‘Then you should, for your father was one and you bear the name.’ Lionel pushed aside his chair and, thoroughly disgruntled, departed to dress. His mother called after him, ‘We will be expected to gather with the family when summoned. I’m sure my parents will want everyone to welcome Max, and you would be wise to do so. Get on friendly terms with him, that is my advice. And there’s another thing. About the pottery. Don’t forget that your father was head of it and carried the office with dignity and distinction. Your uncle Martin is a more simple, unsophisticated man, never graduating above the manual side until your father died. Joseph never soiled his hands with the actual labour — ’ She checked, then added, ‘Except once, when the dear man glazed a special beaker for my birthday, using a glaze he had invented himself, a lovely celadon green — ’
Jerked out of his mood, Lionel said, ‘Not the beaker you dropped onto his coffin as a parting gift?’
Startled, his mother demanded to know how he had heard about that, but he sidestepped by saying vaguely that he couldn’t remember, and changing the subject by reverting to the previous one, repeating that he had no intention of soiling his hands manually, as she had once told him was expected of Drayton sons.
“‘From the ground up”, was how you put it, and as far as I am concerned the ground is a very dirty place. I wonder how my elegant father survived it.’
‘He underwent a token training when his father was Master Potter. A knowledge of the rudimentary skills was necessary before stepping into his shoes. We must try to persuade Martin that you would fit into the administrative side as ably as your father did. Otherwise you might lose your rightful share.’
I’d prefer not to lose Tremain Hall, Lionel reflected sullenly as he closed the door behind him. Waiting to succeed his grandmother was bad enough, but waiting to succeed his long-lost uncle would be a great deal worse. He couldn’t hope for the inheritance now for many years to come, but the waiting would have to be endured. Meanwhile, there was consolation in the knowledge that there could be no legal rival when the time came.
With this thought he turned his mind to the more pleasurable matter of clothes, debating whether to wear his new amber brocade breeches and matching coat, the flares ornamented with gold thread, and the apricot satin waistcoat delivered only last week, or a striking affair in peacock blue with matching hose and shoes buckled in silver. On one thing he was determined — to impress the uncle who had had the audacity to materialise from the past, thereby ousting his more deserving nephew. To diminish the man by comparison would be a triumph and nothing could achieve that more effectively than sartorial elegance.
A feast was laid on at Tremain Hall that night. It took a kitchen staff of ten to prepare, but no one outside the immediate family circle was invited.
‘I said there’d be a fatted calf, didn’t I?’ Phoebe hissed between her teeth as she entered with her daughter.
At the head of the table sat the chatelaine, her husband at the far end and Maxwell on her right, thereby acknowledging him once again as the indisputable heir. The remaining members of the family were seated in respective seniority. Only Phoebe was disgruntled with the arrangement; she had no wish to sit on her mother-in-law’s left. She would have preferred to be as far away from Max as possible, even though the positioning stressed that she was the heir’s wife, a fact she had never before wished to forget. Lionel, too, was displeased, believing he should have been elevated to a higher seat than the one below his mother.
On Maxwell’s right came Agatha, as elder daughter, with Martin facing her and Amelia at his side. That left Olivia and Miguel on either side of their benign grandfather, facing each other.
At that end of the table it was a happy arrangement, for Miguel found it easy to talk to Olivia, whom he had liked on sight.
Coming downstairs before the others, she had found him in the library. Turning at the sound of her step he had flashed a smile and said, ‘I had no idea I had a sister, and such an attractive one.’
‘That was because your father didn’t know he had a daughter,’ she had answered, ignoring the compliment although pleased by it.
‘I hope you won’t blame him for that. He must have had reasons for leaving your mother.’
‘Which he never confided to you?’
‘He rarely talked about his earlier life. Only that he had felt a need to get away from it. But sometimes he described Tremain Hall and the countryside surrounding it, and I could sense his homesickness. Not when my mother was alive, though. He was too happy then.’
Unwilling to utter reproach or blame, Olivia said nothing. She was glad when Miguel gestured toward the bookcases.
‘One thing he didn’t tell me about was this library. To own such a vast number of books must be wonderful.’
‘No doubt he forgot. I’ve always understood that, like my mother, he wasn’t a great reader.’
‘And you?’
‘I read a lot, but many of these are scientific tomes and many are obscure and beyond me, but an earlier member of the family collected the classics and those I have always enjoyed. Uncle Martin has a fine collection on ceramics. He is a potter, you see, master of one of Burslem’s leading earthenware factories, though in recent years he has expanded into porcelain.’
‘In Mexico there are also fine potters, established for centuries. My mother took as many native cooking pots as she could salvage when she and my father escaped from the earthquake damage. In the kitchens where she worked she had never used any other kind of vessel, and believed those in another country couldn’t be so good.’ Quelling a desire to learn more about his mother, Olivia commented instead on his excellent English.
‘It is good because I am English. I was brought up to speak the language from birth. My mother’s also, of course, but I pride myself most on my English accent, which is something my father instilled into me.’
Olivia felt a sudden pity for the boy. It was going to be a shock to discover that he was unlikely to be accepted as English in this household.
Miguel continued, ‘You are the second person to compliment me on my speech. The other was Señora Fletcher.’
Startled, Olivia echoed the name, then told herself that there must be hundreds of Fletchers in the world and that if her heart was going to leap every time she heard Damian’s surname, she must try to control it.
‘And who was Señora Fletcher?’
‘A passenger on board the Saracen. She was very beautiful, also very charming when she learned that we were bound for Burslem, the same destination as herself. Her husband owns property here, she said, and asked where we would be living. When my father told her about Tremain Hall she was even more interested, and said that surely we would be near neighbours and would often meet. She was the most popular young lady on the ship. My father has promised to invite her here — and her husband, of course. He says the man must have come to live in Burslem since he left, because the only Fletcher he can recall was a rather humble schoolmaster who may have owned a few cottages, but wasn’t what he would call a man of property, and obviously the Señora was rich.’
‘And her husband — did you meet him when the ship docked?’
‘She was expecting him, but it was all such a rush and so crowded that we missed each other.’
‘And when did you reach Liverpool?’
‘A few days ago. We stayed there for awhile because my father had business to attend to.’
So Caroline was here already, in her husband’s life again, in his house, in his bed. No wonder he had not yet revisited the pottery.
It was another difficult evening. Everyone — except Phoebe, who was sulking, and Lionel, who was ignoring his mother’s advice to meet his unknown uncle with friendliness — tried to pretend that nothing had happened to rock the household, sending individual emotions soaring or plummetting. How did one bridge such a gap in family life, wondered Charlotte, when it was patently obvious that it would never be the same again?
In the aftermath of shock ev
eryone’s feelings varied. Only the old people’s seemed in any way tranquil, though every now and then Charlotte’s serenity was threatened by tears which she valiantly held in control, but at any hint of them her son would pat her hand clumsily and urge her to have more wine. ‘It will steady you, Mother. I can’t have you being sad at my longed-for homecoming.’
‘Longed for by whom?’ Lionel demanded insolently. ‘Your mother or yourself? If by you, sir, then why didn’t you come back sooner?’
At that his uncle levelled one of his long, hard looks — the kind of shrewd, assessing glance of which he had never been capable in the old days. As a youth he had accepted every moment as it came, and every person too providing they were amusing, but the years seemed to have taught him how to sum people up in a way his nephew now found disconcerting.
‘I came as soon as I could, young man. That means as soon as I could wind up my affairs in Grenada.’
‘Grenada? We’ve always understood that you ended up in Mexico, struck down by an earthquake. And Miguel Quintana sounds Spanish enough for those parts.’
‘My name is Freeman,’ Miguel put in. ‘My mother’s was Quintana, and yes, she was Mexican.’
‘Then Quintana must be your name too, since she was never married to your father.’
Charlotte felt a quickening of anger. Agatha’s son had been wielding barbed shaft and innuendo at every opportunity since the family gathered together. Desperately, she sought a change of subject, but was forestalled by Max, who said evenly, ‘You are wrong, Joseph — I’m sorry, I mean Lionel. You must excuse a slip of the tongue, but you are so uncannily like your father that when you first appeared I thought you were he, rejuvenated. Didn’t Mephistopheles offer eternal youth to Faustus in return for his soul? I wouldn’t have put it past Joseph to accept such a bargain, he was so proud of his looks. But we were discussing my son’s rightful name which, as he says, is the same as this family’s. I ensured that by legalising his birth within a matter of hours. He is my legal son and not to be slighted. Understand and remember that, young Drayton.’
Before Lionel could recover his breath, Phoebe demanded icily, ‘And where did this legislation take place? In some Godforsaken country whose laws don’t prevail here? Your only legitimate child is my daughter and I’d have you remember that.’
‘Mother, please — ’
‘I am fully aware of my daughter’s legitimacy and shall fulfil my duties to her even at this late date.’
Olivia cut in, ‘There’s no need. Truly. My life is very happy and filled with interesting work. One day I shall be a qualified potter, like Uncle Martin.’
‘By all the saints!’ laughed her father. ‘A Freeman becoming a potter, and a female one at that! The whole of Burslem must have been shocked — I wish I’d been here to witness all the fuss. I can see you are decisive, Olivia — as decisive as I have become. My decision to acknowledge my son legally must be accepted whether people like it or not. I remained in Liverpool after we docked, contacting Whittaker’s office there. My parents will be interested to know that the family solicitor runs a most able establishment in that city. It acted speedily in securing Miguel’s rights in this country, registering his surname by Deed Poll and naming him as my heir. My son will follow me as Master of Tremain and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it.’
CHAPTER 13
Charlotte’s proud face displayed conflicting emotions, most dominant being sympathy for Miguel when he stammered, ‘Please, Father — others must come first. I am a stranger here.’ His embarrassment touched her, for although the boy’s curiosity about everything relating to Tremain Hall and its estates had been apparent from the outset, his concern in case others should feel slighted was now equally so.
She also observed that Agatha looked shocked and Lionel scarlet with rage. As for Phoebe, Charlotte levelled an eloquent glance on her daughter-in-law, a warning to say nothing and to accept the situation.
But Phoebe, incensed, was incapable of that. Her chair fell over with a crash as she pushed it aside, and her staccato footsteps echoed explosively on the ancient stone-flagged floor. The door slammed behind her and Miguel looked down at his plate unhappily.
It was Olivia who eased the situation. Extending a hand across the table she gave him a warm smile and said, ‘Welcome to the family, Miguel. Having a half-brother comes as a pleasant surprise to me.’ Amelia and Martin echoed the greeting and Charlotte said, ‘We all welcome you, Miguel, and another grandson for myself and my husband merits a special toast.’ She glanced round the table. ‘Yes, from you too, Lionel. We have all raised our glasses, so why not you?’ He complied sullenly and escaped as soon as possible. This was made easy for him by Max’s remark that after so much travel an early night would be welcome, and not long after that Amelia and Martin took their leave, first inviting Miguel to visit them, also the pottery whenever he wished.
‘Since your mother was Mexican, you are no doubt familiar with that country’s traditional ware, so it might interest you to see ours,’ Martin said, to which Miguel replied that it would indeed and repeated what he had already told Olivia about his mother’s pride in her cooking pots.
‘She did her own cooking?’ Agatha exclaimed and when, without a trace of embarrassment, the boy admitted as much, she threw her brother an expressive glance, but all it brought from Max was another guffaw, reminding her of how greatly his ribald laughter had jarred on her when young.
‘Of course she did her own cooking, Aggie. She wasn’t accustomed to being waited on. The reverse. She had always waited on others, being a servant herself until she was elevated to the position of cook in a wealthy household where I was a weekend guest, the host being my partner in a venture we were embarking on in Grenada. The weekend party was in celebration and Conchita was cooking a meal for twenty when the earthquake struck. The place was all but demolished, except for the kitchen quarters which, in Mexico, were housed in exterior adobe buildings. Ironically, these remained standing while the house itself collapsed. The owner and all guests except myself were killed. I owe Conchita my life, for after I was dragged from beneath rubble she nursed me back to health in a dilapidated house occupied by refugees.’
‘And then?’ his father asked quietly. ‘What happened then?’
‘When I was able to drag myself to my feet she commandeered a cart and mule and in this we travelled to her native village, only to find her home no longer standing and her people gone. So we moved on to Grenada.’
‘Why Grenada?’
‘Because my rich partner was pioneering the production of nutmegs there, previously known only in Malacca. He had the foresight to bring them from Indonesia to the Caribbean ahead of everyone else. With his death, the concern became wholly mine. I knew nothing about nutmegs or their marketing, so I had a lot to learn and was determined to do so. No doubt that surprises you, sir, remembering how you despaired of my ever applying myself to anything.’ He smiled a little wryly at his father, then turned to Agatha. ‘As to Conchita’s humble birth, I’ll tolerate no snobbishness from anyone on that score. Note that, sister. Meanwhile, I’d like to share a nightcap with that son of yours, if he hasn’t already gone chasing after the kind of company I myself used to seek at his age, when thwarted. Be good enough to tell him I’ll await him in the library. Providing he knows where the library is, of course. I never went near it myself, but I gather my son has already made up for that.’ Max glanced at Miguel fondly, then turned to Charlotte and laid a clumsy hand on hers. ‘I do believe he will make a better master of Tremain than I ever could. I have brought him up to be aware of his heritage, which meant nothing to me when young. That should please you, Mother.’
She returned his handclasp gratefully.
‘So you came,’ said Max when Lionel eventually sauntered into the library.
‘Didn’t you expect me to?’
‘Frankly, no. I pictured you haring off to seek more congenial company and to drown your disappointment.’ With a wave of his hand, Max
indicated the decanter. ‘Drown it now, as liberally as you wish.’
Lionel noticed that his uncle had already imbibed quite freely. This, combined with the amount he had consumed at supper, suggested that Phoebe might have been right when declaring that her husband used to drink too much. Had she also been right about other things? he wondered as he filled a glass and then strolled to a distant seat. He was disinclined to face his new and unwelcome relative from opposite sides of a fireplace.
His choice amused Max, who said, ‘You are more transparent than your father. He was adept at hiding his feelings, as well as a great many other things, I suspect. Perhaps you will become as subtle as he, when older. Meanwhile, young sir, I read you like a book.’
Lionel answered sullenly, ‘My mother said you merely wanted to share a nightcap, an invitation which I considered transparent too. Having a nightcap with someone indicates a desire to talk, though I can’t imagine what you wish to talk to me about.’
‘Many things. All things. Since we are obliged to live beneath the same roof, it would be as well to get to know each other.’
‘Beneath the same roof I grant you, but well apart. My mother and I occupy the west wing.’
‘And my wife and daughter occupy the heir’s, where I and my son should be instead of being housed right royally in the finest guest suite Tremain can offer. That is what you are thinking.’
‘You may be entitled to the heir’s wing, but not your son.’
Lionel had already emptied half his glass and, coupled with his consumption at supper, the result was over-confidence. At first he had refused point blank to obey his mother’s behest to join her brother in the library, disagreed violently with her advice to humour the man and so get on the right side of him, and finally complied only through curiosity. He also relished the chance to speak his mind which, after hearing from Agatha about Conchita Quintana’s humble birth, he now considered himself entitled to do, but at his remark his uncle’s face flushed angrily.
The Potter's Niece Page 23