by Jack Murray
‘They’re fine portraits, sir’ said Strangerson, as Cavendish entered.
‘Indeed. Sargent really captured Katherine.’ The heartbreak in Cavendish’s voice was evident. ‘I remember when Lavery came to paint the boys. We had wanted two portraits, but he insisted it would be better they were together. He was right. They were such good friends, not just brothers.’
‘You can see it in the painting.’ said Strangerson. ‘This is very much the Robert I remember. I never met John, sadly.’
‘Oh, they were very different,’ said Cavendish, ‘in so many ways and yet unmistakably brothers. Both had such a sense of duty to family and to country. I was tremendously proud of them. John was much more serious whereas Robert, well, he had a streak in him certainly, but he was good for all that.’
Kit stood apart from the group with Henry looking at some of the books in the library. Over the years, the Cavendish family had built up an extensive collection of books on philosophy, science, and mathematics. He noticed Henry took down from the bookshelves a couple of books on chemical subjects. These were heavyweight tomes and it surprised Kit that Henry might even understand them, never mind be interested.
‘I’m sure your mother has your best interests at heart but if this is what you would like to do…’ Kit left the sentence unfinished. Henry glanced up at him. His face remained inscrutable. Persevering, Kit added, ‘My parents were against me doing mathematics and modern languages, I insisted, however. They went with my wishes in the end. I certainly have no regrets in my choices. I learned a great deal and met some fascinating individuals along the way.’
This seemed to reach Henry. ‘Oh. Who?’
‘Bertrand Russell for one. A brilliant philosopher and mathematician.’
‘And conscientious objector,’ added Henry sourly.
‘True but I respected his stance, even if I disagreed with him. I also knew Lawrence.’
For the first time, Henry seemed genuinely engaged in a conversation. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, we met at Cambridge and our paths crossed once during the war. I can’t really tell you more, I think it will remain hush, hush for a few years, but maybe one day.’ This disappointed Henry, but he let it go.
The group by the portraits looked over at Kit and Henry.
‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Mary conspiratorially.
‘Well, we covered, chemistry, mathematics, philosophy and conscientious objectors,’ responded Kit.
‘Gosh, in only a few minutes. You clever chaps don’t hang around,’ piped up Strangerson.
Henry continued to review the books on the shelf, taking a couple down to leaf through. One of the books Henry chose caused Kit to raise his eyebrow but he said nothing. A voice from across the room called to him.
‘Have you seen the portraits, Kit?’ asked Cavendish.
Kit felt the room close in around him and begin to swirl around. His breathing became laboured and the familiar cold sweat erupted like lava from his pores. Attempting to deal with this wave head on, he slowly moved over towards the group and looked up at the portrait of Katherine, avoiding the other painting featuring the Cavendish brothers. The attacks were usually at night. They came unbidden into his dreams. Rarely, did these waves come during the day. However, he had expected something. Spending Christmas at Cavendish Hall was always meant to be a signal to his mind that he would resist and refuse to submit.
‘Beautiful, sir. She was very beautiful. Sargent has really captured her.’
‘I know. Even the mouth.’
Kit smiled at Cavendish’s joke about Sargent. Then he glanced at the portrait of the boys before returning his gaze quickly towards Cavendish.
‘Remarkable likenesses of your boys.’ He felt his throat tightening and he prayed the group did not hear the catch in his voice.
It had been a mistake to come. What had he been thinking? How he regretted this decision now. He gripped a nearby seat as his legs began to feel weak. His breathing became increasingly difficult and he fought hard to give a semblance of control. Slowly breathe in, breathe out, he told himself. Very soon he felt back in control. The tightness passed away and his breathing eased into its regular rhythm.
‘Are you feeling well Kit? You look quite pale,’ asked Mary.
‘I’m fine really thank you, but sometimes my leg can trouble me.’
‘Of course, Kit, we’re terribly selfish,’ said Cavendish regarding Kit with some concern.
‘Nonsense, sir, I couldn’t be with more considerate, indeed beautiful, company, and that’s just Strangerson.’
Everyone in the room laughed and Kit felt this was an opportunity to escape the room, to escape the image. ‘If you don’t mind, I think maybe I shall take some air with Sam. I shall be down later.’
‘Of course, old chap.’ said Cavendish. With a nod to Esther and Mary he left the room. In the hallway, he was enveloped with a sense of relief. He took a deep breath and a few moments to regain his self-possession. There was nothing for it. He was here now and would have to make the best of this situation, but he knew the ghosts of the past few years would visit him again soon.
Chapter 7
Kit went out to the grounds at the back of the house accompanied by Miller and Sam. The little terrier was let off the lead. This was always an open invitation for him to go sprinting off and chase birds. The two men followed slowly behind. Snow covered the ground, but it was thick enough to make walking difficult. They tracked up the main path through the gardens towards the woodland created by Brown. Sam happily chased the few birds pecking at the snow in the field.
When they reached the woodland, they turned and looked at Cavendish Hall. They were now around four hundred yards away at the bottom of a slight incline. The fields and gardens seemed to be part of a white world. On one side of the Hall, they could see the stables in the distance. On another side there was a small cottage. There were signs of disturbance in the white canvas made by the footsteps of Kit, Miller, and Sam. It looked like there were also tracks from the Hall to the stables.
The air was cold and silver and seemed visible as both men breathed.
‘It’s not exactly the most beautiful looking house I’ve ever seen,’ observed Miller.
‘It’s hideous. What on earth were they thinking?’ agreed Kit
‘The garden is quite nice though, I’m sure it’s amazing in spring and summer. Look over there. Seems like a nice cottage,’ said Miller pointing. In the distance was a small cottage with smoke coming out of the chimney. ‘I wonder who lives there.’
‘I should imagine an estate like this has other staff. Not everyone needs to live at the Hall,’ said Kit.
He was glad to have come out into the air but still feeling a little angry with himself. It was always this way when the wave of panic came, and he despaired at how he could control it. Although very rare, he knew it was now a part of him since that night. This time it was particularly so because of where he was and who he was with. However, the walk was reviving his spirit and gave him the chance to reconsider his earlier fear that coming to Cavendish Hall had been a mistake.
When the invitation had come from Lord Cavendish, Kit’s first instinct had been to send his apologies. The more he thought about it, though, the more he felt it was an opportunity to confront the anxiety that had been eating away at him since he’d come back from the War. For as long as he could remember, Kit lived by the principle that it was better to confront your fears than avoid them. Although he conveniently dropped this code when it came to visits to fearsome old aunts. An image of Aunt Agatha came into his mind. He smiled and shook his head.
Meeting the Cavendish girls had certainly been a consideration. They had certainly exceeded all expectations. However, he knew the challenge remained and he had no idea to whom he could speak about it. He sensed Miller was aware something was wrong. Equally, Miller was the last person in whom he could confide. Who knows what demons he had returned with? Specifically, he was there when it happened.<
br />
-
‘Did you see Kit in the library?’ asked Mary.
‘Not until you drew attention to him. He seemed to turn very pale,’ replied Esther. ‘I hope he’s not coming down with something.’
‘I don’t think he is, but it just seemed odd. One moment he was well, the next he seemed very off colour,’ continued Mary.
‘Well, hopefully he will be recovered for this evening and dinner. What did you think of him?’ said Esther smiling.
‘I hardly spoke to him,’ pointed out Mary. ‘I would be more interested in your thoughts Miss Cavendish. Operative word being Miss.’
Esther laughed. In fact, they both did. It had always been like this between them.
‘He’s certainly very charming,’ mused Esther, scrutinizing her sister.
Mary laughed a little nervously under Esther’s gaze and said, ‘Good looking you mean.’
‘Well, yes. You were right, he’s certainly very handsome. I have a feeling he’s very smart too, but he tries to hide it a bit.’
‘Really, how so?’ asked Mary.
‘I can’t really define it. It’s just a feeling. I was asking about his chess matches with the Russians and Germans, but he just laughed them off. Also, I thought it interesting how quickly he understood about Aunt Emily and Henry.’
‘He seems to have taken to Henry.’
‘I do hope so. Henry needs someone, preferably not female and middle aged, to guide him. For instance, I didn’t know Henry was interested in reading chemistry. Did you ever hear him mention anything?’
‘No, new one on me. I would’ve liked to hear more but Aunt Emily closed it down very quickly,’ added Mary.
‘I know, she’s so overpowering. Poor Henry.’
‘Poor Henry?’ laughed Mary, ‘You’ve changed your tune. Is this the Aston influence?
‘Maybe, or maybe we haven’t given him enough of a chance. Everyone deserves a chance, don’t they? Remember, he wasn’t always like this. He used to be quite good fun.’
‘You’re too pure, Essie. You should be evil like me,’ grinned Mary.
‘Hateful,’ corrected Esther.
‘Vile.’
The two sisters collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles. Finally, Mary said, ‘Right ho, I’ll be nice to Henry, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
-
Lady Emily glanced up as Henry walked into the room. His face was an unhappy combination of anger and fear. It did have the benefit of bringing some colour to his usually pallid appearance. Fearing his mother would begin a sally on the need for him to embrace his future rank, he decided to go on the attack.
‘I know what you’re going to say, mother. Perhaps you can spare us both the pain, for once.’
His mother looked up at him. She had not expected him to open up immediately and it took some of the wind from her sails. Instead, she remained silent for what seemed like an eternity. In truth she did not want to have this conversation.
She wanted Henry to be a self-assured, aristocratic man like Lord Aston. Looking at him now, he was clearly a long way from this ideal. Yet he had such beauty. Yet this beauty, the surliness was only a disguise for the insecurity plaguing him. She desperately wanted Henry to leave the room. At this moment all she wanted to do was cry.
The anguish was like a stream of acid pouring onto her conscience. Each drop represented the evidence of her failure as a mother. How much was the Henry before her a reflection of her misdirected efforts to make him into something he didn’t wish to be? Finally, she realized she had to say something. Studying his hand, she noticed he was holding some books.
‘Raiding the library?’
‘Yes,’ replied Henry cryptically.
‘Can I see?’ asked Lady Emily.
‘No.’
‘I see. I will hazard a guess they are not on Greek or Latin.’
‘They are not.’
Lady Emily nodded absently. There was nothing she could think to say now. She decided to end their interview.
‘I would like to lie down now. You should go to your room. Can you ask Agnes to come up, please?’
As he left the room, she saw with some alarm the title of one of the books he had taken from the library it was called, “A Treatise on Poisons”.
-
Only Cavendish remained in the library. He was relatively pleased with how the afternoon had gone. Although he was no expert on romance and the attraction of men, he was convinced Kit would have made a good impression. There was much to admire in the man and recommend him as a potential spouse that went beyond rank. The fatigue Kit had felt in the library had not gone unnoticed by Cavendish, but he had given no more thought to it. Uppermost on his mind was the way Esther and Kit had naturally gravitated towards one another. It was a good sign although, he counselled himself, it still early in the game.
Strangerson was now completely dismissed as potential spouse material. A likeable chap but he would be utterly out of his depth with either Mary or Esther. However, he was keen to hear more of Strangerson’s experiences with Shackleton at the South Pole. He also wanted to hear more about Robert.
This was a topic to be approached with caution. Firstly, he was not sure how the War would have affected Strangerson, notwithstanding the original letter of introduction. It wasn’t an easy topic to talk about. Even he had tended to avoid talking about the War with Katherine. It was beyond explanation and only those who had been in there could truly understand.
Secondly, he didn’t want to talk about Robert with either Emily or Henry around. It risked upsetting them. It would be best to speak outside Cavendish Hall. Perhaps he could suggest a walk to show him the grounds. Better still, perhaps they could go shooting. Strangerson was known to be a top-notch sportsman, and his War record indicated he was excellent shot. Yes, thought Cavendish, that might just do the trick.
Cavendish walked over to the bookshelves and lifted down an atlas. He studied a map of the world. Britain seemed so small and yet so much of the land mass was under its control. This made him feel proud. He’d played no small part in ensuring it remain so. There was no question in his mind that Britain was a force for good in the world. It had brought modernity, the rule of law and medicines to countries plagued by famine and lawlessness.
The extent of Strangerson’s travels was impressive. Cavendish ran his finger from Britain over to South America and then down to Antarctica. An interesting man even if he did have something of the buffoon about him. It was difficult to reconcile the scholar, the much-
decorated soldier, with the man who was sharing their house this Christmas.
-
Devlin was sitting in the garage smoking a cigarette when Strangerson walked in unannounced. Strangerson took a cigarette box out of his jacket pocket. He was surprised to see Curtis fixing something under the bonnet. As if reading Strangerson’s mind, Devlin explained, ‘Mr Curtis has a genius for mechanical things.’
Strangerson raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Curtis looked up, ‘Thank you Mr Devlin. I think you’ll find everything in order now.’
‘Thank you, Mr Curtis,’ replied Devlin.
‘Do you mind if I have a shufty at the Austin?’
‘Of course, sir. Feel free,’ said Devlin.
Curtis excused himself and left the Irishman and Strangerson together.
‘I thought I detected an Irish accent earlier. Been over here long?’ asked Strangerson.
‘Long enough,’ came the reply.
‘This is a corking set of wheels. Must be a blast to drive.’
Devlin relaxed a little as the conversation dwelt on the car.
‘She’s handles a dream, there’s no doubt about it. Would you like to get in?’
‘I say, that’s the ticket.’ Strangerson hoped in and played at steering the wheel.
‘Do you drive, sir?’ asked Devlin.
‘Yes, I learned before the War. I didn’t have to do much over the last few years. It would be great to have a spin if
the weather clears a bit. Not sure I fancy skating over the roads in a few tons of metal.’
Devlin laughed at the idea and reassured Strangerson, ‘I’m sure Lord Cavendish wouldn’t mind at all.’
The two men regarded the engine, with Strangerson asking questions about the engine. His next question surprised the Irishman, ‘Does Lord Cavendish ever drive?’
‘Yes, from time to time. Lady Mary also.’
‘Lady Mary. Are such things really allowed? A lady driver? I say, we really are in the modern world. These Suffragettes have a lot to answer for. They’ll be wanting to fly aeroplanes next or stand for Parliament. Where will it bally end?’
Devlin found himself taking a liking to the unusual guest. It was a rare occurrence for guests to spend any time talking to the staff. Lord Cavendish was friendly enough but his relationship with the lord was never anything other than formal. Lady Mary, on the other hand, was very informal and he admired her rebellious spirit. With her, he could let his guard down a little, but only so far. We all have our secrets, he thought.
You can’t know mine.
-
Polly knelt down to put the last of the dishes into the cupboard. As she stood up, she had a momentary fright. In the doorway was Miller, smiling at her.
‘Sorry, Polly, didn’t mean to give you a fright.’
‘Not a problem sir, sir.’
‘Harry, no need to be so formal. We’re all on the same side here, Polly.’
‘Mr Miller, I would prefer if we kept it formal,’ replied Polly. She motioned with her eyes towards Curtis who had just returned to the kitchen, no doubt, listening. Miller caught her meaning and nodded with a smile.
‘Quite right Polly. We’re here to work.’
Polly nodded her thanks. She turned and walked over to Curtis.
‘Will there be anything more, Mr Curtis?’
‘No. I think you should take a half hour to rest and then we’ll begin to make ready for tonight’s dinner, thank you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Curtis.’
She walked out of the kitchen and headed towards the staff quarters. Curtis looked up from his newspaper at Miller.