Paying Guests

by Claire Rayner

  ‘I have wanted to ask you – these very fine clothes you are wearing. Did you manage to buy all of them out of your allowance? I did not think I was able to be so generous, and I would be most distressed to hear you had gone into debt.’

  He reddened again. ‘No debts,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Patrick? You foolish creature!’ she jumped to her feet. ‘Letting him buy you costly gifts when he is trying to persuade you to – oh, Duff, where is your sense?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ he said with a sudden glint of humour. ‘I think I had more when I was a sprog than I have now.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘It was so easy to be little, well, most of the time it was.’ He looked over her shoulder into the past and his eyes glazed a little.

  ‘Do you know, Ma, I hadn’t thought of it before but now I recall those days, it occurs to me Patrick reminds me of someone – in his colouring and his tricks of movement and so forth.’

  ‘Oh’ Tilly said and stared at him. ‘Reminds you of whom?’

  ‘Oh, that little girl who used to visit. From next door was it? She stayed here for a while, I seem to recall. We played together a lot and she was such fun! I remember that very well, though – anyway, her. I forget her name.’

  ‘Sophie,’ Tilly said after a pause and bent her head to look down at her fingers, interlaced on her skirts. ‘Sophie Oliver.’

  ‘Yes –’ Duff lifted his chin and stared at her. ‘Sophie Oliver! I had quite forgot till now. Heavens, what a tease she was! And now I think of it, Patrick is just such another. In his way, I mean – quite different really, he is a man and she was just a child, but all the same –’

  ‘Well, whatever the likeness, it is not really important now,’ though she was thinking quite otherwise as a confusion of memory and anxiety filled her. ‘I have to say I think it is high time you were in bed. You are still a good deal more affected by that man’s brandy than you realize, and tired by all this – well, all this talk has not been easy for either of us. It is time I went to bed too!’

  She went closer to him and lifted one hand to touch his cheek. ‘For all it has been so painful to hear the things you have said, my dear boy, it is not so painful as being cut by you in Brompton Grove.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry about that, Ma! I didn’t know what to do. He was being so very difficult at the time and I was so afraid of what he might say if I noticed you that I just hurried him away.’

  She managed a crooked smile. ‘Hurried him away? Indeed you did. I recollect that fact perfectly well. But all is forgiven. As I say, that we have talked is better than silence. Promise me you will not be so remote with me ever again? I almost broke my heart over it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he promised and bent and kissed her cheek. ‘I suppose you’re right. Bed would be nice.’

  ‘I shall come and –’ she began and then stopped. ‘I’m sorry. You are too old to need my help to get to bed, are you not? It’s not easy to remember. Goodnight, my dear. I shall see you at breakfast I hope, thick head or not.’ She nodded briskly. ‘I expect you to make an effort in the morning, remember – and we shall talk some more.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said with sleepy obedience and went to the door, dragging his feet a little. ‘Goodnight. I’m happier too – though I’m still absolutely wretched of course.’ And he left her staring after him with her hands twisted against her skirts still and her mind in a hubbub.

  ‘Sophie Oliver,’ she said aloud then. ‘Sophie Oliver,’ and closed her eyes to try to escape from the thoughts that had come into her mind. But of course she couldn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  SILAS GEDDES HEAPED his plate with devilled mushrooms, added a lavish spoonful of scrambled eggs and sat down in his place as Tilly poured him coffee and sent the cup down the table to him. The remains of the breakfasts of the four schoolteachers were being cleared by Rosie, for they had long gone, as had Mr Cumming and Mr Hancock. The American party had breakfasted in their rooms and only Mr and Mrs Grayling remained at table, loitering over their last slices of toast and cups of coffee.

  Tilly sat at the table head, a little tense as she waited, very aware of time ticking on. There was work to be done at her desk and below stairs, where Eliza would be waiting to discuss the day’s menus and have their usual gossip about the work of the house in general, and Tilly also had intended to go out to buy linen to make new bed sheets this morning. And still there was no sign of Duff, though it was almost half past nine and the sounds of the busy street came in through the open window, as well as the scent of the dusty street and the faint linger of roses from the garden.

  ‘I trust you are well this morning, Mrs Quentin?’ Silas Geddes said and looked at her with his head on one side, as he chewed his mushrooms with obvious enjoyment. ‘You seem not to have eaten any of this excellent breakfast yourself, and I do recommend it!’

  She looked down at the coffee cup that stood beside her clearly unused plate. ‘I am not very hungry this morning,’ she said. ‘But I am very well, I do assure you.’

  ‘I am happy to hear it. I wondered if perhaps this afternoon you might care to come to one of my meetings? It is on Darwin’s new book. The speakers are not as eminent as Dr Huxley or Bishop Wilberforce, but they are knowledgeable men and it might make an introduction to the subject for you – and you seemed to be sufficiently interested when we spoke of the possibility.’

  He stopped invitingly and looked at her with raised eyebrows and she was irritated, as well as a little embarrassed. She had been listening to him with only half her attention, the other being set on listening for Duff, and she was not at first quite sure what he had asked her. As she hesitated, seeking her memory for guidance, the door of the dining room opened.

  ‘Sorry t’be late,’ Duff muttered and came to sit at the table, ignoring the sideboard and its silver covered dishes. Tilly looked at him anxiously and then nodded a little distractedly at Silas.

  ‘I doubt I shall be able to, Mr Geddes, but I do thank you for the thought,’ she said. ‘Duff, my dear. Good morning.’

  She poured a large cup of black coffee for him.

  ‘I think this will be to your liking,’ she said and pushed it to him and also the sugar basin; he dropped several heaped spoonfuls into the cup, stirred and drank, clearly very grateful for it.

  ‘Some more toast for Mr Duff, please Rosie,’ Tilly instructed. ‘And you may clear the sideboard, if Mr Geddes has had sufficient?’ She looked at him inquiringly and at once he nodded. ‘And some more coffee please.’

  Rosie bobbed and went, bearing a trayful of dishes with her, and Silas Geddes threw one more glance at Duff and then with some ostentation picked up a copy of the Morning Post from the centre of the table and opened it and held it in front of his face so that he was quite obscured from view, while managing to eat the rest of his breakfast with just a fork in his right hand. Mr and Mrs Grayling, having finished their breakfast at last, with much fussing got themselves to their feet and out of the room, and Tilly relaxed her shoulders and looked at Duff.

  ‘Not too bad, I hope,’ she said in a low voice, and he glanced at her with lacklustre eyes and a hang-dog expression but said nothing. Tilly could not help it; she chuckled.

  ‘You will take more water than brandy in future, I hope,’ she said. ‘Too much brandy makes one feels dreadfully ill, I am told.’

  Duff did not reply, but his glance said it all.

  ‘Now, this morning I thought I would suggest that you might accompany me on my shopping expedition,’ she went on, lifting her voice a little. ‘We have hardly had a chance to talk yet, and although buying linen might not be your idea of an agreeable occupation, still –’

  ‘Oh, Mamma, must I?’ Duff looked at her almost piteously. ‘I really feel the need to return to my bed for a while, you know. No thank you, no toast – and –’

  ‘I insist on the toast,’ Tilly said, as she took the fresh supplies from Rosie and began to butter a slice, adding some of Eliza’s best cherry conserve. ‘You will feel better
for it, I’ll be bound. As to returning to bed –’

  Along the table the newspaper rustled, then rattled and at last was put down and Silas emerged, looking as though he had heard not a word of the discussion, because of his absorption in his reading. Tilly, however, was not beguiled by this display. He had clearly heard every word and made a decision to join in.

  ‘Mr Quentin,’ he said. ‘I wonder if I might trespass on your kindness if you have the time to spare? I am told that it is possible to get a horse from a livery stable and ride in the park. It is now some time since I had the chance to take such exercise and I feel the need for it. If you, as a local man, you know, have any suggestions for a good livery stable, I’d take it kindly.’

  Duff looked at him a little blearily, and frowned. ‘Stable?’

  ‘Why yes. I imagine you have ridden in your time?’

  Duff looked a little affronted. ‘Of course. We all ride at school. Some huntin’ too.’

  Silas laughed merrily. ‘Well, I doubt we can draw a covert in Hyde Park, even at the proper time of year! No, I just thought I’d enjoy a gentle hack about the park, don’t you know, on such a fine morning, and I’d be uncommonly glad of company, to tell you the truth. I know no better exercise than a little canter on a well mannered nag, don’t you know. It quite shakes the liver up and blows away one’s megrims.’

  Tilly looked at him gratefully, her irritation with him now quite banished, and smiled brilliantly at Duff. ‘My dear boy, I’m sure you can take Mr Geddes to Cope’s Stables, in Bolney Mews? Their animals for riding are excellent, I am told, Mr Geddes, and I have never had cause to complain when I have had one of their carriage and pairs. And you will benefit greatly from the exercise, Duff?’ She addressed her son apparently in enquiry, but there was a steely note in her voice.

  He looked back, opened his mouth to protest and then closed it again as his mother smiled even more brilliantly. ‘I am sure you will do this for Mr Geddes,’ she said. ‘It would be much appreciated.’

  ‘Indeed, glad to be of help,’ Duff muttered and drank some more coffee and Silas folded his paper immediately and stood up.

  ‘That’s most kind of you, m’boy, most kind,’ he said heartily. ‘Give me a few minutes to change into more suitable clothes and I shall be with you directly.’

  ‘I shall check your own riding clothes, Duff, shall I?’ Tilly said and got to her feet to follow Mr Geddes from the room. ‘If you wish?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, no need, Ma – well, to tell the truth I’ve not fully unpacked yet.’

  ‘Oh, you probably didn’t notice, but Eliza saw to all that yesterday,’ Tilly said. ‘I shall put your riding clothes on your bed.’ And she led the way out of the dining room as Duff, a little gloomily, addressed himself to the remainder of his coffee.

  ‘I am much obliged to you, Mr Geddes,’ Tilly said as they reached the staircase. ‘It is clearly no secret that my foolish son overdid his entertainment somewhat last night.’

  ‘I would think less of him if he had not,’ Silas said heartily. ‘It’s not every day a boy leaves schooldays behind him and becomes a gentleman of leisure. At least for a little while. I imagine he will have some future occupation?’

  ‘As to that, we cannot be sure yet,’ Tilly said. She set her foot on the lowest step. ‘I really must go and deal with those riding clothes. Will you be here for luncheon?’

  ‘I will indeed.’ He smiled at her cheerfully. ‘I would not miss one of Eliza’s collations for the world. Perhaps then we can speak of your attending my meeting?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But at present you must forgive me –’

  ‘Of course.’ He came up the stairs behind her. ‘In the meantime, if your son feels the need of a man in whom to confide his anxieties –’

  She had reached the top landing and at this she stopped and turned to look at him, a faint frown between her brows. ‘I am not sure I understand you, Mr Geddes,’ she said stiffly, trying not to give credence to the thought that had come into her mind; that he had listened at the door to her conversation with Duff last night and was, for his own reasons, trying to involve himself in her affairs.

  ‘Oh, please,’ he said. ‘I’m not trying to meddle in what does not concern me. It’s just that I’m not so old that I can’t remember what it’s like to be growing up and to have anxieties that need a man’s opinion! I was reared by my maiden aunt, after my parents’ death, and there were times when, excellent lady though she was, I positively ached to find a sensible male ear into which I could pour some of my words. I found such a one in the son of our local vicar, and I much appreciated his friendship. I see certain parallels for your son in my own case. My aunt, like you, was a dear, caring lady who wanted only the best for her boy and who showed a most admirable delicacy of character. She never pried into my private thoughts, but was always there should I need her. I imagine you are like that. And that being so, it is harder for your son to tell you of those worries he might have of which he is not proud – and at seventeen or so we are all ashamed of the thoughts that beset us – than to tell someone else. He will be concerned to protect his own reputation in your eyes, d’you see? I am offering to be that someone else. Should he choose me for that task, of course. I would not impose myself on him for the world.’

  She looked at him for a long time, uncertain what to say and after a while he laughed and shook his head. ‘I try too hard, I fear,’ he said ruefully. ‘Never mind, Mrs Quentin. Give it no more thought, I beg of you. I was but seeking to be useful. Ah, Duff!’ for downstairs the dining-room door had opened again and Duff had emerged. ‘You see, I gossip. But I shall be ready directly!’ And he nodded at Tilly and went off to his own room with a rapid lope, leaving her to help Duff find his riding clothes and prepare for his morning in the saddle.

  She walked to the shops, thinking hard as she went. Mr Geddes certainly seemed to have a wise head on his not-so-old shoulders. How old was he? She hadn’t thought about the matter before. It was hard to tell, because he was not entirely like other men. He did not use tobacco, for example, so his face was never screwed up against rising smoke and that, she knew, made men’s faces line more swiftly than they might. Also he ate abstemiously, which would encourage his neat youthful figure. He might be older than he appeared, however, and she thought, Perhaps thirty five? and smiled to herself. The same age as I am. Yet because he had the impulsive eagerness of a youth he seemed younger. Why is it that women are so much older in so many ways? she asked herself as she lifted her skirts high to make her way across the dusty cobbles to the safety of the pavement on the far side. Why do I feel so much older than he, when we are probably the same age?

  ‘Because I have a son of seventeen,’ she murmured aloud and then bit her lip, amused, as an elderly lady bustling by on her way to Colonel Nichol’s shop threw her a sharply enquiring glance. But it was true. Nothing, she told herself a little bitterly, is more ageing than fretting over an errant child, and then as the thought came her spirits lifted, for wasn’t she going to buy linen for new bed sheets? And did that not mean she must see her old friend Jem? She could think of no one more suitable in whom to confide her worries about Duff.

  She was so determined that Jem’s conversation was what she most required that she broke her own careful housewifely rule and didn’t go first to all the other linen drapers’ shops to check their prices. She knew really that Jem was never undersold, and that if she told him she had seen the same goods elsewhere at a lower price than the one he was asking, he would have no hesitation in reducing his charges especially for her.

  She stood for a moment staring sightlessly into the window of his neat shop where swatches of good cloth were pinned up to show their quality and ribbons had been displayed in such great bows and swirls and stripes that the whole window seemed to shimmer with colour. Dear Jem. To have stood her friend so many years, when she had been so captious with him.

  There had been a time when she had seriously considered marrying Jem Leland. He had
loved her dearly and made no effort to hide that regard and had continued to love her unswervingly all through the difficult days when she decided to get married again, to poor dear Freddy, when Duff was but a little boy of four. Jem had stood foursquare her friend all through the long months and years after her second widowhood, when all had seemed so confusing and difficult, and she had been so busy growing her home into the handsome guest house it had now become. He had never asked her for anything for himself, except, from time to time, to repeat his offer of marriage.

  I have been unfair to him, she thought as she went on staring sightlessly at his ribbons, and I must tell him that he should find himself someone else. He seems content enough, but it is not good for him. He needs a wife and child of his own, not this half-hearted attempt to pretend that Duff is his own boy, though he loves him as though he were, I swear. And I must also tell him that I will never be more to him than what I am now. I will never marry again. I know that. I am well past that stage of life and all my efforts now must go into Duff and, of course, into our property. For it was for Duff’s need for property that I married Freddy, after all, and changed my plans to marry Jem –

  Her reverie was broken into sharply as the door of the shop opened with a melodic jangle of the bell that hung on a spring just inside it, and Jem appeared beside her. She looked up at him with genuine pleasure.

  He was, in fact, some five years her junior, not that that had ever worried either of them particularly, for unlike Silas Geddes, there was a somewhat staid air about Jem that made him seem older than he was. He was ageing now, too, in a rather obvious way. Even though he was only thirty, his thick dark hair was receding on both forehead and temples, giving his square face a most serious air, and his blue eyes were well surrounded by lines because of his tendency to narrow them when he looked at fabrics, in order to sharpen his vision. He had tried spectacles, he had once told Tilly, and couldn’t be doing with them. ‘I shall settle to ‘em well enough when I have to,’ he had said and laughed. ‘Till then I’ll fettle along well enough as I am.’