I stood beside Dominick, who was exhausted after his night flight from America. And thought of the lie of the body and of the mind.
At dinner my mother told us of her decision to stay on at Lexington. “This is where I spent my life with him. This is where I feel closest to him. Remember, John spent the week in London for many years, only coming home at weekends. I would love to see you all at weekends. Yes, that would be lovely. You know what joy the children bring me … brought us.”
We knew her to be well cared for by Alice and Ben, who had been with us for years. With promises to carry on “coming home” for weekends, we left Lexington. Dominick went back to America for another week. He would return with William. We had considered a sudden trip back to bury “Grandpa” too traumatic for William, who had stayed with his grandparents. Elizabeth and Charles left for Frimton.
I waited in London. It was Charles’s move next.
TWENTY
* * *
Two days later his face appeared on the intercom screen. Distorted, almost disguised as himself, he seemed like a robot on a grey canvas. Then he stood framed in the doorway.
“I have a key, you know. For the main door. And for … Elizabeth’s …”
“Studio?”
“Yes. Elizabeth is in Frimton. Ruth, I won’t demean what happened between us with apologies or explanations. It’s now a fact of both our lives.”
I nodded.
“Ruth, I have thought a great deal about what I am going to say to you.”
“Thank you.”
“It was essential to think, Ruth. These are grave matters.”
“And we have full knowledge. But perhaps no longer full consent.”
“What?”
“Oh, it’s a definition. Of sin.”
“My wife … my first wife, was a Catholic. I remember now. Grave matter. Full knowledge. And full consent.”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re not Catholic, Ruth.”
“No. But religion has always fascinated me.”
“Oh.”
“I surprise you?”
“In every way, my dear.”
Ah … “my dear.”
“I assume you want some form of absolution.”
“No. No, I want to tell you …”
Tell me nothing, Charles. Tell me nothing. I am familiar with sin …
“Let’s see. I assume you’ve come to tell me that ‘this will never happen again,’ and to warn me.”
“You insult us both.”
I might win.
“We have a choice. This will sound very cold. Very calculating. Forgive me. Our choice is order or chaos.”
“Well, define ‘order’ for me, Charles.”
“The order of denial. Or the order of … deceit.”
“And chaos? What about chaos?”
“Chaos of discovery. And the destruction of our families.”
“And?”
“And you, Ruth, as I have observed, are built for ordered deceit.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know. On the surface, perhaps. Even more than you. But I don’t know.”
“Elizabeth?” I ventured.
“The first rule, Ruth, is that you will never mention Elizabeth when we are together … like this.”
“Rules?” The rules of engagement.
“Yes. You see, Ruth, we match each other.”
“Perhaps.”
Children alone in the dark who have never been happy or good.
TWENTY-ONE
* * *
I, who believed myself a master in most things, now began my apprenticeship to Charles Harding.
I had believed him to be my victim. But he had been more willing than I knew. I had sought to trap. And was trapped, in a world of my own making. Which he came to dominate.
Nothing prepared me for my hungers, which, if not assuaged, would surely devour me.
Charles was not untouched by me—he had needs, too. But he could place limits on his desire. Whereas I had none. So I learned fear. But I never told my fear to Charles. Why arm one’s master? He was already strong enough.
Charles was the stronger. And the stronger is always feared. “Better to be feared than loved”? Best to be feared and loved. Can they exist together? They almost always do.
Why does the child love? Fear of abandonment, when sustenance is still needed. Is it the same with “love”? But that is not the correct word. What is the word—when one body feeds another? I had been worshipped by Dominick. I had seen his fear. Of abandonment.
Now it was my turn. It always comes around. Your turn, for pain, for knowledge. The knowledge you wish you had not attained. But it comes. For no one can do your knowing for you.
Elizabeth’s studio moved into the pattern of my lusts. Once, just once, I led a trapped Charles past blank, upstanding canvasses, and the blind blue skies she had painted were mocked by me—by my actions. In silence, though with sighs. And Elizabeth’s … things … moved deeper into the pattern of my needs.
Over years, the lie became a habit. We wore it well. My lifetime of small deceits had made me a skilled exponent of a dubious art.
Had Charles learned his capacity for treachery early? Or had it suddenly blossomed in that short, fatal relationship of long ago? In the year of Felicity’s death.
Perhaps his was just a natural talent. I feared him too much to delve too deeply.
And I sometimes wondered, did he not fear another tragedy? Or were Elizabeth’s innocence and goodness his great protection?
Our times together, easily arranged—we had “privileged information”—were compulsive, fierce and never satisfying. They became a spiral staircase into rooms the doors of which we should never have opened. And I led the way. My first obsession leading to the next.
TWENTY-TWO
* * *
William Garton
Summer Term
Age: 12
Class: 1A
Housemaster’s Report
William is a grave child. In many ways almost old-fashioned. He is, however, well liked by the other boys, although, and we have spoken about this before, he has been the subject of some bullying in the past by two of the more rumbustious personalities in his year.
As you will see from the other masters’ comments, William’s academic work is very good—particularly in mathematics—not surprising when we consider his background! We look forward to watching him prosper further on his return to us in September.
Andrew Brown, Housemaster
William’s serious approach to his work and his generally quiet demeanour has made his first year with us most successful.
Keep up the good work, William.
Broughton West, Headmaster
William does well at Latin. A very real achievement, when we consider that when he came to us his grounding in the subject was not all that it should have been.
Carl Donn, Latin
William has made steady progress in French. His prep is always meticulous. And on time! Well done, William. I gather the family intends spending some time in France this year. This may improve William’s accent, which tends to be a little heavy.
Alistair Knight, French
William is top of the class in mathematics. I believe I can claim only a small responsibility in this matter. Nature vs. Nurture? No argument here, I feel.
Duncan Heychurch, Mathematics
William is making good progress in English. He works hard. His written work is exceedingly neat and tidy. What he lacks, I feel, is style. A little more reading perhaps? I have prepared a recommended list—which I attach—as holiday reading. Sorry, William!
James Sanders, English
William pays attention in class. He is progressing steadily, and his contribution to class project work is always interesting and constructive.
Michael Moore, Geography
William is good at history. His memory for dates and names is excellent. His essays, though factual and accurate, d
o not (as yet) show flair.
Brian Johnson, History
Alas, William is not an artist. He is always a pleasure to have in class and does his best. We persevere. However, I think even at this early stage we should consider dropping this subject after O levels.
Miles Masterson, Art
William is an excellent tennis player. He represented us brilliantly in our last tournament with Eton. His swimming is powerful, and his speed will improve greatly if he can find greater rhythm in his breathing. He is not a gymnast—but we can’t be everything, can we? Congratulations, William, on winning the school Under 16 tennis championship.
Arthur Caldwell, Physical Education
William made a very impressive cabinet in his design and technology project this term. He seems to enjoy the subject.
Corin Morgan, Design and Technology
Overall, William’s health has been excellent this term. As you know, he suffers from a slight stammer when excited. I’m confident he will grow out of it. All in all, a healthy and quite happy child.
Megan Owyston, SRN, Matron
Underneath were dates. For the beginning of the next quarter. Future time. Structured. Organised.
Confidential
Dear Sir Charles and Lady Harding,
Stephen is gifted and charming. A seductive and potentially dangerous combination. We have spoken of this before. I have seen these “blessings” before. The incident in the tower, while not in itself a cause for great worry, must not however be ignored. It was, I feel, a warning to us all.
While Mr. Blake may believe that “the road of excess leads to” etc., history does not prove Mr. Blake right. I do not suggest Stephen is a genius. He has however an outstanding intelligence. It is wise to remember Dryden’s dictum “Great wits are sure to madness near alli’d, / and thin partitions do their bounds divide.”
I feel that Stephen will develop the calm he needs so much in a smaller house, which we intend setting up next term for our “scholars.” The house will be run by Mr. & Mrs. Trent. You will be interested to know that Mrs. Trent is, in a minor way, a landscape artist. They are a couple of great kindness and understanding.
You will see from the attached report that Stephen’s performance is erratic. Exceptional in some subjects, undisciplined in others.
As it was impossible for you to attend my suggested meeting before the end of term, I was anxious to write to you to voice my opinion.
Since my own son’s tragedy, I have become slightly more daring in warning parents of potential danger in the extraordinary experience of “bringing up” children.
Yours sincerely,
Broughton West. Headmaster
I found this letter many years after it was written. Elizabeth took nothing, you see, when she left.
Memories. Voices, indistinct. But then memory is never pure. And recollection is always coloured by the life lived since.
Were they true, to their time, the adolescent voices that now seemed to flood the room? Was the undertone of anger in Stephen’s defiant laughter true? As he stood there and denied allegations of recklessness and irresponsibility during Charles’s investigation of “the incident in the tower”? And William’s passionate defence of his hero—was the intensity of his innocent adoration still clear?
Perhaps, replaying old scenes we are seduced by ghost musicians. I turned towards them. As though a strand of my hair was caught in the instruments they seemed to play—tugged into old time. And I heard William’s voice.
“Uncle Charles … honestly, please try to imagine it. … Stephen, standing there on the parapet, high above us all. Gosh, he was brave, Uncle Charles. And, Hendricks—ghastly, bullying, mean Hendricks trapped in the quad and Stephen crying out:
“‘FRIENDS, BOLDONIANS, SCHOOL PREFECTS, LEND ME YOUR EARS;
I COME TO SHAME HENDRICKS, NOT TO PRAISE HIM.
THE PAIN THAT BULLIES CAUSE LIVES AFTER THEM.
THE COWARDICE IS OFT INTERRED IN THEIR REPORTS;
SO LET IT NOT BE WITH HENDRICKS.’
“And then, Uncle Charles, the head boy, Oldham, shouting: ‘Harding! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
“ ‘I am, Oldham, drawing your attention to injustice and bullying.’
“Oh, Uncle Charles, you would have been so proud of Stephen. Please let me tell you the rest. Please.”
“All right, William. Carry on, carry on.”
Charles sighed as he nodded ruefully to William, who in a fever of excitement continued his tale, playing the parts as he went along. Stephen, moving from foot to foot, embarrassed, but shyly pleased with this hymn to his daring.
“ ‘You’re a bloody junior, Harding. … You’re not here to draw my attention to anything.’
“ ‘What, Oldham? Are you not an honourable man?’
“ ‘Get down, Harding, get down this minute.’
“ ‘Have prefects lost their reason? Bear with me, Oldham. …‘
“And then, Uncle Charles, with all the boys stamping and cheering, Stephen bowed to us all, and got down from the parapet.”
And the voice of the storyteller faded. And suddenly died. I sat quietly for a minute. Then I picked up Stephen’s summer term report. He was fourteen at the time.
Summer Term Stephen Harding
Age: 14 Class: 3A
Stephen is, in a word, a scholar. He has been first in class since he arrived here. I have had no problems with his work—in either accuracy or presentation. I believe from conversations in the common room that this is not a universal experience with Stephen. However, his cleverness is not resented by the other boys. That statement alone summarises much of Stephen and his charm. I look forward to teaching him in the future.
Carl Donn, Latin
Stephen has a natural flair for Greek. He has the heart of a classicist combined with the temperament of an artist. We await development!
Xavier James, Greek
Stephen is an outstanding pupil, particularly in French literature. He is currently entranced by Baudelaire, though I feel I ought to inform you that he has moved well past the class curriculum in respect of this author. Stephen’s sardonic use of the quotation “calme, luxe et volupté” for a class essay on “House Atmosphere” rather gave the game away! I have specifically forbidden “Les fleurs du Mal,” a decision with which I feel confident you will be in full agreement. Let us hope this does not dampen Stephen’s enthusiasm for French.
Alistair Knight, French
Stephen’s essays are in reality “short stories.” They demonstrate a maturity that is extraordinary. His rather wild sense of humour takes the sting out of some of his more morbid writings.
James Sanders, English
No mathematician he. What more can I say? We do our best to inculcate, against his natural inclinations, the rudiments of mathematical principles, and mostly fail. I suggest after O levels that the subject be dropped entirely. No one benefits. Stephen is however always pleasant in his behaviour and ironically I always enjoy having him in the class.
Duncan Heychurch, Mathematics
It is not wise in my opinion that Stephen has allowed himself to become so enamoured of some subjects, that others seem to bore him. Geography is important. I gained Stephen’s attention only once—during the debate “Geography Is History.” His subsequent essay on the subject was brilliant. I have, in fact, taken the liberty of submitting it for the “Ovington Award” this year. It would be a great honour for the school were he to win, though not necessarily “character building” for Stephen. A familiar dilemma.
Michael Moore, Geography
Stephen enjoys history and is always in the top three. His essays are as memorable for their style as for their content—a rarity amongst historians! He is a pleasure to have in the classroom and he contributes much to debates.
Alex Dunnington, History
Though reasonable at science, Stephen’s behaviour in the lab this term was, on one or two occasions, potentially dangerous. A calmer, more considered
approach is called for. Perhaps his move to Mr. Trent’s house will achieve what is necessary in this department.
Colin Thornton, Science
Stephen is above average at art. He is not however as committed as one would have expected. Nevertheless, his exciting use of colour and his interesting view of even the most basic object is always fascinating. Could surprise us all—in art, that is.
Miles Masterson, Art
Stephen’s work in the gymnasium is reasonably good. His tennis is adequate—he seems not to make much effort—perhaps intimidated by his cousin William’s success. Stephen’s tendency to asthma makes swimming “not his favourite sport.” We persevere in this element. Not a natural one for Stephen, I’m afraid.
Arthur Caldwell, Physical Education
Stephen had two minor attacks of asthma this term. We are increasingly aware of the psychosomatic element in asthma. The more Stephen “calms down,” the better it will be for him. The move to the Trents’ house is welcomed by me. I have long recommended this idea.
Megan Owyston, SRN, Matron
I put these reports, which I now know almost by heart, back in their carved wooden box. And picked up a crumpled article from years ago called
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