‘Oh? Banners and tapestries?’ her grandmama put in. ‘But the family doesn’t go all that far back. But go on, I’m sorry I stopped you.’
And she went on: ‘The big drawing room, that’s mostly in blue: blue carpet, blue velvet couch and chairs, lots of little tables with knick-knacks on them. Of course—’ she now looked at her mother and nodded, ‘they won’t be just knick-knacks. I’ll likely become better acquainted with them later. Then there is the room I told you about earlier on, the little pink drawing room. That’s pretty and cosy. Oh, what else?’ She put her head back. ‘There is the ballroom, and the powder room. Oh, yes, the powder room.’ She did not go on to explain why she had emphasised the powder room, but continued, ‘There is a huge dining room; the centre table alone seats twenty-six, so Dennison…Denny informed me.’ She now turned towards her grandmama, explaining, ‘I have to call him that, he doesn’t like Dennison.’
‘Well, it’s a nice name…Denny. Yes, a very nice name.’
‘Then there was a breakfast room and further along the corridor, the library. Oh, that’s a splendid room, the library.’ She nodded to herself.
‘What about the kitchens?’
‘He…he didn’t take me into that quarter; he said I’d be acquainted with them soon enough. I only know there’s a servants’ hall, and that the butler, the valet and the housekeeper dine together, and that she has a bedroom and sitting room of her own on the ground floor. I think most of the staff sleep in the attics, but three married ones have cottages in the grounds. Oh, there seem to be so many wings in the house. The east wing, the west wing,’ she said, waving her hand from side to side, then added on a laugh, ‘It’s a wonder it doesn’t take off.’ Then more soberly now she continued: ‘The bedrooms are a maze. There’s a section of guest rooms with dressing rooms attached. I lost count; I think there must be twelve or more.’ She lowered her eyes now as if in some confusion, and her voice slowed as she went on, ‘I am to have a rest room; boudoir, he called it. It is to one side of the bedroom. At the other side there is a large dressing room, then another smaller bedroom beyond, and then offices. These are on both sides of the bedrooms.’ She did not go on to explain what the offices were, but it was evident to the two other women, and both nodded their heads.
More brightly now, she said, ‘All the rooms were very pleasant. Well, really lovely. One of them has a balcony.’ She did not say, ‘It is to be our bedroom,’ but went on, ‘it is edged with beautiful wrought-iron railings. And the view from there is simply marvellous. I saw our chimneys.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘Yes, I did, Grandmama. You know we are in somewhat of a hollow here, and there were our chimneys just above the outline of the trees.’ She looked into space again for a moment and, more to herself than to them, she said, ‘Yes, I saw our chimneys.’
‘Well, go on.’
She obeyed her grandmama’s command and described the billiard room, the gentlemen’s smoking room, the endless flights of stairs, and when she came to the long steep ones that led to what used to be the nurseries, she said, ‘There is a rocking horse still up there, and a great big iron fireguard around the fire. And there’s a little schoolroom.’ Her smile widened. ‘The table is all marked where names have been cut out.’ She paused here, remembering that she had begun to read them out but Dennison had pulled her away, almost roughly, saying, ‘Leave that, leave that.’ And then half in apology, he had added, ‘Some of those names go back fifty years; we could spend all day. Come.’
Her mother said now, ‘Where are you going today?’
‘Into Newcastle, Mama. You’ll never guess what for.’
‘No, I’ll never guess.’ The thin lips moved into a smile.
‘To choose satin material for the panels in my boudoir.’
‘Satin material for the panels?’
She turned to her grandmama. ‘Yes. The room isn’t papered. The walls have narrow panels, wooden panels, made like long picture frames, but in between is satin. It is very faded, and torn in one or two places, so I am going to choose—’ her head now moved in a deep obeisance as she added, ‘satin panels.’ Then she ended soberly, ‘Of all things in the world, satin panels.’
‘What do you think of the house as a whole?’
She didn’t look at her grandmama but bit on her lip and looked down at the hand she was holding before she said, ‘It is beautiful, but…but much too large, and sort of…well—’ She seemed to search for a word, then said, ‘Lonely, in a way.’
‘Well, it is a house that’s been used to a lot of company and I’m sure it will be again.’
She didn’t answer her grandmama, but she thought: I hope not. And thinking back to the ball, she emphasised her thoughts: Oh, I hope not.
Five
It was towards the end of January, and the arrangements for the wedding were already going ahead. A day never passed but he would go to the vicarage, always with the intent of bringing her over to the House for even a short time. Often she would say she had too much to do, or her mother wasn’t well enough to be left, but nearly always Rebecca would give the final word, saying that she had five people running round after her, in one way or another, and that surely she could spare her daughter for an hour or two.
Dennison had come to like his future mother-in-law very much. She was an ally, had been, he recognised, from the beginning; as, too, was the grandmother. Oh, yes, the grandmother was for him. But in no way had he so far penetrated the reserve of the parson.
It was eleven o’clock in the morning. Dennison was preparing for yet another journey along the road that had become so familiar to him over the past weeks. His valet had just handed him a freshly cut cigar when there came a tap on the door and the first doorman entered, saying, ‘Mrs Poulter Myers has called, sir.’
The cigar halfway to lips, he looked from the footman to his valet, and for almost a full minute he remained silent. Then turning from the men, he walked to the window, saying, ‘Where have you put her?’
‘She went into the drawing room, sir.’
Of course Rene wouldn’t be put anywhere, she would go where she willed. ‘Give me two minutes,’ he said, ‘then tell her I am in the library. Bring her there.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The man departed, and Dennison stood for a moment looking out of the window. There was a cab on the drive, a hired cab. If she had come in the family coach someone would have warned him earlier, because the coach was distinctive, having Myers’s coat of arms on the panel, Myers being a man who liked to call attention to himself and his possessions. He now turned to the valet, saying, ‘If my visitor hasn’t departed within the next half-hour, come and remind me that I shall not get to Durham in time for the London train. You understand?’
‘Fully, sir.’
Dennison passed the man and went quickly across the landing and down the broad stairs, turned at the foot, then made his way to the library.
He had hurried in his walk and run down the stairs yet wasn’t out of breath. This pleased him greatly. He felt he had returned to his twenties these past few weeks: there was new life in him; and of course, he had cut down drastically on his wine.
But he walked slowly now up the long room to the fire and stood with his back to it, and not until the door opened, admitting his late mistress, did he move from it. Then without haste he advanced towards her, saying, ‘How nice to see you, Rene.’
She took his outstretched hand but made no reply; then she passed him and, going to the couch, she lowered her plump body down into it.
She had discarded her outer coat and the blue cord velvet dress she was wearing was fitted to her ample figure. The bodice was plain, the waist nipped in, then billowed out into two overskirts edged with ruching. Her hat of three different shades of mauve velvet was turned up at both sides. It was high crowned and set on the top was what resembled a flower made of feathers. The whole did nothing to add to her height. The skin of her face was what was termed warm peach. Her eyes were round and blue, shade
d by curling dark lashes. Her nose was small, as was her mouth, but full lipped. Yet, when it was open as it was now in a fixed smile, it appeared wide and showed two rows of quite large white teeth.
Her eyes were like slits as she looked up at him and said, ‘Well! Well! How long is it since I’ve seen you?’
In contrast to her plump figure her voice was thin and high. How high, he knew only too well when she got into a jealous rage. He put his head back as if he were counting, then said, ‘Five weeks, six weeks.’
‘You didn’t count the days then?’ Her lips came together and pursed themselves questioningly.
‘I…I have been very busy.’
‘And otherwise engaged?’ She now seemed to pay attention to her dress as her hands arranged the sides of her skirt and pulled it away from her small feet.
‘Well, yes, you could say that, Rene. I don’t have to be naive and tell you anything that you already know.’
‘You didn’t think about writing and telling me.’ She continued to arrange her skirt.
‘No; no, I didn’t; I didn’t want to disturb your holiday.’
‘Huh!’ She was looking at him now and he saw her white teeth grinding over each other, in fact he heard them. Then her mouth was open and she was smiling again, and this made him more nervous than ever.
‘When did you return?’ he asked.
‘A week yesterday.’
The skin round his eyes crinkled, almost closing them. She had been home a week and this was her first visit to him. Why hadn’t Pat let him know? But what was he talking about? Pat was in London. But there were the Rylands and the Crombies and others. It was like a conspiracy. What was her game?
‘That surprises you?’
He shrugged his shoulders while she stared at him without speaking now. The fact that she’d kept away from him for eight days not only surprised but amazed herself. Yet she knew from what she had heard that he was absolutely infatuated with that vicarage chit; he had already introduced her to the household, and apparently was preparing her to become its mistress. Well, she felt she knew her Dennison and she could never imagine, not in this world, that little slip of a thing satisfying his needs, so many and varied. She also knew that if she caused a scene, in his autocratic way, he would say, ‘Enough is enough,’ as he had done to Larry, but were she to play her cards right, she could stay on the outskirts for the present and, with time, give that little snipe one hell of a life. And in taking this line she’d be killing two birds with one stone, because Arnold had become very testy since his own private affair had gone awry. As he was now always pointing out to her, he was a diplomat and there were limits even to the discretion of friends.
She said, ‘You don’t expect me to congratulate you, do you, Denny?’
He shook his head, amazed at her control. He knew her well enough to know that she was worked up inside; the blue of her eyes had darkened so much as to become almost black. Yet here she was, adopting a pose, a philosophical pose to the whole affair.
And so he answered quickly, ‘No, I don’t expect you to congratulate me, but I thank you for your understanding so far.’
‘Then I am not to be thrown to the dogs?’
‘Oh, Rene, Rene, what an expression.’
‘That’s how I feel at the moment’—she bowed her head—‘thrown off, discarded. It’s…it’s hard to take because I was always there when you needed me.’
‘I…I know that, Rene.’ He walked to the couch and sat down beside her and, taking her hand, he said, ‘I shall be forever grateful for the past. You know that.’
Her head was still bent when she said, ‘Then we can remain friends?’
‘Certainly. Certainly.’
She glanced at him sideways now, and there was a small deprecating smile on her lips as she said, ‘But I’ll not put in an appearance very often. You will understand that?’
‘Of course. Of course, my dear.’ He raised her hand to his lips, the while his mind shouted at him, ‘Thank God. Thank God for this.’
‘You won’t expect me to meet her, will you, unless it is unavoidable?’
‘Of course not, Rene. Of course not.’
She wriggled her buttocks towards the front of the couch, and he quickly rose and helped her to her feet.
‘I’m not going to wish you happiness,’ she said, adjusting her hat; ‘it would be quite out of character, wouldn’t it?’
He made no reply to this but smiled gently at her while shaking his head. Then his hand cupped her elbow and he led her down the room. But before reaching the door he stopped. ‘You haven’t had any refreshment,’ he said; ‘I’m lax. Can I get you something?’
‘No, thank you, Denny. No, thank you. It was refreshing enough to see you once again.’
The sad note in her voice touched him and once more he said, ‘Oh, Rene.’
He opened the door and to the amazement of the butler and the footman he led the visitor, not only across the hall, but also down the steps, preceded at a run now by the footman towards the hired vehicle. And there, as he helped her into the carriage, he was heard to say, ‘Thank you, my dear.’ And he stood bareheaded until the cabby had turned his horse about and driven it from the drive.
In the hall he passed the waiting butler, the two footmen and his valet, their faces all aiming to remain expressionless, and as he now made for the drawing room he said to the butler, ‘Fetch me the brandy.’
He dropped heavily down onto the sofa and, laying his head back, he muttered aloud, ‘I can’t believe it.’ And he couldn’t believe that he had got off so lightly. She had really done the decent thing. People, when he came to think about it, were most unpredictable. He had imagined he knew her inside out and that she would have played merry hell and raised the house on him, but there, she went off like a lamb.
Quite suddenly he pulled himself up straight and bit down on his lip. That wasn’t like her. Had she some scheme in her mind? No, no. He shook his head. She was genuine. Naturally, as she said, she wouldn’t want to meet Nancy Ann. The only thing she wanted was to remain friends with him. And friends it would be. No further. Oh no, no further. Never, not again. Nancy Ann was his life from now on. He could swear on that. Look what she had done to him already. For two months now he had abstained. That was the longest he had gone since he was seventeen or eighteen, anyway, since very early on. And yet he could manage; just being with her was fulfilment enough, at least at the moment. But there were another four months or more to go. Oh, he’d get by. If things became too wearing he’d slip up to town; not Newcastle, no, that was too near. Anyway, he’d see. He’d get by.
He lifted the decanter that Trice had placed on a tray to his hand and poured himself out a good measure of brandy. He didn’t usually drink so early in the day, but this was a special occasion, a kind of victory, but a victory that had sapped him somewhat. And—he smiled to himself as he watched his butler depart—it had surprised that lot out there too. They had expected a battle royal; likely been looking forward to it. He had no doubt but that every member of his staff had been awaiting the consequences. And now they were disappointed. Oh, yes, he knew human nature all right, at least his staff, and they were predictable. He threw off the remainder of the brandy, got to his feet, straightened his cravat, stroked his hair back, then marched from the room. He was going to his love.
Six
John Howard Hazel was well aware of his own weaknesses and of his lowly standing in the hierarchy of the church, but he had always felt that he was worthy of a better living than that of St George’s. The reforms introduced by Parliament thirty or forty years before were supposed to have applied to the Established Church too. For one thing, cathedral clergy had to give up certain benefices, and the money saved should have been used to raise the stipends of the poorer parsons. But it had yet to affect his stipend at St George’s.
And yet there still remained the plum livings where the vicar passed his days almost in the style of the local gentry: he rode to hounds, fished and
shot with them, and, as some dissenters were wont to declare, was not always above sharing their other sport of whoring. Moreover, it was questioned why single parsons should have housekeepers. They should either marry or have menservants. They were as bad as the Catholics in this way.
John was well aware that it was the leading Conservatives in towns and villages that supported the church, whereas the Liberals and radicals tended, as did the working classes, especially those in the towns, towards the chapels. He knew it was said, and rightly, there was more class-consciousness in the upper and lower churches of England than there was between the rich and poor, and that that order of things was very prevalent in his parish, which was why his daughter’s coming marriage to the Lord of the Manor, as it were, was causing such a furore.
There was much more snobbery and vying for positions in this parish than in any of the other three parishes he had held. Perhaps it was because it lay just outside the industrial mining area of Durham, on one side, and the shipbuilding and factory towns on the other. He often thought of his parish not as an oasis, but as an island, its inhabitants barren of understanding of the frailties of human nature…not of each individual’s own lack, but of his neighbours’. And he knew that he himself could not be counted as one apart from this company, because at present he was being tested above all others.
Why couldn’t he recognise that the man who was soon to become his son-in-law was a changed individual? He had been a gambler, and yet he was giving himself very little time to gamble now. And the same applied, apparently, to his other needs, because he seemed to spend his time coming backwards and forwards to this house, if not just to see Nancy Ann, then to take her off to Durham or Newcastle in order to choose yet something more for the house of which she was to become mistress…Mistress of that house? He could not imagine Nancy Ann as such. And what would happen when the mistress of this house was taken from him? Her days were running out fast, and with Nancy Ann gone his life would indeed be grey. Only one small piece of brightness was on his horizon: Peter would be returning; but not to live at home; like James, he would be attached to the school. Yet he would be near at hand. But what would it matter which of them was at hand when he lost his dear Rebecca?
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