilatoriness as having been due to her desire to get the corn-chandler’s advice about Dicky, one of her roller-canaries, who had been ailing for several days. ‘Such a nice man!’ she said. ‘He always takes such an interest! Of course, we have dealt there all our lives, which I always think makes a difference, don’t you? Only you’re more interested in horses than in birds, aren’t you, dear? Naturally, you would be. It would be very strange if you weren’t, considering. And how are the dear horses?’

He did not feel that it was necessary to answer this question. He told her instead that he had one or two promising youngsters turned out to grass.

‘Oh, how nice!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was always so sorry when we gave up our stables, not but what I was never such a wonderful horsewoman as dear Rachel, only I have always loved horses, as long as they aren’t too skittish for me. Rachel used to ride anything — such a picture as she was, too! — but my dear father — your grandfather, Raymond, only you can’t remember him, because he died before you were born — used to mount me on such gentle, well-mannered horses that I quite enjoyed it. But I never hunted. I never could quite bring myself to approve of it, not that I mean anything against people who do hunt, because I’m sure it would be a very dull world if we all thought alike. But I used to drive a dear little governess-cart. You remember my fat pony, Peter, don’t you Raymond?’

Yes, Raymond remembered the fat pony perfectly, a circumstance which made Miss Ottery beam with delight, and recall the various occasions when the fat pony had been so naughty, or so clever, or so sweet.

Branching away somewhat erratically from this fruitful subject, she said wistfully that she wished she could see Raymond’s darling colts, because she loved all young animals, even kittens, though when you considered what they would grow into, and the perfectly dreadful way they played with poor little birds, and mice, it seemed quite terrible.

‘You must come up one day and walk round the stables,’ Raymond said, safe in the knowledge that she was a great deal too nervous of Penhallow to accept the invitation.

The suggestion threw her into a twitter of embarrassment at once, and she was still faltering out excuses when the car pulled up outside Azalea Lodge.

Refusing her pressing invitation to come in for a moment to see his uncle, Raymond leaned across her to open the door of the car. By the time she had extricated herself, and had received her basket from him, Phineas, who had seen her arrival from behind the muslin curtains which shrouded the drawing-room windows, had come out of the house, and was advancing down the garden-path.

Common politeness compelled Raymond to refrain from driving off, which he would have liked to do, until he had shaken hands with his uncle. He did not, however, get out of the car, and he did not retain Phineas’s soft, white hand in his a second longer than was necessary.

‘Well, well, well!’ uttered Phineas. ‘I declare, I wondered who could be bringing you home in such style, Delia! This is indeed kind! And how are you, my boy’ You have no need to answer: you look to be in splendid shape. You must come inside, and take a little refreshment. No, no, I insist!’

‘Thanks, Uncle, I’m afraid I haven’t time. Glad to see you looking so fit.’

Phineas smoothed back a lock of his white hair, which the breeze was blowing into his eyes. There was an agate ring upon his finger, and his nails were carefully manicured. ‘Not so bad, Raymond, not so bad for an old fellow! And how is your dear father?’

As Raymond was well aware that Phineas disliked Penhallow intensely, this unctuous inquiry made his brows draw together. He replied bluntly: ‘He’s the same as he always was.’

‘Ah!’ said Phineas. ‘A wonderful constitution! A remarkable man, quite remarkable!’

‘Why don’t you come up and see him sometime?’ suggested Raymond maliciously. ‘He’d like that!’

Phineas’s smile did not lose a jot of its blandness. ‘One of these days…’ he said vaguely.

Raymond gave a laugh, and turned to bid farewell to his aunt. She laid a timid hand on his shoulder, and since it was plain that she intended to kiss him, he submitted, leaning sideways a little, and himself perfunctorily kissed her withered cheek. A nod to his uncle, and he drove off, leaving the portly brother and the skinny sister standing in the road, waving to him.

Chapter Six

The family did not assemble again in force until tea-time, since neither Faith nor the twins returned to Trevellin for lunch. But at five o’clock everyone but Penhallow himself foregathered ill the Long drawing-room, an apartment more akin to a gallery than a room, since it was immensely long, very narrow in proportion, and contained most of the family portraits hanging on the wall which faced the line of windows opening on to the front of the house. Some extremely valuable pieces of furniture were scattered about, amongst an almost equal number of commonplace chairs and tables; there was a small fire burning at one end, so hedged about with sofas and chairs as to give the other end of the room the appearance of a desert. Tea, which was brought in on a massive silver tray, was set out on a table in front of Clara’s accustomed chair; and a quantity of food was spread over two other tables, on Crown Derby and Worcester plates, and several silver cake-baskets, which were embellished with crochet-mats of Clara’s making. Ingram and Myra had walked up from the Dower House; and while Myra, a leathery woman with sharp features and an insistent voice, regaled Clara with an account of her triumph over the local butcher, Ingram straddled in front of the fire with leis hands in his pockets, loudly arguing with Conrad on the merits of one of Conrad’s hunters.

‘He’s a comfortable ride, which is more than can be said for that nappy brute you were fool enough to buy from old Saltash,’ Conrad said.

‘Ewe-necked!’ snorted Ingram.

‘A ewe neck never yet went with a sluggish gee, so who cares?’ retorted Conrad, dropping four lumps of sugar into his tea-cup. ‘He jumps off his hocks, too, unlike—-’

‘Oh, dry up, for God’s sake!’ interrupted Vivian. ‘Can’t you talk of anything but horses, any of you?’

Bart, who was sprawling in a deep chair with a plate of Cornish splits poised on the arm of it, grinned, and said: ‘You wait till Clay comes home, Vivian, and then you’ll have an ally. I say, Con, have you heard the great news? The Guv’nor’s going to farm Clay out on poor old Cliff.’

‘Who says so?’ demanded Conrad.

‘Eugene. It’s true, isn’t it, Faith?’

‘I have no wish to discuss the matter,’ said Faith stiffly.

Conrad paid not the smallest attention to her, saying in an incredulous tone: ‘Go on, Bart! Cliff wouldn’t have him!’

‘Well, you can ask the Guv’nor, if you don’t believe me,’ yawned Bart, selecting another split from the plate, and consuming it in two mouthfuls.

‘Good lord, he must have blackmailed old Cliff into it!’ said Conrad. An unwelcome thought occurred to him; he added with foreboding: ‘I say, does it mean that we shall have Clay living here, year in, year out?’

‘That’s the idea,’ nodded Bart.

‘Christ!’ exclaimed his twin, in shattered accents.

Faith flushed angrily, but as she knew Conrad too well to suppose that he would attend to any remonstrances from her, she pretended to be listening to what Myra was saying to Clara.

‘I must say, I should have thought there were more than enough people living here already,’ remarked Vivian, getting up to take Eugene’s empty cup from him, and carrying it to Clara to be replenished.

‘Thank you, my sweet,’ he murmured. ‘Not quite so much milk this time, please, Aunt Clara. I do wish you would move away from the fire, Ingram; I am feeling very chilly, and I got up with the suspicion of a cold in my head this morning.’

‘Eugene! You never told me!’ Vivian said quickly. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? I thought you didn’t look quite so well today, but I put it down to the wretched night you had. Ingram, can’t you sit down? You’re screening all the warmth from Eugene!’

‘Blast Eugene and his colds!’ responded Ingram, without any particular ill-will. He removed himself to a chair beside Bart’s, and lowered himself into it, stretching his stiff leg out before him. ‘Hand over those splits, you young hog!’

‘Eugene, I know you’re sitting in a draught,’ Vivian said anxiously.

‘Yes, darling, I imagine you might,’ said Eugene, ‘since it is impossible to sit out of a draught in this room.’

‘Somebody run and get our fragile pet a nice warm shawl,’ suggested Bart. ‘Perhaps he’d like a foot-warmer as well?’

‘No, dear little brother, he would not,’ retorted Eugene, in no way discomposed by this heavy satire. ‘But I think if someone — you, for instance — were to move that screen a little, I, and possibly others as well (though that is not as important) should be much more comfortable.’

‘Gosh, you have got a nerve!’ ejaculated Bart. ‘I fancy I see myself!"

‘I’ll do it!’ Vivian said, setting down her cup-and-saucer, and laying hold of the screen in question, a massive, fourfold, ebony piece, with a peacock brilliantly inlaid upon it.

‘Here, don’t be a fool, Vivian!’ Bart said, hoisting himself out of his chair, and lounging over to her assistance. ‘You can’t move that! What a blooming pest you are, the pair of you! Where do you want the damned thing?’

"Just behind my chair,’ directed Eugene. ‘Yes, that will do very well. I thought that I could make you move it, and you see that I was quite right.’

‘If you weren’t a lazy swine you wouldn’t let Vivian haul furniture about just because you think you feel a draught!’ said Bart, returning to his chair, and wresting the plate of splits away from Ingram.

‘Ah, but I had an idea that your chivalry would be stirred, you see,’ smiled Eugene. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t have risked it with Con or Ingram, but I have often observed that you have a nice nature, beloved. Now I’ll reward you by divulging a piece of news which I rather fancy will make you view the prospect of Clay’s arrival in our midst as a wholly minor ill. Our respected parent has taken it into his head to draw Aubrey back into the fold!"

‘What?’ demanded Bart, horrified.

‘He won’t come,’ said Conrad confidently. ‘Not enough scope for Aubrey in these parts.’

‘Yes, but he’s broke,’ Bart pointed out. ‘Oh, I say, but it’s too thick! Honestly, Aubrey puts me right off my feed!’

‘Bet you he doesn’t come,’ Conrad insisted.

‘You ass, he’s bound to come down for the old man’s birthday!’ Bart reminded him. ‘Even Aubrey wouldn’t miss that! Then, if he’s broke, I’ll lay you any odds he stays. Oh, Ray, is it true that Aubrey’s coming home?’

Raymond, who had just come into the room through the door at the far end, replied harshly: ‘Not if I have anything to say to it.’

‘As you won’t have anything to say to it -’ began Ingram sarcastically.

Bart cut in on this. ‘Well, say everything you can think of, will you? Damn it all, we can’t have Aubrey here, corrupting our young minds! Think of Con and me!’

A shout of laughter went up from three of his brothers, but Raymond remained unsmiling. He walked over to the tea-table, and stood waiting for his aunt to fill a cup for him.

‘It only remains for the old man to summon Char home for the circle to be complete,’ said Eugene, in his light, bored voice. ‘What a memorable day this has turned out to be!’

‘One way and another,’ remarked Conrad, cutting himself a large slice of seed-cake, ‘there’s a good deal to be said for Vivian’s point of view. Too many people already in this house.’

‘Don’t worry!’ said Raymond. ‘One day there will be fewer!’

Vivian flushed hotly, but Eugene smiled with unimpaired good humour. ‘Do tell me!’ he invited. ‘Is that to my address?’

‘Yes,’ replied Raymond bluntly.

‘Now you know what to expect!’ said Ingram, with one of his aggressive laughs. ‘Raymond was always overflowing with brotherly affection, of course.’

Raymond stood stirring the sugar in his tea. He glanced at Ingram, with a slight tightening of his mouth, but he did not speak. Bart, having eaten the last of the splits, turned his attention to a dish of saffron cakes. ‘Oh, I say, Ray! Are you going to turn us all out when the old man dies?’

The frowning eyes rested on his face for an instant. ‘Shan’t have to turn you out,’ Raymond said. ‘Father will hand Trellick over to you — if you don’t make a fool of yourself.’

Bart coloured up, and muttered: ‘Don’t know what you’re driving at. I wish the old man would hurry up, that’s all.’

Ingram’s eyes went from him to Raymond, with quick curiosity. ‘Hallo, what have you been up to, young Bart?’

‘Nothing. You mind your own business!’

‘Love’s young dream!’ murmured Eugene.

‘Oh, is that all!’ said Ingram, disappointed.

At this point, Myra, who had not been paying any attention to the interchange, appealed to her husband to corroborate her statement that Bertram’s housemaster had said that that young gentleman had plenty of ability, if he would but learn to take more pains; and under cover of the animated account, which followed, of Rudolph’s and Bertram’s prowess in the field of athletic achievement, Bart lounged out of the room.

He found Loveday in one of the passages upstairs, curled up in a deep window-embrasure, and looking pensively down upon Clara’s fern-garden. She turned her head when she heard his step, for she had been expecting him, and embraced him with her warm, slow smile. He pulled her up from the window-seat without ceremony, and into his strong young arms. ‘Gosh, it’s an age since I saw you last!’ he said in a thickened voice.

Her body yielded for a moment; she kissed him with parted lips; but murmured, with a quiver of laughter in her voice, as he at last raised his head: ‘"This morning!’

‘For two minutes!’

‘Half-an-hour!’

‘It isn’t good enough. I can’t go on like this! Here, come into the schoolroom!’

He thrust her into the room as he spoke, grasping her arm just above the elbow, and kicked the door to behind him. She let him kiss her again, but when he pulled her down beside him on the old horsehair sofa, she set her hands against his chest, and held him a little away from her. She was still smiling, and there was a kind of sleepy desire in her eyes, but she slightly shook her head. ‘Now. Bart! Now, Bart!’

‘You little devil, I don’t believe you love me at all!’ he said, half-laughing, half-hurt.

She leaned swiftly forward to plant a quick, firm kiss upon his mouth. ‘Yes, then, I do, my dear, but you’re a bad one for a poor girl to trust in. A clean-off rascal you are, love, aren’t you now?’

He dragged her across his knees, so that her dark head lay on his arms. ‘I swear I’ll marry you, Loveday!’

She made no attempt to free herself from the rough grip upon her, but said softly: ‘No.’

His hand, which had been stroking one of her thighs through the thin stuff of her dress, tightened on her firm flesh. ‘You’re driving me mad! I’m not going on like this!’

‘We must be patient,’ she said. ‘Give over, Bart-love! you’ll have me bruised black and blue. Let me sit up like a decent woman, now do!’

He released her, and she began to straighten her dress, and her dishevelled hair. ‘You’ll get me turned off without a character, my dear, that’s what you’ll do. We’ve got to be careful.’

‘To hell with that! I’m my own master, and I’ll do as I choose. If the Guv’nor won’t give me Trellick Farm, I’ll cut loose and make a living on my own! I could do it.’

‘No, but you shan’t then,’ she said, taking one of his hands between hers and fondling it. ‘There’s never one as would employ you, love. You with your wildness, and your high-up airs, and the crazy notions you do be taking into your head! The poorhouse is where we’d end, and you promising to set me up in style at Trellick!’