Tyme's End

by B. R. Collins

  ‘It simply isn’t done,’ Edie said. ‘I don’t know anyone else who would do a thing like that. I should have stopped him as soon as he picked it up, but I had no idea he would –’

  ‘It’s all right, Edie. I shouldn’t have left it lying around. I know what Anthony’s like by now.’

  She gave me a brief smile, and came away from the door to perch on the back of the chair. My tie was dangling over it, but she didn’t seem to notice. She said, ‘Your mother sounds perfectly sweet.’

  ‘She is,’ I said, ashamed at how little conviction I could bring into my voice. Two weeks ago I would have said the same thing, and meant it. ‘We’re . . . very fond of each other.’

  ‘It must have been hard for her.’ Edie slid her fingertip over the edge of my dressing table, her eyes on the photo I’d leant against the mirror. ‘Is that your father?’

  I picked it up instinctively, and clutched it to my chest. ‘Yes.’ I felt foolish, so I laid it flat on the nightstand with my mother’s letter on top. The return address caught my eye: Mrs. V. S. Gardner, The Old Vicarage, Peltenshall. The Old Vicarage was a grey, crumbling cottage, full of leaks and flaking plaster, so small it was astonishing how much money my mother had to spend to keep it standing. Compared to Tyme’s End, it wasn’t fit for human habitation.

  Edie followed my eyes, and then looked away. She said, ‘Well, I came to say toodle-oo.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m off. Leaving,’ she added. ‘I’ve got thoroughly browned off. Oh, it’s not your fault, or Jack’s, or even Tony’s. I’ve had enough, that’s all. I shall be glad to get back to town.’

  ‘For good, you mean?’

  ‘I don’t live here, Oliver.’

  ‘Does Jack know?’

  ‘Of course.’ She snorted. ‘He didn’t object, naturally. Anthony’s going later today, after they’ve finished taking photographs – more photographs, it’s too tiresome – so you’ll be alone here. With Jack, I mean. But you won’t mind, will you?’

  I opened my mouth and then turned to the window, letting my eyes rest on the treetops beyond the curve of the drive. Outside I could hear voices – Anthony and Jack, laughing. I spun back suddenly to look at Edie, and in the second before she had time to compose her expression I saw a hint of unease, even – I thought – of guilt.

  She said, in a rush, ‘Oliver, when you asked me earlier about Jack, it was only – that I thought you were so young, and we drink and smoke an awful lot, and Anthony sometimes takes snow . . . I’m sorry. It was jolly thoughtless of me. Your imagination must have positively run riot.’

  ‘Langdon-Down isn’t exactly dissolute,’ I said.

  She laughed unmusically. ‘No. It was silly of me. What harm could you come to with your tutor here and Jack in charge?’

  Her voice didn’t ring quite true, but I didn’t know what to say. I glanced involuntarily at Fraser’s letter, where I’d left it on the nightstand, and felt a strange sense of humiliation. I moved over to it and slipped it into my pocket.

  ‘Well. So long, old thing,’ Edie said. ‘I suppose I’d better be off, if I’m to catch my train. Pip pip.’

  I nodded. My mother’s address caught my eye again, but this time, instead of seeing the Old Vicarage in my mind’s eye, I saw her face: tired, a little gaunt, but smiling, as it almost always was. I pushed the letter aside and my father stared up at me from the photograph underneath, in black-and-white, eyes wide, looking more like me than I cared to admit.

  I said, ‘I think I shall come with you. If that’s all right, I mean.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘that would be delightful.’

  ‘Would you give me a few minutes to pack?’

  ‘To –?’ Her expression changed.

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ I said. ‘I don’t have much.’

  ‘I thought you meant to see me off. Not to –’

  I started to collect my belongings, dragged my shabby little suitcase out from under the bed and piled things into it higgledy-piggledy. Edie watched me, her mouth slightly open. My hands were shaking, but I kept moving. I was behaving abominably; no matter how much my mother missed me, she wouldn’t want me to forget my manners or offend Jack.

  Edie said, ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs.’ She left the room, and I dragged open drawers, scooped my belongings into my arms, flung them into the suitcase. I knew that if I gave myself time to think I should change my mind. For the first time I was glad that I’d brought so little with me. In a few moments I had closed the case and was making my way down the stairs and outside. The sunlight hit me like a wall.

  Edie was standing with Anthony and Jack, her weekend case in her hand, halfway through a sentence. She said, ‘I shan’t need them urgently, so have them sent whenever is convenient.’ Then she glanced round.

  Jack raised one eyebrow. ‘Are you going somewhere, Gardner?’

  ‘I – Jack, I’m so sorry, I have to go home. My mother –’

  ‘Does she miss you too much, ducky?’ Anthony said.

  ‘She’s had an accident. It’s not serious, but she’s hurt her ankle and can’t walk. I’d rather not go, but there you are.’

  Jack was giving me a steady look, but all he said was, ‘Well, under the circumstances, of course you must go. Will you make your connection to Peltenshall?’

  ‘I should do, thanks.’ I couldn’t meet his eyes; I wanted to drop my suitcase on the grass and blurt out that I was lying and in any case I’d changed my mind. ‘You’ve been most hospitable. Thank you.’

  Anthony said, ‘I’ll get the motor car out when I leave later. Perhaps you’d like to stay until then?’

  ‘No, thank you. I don’t have much luggage. Edie and I will walk to the station together.’

  ‘Very well,’ Jack said. ‘I’m sorry you have to go, of course, but it can’t be helped. I shan’t forgive you if you forget to write to me, though.’

  I cleared my throat, and then had to clear it again. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Good man. Well . . .’ He glanced at Anthony and a look passed between them, too quick to read. Then his eyes dropped to Anthony’s camera, and he said smoothly, ‘I’ll send on a copy of the photographs if you want. You were in a couple, weren’t you, the other day?’

  ‘I’d like that. Thanks.’

  We stood awkwardly, looking at each other, until Edie said, ‘Well, buck up or you’ll miss your connection.’ She kissed Jack’s cheek, nodded at Anthony, and stood waiting for me a few feet away.

  I shook hands with them both. Jack’s handshake was cool and brief, but he said, ‘I meant what I said, by the way,’ before he turned back to Anthony, already grinning at something Anthony had murmured to him.

  I said, ‘Goodbye, Jack,’ and followed Edie up the drive and out of the gates, leaving Tyme’s End behind me.

  .

  We walked in silence. We were almost at the station by the time Edie said, ‘What did he mean?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Jack,’ she said, looking up dreamily at the sky, as though she would hardly notice if I answered. ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘Oh.’ I shifted my suitcase into the other hand. The handle was sticky with sweat. I glanced at Edie, wondering if I was at liberty to tell her. Surely Jack would have told me to keep it under my hat if he hadn’t wanted . . . ? But I said, ‘Nothing, really.’

  There was a silence. We turned the corner, made our way through the ticket office, bought our tickets and went through on to the sunlit platform; but when I caught Edie’s eye she was frowning, as if she was still waiting for an answer to her question.

  We sat down on the bench and I lit cigarettes for us both. I felt odd inside, as though I had swallowed a mouthful of ice. I said, ‘I hope you don’t mind if I catch a later train, so that I don’t have to change at
Tunbridge Wells West.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, taking the cigarette without looking at me. Then she seemed to register what I’d done and looked at me with a half-smile. ‘What happened to the boy who didn’t smoke?’

  ‘Gone for ever.’

  ‘Jack’s doing,’ she said.

  There was a pause. There were only a few minutes left before her train. The air was full of birdsong, as it had been the day I arrived.

  ‘He said he was going to leave Tyme’s End to me,’ I said, suddenly wanting to laugh. ‘He said he’d been to his lawyer this morning to change his will.’

  Edie turned to look at me sharply, but she knew immediately what I was talking about. ‘He said what?’

  ‘It’s extraordinary, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I can hardly believe it myself.’

  ‘Hardly? You mean you do believe it?’

  ‘I don’t think he was joking,’ I said. ‘I know what he’s like when he’s making fun. He was . . . different. Serious.’

  ‘He can’t possibly have been. Tyme’s End? For God’s sake, he’s hardly known you three months.’

  I said, stung, ‘That’s what I said.’

  She gave a mirthless little giggle. ‘Did he say he was in love with you?’

  ‘No, of course he –’

  But she ignored me. ‘It’s a rather cruel joke, that’s all. How perfectly beastly of him. He must have thought that you’d get thoroughly overexcited.’

  I closed my eyes. I said, slowly, ‘I really, truly don’t think he was joking.’

  She twisted round to look at me. Then she leapt to her feet, dragging her hair away from her face with one hand. She stared at me for a long time. ‘My God,’ she said, at last. ‘You scheming little fiend.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You vile, manipulative worm. My God, to think that all this time I thought you needed protection from him.’

  ‘I didn’t – Edie, I had no idea he was even considering it – and I told him I couldn’t accept it –’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, spinning on her heel to glare at the opposite platform. ‘Oh, of course. You won’t accept it. Not even when you’ve had to work so hard for it – making him think you adored him, stringing us all along, playing the innocent to perfection. Honestly, I despise you. I suppose you think you have a right to it?’

  ‘Edie, I don’t understand – I swear I didn’t –’

  ‘You must have thought me a perfect idiot to try and warn you off when you knew precisely what you were doing.’

  I swallowed. There was an edge to her anger that I didn’t understand. I said, ‘Edie . . . he hasn’t disinherited you, in my favour, has he?’

  She swung round, raising her hand, so that for a moment I thought she was going to slap me across the face. I flinched and she stepped backwards, but the fury was still in her voice when she said, ‘How dare you, you gold-digging little sodomite? I am a decent, principled human being. I wouldn’t stoop to –’

  There was silence. She pressed her lips together, as if she didn’t trust herself to finish the sentence.

  I said, ‘What did you call me?’

  She shook her head. Then she picked up her case, strode to the other end of the platform and stood with her back to me, her hair blowing in the breeze, staring towards the curve in the railway line where the train would come into sight.

  I thought, although I couldn’t be certain, that she started to cry. I watched her shoulders shake. Then, as if in sympathy, I bent my head and covered my face with my hands; but it wasn’t tears that welled up, but relieved, childish, irresistible laughter.

  .

  The train came. I watched Edie get on; she raised her hand in a gesture that might have been a wave, but she didn’t look back.

  I sat still. My train came and went.

  After a while I pulled Fraser’s letter out of my pocket and spread it on the bench, stroking the creases out with the flat of my hand. Martin is evil . . . The words seemed only pitiable now. I couldn’t understand how I had been so stupid, so blind; but it was a relief. So Jack was one of those, and that was all. I had imagined something mysterious, unspeakable, infinitely worse.

  The fou rire that had attacked me spilled over again. I felt tears running down my face, and little flecks of water landed on Fraser’s writing, blurring the letters. I didn’t dare to look round; no doubt I was attracting some attention, and no one could be blamed for thinking I was drunk. I bit my lip and tried to pull myself together.

  Perhaps, one day, the world will learn what he is . . .

  Fraser was blackmailing him.

  The thought quelled my laughter instantly. What a fool I’d been, not to guess – but it explained so much. I had been right to distrust him when I first met him. No doubt that was why his letter had been so circumlocutory: he was anxious not to jeopardise his negotiations with Jack. Good God, how low, how damnable.

  But I couldn’t quite take it seriously; the relief was still too strong. The whole affair was distasteful, of course, and dangerous for Jack; but I felt as if I had struggled out of a nightmare into broad daylight. I leant back on the bench with my hands behind my head, stretching. A woman on the opposite platform caught my eye and I winked at her; it was bad form, but I didn’t care.

  I lit a cigarette, went to put the lighter back in my pocket and paused, turning it over and over in my hand. It was Jack’s; he must have forgotten to ask for it back and I’d appropriated it absent-mindedly. It was silver, and my fingers left smears on it.

  I picked up Fraser’s letter and read it one more time. It seemed as familiar as something I’d studied at school, but the words had lost their sting. I knew now that they couldn’t touch me. Evil my foot.

  I held the page by one corner and set fire to the bottom edge. The woman on the other platform glanced at me again, and I smiled at her. The flames rippled up the paper, consuming it, until I had to drop the last few inches on the platform. I waited until they’d blackened and curled up, and the fire died. Then I ground the ashes into a black smear with my heel, and made my way back through the ticket office, while another train came and went behind me.

  .

  .

  V

  .

  .

  I walked back along the High Street, my heart as light as my suitcase. I saw Anthony drive past in his motor car, looking like Mr Toad in his goggles and cap, but I drew back into the shade and he went past without catching sight of me. Now that Anthony had left, Jack would be alone at Tyme’s End; but I dawdled, strolling along at my leisure, because there was no urgency. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain my lie earlier: I thought Jack would understand, but my stomach shrank a little when I racked my brain for what, precisely, I might say.

  In any case, I was enjoying the walk. I felt a schoolboyish pleasure in being alone and, as it were, out of bounds; paradoxically, because I knew I was going back to Tyme’s End, I could revel in these last minutes of freedom. I started to whistle, but I was smiling too broadly to keep in tune.

  I passed the public house; the sign swung above my head, creaking, and I glanced up at it as I went past. The Cloven Hoof. I was tempted to go in for a drink, but the name reminded me of something. I paused, staring at the sign, trying to remember. It was familiar, and not simply because I had walked past it.

  I heard the door of the public house open, and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, stale beer and stagnant warmth – the usual human fug – and a thin man hurried out, keeping his gaze on the ground. It was Fraser. I took an instinctive step back, ducking my head. I remembered, abruptly, that he had taken a room here: that was why I had remembered the name of the inn. When he had gone by, I raised my head again and watched him. He was wearing a coat despite the heat, and the seams glinted palely in the sun. His thin,
colourless hair was plastered to his scalp with hair cream or sweat. He was hurrying, his shoulders hunched, like a man bent on an unpleasant errand. I despised him.

  And he was going towards Tyme’s End.

  I waited until I was sure I could keep my temper. Then I set off after him. He walked like an old man, stiffly and slowly, so it was an effort not to gain ground, but I gritted my teeth and kept in time with his steps.

  The walk seemed to take an eternity, but finally we went through the gates of Tyme’s End. He went down the drive but I stood still, concealed by the trees, until I guessed that he’d had time to knock and be admitted. Then, gingerly, I emerged from my hiding place and made my way towards the house, keeping out of sight. I wasn’t sure why I was taking such elaborate precautions, but somehow it seemed important that neither Fraser nor Jack should know I was there. I watched the drawing-room windows, making sure that the room was empty, and then abandoned caution and crossed the grass to the front door. Sometimes Jack left it open, in the heat, but it was shut. I guessed that they would be in the study, so I made my way round the other side of the house, to the back lawn. The croquet balls were clustered around the central peg; it looked as though Anthony had won against himself, after all. I eased the back door open and stood in the sitting room, listening.

  I could hear voices, although they were a few rooms away and the words were indistinct. I walked softly through the dining room and stood in the hall, at the bottom of the stairs. They were in the study, and the door was ajar; now I could hear them perfectly. There was a sliver of daylight spilling into the hall, so that I could even see their shadows when they moved.

  Jack said, ‘Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? Remind me of the figure you had in mind.’

  ‘Ten thousand,’ Fraser said, his voice tentative, as though it were a question.

  ‘Ten thousand. That’s rather a lot of money, James.’

  ‘But you have it.’

  ‘Certainly I have it. Whether I shall choose to give it to you is another matter.’

  ‘You don’t have a choice.’