CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Agnes speaks her mind
As Agnes Wentworth gazed out of the drawing room window, a sullen Jack Maycroft sat cross-legged on the floor under the Christmas tree, nibbling on a mince pie and prodding one of the colourfully wrapped Christmas presents with a careless and inquisitive finger. George Brearly sat on the floor next to Jack and watched his nephew. For several minutes nothing was said. But when Jack started to shake one of the presents violently, George was compelled to speak.
‘Don’t do that, Jack,’ he said reproachfully. ‘You’re irritating me.’
‘But the presents, Uncle George. I want to find out what’s in ‘em.’
George smiled. ‘Well, why didn’t you say so, you little duffer?’ he said, sidling up to his nephew. ‘If you want to know what’s inside the package, you don’t do that. Watch me and take advice from a seasoned professional.’ He dropped a small present onto his own lap. ‘Now, before I show you the tricks of the trade I’ll…’ The entrance of his brother, smartly attired in morning dress, caused him to falter. ‘Merry Christmas, big brother!’ George cried, as Michael crossed the room towards Agnes.
‘Is it?’ Michael muttered over his shoulder.
George grinned and looked down at his nephew. ‘Well, well, it’s not hard to see who didn’t get any presents on the foot of their bed,’ he whispered. ‘Someone’s clearly in a stew.’
Jack giggled and stared malevolently at his bully of an uncle.
Agnes, meanwhile, had noticed Michael’s approach, and had swung around to face him. Her face was stern and unwelcoming. ‘I want to talk with you,’ she said with unusual solemnity.
‘Can’t it wait?’ he said, a little too carelessly. ‘I want to get my breakfast.’
‘No, it cannot wait.’
‘I see,’ Michael said, growing a little curious. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Could you two please leave the room?’ she asked, addressing Jack and George. ‘I want to talk to Michael, alone.’
George pulled a face. ‘Leave the room, just so that you can talk with Michael? Not on your life, Agnes. If you want to talk with my brother, I suggest you speak to him elsewhere.’
‘George,’ she said coldly, ‘will you get off your high horse for just one moment. Please?’
‘Certainly not,’ George objected, ‘especially now that you’ve dragged my high horse into it. And anyway, I was here first, Agnes Wentworth. I know my rights.’
‘George,’ Michael urged gently. ‘Please leave us alone.’
George was still reluctant to leave, but didn’t want to test Agnes’s fragile patience. Besides, he thought, as he was making his departure, he could always eavesdrop from outside the door! ‘Come on, Jack,’ he said, encircling his nephew with his arms, ‘we know when we’re not wanted.’ They then withdrew from the room.
Once the door was shut, Agnes spoke. ‘I’ve just had a little talk with Jack,’ she began.
‘Oh yes,’ said Michael, anxiously adjusting his necktie.
‘A very interesting talk, actually. He was telling me that you threatened to smack him. He said, and these were his words, Michael, that you’d rip off his head and then hit him. Did you say that?’ Michael was speechless. ‘It’s an easy question to answer. Either you did, or you didn’t threaten him.’
‘What rot!’
Agnes looked relieved. ‘So you didn’t say that then?’
‘No, I did not. What I did say to him was that if he kept calling me Uncle Mike, I’d rip off his arm and hit him with it. There’s a distinct difference.’
‘Oh, Michael! How could you be so beastly to him?’
‘Good God, Agnes. I was only bluffing. You know I would never strike a child, and I think that under the circumstances, I was perfectly entitled to say what I did. Did you see what he was up to this morning? He climbed over my bed, literally climbed over my bed. As it is, I’m only getting about three hours of sleep a night, and the last thing I wanted was for some child to wake me up, for no good reason. In all sincerity, his behaviour was disgraceful. I can’t believe that Thomas didn’t put a stop to it.’
‘Michael, we’re not talking about Thomas,’ Agnes responded heatedly. ‘We’re talking about you. Is that how you normally treat children?’
‘Yes, if they are as badly behaved as him. And as for Jack, I don’t regret what I said to him. It’s about time someone showed him a bit of discipline.’
‘Do you call that discipline? For heaven’s sake, you threatened to hurt a child! No wonder he came to me in tears. I am absolutely appalled by your behaviour.’
Michael stared. ‘Appalled with me? But why? What have I done? I wasn’t the one crawling over people’s beds at seven o’clock in the morning and maliciously waking them up.’
‘He’s a little boy, Michael, and it’s Christmas morning. He was excited. You, however, don’t have that excuse.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘This isn’t just about Jack. Ever since I came home from England, you’ve been avoiding me.’
‘Oh, here we go. You’re really determined to pick a fight with me this morning, aren’t you? On Christmas Day, of all days.’
‘I do not want to pick a fight with you. I’m just stating facts. Apart from that hideous tennis match, you haven’t invited me to Rosewood once. Mama and Frances don’t know that of course. They think I’ve been seeing you every day, when I have, in fact, been visiting my other friends.’
‘I’ve been very busy,’ Michael returned pointedly.
‘I imagine you’ve seen Frances more than you’ve seen me.’
Michael rolled his eyes. ‘You know that’s not true.’
‘I know about that night she stayed at Rosewood, Michael. Mama told me all about it.’
‘And where in heaven’s name was she supposed to stay? I couldn’t take her back to Wintersleigh. I had an urgent house call to make.’
Agnes pouted. ‘I notice you get on well with her, apart from that business with the tennis match. You seem to have become friends, of sorts.’
‘I’ve had enough of this conversation. I’m tired and hungry, and I’m in no fit state to discuss something so absurd. If we must talk about this at all, let’s do it later.’
‘Later? When? You know that we’re going for a walk with Mama after breakfast.’
‘Well, I don’t know then. It will be some time today.’
‘No it won’t,’ she said with emphasis. ‘I know you too well. You like avoiding disagreeable issues.’ Michael remained silent. ‘Why can’t we talk about this now? We’re alone. We have this room to ourselves, with no fear of intrusion. This is the perfect time to talk to each other.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time,’ Michael said hastily over the top of the breakfast bell. ‘I promise you, but not now.’ He began walking towards the door.
‘Whatever is the matter with you?’ Agnes demanded.
Michael faltered at the door. ‘What do you mean?’ he said a little too quickly.
‘Ever since my return from England, you’ve been behaving differently. Take last night, for instance. When I asked you to catch that spider for me, you did nothing. Absolutely nothing. A year ago, you would have disposed of it without thinking twice.’
‘If I understand you correctly,’ Michael began slowly, ‘you are judging my constancy of character, purely on my willingness to catch a spider.’
Agnes stared. ‘Don’t mock me,’ she retorted. ‘I was just giving you one example. If you want more evidence, I’ll oblige you by giving it.’ Michael’s reluctant nod impelled her to continue. ‘I don’t quite know where to begin. Your temperament, to begin with, has changed. You’re not as tolerant and understanding as you’ve been in the past, and I cannot account for your fluctuating moods. Putting this simply, I’m worried about you, and I want to know what is wrong.’
Michael looked away. ‘Nothing,’ he replied rather evasively. ‘Nothing’s the matter.’
‘Last night, Michael, when yo
u thought nobody was watching you, I began studying your face, trying to read your thoughts. Most of the time you were just staring into space, but occasionally I saw your brows furrowed, as though your thoughts were disturbed.’
‘That was probably just my reaction to George’s singing,’ Michael said, trying to lighten the mood.
‘And then that spider appeared, and instead of coming to my aid, you just looked at me as though I was being hysterical and foolish. You then left the room.’ She intensified her appraisal of him. ‘If your love for me has cooled, Michael,’ she whispered, ‘then you must tell me at once.’
Michael shook his head resolutely. ‘What rot and absurdity! Of course it hasn’t.’
‘Then what is it? What else has changed?’
‘Nothing has changed, Agnes,’ he reaffirmed. He smiled reassuringly, despite the confusion and doubt now surging within him. ‘Now I must go. I shall see you at breakfast.’
Agnes continued to stare at the door long after Michael had closed it. His hasty retreat had greatly disconcerted her, as did the suspicion that he had not truthfully answered her last question.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 23