Charles and his family, after spending some weeks in furnished rooms, had moved into a rented house at Grove End, on the outskirts of Chardwell. It was a pleasant stone-built house called Rose Villa, with a small garden surrounding it, and a fine view out over the lower town. Neither the house nor its locality was quite what Charles would have chosen for his wife and children; nor did the domestic staff, acquired with the house, come up to his expectations; but ‒
‘At least it is all a great deal better than being a paid domestic yourself, as you were with Cox at Newton Railes, and just for the present I think it will do.’
‘Of course it will do! It’s a beautiful house!’ Katharine said warmly. ‘So sunny and bright and comfortable, and with such pleasant neighbours nearby, what more could we ask?’
Here Susannah, following her own thoughts, answered what her father had said.
‘Mama was not treated like a paid domestic while we were at Railes, Papa. Martin always treated us with the utmost kindness and consideration, and we lived there, all three of us, almost as if it were still our own home.’
‘I know that perfectly well. I saw it myself when I came there on my return from America. But however comfortable you and your mother may have been, in my own view the situation was one that can only be deplored.’
Nothing more was said then but later, when Katharine was alone with the children, she counselled her daughter in discretion.
‘I think it would be better to avoid speaking of Martin and Railes when Papa is here. I’m afraid it’s something that vexes him.’
‘But Papa spoke of it first, Mama. I merely answered him.’
‘Yes, but you need not have done, for Papa was speaking to me, not to you.’
‘I think it is very unfair, Mama, that we should not mention Martin’s name when he has been so good to us.’
‘So do I,’ Dick said. ‘And I for one will soon be forced to speak about Martin to my father because of Martin sponsoring me when I enter Mr Bonnamy’s office.’
Dick had only just returned from spending a fortnight’s holiday with a school friend who lived in Somerset, and the date on which he was due to begin his architect’s apprenticeship was only another fortnight away.
‘I think, if you agree,’ Katharine said, ‘I will approach your papa first and put the whole matter to him; but as he is so busy just now, I am waiting for a suitable moment.’
‘And when will that be, I wonder?’ Dick said.
He and Susannah exchanged a glance of youthful disillusionment, tinged on his side, as Katharine saw, with more than a hint of anxiety. She resolved to speak to Charles with the minimum delay.
It happened, however, the very next day, that the subject of Dick’s future was broached by Charles himself when, in the latter part of the evening, he left his work in the study and joined his family for a while.
‘Dick, I forgot to mention it before, but I was talking to Mr Maynard about you, and he was good enough to say that a place could be found for you at Loxe.’
His words were followed by a cold silence, during which three faces were turned blankly towards him. Then, pale but resolute, Dick replied.
‘I’m sorry, Father, but I have no wish for a place in the mill. I want to be an architect and it is already arranged that I should go into Mr Bonnamy’s office in two weeks’ time, to begin my apprenticeship.’
Charles turned towards his wife.
‘Why was I not told of this till now?’
‘Because you have been so very busy and we were waiting until you had time to discuss the matter thoroughly.’
‘Apprenticeship with an architect will mean paying a premium. Probably fifty pounds at least. I am not willing to pay such a sum.’
‘The indenture has already been drawn up and the premium paid. Martin Cox paid it. It was his birthday present to Dick.’
‘I see.’
‘Charles, I know you will be displeased at this, but it was done before you came back.’
‘Then it’s just as well I came back when I did ‒ in time to have this transaction revoked.’
‘Surely you will not do that? Dick’s heart is set on it.’
‘Dick’s place is in the woollen trade. His future is cloth. At present I work in another man’s mill but as soon as the opportunity occurs I intend taking a mill of my own. ‒ Most probably Hainault. Is it so unreasonable that I should expect my only son to come into the trade with me? To learn how to run a mill and take over from me when I am gone? Surely any father is entitled to expect that? And I do expect it, I assure you both.’
‘No! I won’t go!’ Dick exclaimed. ‘I hate the cloth trade and everything about it. The smell of the mills makes me feel sick!’ He rose suddenly from his chair and took a few paces about the room, turning at last towards his father and facing him defiantly. ‘If you should try to force me, Papa, I’ll do what you did three years ago. ‒ I’ll run away.’
For a moment it seemed as though Charles would reach out and strike the boy. Katharine feared it and so did Susannah and each, quite involuntarily, betrayed her fear in a different way; Katharine by a protective gesture, Susannah by giving a little cry. Dick himself, though his face twitched, held his ground stubbornly, until his father, with an effort, found his voice and answered him.
‘You, sir, had better go to your room. Susannah, too. And don’t come down, either of you, until you have my permission.’
In silence, the boy and the girl obeyed. Charles then turned to his wife.
‘No doubt I have Martin Cox to thank for this show of rebelliousness. I am unwilling to suppose that you alone are responsible for it.’
‘Charles, you must not put Dick into the mill. He is asthmatic. The wool-dust would be very bad for him, just as it is for Mr Maynard. His future health would be endangered. Possibly even his life.’
‘The boy never used to suffer from asthma.’
‘No, it began about three years ago. Soon after you had left us.’
‘You will tell me next that I am to blame for it.’
‘No. But asthma subjects, the doctor says, are often affected by shock and distress. Also, it runs in families. My brother Hugh suffered from it and that was first brought on by shock.’
Charles was visibly abashed. He stared at her in silence a while. His anger, however, had not diminished: it had merely found another cause, since fate seemed against him at every turn.
‘And will my son suffer less, working as an architect, breathing stone-dust on building sites?’
‘That will be out of doors,’ Katharine said, ‘and will not be very long at one time.’
‘I suppose I must be thankful that he does not wish to work as a mason-cum-quarryman. Because obviously his choice of profession is due to Cox’s influence. You will not deny that, I suppose?’
‘No. But I would remind you, Charles, that during the past three years, at a crucial time in Dick’s life, your influence was missing.’
‘You need say no more, madam, to make me fully aware that I have been away too long. The consequences of my being absent are only too evident and now that I am back I must be extra vigilant with my son to be sure of preventing further infringements of my authority. As for the question of his career, it seems from what you tell me that I must set aside my own wishes and allow him to have his way. Regarding the boy’s apprenticeship fee, it is of course out of the question that Martin Cox should pay it. I want charity from no man, least of all him.’
‘I understand that, of course.’
‘Thank you. It is gratifying to find that on this one point at least we are in agreement. Now, if you will excuse me, I still have work lying on my desk.’
‘Won’t you go up and speak to Dick? He would be so delighted if you did.’
‘No, I think not. I have been forced into this concession, Katharine, and my son’s delight, as you must know, raises no corresponding joy in me. Furthermore, I have not forgotten that his manner to me a moment ago was insolent in the extreme. Perhap
s it escaped your attention. Perhaps, during my absence, you have failed to perceive the growth of recalcitrance in that young man. Perhaps ‒’
‘Dick never behaves like that as a rule, and I’m quite sure that by now he is bitterly regretting what he said.’
‘Then you may tell him, if you will, that when he is ready to apologize, he may come to me in my study. No doubt the apology will come easily enough once he knows he has got his own way. No doubt, too, he has already discovered that this asthma of his has certain advantages attaching to it. But let him beware of assuming that because I have yielded this once, it will set a pattern for the future, for he will find himself mistaken.’
Charles left the room. The door clicked shut. Katharine, for a while, remained where she was, sitting upright in her chair. Outwardly, she had been calm till now, but Charles’s anger had affected her, and she needed time to recover herself. She took deep, steadying breaths, and when the inward tremors ceased, she rose and went upstairs to the children.
If, as Charles had predicted, his return had caused gossip in the town, he himself heard little of it. For one thing, he was too busy at Loxe, often working twelve hours a day. For another, it was his policy to keep himself in the background until such time as the townspeople, having grown used to his presence there, accepted it without much thought. Living out at Grove End, this was easy enough to achieve. His visits to the town centre were few; his meetings with fellow townsmen brief; and when he was invited to give a public talk on the war in America and his adventures in the gold-fields, he firmly declined, although he was offered a handsome fee.
Katharine and the children, of course, had no social life at this time. They knew their nearest neighbours by sight and sometimes exchanged a few words with them, but Charles had made it quite clear that anything more was out of the question. The children resented this bitterly but spoke of it only to Katharine.
‘If we’re not allowed to make new friends, nor to see our old ones, then it seems to me,’ Susannah said, ‘that we might just as well have gone to America after all.’
Soon, however, the gloom was lightened by a visit from their aunt Ginny, newly returned from the Continent. She drove out to Grove End at once, having heard from the servants at Chacelands that her brother-in-law had returned from the dead and had whisked his family away from Railes.
‘The things that happen when I turn my back! And where is the prodigal, I’d like to know? What, still at the mill at this late hour? Well, perhaps that is all for the best, otherwise I should have wanted to ask what he means by putting you to live in a place like this. Oh, it’s better than Tack House Lane, I agree. Nothing could be so bad as that! But Grove End! I do declare! It’s really too genteel for words. And the houses are all so exactly alike, they might have come out of a box of toys. Now sit down, all of you, and tell me the whole story, beginning with Charles coming back to you.’
When, after many interruptions, they had told her all she wanted to know, she sat for a moment in silence; and although her blue gaze was as bright as ever, there was something else in it, too.
‘Well!’ she said then, in a brisk tone. ‘We must give thanks, of course, that Charles has been safely restored to the bosom of his family. But I still don’t understand why he kept silent all that time and frankly I cannot forgive him for it.’
‘Neither can we,’ Dick said, speaking for himself and Susannah. ‘And I’m sure Mama feels the same, though she won’t admit it to us of course.’
‘Oh, Aunt Ginny, I’m so glad you’re home!’ Susannah said ecstatically. ‘We’ve been in this house for weeks and weeks and scarcely been out or seen anyone. It’s not so bad for Dick, going to his office every day, but Mama and I get so dull sometimes … Papa has bought only one horse, you see, and of course he uses that himself. So we can never go out in the trap by ourselves, and although we take a walk every day, there’s nobody we can call on because all our friends are too far away.’
‘Then, tomorrow, my dears, I shall come for you at half past one and take you back to Chacelands for tea. What do you say to that?’
‘Oh, that will be wonderful! Won’t it, Mama? Papa can’t possibly object to that, now, can he?’
‘I wish I could come,’ Dick said.
‘And so you shall,’ Ginny said. ‘Tell me what time you leave your office and I will come and fetch you.’
‘I’ll ask permission to leave at four.’
‘Very well. It is arranged. But now I really must go home, for I have been travelling for days, you know, and am quite exhausted. I came because I couldn’t wait to hear all about Charles but now ‒ à bientôt, my dears. Give me a kiss. There! Now I’m gone!’
The following day was close and warm, with a sky that threatened thunder storms. When Ginny came to Rose Villa, therefore, it was in the closed carriage, with the coachman, Cobbold, driving. Because of this, and because she had so much to say, they had travelled some distance before Katharine observed that they had turned off the main turnpike by the left fork instead of the right.
‘Ginny, you said you were taking us to Chacelands.’
‘Yes, so I am. But we are going to Railes first.’
‘Oh, Aunt Ginny!’ Susannah exclaimed, and turned to her mother with glowing face. ‘Railes!’ she said, with a rippling laugh. ‘Whatever would Papa say?’
‘Your aunt Ginny is well aware that your papa would not approve.’
‘Then we must take care,’ Ginny said, ‘not to let Papa know.’
‘Supposing Martin is not at home?’
‘Oh, but he will be. I made sure of that by sending him a message last night, telling him to expect us for tea. And he sent back to say that he would.’
Katharine, though with a heightened colour, laughed at her sister’s stratagem, and Susannah, relieved, clapped her hands.
‘Oh, Aunt Ginny, I do love you so! ‒ You always make things happen!’ she said.
‘What a nice thing to say. And how true it is. But I wish I had some control over the day’s weather, for I fear we’re going to be caught in it.’
Sure enough, the storm broke as they drove through the gateway into the park, so that by the time they were drawing up outside the main front door, the rain was fairly tippling down. Martin, however, was watching for them and came out at once with a huge umbrella, to escort them into the entrance hall. From there, having shed their cloaks, they passed into the great hall, Ginny still twitching her skirts to be rid of the last few glistening raindrops.
‘Well, Martin, how formal we are, coming in by the front door! Almost, we might be strangers here.’
But in fact there was nothing formal in this reunion of old friends: in the bustle and laughter of their arrival as they hurried in out of the rain; in the way Susannah, still a child, suddenly flung herself at Martin and gave him a hug; in the noisy exuberance of the spaniels, lolloping forward to welcome them; in the pleasure the three visitors felt at seeing the old familiar objects that furnished and adorned the great hall; in the way they and Martin then gathered at the great bay window, looking out at the storm sweeping across the parkland.
The rain was a heavy downpour now, slanting like white rods of glass from clouds the colour of indigo. Thunder cracked overhead and the sky was splintered by lightning. For a short time the rain was a torrent; then, within seconds, it eased and stopped, leaving a hushed silence behind it. Garden and parkland were seen again, but with colours muted, the leaves of the trees, especially, so blanched by the rain and its drifting vapour that all the many shades of green were dimmed, softly, as in pale glaucous jade. Inside the bay window, too, vapour now formed on the small leaded panes, making it difficult to see out. The party therefore moved to the hearth where, true to established custom, a good log fire burned, although it was only early September.
‘Oh, I’m all gooseflesh!’ Ginny exclaimed. ‘Why do storms make us feel like that?’ And she spread her hands to the fire’s red glow. ‘How lucky it didn’t break earlier, or Cobbold would have b
een soaked to the skin.’
She drew up a stool and sat down on it, extending her legs to their full length so that her feet, poking out from her skirts, were in the very hearth itself. She looked up at Martin, who stood nearby.
‘Well, sir, are you pleased, I wonder, at having three ladies to visit you?’
‘Indeed, I am delighted,’ he said.
‘And which of our trio, pray, are you most delighted to see?’
‘That is a truly impossible question. Paris himself could not answer it.’
‘Then I shall be Aphrodite and we’ll see what bribery can do. And when you have given me the golden apple I will reward you, as she did Paris, by helping you to carry off the fairest, most beautiful woman of all.’
‘Oh, but Aunt Ginny,’ Susannah said, ‘that means Helen of Troy and you know what trouble that caused.’
‘You are quite right, my child. I have taken the parallel far enough.’ Ginny flicked a speck of dust from her sleeve and looked up at Martin again. ‘Speaking of abductions, however, neither my sister nor my niece knew I was bringing them here today until we were well on the road, and Katharine, I’m afraid, is still angry with me.’
‘What nonsense you talk,’ Katharine said. She was stooping, fondling the dogs. ‘I am not angry with anyone.’
‘Then why are you so silent with us?’
Katharine looked up with a smile. Her face was flushed from the warmth of the fire.
‘If I have been silent, Ginny, you have more than made up for it.’
‘Well, I’m only just back from abroad, remember, and have travelled through six different countries since seeing you last, which means I have a lot to tell. But, you know, it’s a very strange thing ‒ I’m never homesick while I’m abroad but the moment I set sail for England I simply cannot wait to be there! Oh, it is so good to be back, especially here in our old home. It’s really very good of you, Martin, to let us come in on you like this, but no doubt you feel it’s the least you can do, having taken the house away from us. Tell me, have you got a new housekeeper yet?’
The Old House at Railes: A heartwarming rags to riches Victorian family saga Page 36