by Rona Randall
“Moving ahead of them, in fact. I am told he plans to have splendid new ovens built — ”
“Kilns, wife. Our daughter insists that such is now the name for them.”
“ — and a new and much more impressive office for the Master Potter, for which our dear Agatha is choosing the most opulent furnishings. Apparently he has been content to use an ancient table as a desk, simply because it has served Draytons for generations. All this in addition to the improvements here! Every room in Carrion House has been or is being redecorated and old fashioned furniture thrown away — have you looked into the refurbished withdrawing room yet? And the ancient stable block has been demolished and is being replaced by a splendid new coach house and much larger stables. And now Joseph has designed an elegant new garden house in oriental style, but insists on it being erected on a spot which cannot be seen from the house. Agatha will recover from her vexation about that in time. It seems that Joseph insists it is the ideal place, being well sheltered. Oh, there is no end to the things dear Joseph is doing and plans to do, no end to his enterprise!”
“I had no idea he was prospering so well. Successful, yes, I knew he was that; successful in a good, steady way after his poor father’s sad decline, but such lavish spending proves me wrong. And although I have always been shocked by unnecessary extravagance, such as that son of yours indulges in — ”
“Ours,” his wife corrected. “Dear Max is not exclusively mine.” “One would never think it, m’dear, the way you dote on the youth.” A glance from his wife made him change that line of talk. “I must say it is very reassuring — ”
“What is reassuring?”
Ralph Freeman gestured with his hand. “All this — and the surge of activity at Drayton’s. Not that I ever imagined Joseph Drayton to be after Agatha’s money, which is why I didn’t trouble to tell him the truth about it, but all the same, it’s good to know he has no need of it.” With that Charlotte Freeman entirely agreed. It was most gratifying that they should have found such an excellent husband for dear Agatha. She beamed approvingly on Joseph as he mingled with his guests, overlooking none of them. In every way he was the perfect host and no one would have believed, from his benign expression, that he was watching his wife with increasing anxiety and not a little distaste.
For Agatha was eating, and when Agatha began eating her appetite was insatiable. Every time he looked at her she was either shovelling food into her mouth or holding out her plate for more. From behind the long tables uniformed flunkeys ceaselessly served the milling guests and others circled the great hall, pouring and repouring wine. Agatha was in the thick of it, skilfully combining her duties as a hostess with a never failing duty to herself. Guests were delighted with the way in which she listened to every word they said, and she was never so discourteous as to interrupt. They were quite unaware that her attention was solely on her food and the enjoyment she registered was inspired by it.
But Joseph knew, and frowned. He had expected a wife born to good living to appreciate the niceties of the table, but not to be gluttonous. Agatha was a glutton indeed. Tonight she seemed intent on sampling every dish Pierre had produced and if her husband remonstrated later she would say, “My love, a good housewife always puts a cook’s ability to the test.” He was already familiar with the excuse, for scarcely a meal came to their table without it being tested by her to the full, and later she would laugh at his hints that her love of food would spoil the fit of the elegant gowns made for her in London. She would run her hands proudly over her ample waist and insist that her figure was much admired.
“Dear Aunt Margaret, the one who bequeathed me so much, always described me as ‘a fine figure of a gel’. That was when I was scarce into my teenage. How greatly she would admire me now!”
He knew, of course, that few people supported his view that too much food led to too much fat, but the evidence was there, from Falstaff down to his own wife. It could not be coincidence that greedy people grew enormous and that big stomachs forever demanded to be filled. If she were not careful, Agatha would become gross, and that he could not tolerate.
Made for her in London during the first week of their visit, her gown no longer fitted so well. The side seams now dragged dangerously, threatening to burst beneath the strain. She kept tweaking and tugging at the hips in a vain attempt to ease them, in between conveying food to her mouth.
Unable to stand the sight any longer, he turned away, and saw his mother and young Martin seated afar. Amelia Freeman was with them. She and Martin were laughing a lot and plainly enjoying themselves, but when Martin’s glance met his there was a subtle change in the boy’s expression. Joseph had observed it frequently of late. It met him at the works whenever they came face to face — a kind of watchfulness which could put one out of countenance were one so unwise as to let it. The need to resist this was something Joseph Drayton resented very much.
The change in Martin’s attitude had happened suddenly, and there was no accounting for it. From being a difficult youth well under his brother’s thumb, he had acquired an air of independence which was capable of withstanding patronage or snub. He was polite, spoke only when spoken to, and made no insolent retort if taken to task on some triviality. He would merely regard Joseph coolly, wait for the end, then turn back to his throwing wheel in silence, but it was not the silence of intimidation, it was the silence of veiled contempt. Joseph chose that word in preference to condemnation, though he could see no reason for either.
What made him so uncomfortably aware of this change in Martin he could not pinpoint, and this inability both annoyed and challenged him. To allow a youth of eighteen to disconcert him was foolish. It had to stop. And the only way of stopping it was to demonstrate who had the upper hand, and how strong that hand was.
Forgetting his wife, Joseph went to join his mother and brother, assuming an affability he was far from feeling, for Emily too had begun to trouble him of late. She still twittered in his presence, still humbly agreed with all he said, but even so he suspected that sometimes she thought a great deal more than she dared to express. That, too, must stop.
“My dear Mother, how remiss of me to neglect you!” He gave her a dutiful peck.
“I feel not in the least neglected, my son. Could any guest feel so, amidst such hospitality?”
“I am glad you are enjoying it.”
“Who could fail to? Such delicious food, and so much of it. A person with so small an appetite as mine can scarce do justice to it.” He was immediately aware that she had noticed his wife’s astonishing capacity, and this was confirmed when she added, “How wonderful to be young enough to eat whatever is in sight without suffering for it! But that, alas, is the penalty of age.”
“As my father so unhappily discovered,” said Martin.
The unexpected remark startled both.
“Forgive me, Mamma. It was thoughtless of me to revive sad memories.”
“Thoughtless indeed,” rapped Joseph beneath his breath, but taking care to keep a benign smile on his face because guests were within earshot.
To his annoyance the reprimand fell on stony ground, for Martin looked anything but penitent. His eyes held almost an accusing expression, and for the first time Joseph was seriously disturbed. That look had not been imagined. The boy would have to be put in his place, and soon.
He turned then to Amelia, commenting on how pretty she looked and expressing the hope that she too was enjoying herself, to which she replied that she was doing so immeasurably.
“I always do, in Martin’s company. And I suppose the next celebration will be his nineteenth birthday, so soon after January, and of course that birthday will be a milestone in his life, as we all know. He must be waiting for it most impatiently.”
I hope he is, thought Joseph, seeing it as the very opportunity he sought to put the boy in his place. And it would not be the place so confidently expected.
Satisfied, he prepared to move on. Out of a corner of his eye he could see Agatha
chattering in the distance and tugging even more at her gown. She even appeared to be joking about it with the group surrounding her. He could imagine her saying, “My husband fears I am growing fat! Did you ever hear such nonsense? It is this gown that has been made too tight!”
He must go to her and tell her, firmly, to stop.
He stooped over his mother’s hand. “Dear Mamma, I shall see you before you leave, but alas, I have to tell you that we shall be unable to join you at Medlar Croft the day after tomorrow, as you no doubt expect, since we must spend Christmas Day at Tremain Hall. Dear Agatha’s people have their duties to fulfil towards their estate workers on the following day and for this all the family must be present.”
“You mean the distribution of Christmas boxes? I quite understand. Indeed, I have been meaning to let you know that we shall not expect you because Jessica will be fulfilling that selfsame duty at Ashburton and Sir Neville has invited us all for the day. It seems he very much desires her at his side. He is inordinately fond of her, and a great admirer of her husband. It will be a pleasant day for each one of us.”
If she saw Joseph stiffen, she made no sign. Only Martin betrayed himself. He was pleased. His frank young eyes looked at his brother with a clear and embarrassing gaze, and as Joseph walked away he could feel that disconcerting glance following him. There had been more than pleasure in it, more than satisfaction. There had been triumph.
Joseph was in ill humour when he reached Agatha’s side.
“A word with you, wife.”
His grip on her elbow, drawing her away, was as tight and unrelenting as his smile. Agatha sensed his anger, bowed to the group, and submitted, but not without inner rebellion. Once or twice since her marriage she had felt twinges of defiance, especially in London when forced by a dominant husband and an equally dominant aunt — not to mention an arrogant seamstress who regarded anyone from the country as a dowd — to submit to clothes she positively disliked. And the gown she was wearing tonight she disliked most of all. She had worn it because dear Joseph insisted. He had chosen it with care, pointing out that now she was a matron she must look dignified as well as handsome and that this particular gown made her look both, but it was hard to believe.
How could anything so uncomfortable and sedate enhance her looks? As the night progressed she had longed more and more to change into something she liked better, something she could relax in. And oh, how she yearned to be rid of all that whalebone, to feel her hips released from pressure and her stomach sag in relief!
“What is it, Joseph?” Her moment of defiance was over. She was anxious to please.
“Stop fiddling with your gown. You have scarce ceased to wriggle since the evening began. And no more food. Greed disgusts me.”
“But one has to eat!”
“Not to excess.”
“But I am hungry — ”
“You cannot be. No one who has swallowed as much as you have swallowed these past hours can possibly be hungry! Only pigs guzzle as you have been doing.”
They were away from the crowd, isolated in an antechamber, but still they kept their voices down. They were young Mr and Mrs Drayton of Carrion House, giving their first reception, and illusions had to be maintained.
But what of my own illusions, she thought mournfully. For years she had cast Joseph in the role of perfect husband, but this tight-lipped man with the biting tongue was not her ideal at all. The thought flitted through her mind that even his lovemaking had not come up to expectations; there was always something withheld, something that eluded her. But he wasn’t a cold man. If anything, the reverse. He had been with women, made love to women, women were essential to him. She could tell. He did things with the practice born of experience, but with her he did them mechanically. Perhaps, someday, she would too, and then she would not be disappointed when he left her as soon as he had done with her. Perhaps, someday, she would turn away first.
The thought made her inexpressibly sad.
“Now don’t become maudlin,” he said sharply. “You have drunk too much wine. It always has that affect on you. Pull yourself together and come back with me to our guests. And for the love of God, smile! What will everyone think if you are close to tears when we return?”
“It’s your fault. You’re making me cry.” She sniffed disconsolately. “And I’m so uncomfortable! That haughty seamstress made this gown far too tight!”
“Then change into another. I will make some feasible excuse. I would come with you to choose an alternative, but one of us must be with our guests.”
“I can choose one for myself,” she said reproachfully.
“I hope so.” His tone implied that he very much doubted it. “Now hurry.”
He gave her an exasperated push toward a door leading to a rear passage. From there she could use the back stairs. Then, with her surprising ability to make surprising observations, she turned and said, “Has someone or something upset you, Joseph?”
He halted on his way back to the great hall. How the devil did she get so near to the truth?
“Yes,” he said brutally. “You have. I thought I had made that clear.”
The instant the door closed behind him, Agatha’s tearfulness vanished and defiance took over. Puffing her way upstairs, determination welled. She would wear what she liked, choose what she liked. Only the other day she had tried on her lovely rainbow gown, the one Joseph had so unkindly likened to a maypole, and apart from being somewhat tighter round the waist its fullness had been not only comfortable, but becoming. And how impressive she looked in it, how dramatic and exciting! It would be worth enduring some discomfort round the waist to appear in something so eyecatching. Everyone would admire her. She would sail into the great hall radiantly, and that would show her husband how wrong he had been in conniving with Aunt Elizabeth to turn her into a frump.
For a moment, she was shocked by the thought. Dear Joseph had never intended any such thing. Dear Joseph loved her. Dear Joseph simply lacked any idea of the type of clothes which were becoming to a woman and had submitted trustingly to Aunt Elizabeth’s dictates. And when she returned to the great hall he would realise it and be sorry. And tonight he would come to her bed and love her with the passion she craved.
Suddenly excited, she dragged off the gown that stupid seamstress had made (and no, the tightness was not due to its wearer being too fat!) and she cared not a whit when it burst at the seams. Tonight was to be a triumph, after all.
Rejoining the assembly, Joseph came face to face with his father-in-law, who clapped him on the shoulder and said heartily, “A splendid reception, sir! I confess the lack of formality is something my generation is unused to, but it is obviously appreciated by the majority. I have never seen folk gorge themselves to such a degree, but you must blame that on your lavish hospitality and your splendid cook. I would never have believed your Mrs Walker had such talent.”
“She hasn’t. I acquired a French cook in London.”
“Ah yes, I believe Agatha did mention it. An innovation in these parts and surely the man must cost you dear. Such service cannot come cheap.”
“One cannot have the best without paying for it,” Joseph replied a trifle smugly.
Ralph Freeman threw him a sharp glance, then said affably, “I am glad to hear you can so well afford it. And a great deal more, from what my dear wife tells me. I can see you have spent much on improving Carrion House, but that is not all, I gather. She has been telling me of your expansion at Drayton’s pot bank — ”
“Pottery,” Joseph corrected mechanically.
“Ah yes — I heard the name had been changed, so it was remiss of me to forget. Blame my ageing memory.” The broad, almost homely face smiled with its customary goodwill, and Joseph reflected that never would his father-in-law look anything but a self-made man. The stamp of his humble beginnings was still upon him. What had made a young woman of the highborn Tremain family fall in love with a man belonging to a lower social order he could never understand, but Agatha
had told him that it had been a passionate and impetuous love affair. “So romantic! Mamma has always declared that Papa was the most handsome man she had ever met, and quite the cleverest. It was love at first sight and she ran away with him, despite her parents objections, but in the end they took him to their hearts, as everyone did.”
Joseph had to concede that Ralph Freeman was a likeable man whose success enabled him to fit in anywhere, but what astonished Joseph, and not pleasurably, was that a man as uneducated as Si Kendall seemed set to do the same. To be accepted socially by Sir Neville Armstrong, who occupied a respected place in local society, was significant and, beneath Joseph’s mask of amiability, the knowledge rankled, as did his mother’s remark that Armstrong had especially wanted Jessica’s company on the day of the boxings.
Joseph was jerked away from that particular aggravation by Ralph Freeman’s voice.
“… and I confess I am sorry not to see her here.”
“Whom?” Joseph asked absently.
“Your other sister. The handsome one. Though handsome seems an inadequate word to describe her now. She startled me indeed, though I have always admired her.”
“Startled you? When?”
“I have just been telling you — when I rode through Cooperfield the other day. She was walking through the village, and what a splendid carriage she has! My eye was caught by her erect back and graceful step before I ever drew alongside and saw who it was. I was delighted to meet her again, and much struck by a new quality in her beauty. Radiant, she looked. A living portrait of a happy woman. Were I twenty years younger I’d be envying that husband of hers, as would many a man were she here tonight.” Ralph Freeman looked carefully at his son-in-law and finished, “I hope Phoebe’s hints are not true.”