The Ugly Sister

by Winston Graham

  Charles Lane, whom I had last seen at dinner at Place House in company with Mr Isambard Kingdom Brunel. I wished now I had not come.

  I patted the pony’s nose, which was in a bag. He gave a little tossing snort to make it easier for him to reach his refreshment. I slid further behind the trap where I should be less visible. I smelt the leather and the heat of the pony and the iron of the wheel rim and granite dust, and nearby gorse dropping its flowers in the sun and a touch of salt in the breeze. Then I looked up and saw Charles Lane coming towards me.

  There was no getting away. He seemed to flush as he came up.

  ‘Your uncle told me you were here, Miss Fry. I had no idea you were living at Blisland.’

  ‘Yes. I have been there nine months, Mr Lane.’

  His flush deepened. ‘Er – it’s Miss Spry, isn’t it? I am sorry for the mistake. There’s a Mr Treffry intimately concerned with the railways and projecting a great bridge near Luxulyan – and for a moment I confused the names.’

  I did not answer.

  He said: ‘I am not accustomed to the – the company of young ladies. My tongue ties up.’

  I said: ‘I am not accustomed to the company of young gentlemen.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I do not – I do not know that I am a gentleman. Mr Brunel has raised me up, but I began life as a bricklayer.’ He looked at his big hands as if about to show me how rough they were.

  ‘Is Mr Brunel here?’

  ‘No. Oh, no. He is far too busy. He left me here to superintend – to – to see that his instructions were carried out.’ Charles Lane hesitated, his eyes going beyond me. ‘ I do not know how long I shall retain his confidence.’

  ‘Why? Why is that?’

  ‘It is a technical point, Miss Spry. This line will be eight miles long when it is completed – that is without the possible extension. Most railway tracks in Cornwall are still drawn by horses, but there is now such development in the power of steam that the adventurers feel this line should be steam operated.’

  ‘Yes. I follow that.’

  ‘Well, Miss Spry, there is a division of opinion as to how it should be operated. Mr Brunel insists that we should use the atmospheric method. That – roughly …’ He stopped. ‘Am I taking your time? I can’t believe you can be interested in such a dull technical matter …’

  ‘Pray believe that I am,’ I said.

  He looked at me in embarrassment, then moved his gaze to the middle distance again. ‘Mr Brunel prefers the use of stationary engines at each end of the line – and at least another one halfway – which will propel the wagons by atmospheric pressure. The adventurers prefer the idea of a locomotive – or even two, one at the front and one at the back of a train – propelling the trucks with their own steam power.’

  My uncle had now walked across and was stooping down peering at the structure of the new stone bridge.

  ‘And you – and you,’ I said, ‘have taken the side of the adventurers?’

  He smiled awkwardly. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘I guessed.’

  ‘Yes, that is the crux of the matter. Mr Brunel does not like his subordinates to disagree with him. He thinks I am here to obey his instructions. And so I am.’

  My uncle had straightened up and was looking this way. His visit was coming to an end.

  ‘What is there against the – what did you call it? atmospheric – way of working this line?’

  ‘Mr Brunel asserts that it is technically more advanced. He also points to the fact that if this line begins to carry passengers – as it surely will – they would be saved all the noise and smoke and smell of an engine close in front of them: sparks, coal dust, vibration.’

  ‘You are arguing for him. What have you against that?’

  ‘I do not think the pipes would sustain the pressure. Of course it does work – it has worked. But I believe there would be frequent breakdowns, that maintenance would become prohibitive in cost.’

  ‘So what do you suppose will happen?’

  ‘If the investors stand firm they will have their way. It is their money.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Mr Brunel pays me.’

  ‘Ah …’ said the Canon, rather breathless as he came up. ‘You have been renewing acquaintance? Lane tells me that you met at Place a few years ago, Emma.’

  Conversation was general for a moment or two, then as the Canon moved away to pay the farmer for Joseph’s fodder, I said:

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘What?’ Charles Lane turned his absent-minded grey eyes on me with a look that was shy but friendly. ‘Do you mean about the line? Mr Brunel does not brook disobedience. Either I shall be moved to some other project or I shall be dismissed. That, I fear, is more likely.’

  ‘If that happened, would not the investors here be happy to employ you?’

  ‘They might. But I’m not anxious to lose contact with Mr Brunel, because he has helped to make me what I have become – little though that may appear in your eyes.’

  ‘Is my uncle an investor?’

  ‘He has been at all the meetings I have attended. Though I have no idea whether his involvement is small or large. Most of it, you know, comes from the landed gentry.’

  ‘Possibly my uncle would be able to influence Mr Brunel.’

  Charles Lane smiled wryly. ‘If Mr Brunel forms an opinion it takes an – an explosion to move him. Indeed in the six years I have known him I don’t remember one occasion when he has changed his mind as a result of outside influence.’

  ‘No doubt, then,’ I said, ‘ he will influence his investors to install the atmospheric system.’

  A flicker went across his face. ‘He may. Yes, he may.’

  I detected a steeliness in Mr Lane’s tone which suggested that under the rather shambling exterior he had strong opinions of his own.

  On the way home I asked my uncle if he had invested money in the building of the line. He was silent for some moments as if I had been guilty of an indelicacy. Then he said:

  ‘A mite. A widow’s mite.’

  I thought of the extreme penury in which we lived and hoped he had not ventured too much.

  ‘It seems there is a difference of opinion between Mr Brunel and Mr Lane as to whether the trains are drawn by moving engines or stationary ones.’

  ‘I do not think you can have a difference of opinion between one of the supreme engineers of our time and a subordinate. Mr Lane is here to obey orders.’

  ‘You agree with Mr Brunel, Uncle? I mean on this point?’

  ‘I am not qualified to judge. Nor, I think, is Mr Lane.’

  I was rebuked and said no more and we were nearly home before he spoke again. ‘These Stephenson engines which are coming into use in the north of England are proving a great success. We will have to see. It will be a year yet before the permanent way is complete. A decision will not be taken until then.’

  II

  TAMSIN GAVE birth to a daughter, who was christened Celestine. Mother returned from London for what I gather was almost a society christening, but I was not invited. However, a few months later my mother wrote me from London after another successful season and said she would be spending Easter at Place and thought I should perhaps ask the Canon if I might take a week off and visit the newly-weds and see my new niece. I put this to Uncle Francis, who said unfortunately Easter was the busiest time of the year for him, and I could hardly be spared, but if the week following would suffice … I said it would suffice: I could travel to Place myself, and my mother could bring me back when she returned to London.

  Easter was dull and rainy, but in the week after came brilliant weather with a light northerly breeze: a time to blossom in the sunshine and shiver in the shade. Mixed feelings going home. The weather had changed conveniently so that it seemed as if I were moving to a lighter, brighter scene. Not merely was the contrast in the houses, but in the landscape, the sky, the glimmering water, the softer air.

  Aunt Anna was still away and
no better, Tamsin looking well but a little strained, my mother older but quite suited by her dyed auburn hair, Desmond seemed happy and occupied his time between watching the baby, superintending the repairs to the church and spotting the arrival of migrating birds. Celestine, with fair wispy hair and blue eyes, slept contentedly most of the time. The staff the same – except that Slade was there.

  As black-haired, as sallow-skinned, as sour as ever, he cast a shadow that followed him about the house like a miasma. As soon as I got her alone I asked Tamsin.

  ‘Oh,’ she said lightly. ‘We felt he had been rather harsh done to by Uncle Davey’s will, so, chancing on him one day in Falmouth, Desmond invited him to return. Rather to our surprise he said he would like to, and that was that. In a way it gives a house a better look to it, with a butler.’

  ‘I should have thought, after our childhood here, you wouldn’t want him back at any price.’

  She gave me a slanting look. ‘Oh, all that’s long forgot. He’s very proud to be here, you know. He feels he is still serving the Spry family.’

  ‘In the end did you ever get into those cellars?’

  ‘Cellars? … Oh, that. No, I didn’t. When Slade came back I somehow couldn’t be bothered.’

  ‘You couldn’t?’

  She gave me another look. ‘No.’ Then she laughed. ‘ I have been rather busy, you know. And now that I have Celestine I’m not sure that I care.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, though I didn’t quite.

  So I said to Desmond one day, ‘You probably won’t remember that about ten years ago Tamsin and I got into trouble with Slade about the cellars?’

  ‘Afraid I don’t. What was it about?’

  I told him. He laughed. ‘I didn’t think Slade had that much sense of humour. Have you never been in? It was a tunnel. At some time in the days when it was a priory the prior and the black canons dug a tunnel from the priory to the edge of the cliff. I think it was some sort of an escape route. Can’t think why – it was before the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Anyway it has long since fallen in. Samuel and I explored that way. There are only two cellars beyond the wine cellar, and there aren’t any skeletons in them. Not even Slade’s.’

  I said: ‘I’m afraid I never liked him much. I am a little surprised that you chose to re-engage him.’

  Desmond looked at me. ‘Oh, I did not. It was Tamsin. I always found him too possessive of my father, too ambitious to dominate the house. Tamsin persuaded me.’

  ‘She – persuaded you to take him back?’

  ‘Yes. I was surprised myself, as she had never, as far as I can recall, showed any liking for his ministrations. But when I pointed this out to her she seemed to become rather angry, as if I were attempting to thwart her of her whims.’

  III

  ON THE Wednesday of my visit Desmond had planned a visit to St Michael’s Mount. The St Aubyns had issued an open invitation and had suggested it should take place while my mother was there. Sir John was fascinated by the theatre and liked to talk to a real live practising actress. The plan was that we should go by sea by steam paddle from Falmouth to Penzance, visit the Mount about midday and have dinner at Clowance, Sir John’s country house near Marazion. We were to return to Falmouth in the evening by coach.

  It was a fine day, cloudy but with little wind; we left Place at seven and took the steamer at eight. The power of the engines which belched smoke from the single funnel and propelled the great paddle wheels impressed us all, and I thought much of Mr Isambard Brunel and his prophecies, and the tall clumsy person of Charles Lane with his good-humoured kindly face and his modesty and determination. Sir John and Lady St Aubyn met us at Marazion, and we took a large rowing boat across as the tide was in. There followed the long climb up to the castle, then so much to admire in the medieval church, the Chevy Chase Room, the Armoury, the Blue Drawing Room, and the views across the Channel and Mount’s Bay from every window. The sun finally came out and glinted through the tall granite-framed windows on coats of armour and chain mail.

  We took refreshments there, and then returned to the mainland, where carriages were waiting to take us to Clowance.

  Until now it had just been the St Aubyns with two of their sons, and our own party of four, but at the big house there were another dozen guests invited to dinner. Two of the first to arrive were Mr and Mrs Bram Fox.

  Clearly the St Aubyns could have had no idea at all about the maladroitness of the invitation; both my mother and Tamsin stiffened up at the sight of him. What emotion I showed I had no idea but my heart missed a beat, my mouth dried and I could feel the heat of a flush on my stained neck. Fortunately, close on their heels came a group of another half-dozen youngish people, all of whose names I took in and instantly forgot, and then another quartet, so that it was not too difficult to avoid confronting him.

  He looked different from what I remembered. His hair was shorter. (Had he had it cut off in prison? But that was too long ago.) In formal clothes he looked as usual killingly handsome. Was it also true that he looked killingly domesticated and in some way cut down to size? He only needed two children holding his hands. Was it the presence of his wife?

  I found myself next to her. As tall as I was, but thin. She was beautiful, but it was as if on her face, even when she smiled, there were puckers of disappointment.

  ‘You are Miss Spry? Oh, yes. From St Anthony. I think my husband has mentioned that you have met.’

  ‘So he did,’ said Bram, coming up behind her. ‘It is what – two years? That was a splendid musical evening. Do you recall it?’

  ‘Well,’ I said. He still had the power to move me, to stir me so that my knees shook. But how much of this was rage I cannot tell.

  We talked about the musicians and Mr Emidy’s progress. He had settled with his family in Truro and, apart from concerts, gave tuition on half a dozen different musical instruments. During this Meliora carefully eyed my disfigurement. Was she speculating as to whether I was one of her husband’s conquests, or whether my damaged face had put him off? Then Lady St Aubyn came up and Meliora turned to speak to her.

  Bram said in a lowered voice: ‘And how is my little Emma? Does she prosper?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘But no thanks to you.’

  He laughed. ‘Sadly no. It was all a trifle unfortunate, was it not? I made efforts to see you but you were not to be seen. Then my misdeeds – were they such terrible misdeeds? – caught up with me. I had been living beyond my means and was declared a bankrupt. For that I served a term in one of His Majesty’s prisons. Five months. I cannot say it was altogether enjoyable, though efforts were made by family and friends to make the conditions bearable. Eventually these same family and friends clubbed together to satisfy my creditors, and out I popped like a weasel out of a hole, blinking in the bright sunshine and starting life all over again! I gather you are no longer at Place House.’

  ‘I took employment at Blisland with an uncle.’

  ‘Blisland? What a hole! I admit it has the only decent village green in Cornwall, but there is not much else there but moorland and wet winds.’

  ‘I find it agreeable.’

  ‘Good. Good. And Tamsin married Desmond, who looks well on it, don’t you think? And how well your mother wears! She must be in her mid-fifties. But perhaps it is impolite to speculate on a lady’s age.’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Very-well-brought-up-Emma. And how do you like my wife?’

  ‘Very pretty.’

  ‘Do not choke, my dear. There is much in life worse than what happened between us. You were so lovely to take. Anyway I have forgiven you.’

  It was fortunate I did not hit him across the face; but Sir John St Aubyn came to speak to us and so defused the moment.

  There were sufficient at the dinner table and the convenient arrangement of places that I had hoped for, so I saw him only at a distance during the meal; but afterwards, after tea and port and the remixing of the sexes, we came together at a window. Or, to
be more exact, he followed me.

  ‘And Slade is with you still.’

  ‘With my brother-in-law, yes. Do you know him?’

  ‘Slade? Of course. Well. A ruffian.’ He laughed. ‘ I gather he was sacked and then brought back.’

  ‘You should ask Desmond all about it.’

  His glance moved to the tall long-necked figure of Tamsin’s husband, and then back brilliantly to me. ‘What have you done to your eye?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s not any longer so bloodshot. Have you seen an apothecary or someone?’

  I said: ‘I think it’s just the better company I’ve been keeping.’

  He laughed. ‘Always quick on the answer. Well, it has improved, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Has it?’

  ‘You could do something with make-up too. Your mother’s an actress. Does she never advise you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  I stared at him with hatred. ‘ Why don’t you stay faithful to your wife and keep out of debt?’

  ‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘ Good make-up would hide a lot. It should be worth trying. You’re otherwise such a pretty woman.’

  I muttered something under my breath.

  ‘You question me,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you something. Why am I not faithful to my wife? Because she will no longer let me touch her. That is why. Strange, isn’t it? And me such an attentive man! … As for the rest … I am no longer in debt. An attempt has been made to keep me in solvency. To save me from myself, you might say. Well-wishers, some friends in high places, but mainly family, have sought around to help me to a fresh start. Last year the Commissioner for Customs and Excise for West Cornwall, Captain Tremain, was killed in the hunting field. I have been appointed in his place …’

  A movement was now being made to leave. We had the prospect of a long jolting journey home.

  Bram said: ‘ I inspect, I supervise the gaugers, I keep an eye on attempts to evade the excise duties. Which of course is impossible in Cornwall, since almost everyone here condones the running and sale of contraband goods. But it’s not altogether a sinecure. We live in Ponsanooth now, but I travel all over the west: St Ives, Portreath, Newquay, Penzance, Helston and the Helford river. Sometimes I stop ’em, sometimes I don’t. It’s a game of hide and seek, which suits me, and I feel better for it. Of course – goodbye Miss Pearce, it has been a great pleasure to meet you today—’. When she had gone: ‘Of course those who have appointed me to this position have done so with my best interests in mind. Nevertheless it may have stirred somewhere in their grey matter to recall an old proverb, with which I am sure everyone is familiar. “Set a thief to catch a thief.” ’