Eventually he slept, while the noose he had made out of his tie slid slowly from the door to lie on the floor.
The following morning, Edward borrowed a bicycle and rode into the nearest town. He spent four hours in the public library, looking over the old newspaper cuttings of the trial of Freedom Stubbs. His mother had never mentioned her past, her life in the valleys or the murder trial.
His father, the man Edward had knifed to death, had himself been charged with four murders. Again and again Edward turned the pages to look at the black-and-white photograph of Freedom. The strange, youthful face glared back. In one shot, his long hair swirled around his shoulders as if daring the photographer to take his image. There were also several photographs of his mother, often blurred, out of focus, but it was Evelyne, haughty yet shy, arrogant yet so innocent. The photograph touched a chord inside him that made him ache to see her.
He read the articles over and over; how she had become a heroine, standing as a witness for a man she barely knew because she believed in justice. There was an account of how she had been asked, before the jury, if she had had any kind of sexual relationship with the accused, and she had replied that she had not, she was there simply to see that an innocent man did not hang. She had been with the gypsy on the night of the last murder and knew he could not have committed it. The lawyers were able to prove him innocent of all charges, and he was freed.
Edward wondered if her story was true. It certainly read so, yet his mother had eventually married Freedom. There was so much he wanted to ask her, so much he wanted to know, but he knew he now had no right ever to ask. He had killed the man she had saved from the rope, killed his own father – he even mused over the fact that it was possible his father had been a murderer. He read of the way the gypsy had caught the press’s imagination with his handsome looks, much like the film star, Valentino. With a sense of foreboding he read of the curse sign on each of the four young miners’ foreheads. So much he had no knowledge of, so much of his father he had never known. And the more he read the surer he was that he did not want it known, the more he reconciled himself to moving further and further away from his roots. He wanted no part of this past, no whispers attached to him of his gypsy father; yet carefully, surreptitiously, he cut out as many of the newspaper photographs as possible. Then he returned to the castle.
The days passed by, and although Edward spent two or three hours in the early mornings reading and revising, Charlie made no effort to study. He was out shooting rabbits for food, or chasing the farm girls for other reasons. Charlie was a walking time bomb, full of energy.
One morning, after Edward had been at the castle for three weeks, he went as usual to the breakfast room. The housekeeper shuffled around, carrying dishes and muttering about everything being ‘short’. Yet there never seemed to be a lack of food. It was never cooked well, but no one went hungry. The feeling that the war was far away was more prevalent here in the country.
Edward sat between Lady Primrose and Charlie as they argued about money, and was astonished yet again by Charlie’s total unconcern. He talked to his mother as if she were one of the girls from Woolworth’s, at the same time wolfing down his breakfast as though he had a train to catch.
‘You’ll just have to find the money yourself. Two hundred pounds, Charlie, how could you?’
Charlie munched on his toast and shrugged, then he scraped out the marmalade jar and kicked Edward under the table.
‘You’ve got the cash, Ma, I know it, all the booty you got from Uncle Charlie – you’ve just become a miser in your old age.’
Lady Primrose turned to Edward for help, and told him his cousin Charlie had been dead for nearly twenty years. ‘He just doesn’t know the meaning of money, Edward, but he’s going to learn, I’m not going to pay this time. Last term how much did you owe? Three hundred, and you promised me, you promised me faithfully.’
Charlie laughed. He knew if he encouraged his mother to talk about Uncle Charlie, his namesake, she would forget about the bills. Lady Primrose sighed. She wandered around the room while she told Edward about Sir Charles Wheeler. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about boxing, do you, Edward? Well, Charlie was a promoter – you know, he used to find boxers and then take them all over the world – he was such a sportsman, everyone knew him. He died in a plane crash in Nevada, or was it Florida, I don’t really remember – anyway he never married, and his money went to the trustees of his estate, and they are so mean, really awful. You see, we are the only heirs, and it should all be ours.’
As Lady Primrose talked on and on, Edward felt as if a ghost were walking across his grave.
‘I say, are you all right? Gone a paler shade of yellow, you should come out shooting with me, get some colour into your dark cheeks.’
Edward smiled and drank the dregs of his cold tea. Lady Primrose was called to the telephone, and Charlie stuffed the bills away in a drawer with a bow.
They walked for miles, and Charlie showed Edward how to use his shotgun. As they walked, Edward turned the conversation to their studies, asking when Charlie was prepared to begin work. ‘And you did mention paying me for my time here, sorry to bring it up, but I would have got a job during the vacation. Unlike you, Charlie, I don’t have a rich mother, so when do we start?’
They began, in a haphazard way, to set aside a few hours a day for work, and Edward began to realize that his pupil was way below himself in his studies. It was something of a shock, how on earth had he got himself into Cambridge? ‘Look, why don’t we start at the first lecture and work our way through, Charlie? You don’t have the foggiest notion of what I’m talking about.’
Charlie admitted it, saying he had actually wanted to read English literature, but as his brother had done that he chose geology. He hadn’t the slightest interest in rocks or anything to do with mineralogy or petrology, and to prove it he began to hurl his books across the room. ‘I want to live, Eddie, really live, you know, enjoy life. What’s the point of being cooped up in those ruddy lectures, those interminable centrifuges? I am so fucking bored all the time. My mind’s petrifying like your bloody rocks.’
Edward had never seen Charlie so ‘real’, this was what he was really like, and all the laughs and the madcap antics were out of frustration.
‘Clarence was the clever one, you see, always Clarence, and he went and got himself shot to pieces. So I have to go to Cambridge, I have to emulate the “Boy Wonder” . . . Well, I can’t, I simply can’t. Added to that I’ve got this wretched farm girl up the spout and she’s chasing me all over the place with a pitchfork.’ Charlie’s face tightened and he chewed his lip. ‘Look, I’m going off for a while, see a few old friends, you won’t mind being on your tod, will you? Only I’m sure they’d all bore the pants off you . . .’
Charlie didn’t wait for a reply, he just turned and marched off, leaving Edward feeling like a spare part. He somehow knew Charlie didn’t want him to meet his friends.
Edward sat at the small nursery desk for a few hours, studying, until he heard a car outside on the gravel. He looked out of the window to see Lord Carlton in his car. He opened the door and Lady Primrose ran to join him. They drove off, and Edward could see her kissing Freddy’s neck as they disappeared from view. He felt slightly disgusted – Lady Primrose had to be in her early fifties, yet she was acting like a teenager, and a naughty one at that.
By mid-afternoon the sun was hot enough to crack the flagstones so Edward crept into the dead Clarence’s room and found himself a pair of swimming trunks. The water was icy cold, and the surface of the pool was covered with leaves. He nervously lowered himself into the water. Clinging to the edge, he dog-paddled, never having swum in his life. He tried a few strokes, and made it from one side of the pool to the other. Then he got out of the water and sunbathed, lying on the marble side of the pool. He had still not been paid, and it was beginning to irritate him. So Charlie was in a mess, that didn’t mean Edward had to follow in his tracks. He was going to succeed,
even, perhaps, one day, live in a place like this. He liked the old furniture, its weight. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘one day I’ll have a place like this.’
He began to burn from the heat of the sun, so he returned to his room. He had a long bath, then changed for dinner. He was always a little wary of going to the drawing room before the dinner gong sounded, as he felt such an intruder.
At last the gong boomed, and Edward made his way downstairs. He was starving from his walk and his swim. Charlie thumped him one from behind as he moved down the stairs. He was in full evening dress, a white silk scarf wrapped around his neck. ‘Just out for the evening, you don’t mind. Oh, Ma, Ma . . . the Henleys want you to call them, I said you’d see them at their fête.’
Edward hung back slightly as Lady Primrose stood at the open doors waving Charlie off, calling to him to enjoy himself. Edward stood in the hall, uncertain what to do.
‘Well dear, it’s just you and me. God knows what Mrs Forbes has come up with tonight . . . now, I insist you sit in the throne, David won’t be down. Do help yourself to wine . . .’
‘Thank you, er . . . where’s Charlie gone, Lady Primrose?’
Lips puckered, she picked at the dreadful mess on her plate, then jabbed at it with her fork. ‘Oh, he’ll be with Lorna . . . they’ve come for a few weeks, all staying at the Waverleys’ . . . Humphrey, what on earth is this? It’s like dead frog.’
Edward ate in silence while she chattered away, hardly touching her food, but the wine decanter was refilled by Humphrey and they both drank liberally. ‘She’s such a darling, awfully pretty gel, poor darling child was so in love with Clarry.’
Edward found it difficult to follow her train of thought. When she mentioned her dead son she stared into space. ‘Lorna is so patient. Charlie’s supposed to be engaged to her, you know, but he won’t name the date. This is dreadful, I can’t eat another mouthful. Why don’t we have some coffee in the drawing room . . . come along.’
Edward, still hungry enough to eat anything and light-headed from having consumed nearly a bottle of wine by himself, dutifully followed her into the drawing room. She offered him brandy and he accepted. He had never had it before and found it a harsh, burning liquid, but he liked it, it relaxed him. He even accepted the proffered cigar.
The fire blazed, the room was hot and stuffy, and the brandy and cigar made Edward feel a little dizzy, but he liked the feeling. He asked Primrose if she would mind if he loosened his tie, and she laughed, crossed over to him and, with one deft finger, unhooked the tie, then loosened his collar. He averted his face, ashamed. Lady Primrose misconstrued his look. He was certainly a very handsome young man, much better-looking than any of the other students Charlie had landed her with. ‘Shall we play some music, sort out something from that pile of records over there – not that other stack, they were Clarence’s.’
She watched him standing over the record-player. He hadn’t refused, hadn’t made an excuse to go to his room. Perhaps he rather liked her. She leaned back and sighed, that would be nice, to have a young man in love with her. She lolled against the cushions and closed her eyes in what she thought was a provocative pose.
Edward had no idea what record was what, and he looked through them at a loss. He chose one at random, placing it on the turntable and winding the handle energetically. ‘The Moonlight Serenade’ drifted out, slightly cracked and at a rather slow tempo as he had not wound the phonograph up properly.
‘I’ve had a disastrous afternoon.’
Edward wound the handle. ‘Pardon?’
‘Shall I tell you something, something naughty? I have been having an affair with Lord Carlton for more years than I care to remember. It’s not as shocking as it sounds, his wife knows, she’s known for about as long . . . she just turns a blind eye. But it’s no good when it’s sort of accepted, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
She laughed, held out her glass. ‘Be a sweet boy and give me a refill, would you, make it a large one. Thank you, sweetie.’
Edward took her glass to the cabinet and filled it, took it back to her and turned the phonograph off as he went. He handed her the glass.
‘Well, chin chin, aren’t you going to join me . . . oh do! Go on, help yourself.’
Edward shrugged and refilled his glass.
‘He’s impotent, well, he has been for the past four months . . . I put it down – haw, haw, haw! That was a slip of the tongue – his factory, or his wife’s factory, is being closed down, not many people are really all that interested in toffee when there’s a war on . . . Come and sit beside me.’
Edward moved closer, but did not sit beside her. He sipped his brandy and stared into the fire. He felt Primrose’s hand touch his head, stroking his hair.
‘You’re very quiet, what are you thinking about?’
‘Oh Christ,’ he thought, ‘she’s making a play for me.’ Aloud, he said, ‘I think I’ll go up and do some work, do you mind?’
‘I’ve got a super record somewhere, better than that creepy slow stuff, we’ll have something bright and lively.’ Her whole body broke into a flush as she looked at him. He was so tall, so lean, and his hair coal black. It had grown longer over the summer and it suited him. He was quite the most beautiful boy she had ever seen in her life. There was a quality to him that she found so overtly sexual, even on their first meeting she had noticed it – a strange, animal quality, the way he moved, so guarded, so watchful, his eyes brooding.
Edward turned as she laughed. ‘I was just talking to myself, in my mind, thinking what a handsome boy you are. My thoughts were like those cheap penny-dreadfuls; “animal quality”, you know the sort of thing, “He paced the room like a wild beast, his broad shoulders, his dark, handsome looks.”’
When he looked at her, she couldn’t tell from his expression what he was thinking, and she didn’t care if it did sound like a cheap novel, his eyes were as unfathomable as . . . somewhere, somewhere she had seen eyes like these before, perhaps in the picture house, some long-forgotten film . . . she got up and went to the gramophone. Edward watched her tossing records about, and downed his drink. He shouldn’t have mixed them. ‘I don’t dance, and I’m a bit drunk, actually, I really think I should go up to my room.’
‘I’ll teach you, this is a tango, come on, up you get, on to those long legs of yours.’ Lady Primrose began to dance, and she swayed across the room as the music crackled from the old gramophone. She was still slim, still able to move like a young girl, and she began to tango. She tugged a shawl from the table, almost overturning the bowl of flowers. ‘Come on, dance with me, dance, hold your arms up, that’s it. Now stamp your feet, as if you were a bullfighter . . . wonderful, da-da, darumrum-rum da . . . da rumpupup daaa.’
Suddenly she threw herself into his arms and clung to him. The sunburn on his back was painful, and he tried to push her away, but she hung on. ‘Please, oh please don’t push me from you, hold me, hold me tight.’
The record stuck, but she didn’t seem to hear it. She hid her face in his shoulder and ran her hands up his arms, murmuring, moaning, ‘You have such a body, such a body, so firm, so young, make love to me, please, please make love to me.’
Primrose grabbed the decanter and pulled him by the hand towards the door. She was drunk and she knew it, but she wanted him, wanted him naked beside her.
Edward allowed himself to be dragged up the stairs, along the corridor and up to his nursery room, where she shut the door and pressed her back against it. She drank from the decanter itself, then swung it in her hand. Edward took off his jacket and hung it neatly on the small child’s chair.
He looked at her through the mirror, her face flushed, and in the dark he could make believe she was young, or youngish, but as she stepped out of her dress he had to turn away, disgusted. She was Charlie’s mother, for God’s sake.
She lay on the bed and held out her arms to him, begging him now, pleading, and it sickened him. He picked up the decanter and took a heavy swig, feeli
ng the brandy hit the back of his throat, then he stood by the bed, looking down at her, and found her pitiful as she writhed in front of him.
‘I have no money, I need money, I don’t have a cent with me, not a penny, Lady Primrose.’
She stared at him, suddenly cold. She pulled the sheet around her naked body, ashamed, and turned her back on him. He slowly rubbed her shoulder, softly, gently.
‘How much do you want?’
‘God,’ she thought, ‘was that my voice, asking how much?’
Edward began to unbutton his shirt, pulling it out of his pants, and he smiled down at her, bent to kiss the side of her head.
‘Ten pounds, I want ten pounds.’
Primrose lay back in his arms and sighed. He had been worth every penny, and she kissed him. The fact that she was paying for it somehow heightened her enjoyment. He looked down into her face, patted her bottom and said that was all she was getting for a tenner. She laughed, searched around for her underwear, and as she gathered it up in her arms she bent over him, over the small bed, to kiss him goodnight. The childish, scrawled writing of her dead son confronted her, and she blushed with shame.
The next few weeks Edward rarely saw Charlie. He was always driving off to visit ‘friends’, seldom back until the early hours, sometimes not appearing at all. Edward spent his days working, walking and practising swimming. The evening began to take on a pattern; if Lady Primrose was home, she invariably came to his room, often the worse for drink, and always clutching her ten-pound note.
One night, Charlie arrived home unexpectedly. Edward and Lady Primrose were in the small child’s bed when they heard him calling. Lady Primrose hastily wrapped her dressing gown around her and was just reaching the door when Charlie burst in. ‘Oh, hello, darling, I just brought poor Edward an aspirin, he’s not feeling at all well . . .’
Edward lay on the bed, naked apart from a sheet draped over him. He had tanned to a dark brown from his sunbathing, and Charlie was quick to take in the situation. He lolled at the door. ‘Just thought you should know, Ma, I’ve sort of said we’ll throw a dance before I go back up . . .’
The Talisman Page 9