by Dorothy Eden
Edgar had lifted the sherry decanter. He put it down again, listening politely.
‘All old houses have,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’re referring to the legendary bird. The bringer of disaster, eh?’
‘Not just disaster,’ said Lady Arabella enjoyably. ‘Death.’
‘Come, Mamma! How you love gloom.’
‘Ah, yes, gloom. And successions, too. Family trees. All those pictures of fruitful trees with babies in the branches. So pretty.’
Edgar smiled indulgently.
‘Where do you find all this stuff?’
‘Oh, it’s all here in the house. Some of the Davenports were admirable recorders.’
Edgar’s smile had faded.
‘The library is my preserve. I really can’t have you ferreting about in there, Mamma.’
‘All those books and no one bothering to open them,’ Lady Arabella said regretfully. ‘George and Amelia haven’t inherited my literary tastes, which is a pity. One’s mind should be cultivated. You mustn’t deny me my little hobby, Edgar. Besides. I hadn’t realised the Davenports were such an interesting family. This house has seen some times.’
Edgar stared at her. Her face was bland, innocent, lost in thought. She might have been telling this story to anyone. It wasn’t directed especially at him. Or was it?
No one had rung for lamps to be brought in and the room was full of twilight. Sunk into the wing chair, with the uneven wash of the firelight on her wide black skirts and white lace cap, Lady Arabella looked like a monstrous mole. That’s what she was, busily tunnelling her way into old books and diaries, all the musty paraphernalia of a very old house, swallowing the secrets and then letting them ferment inside her. She had a dangerous habit of embroidering and exaggerating. Not that it mattered much what scandals emerged regarding dead and gone Davenports. All the same, he should long ago have examined those old books himself.
‘All old houses have seen interesting times,’ he said, then realised that he had made that platitudinous remark before, and added, ‘It won’t see any more while I live here.’
‘But how can you be sure?’ Lady Arabella said vigorously. She was embarking on her favourite theme. ‘Events are forced on us. These strange children arriving, for instance. They will change the atmosphere and a changed atmosphere provokes things. Then there is George’s war injury. You can’t deny that has made him almost a stranger. We have to learn to know him all over again. And had you forgotten that this is the year Amelia puts her hair up, and Fanny comes of age. These are the seeds of drama.’
Lady Arabella’s voice had become deep and vibrant as it did when she got to the terrifying part of a fairy story, the moment when she was going to deliberately shock and startle her audience.
‘You will see, Edgar,’ she said portentously.
‘Come, Mamma,’ said Edgar playfully. ‘You’re just like a child waiting to stir muddy water to see what lies underneath.’
The old lady pounced.
‘Why is the water muddy?’
Edgar put down his glass of sherry, then picked it up and took a large mouthful.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hope you will keep off such a cryptic conversation at dinner.’
‘And why should I? It might liven things up. People enjoy hearing scandal about others.’
‘Scandal!’ Edgar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘What exactly are you referring to?’
Lady Arabella closed her eyes dreamily.
‘How I adore other people’s letters. So revealing. Your great-uncle was a talented correspondent. I fear it’s a dying art in this family. Can you imagine George or Amelia writing really artistic letters. Fanny may, of course. She may have inherited the Irish gift for poetry.’
‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Edgar said good-humouredly. ‘My uncle’s letters would be with the recipients, not here.’
‘Exactly my point. The replies, you understand, are still in existence. I find I have a knack with hidden drawers in desks. I’d have made an accomplished burglar. Then perhaps,’ the old lady chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t have been coming down to dinner when you entertained your friend, Sir Giles Mowatt.’
Edgar was bending over her.
‘What did you find?’
‘The next thing I shall investigate is secret panels. I can’t think why I never thought of this fascinating pastime before.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Edgar, don’t breathe on me like that. I’ve told you what I found. Merely family letters. No secret hoard of sovereigns, unfortunately.’
‘Show them to me.’
‘Yes, indeed I will when I find them.’
‘You said you had found them.’
‘And since then I’ve mislaid them. Isn’t it aggravating—I’ve grown so forgetful. But they’ll turn up, and then certainly you shall see them.’
‘Who were they from? You remember that, at least?’
‘Someone called Philip. A connection of your great-uncle’s. You’ve never explained the ramifications of your family to me. But he seemed to be a person of distinct literary talent. It’s really a pity your children haven’t inherited it. Still they do other things. Amelia is clever with her needle, and in spite of his illness, George still rides superlatively. And by the way, Edgar, the boy badly wants a new hunter.’
Their eyes met, Edgar’s still and watchful, Lady Arabella’s milkily dim. At last Edgar said, ‘George has a tongue in his head. If he wants something, he must ask for it himself.’
Lady Arabella shook her head slowly. Her frizzy grey hair ringed from her lace cap in a frosty halo. She looked vague and gentle and only half-concerned with the conversation.
‘He won’t, Edgar. Since his illness he almost seems a little afraid of you. Isn’t that odd?’ Lady Arabella picked up her stick and poked playfully at Edgar’s gently rounded stomach. ‘Such a fine figure of a man are you. I used to say to Louisa before she married you that you were an unprepossessing creature, but perhaps you would improve in middle age. And indeed you have, dear boy. That watch chain now. It must have cost a pretty penny.’
‘Mamma, keep to the subject. You were saying that George needs a new horse, but that he hasn’t the courage to ask me for it himself.’
‘Poor boy. He used not to be like that. It’s a great tragedy. We must make his life pleasant for him until he recovers his health.’
‘That doesn’t involve pampering him. Do you know what a well-bred hunter costs? At least a hundred guineas.’ Edgar began to walk up and down, thoroughly put out. What was he, an inexhaustible purse into which all his family dipped? A pool to be fished? A muddy pool, Lady Arabella had insinuated. The devil take her. What was the devious old creature up to? He didn’t underestimate his mother-in-law. But he had never remotely considered her a match for himself. The very idea was ridiculous.
All the same, it would be as well to get possession of those letters. If they existed…She was quite able to make the imaginary more dangerous than the reality. What did emerge from all this was that her great love for her grandson was going to ruin the boy.
Edgar’s irritation burst out.
‘Amelia requires ball dresses, my wife seems to think she will freeze to death without new furs, I have two penniless children arriving to be supported, children I neither begot nor approve of, and now you—you on behalf of my voiceless son, see fit to demand another horse which will probably break his neck! What am I, Mamma? Simply a bank account?’
‘How comical!’ Lady Arabella clapped her hands appreciatively. ‘What an apt description. Only you would have thought of it, dear boy. But that’s what a lot of people are, isn’t it? Mostly men, of course, but sometimes women, if they have the cleverness to keep their husbands’ hands off their money. Such predatory creatures, men. You must admit, Edgar, a new ball dress or a piece of jewellery is negligible compared with what a man will desire.’
‘And what’s that, Mamma?’ came Louisa’s voice from
the door.
Lady Arabella blinked myopically at her daughter.
‘Good gracious, Louisa, you look very grand. I must say Edgar dresses you grandly.’
‘What do you mean, Mamma,’ Louisa said irritably. ‘I’ve worn this gown a dozen times. I’ve just been telling Edgar that Amelia and I have a great deal of shopping to do. But why are you sitting here in the dark?’ Louisa tugged at the bell rope. ‘Why is this house always so dark and cold? Even on a summer evening.’
Edgar recognised the familiar tactics. They would go on until the new furs were bought. His family were leeches, he thought, with cold clarity. Only Fanny demanded nothing. Sometimes he wished she would so that he could be angry with her, too.
‘Shall we tell George about his new horse tonight?’ said Lady Arabella dreamily. ‘The dear boy. He deserves it. He nearly died for his country.’
6
TRUMBLE WAS WAITING ON the tiny station platform. Hannah carried Marcus who was asleep. Fanny had attempted to take Nolly’s hand, but the child had firmly withdrawn it. She walked at Ching Mei’s side, small and upright and independent. It was half past eight and she should have been dropping with weariness. Indeed, her face was colourless, but her eyes stared out as brilliantly as ever.
Fanny could see Trumble staring as they approached. Ching Mei’s pigtail and her trousered legs obviously fascinated him. He had expected a Chinese woman, but dressed respectably in skirts and petticoats.
There was mist in the air. The wind was cool and fresh, like cold water. Fanny breathed deeply, smelling the familiar loved smell of damp earth and heather. Perhaps she would have withered away with longing for this and the moorland wind if she had gone abroad or stayed in London.
Trumble had doffed his cap and sprung forward to help with the baggage. As they were about to climb into the carriage Fanny’s attention was taken by another small group who had left the train. She stared in pity and horror. There was a man, handcuffed, between two warders. He was on his way to the prison. Fanny caught only a glimpse of his thin bearded face beneath the flaring station lamps before he was hustled off.
She shivered. Imprisonment. It was terrible. There were so many forms of it. The prisoner’s face had been expressionless, like Ching Mei’s. Like her own must be, at times.
Fortunately no one else seemed to have noticed the episode. And in the carriage, when Marcus woke, and began to sob, Fanny suddenly remembered the sweetmeats Lady Arabella had given her. They had been left untouched in her reticule. She produced the small brown paper bag and distributed the sticky sweets.
‘There,’ she said. ‘We’ll be home in less than an hour.’
She thought again, involuntarily, of the prisoner when the carriage had come to a standstill outside the front door, and Trumble was helping them all to alight.
For either by accident or deliberately, the curtains had not been drawn across the drawing room windows and in the glowing lamplight the scene within was visible in every detail.
Lady Arabella was dozing in the high winged chair by the fire. Opposite her on the sofa Aunt Louisa, her topaz necklace catching the light, was deep in animated conversation with Lady Mowatt. Uncle Edgar stood smoking a cigar and talking to Sir Giles. Uncle Edgar was wearing his most benevolent expression. He looked well-fed and content, a man without a care. Sir Giles must have just said something that pleased him for he made a deprecatory gesture with his cigar. Sir Giles, unlike the hapless creatures in his custody, had a ruddy jovial face as if he habitually dined well and had a cellar as well-stocked as Uncle Edgar’s. His wife was a quiet creature, soberly dressed. Aunt Louisa, with her honey-coloured necklace and her massive crinoline looked almost flamboyant in contrast.
Beyond them Amelia and George were sitting at the card table engaged in a game of cards. George looked remarkably handsome. From this distance one couldn’t see the lines of difficult concentration on his forehead or his intermittently blank gaze. Amelia wore her sprigged muslin with the blue velvet sash. She had her curls pinned high in an adult manner, and looked very grown-up and sure of herself, the cherished daughter of wealthy parents.
It was a pretty picture. It required no one else in it.
Again Fanny had the overwhelming sense of being excluded from any genuine place in the family. The wind blew in a sharp gust, making her shiver again. The horses moved restlessly on the cobblestones. Hannah was saying, ‘You can walk now, a big boy like you,’ and had set Marcus down. And suddenly Fanny knew that the strange children, Nolly and Marcus, were looking in at the warm room, too. She felt a small very cold hand slipped into hers. She looked down. It was Nolly at her side. The child hadn’t looked up, hadn’t made a sound. Her bonnet hid her face. Only her chilly fingers spoke. Fanny reached out her other hand for Marcus, and for a moment the three of them stood there, irrevocably bound.
There was no other way, she realised. She was now passionately identified with them. She was not sorry she had come back.
Then the heavy oak door swung open, the light streamed out on to the cobblestones, and Barker was there, urging them to come in out of the cold. The family in the drawing room had heard the commotion, and Uncle Edgar’s deep genial voice was to be heard saying with what seemed like pleasant excitement, ‘I believe the children have arrived. Do come and meet them. Lady Mowatt, would you be interested to see my poor brother’s children? Louisa my love—’
It really seemed as if they were welcome.
They came inside. Hannah was discreetly whisking Ching Mei up the stairs. Fanny stood with the children still clinging to her.
‘Well,’ said Uncle Edgar, putting his finger under Nolly’s chin and gently lifting it. ‘This must be Olivia. I’m your uncle, child. I hope you’ll grow fond of me. And this is the boy. Tch, tch, tears won’t do. Now I have something that will interest you. Would you care to see my watch? I warrant your papa didn’t have one like it. It plays a tune.’
‘Edgar, not now. Tomorrow,’ said Aunt Louisa.
‘Mamma!’ That was Amelia, her voice louder than she had intended from relief. ‘They’re quite white.’
‘From exhaustion, I should think,’ said Aunt Louisa, and only Fanny saw her angry glance at her indiscreet daughter. ‘And a little grubby from the long train journey.’
‘By jove,’ said Sir Giles, putting down his glass of port. ‘They’re of a rather tender age, Davenport. I must say I admire your generosity.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Uncle Edgar, ‘the pleasure will be all mine. After all, who knows how imminently I’m going to lose my own children. Amelia makes no secret of being on the look out for a husband—’
‘Papa!’ Amelia shrieked.
‘And Fanny is pretty enough to join her at any moment. So there you are, I have two to take their place. Come, my poppet,’ he chucked Nolly’s chin again, ‘aren’t you going to speak to your uncle?’
‘They’re very tired, Uncle Edgar,’ Fanny said.
‘She’s pretty,’ said Uncle Edgar, with great pleasure. ‘I believe she looks a little like her father. He had all the looks in our family.’
‘And see where they led him,’ came Lady Arabella’s wheezing voice.
‘To an early grave,’ said Uncle Edgar sadly, with admirable presence of mind.
‘Fanny,’ Aunt Louisa spoke authoritatively. ‘Take the children upstairs. They look quite worn-out Now, Edgar, don’t interfere. They can see your watch tomorrow. Poor little creatures. They don’t know what anything is about at this moment.’
Fanny curtseyed to the company and led the children to the stairs. She had to pick up Marcus and carry him, he was stumbling so badly from fatigue. Nolly followed silently.
At the turn of the stairs she heard Sir Giles Mowatt saying again, ‘By jove, Davenport, I admire you. You take a thing like this in your stride.’
‘Well, they’re not exactly here under duress, like your guests,’ Uncle Edgar said and there was a great roar of laughter.
‘They’re really quite sweet,’ A
melia said in her high voice. ‘They look so innocent.’
‘Ah, yes. Innocence. A precious quality, one I don’t see much of. We must be off, I’m afraid. I, too, was expecting an arrival on this evening’s train.’
‘Oh, poor man!’ cried Amelia. ‘What has he done?’
‘I’m afraid he escaped from Wandsworth prison where he was doing a sentence for theft. They say he’s a desperate fellow, but I warrant he won’t escape from Dartmoor.’
Ching Mei was standing in the centre of the room in which the children were to sleep. It was probably the first English bedroom she had ever seen. Her bewilderment simply took the form of rendering her motionless, her hands clasped in front of her, her slitted eyes pulled.
Dora was at the door, goggling. Hannah came bustling out muttering, ‘That heathen woman, what’s to be done with her? She’s useless. Not a bit of unpacking done, and as for getting the children to bed—’
Fanny pushed the children into the room. She said sharply. ‘Dora, how would you like to be stared at like that? Go down to the kitchen at once and get Cook to make a bowl of bread and milk. Hannah, will you get the bed in the next room made up?’
Hannah looked at her in surprise. ‘For you, Miss Fanny? But it isn’t aired! The room hasn’t been used since the house party last November. Everything will be damp.’
‘Do as I ask you, Hannah. You can put a bed warmer in.’
Hannah nodded slowly. She lowered her voice.
‘I understand, Miss Fanny. You don’t trust the Chinese woman.’ Hannah was refusing to call her by her outlandish name.
‘Only to the point that she, too, may be nervous in such a strange house.’
‘But we’re all upstairs, Miss Fanny! Just overhead.’
‘And which of you would wake if a child cried?’ Fanny asked sceptically. ‘Besides, you know that Dora jumps at her own shadow, and so does Lizzie, and cook would say it wasn’t her place, and none of you would wait on a Chinese woman. Would you?’