by Peter Rimmer
Annabel was the one who amused him. She had run off with a man who was penniless. No job. Not a penny. Said she was in love with him and would go to the ends of the earth. They had both come to his small flat in the Barbican which was all he could afford. Not a fashionable address but close enough to walk to the office when the sun was shining. His umbrella had saved him from a dousing more than once: a bright, clear sky one minute, and then it was raining.
The man she had run off with came from the right stable but when he left home they had bolted the door behind him. The reason he had put them up for a week and told no one was, Merlin told himself, you just never knew in life. The black sheep of the family sometimes turned white, and the man's family owned one of the big pottery companies in the north, even supplying the royal family with their dinner plates which had impressed Merlin. They sent their dinnerware all over the world and everything had to be insured. At the end of the week he had given them ten pounds he could not afford, and they had gone off to Brighton, where they said they were going to get married. That had been at the end of the summer. He hoped one day his ten pounds investment would pay off. And she was his sister. Geoffrey Winckle said he was going to be a great painter one day. Merlin wished him luck. Most painters he had heard of were very dead before they were very famous. And none of them made any money when they were alive unless they painted flattering portraits of rich men's wives. Geoffrey Winckle said he was an impressionist, whatever that was. Merlin had not asked to see his paintings. There was no point in getting involved in a subject he knew nothing about.
He had toyed with telling his mother ever since he had come home for Christmas. He was probably only the second person in the family to know what had happened to Annabel. It went without saying that she had told Granny Forrester before running away. Where she got the train fare from more likely… It was going to be a boring Christmas but every son had to do his family duty once in a while. Poor Esther. She would spend Christmas all on her own. When he had put up the runaways, he had sent Esther home to her mother for the week. Poor Esther. In a strange way he missed her. She was comfortable. Never demanded much. She thought he was wonderful. Poor Esther. If only she knew.
When he woke in the night there was more clattering from Richard's room but he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. There was no point in having a look… He wondered if it was still snowing outside now it was Christmas Eve.
During the night there was a choking scream and then silence.
The doctor certified Richard dead in the morning. Everybody in the family cried, as everyone cried when there was a death close to them. Close death was a nudge at their own mortality. Some even cried with relief. It had never been much of a life for Richard St Clair despite how beautiful he looked. They left him in his room covered with a white sheet. The parish church was all ready for Christmas, with a big cut-out story of the nativity in the entrance that had taken the children of the village a long time to build. Richard would have to take his turn. This was Christmas. With the windows left wide open to the fields covered in snow there was no chance of him going off. The male nurse had cleaned him up nicely, taken a month's pay, and gone off to join his family for Christmas. He did not seem sad to lose his job. Barnaby drove him to the railway station at Corfe Castle in the trap and said the man had caught his train to Swanage. Jug Ears appeared to enjoy the trot as standing still in the stables with the roof covered in cold snow was not pleasant. No one spoke of Richard. Penelope thought it was not the time to tell the family she was pregnant, even if the child inside of her would inherit the title if it was a boy. She had a quiet word with the family doctor after he had seen to Richard.
"God moves in strange and beautiful ways," said Doctor Reichwald. "He takes and he gives. Yes, Mrs St Clair. You are indeed pregnant. Five months I should think."
"Please don't tell the family."
"You haven't told anyone?"
"Not yet."
Doctor Reichwald smiled. The girl was probably not more than nineteen.
Then he forgot the family and went home to his wife and children. He had his own worries. With a German name and a German war looming, he and his family were in trouble. It was too late to change their name now. Even if they did, people would still know them for who they were. German immigrants. Their name change should have been done by his grandfather when he became a naturalised Englishman. But in those days the royal family were more German than English so it did not seem to matter… Wasn't Kaiser William of Germany Queen Victoria's grandson? He was very cold when he got home to a warm hearth and a hot cup of tea. Goodness, he was more English than English. At least the poor boy was out of agony which he would have been in could he understand. Doctor Reichwald knew very little about mental illness. He had delivered the boy. Lady St Clair had been so happy. They had rung the bells in the parish church of Corfe Castle as they had done for centuries when an heir was born to the barony. Now they would do it again. Despite all the terrible things life went on. When the reverend had time from celebrating Christmas, he would be there to give the family comfort. The Reverend Reichwald was the doctor's brother. After a second cup of tea he would go over to the vicarage and suggest to his brother they change their name. They could do it by deed poll. Three of their boys were old enough to go into the army so they had best hurry up about things. There was no time to waste. It was never too late to solve a problem, even if the words in his head had a hollow ring.
They had bought the small gold mine the week before Albert Pringle set sail for England. Sallie Barker had conducted the negotiations, even going down the mineshaft to look at the thin seam of gold she hoped went on far back from the exposed surface. Gold seams had a way of their own. The selling consortium wanted to get out while they were ahead. Sallie had mortgaged the explosive factory to buy the gold mine, and though Albert told everyone at home he was rich, he was not so sure. Sallie had said that if they had lost everything it didn't matter as they had had nothing in the first place.
"Dear Albert. We either get rich and have some fun or go back to England with our tails between our legs. Where's your sense of adventure? Old Bradshaw has lost his nerve. It's why he wants to sell. That seam is going to get wider and wider, richer and richer, and go on for a mile."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Women's intuition."
"Oh, my God."
The news of Richard St Clair's death had reached the small cottage that had once belonged to the railway company sometime after lunch on Christmas Eve. Barnaby had ridden over to wish Tina, Albert's younger sister, a happy Christmas and bring her a small present. Tina was fifteen. Edward the fisherman was back from Swanage for Christmas and the rest of the Pringle family was scattered to all corners of the Empire.
At Sallie's insistence, Albert had travelled first class even though it had made him feel uncomfortable. She had taken him up to an Indian tailor who ran him up some evening clothes in a day.
"You have to look rich even if you're not. People don't know we borrowed from the bank to buy Serendipity Mine. Funny how Bradshaw had tried to sink a borehole for water and drilled straight into a gold seam. You go first class, Bert. Tell them who you are. How rich a seam of gold we found. I want to sell some of our shares on the stock exchange and buy another mine."
"Please, Sallie, you frighten the shit out me."
"And don't use that kind of language in first class."
The food on board had been opulent but none of it tasted as good as his mother's cooking. With all the fancy clothes packed away in a trunk and left with the shipping company in Southampton, he was plain Bert, home with his family. All the money in the world would never make him feel happier than being home in the family cottage, eating rabbit pie and sipping his mother's home-made parsley wine.
Tina and Barnaby went off somewhere. They held hands when they thought they were out of sight. It was easier to see out through the curtains than in.
"That's not good," said
Albert's father. "Try to stop 'em. Better someone tells Lady St Clair. Mixing class makes bad 'appiness. Barnaby can't live like us and Tina can't live up at the Manor." He let the corner of the curtain drop back into place. "When you go back, Bert? Back to Africa?"
"Six days."
"Take our Tina with you. She's sixteen next month. Before we 'ave trouble. Never been trouble between us Pringles and St Clairs. Don't want none. Can't mix classes. You got to marry somethin' similar. Don't forget. This Sallie Barker sounds way over your head."
"Oh, she is dad. Believe me. Right over my head."
"Do you love 'er?"
"Oh, yes. But she doesn't love me. Don't think she'll ever love anyone now."
"Why not?"
"A long story. She got raped by a fat old German fart."
"I don't want Tina gettin' it off with Barnaby. Once they done that we'll never break 'em apart. Then she'll be miserable trying to be what she isn't. You can give 'er some of this education you talk about. That never hurt… By the way, son, I'm proud of you. Never say that again most probable. But I am. I'm proud of all my kids. Take 'er with you to Africa. Swap that first-class ticket for two in the third… Now, who the hell's this? Long thin piece of wind with a moustache. You expecting someone?"
Lady St Clair was equally worried about Barnaby and had sent Frederick to bring him home. Merlin had first been asked but Frederick had said he needed the exercise. Bored with doing nothing, and not wishing to think about his new position in the family, he thought he would ride over and hope Albert Pringle was still at home. Maybe the visit home could be made profitable. Buying equipment and stores for the mines was part of his new job. Any cut in the price of goods increased the profit for his father-in-law. It was a chance to do some business as he liked to call it. His wife seemed out of sorts and he put it down to poor Richard dying. Poor Richard. And that was something else he did not wish to think about.
They both knew what they were going to do but neither of them had said a word. For Barnaby, the primal instinct to reproduce after a death in the family was working in Tina's favour. She had known Barnaby as her best friend ever since she could remember. In those days she was a tomboy. Only when her tits began to grow did she think of him as a man. She was thirteen years old then and their game together had changed forever. Prior to that it was curiosity. Having a look. Wondering why they peed differently. Their relationship grew from mucking around together as kids trying to fight the boredom of childhood into a first-class lust. For six months she had wet her pants at the sight of Barnaby and the wetness had nothing to do with a pee. The placid object of her childhood curiosity stood up thrust from the inside of his pants sending another flood of moisture down her thighs. No one had to tell them what sex was about.
She had her pants down. The thing out of his pants was jerking so much it was difficult to get under control. Then it spat across the stable just missing her right tit. Her right hand was moist from taking off her panties. The thing in her hand was rock hard again in seconds but wet to hold. She couldn't bring it down without him bending over but with her pants down and legs open all he could do was stare at the thing jerking away in her sticky wet hand. The second time it happened the white stuff went all over her face. When the thing went limp she had it more under control and on its way to the point between her legs where she wanted it. Barnaby let out a final groan of ecstasy and fell on top of her and she lost the thing just as a male voice called their names from somewhere out in the snow. They scrambled to try to get back into their clothes.
"Tina, that was wonderful. The most wonderful thing I have ever done," said Barnaby.
"Well it weren't no good for me… You got an 'ankerchief."
"Why do you want a handkerchief? You're not going to cry are you?"
"You'd spat it all over my face. First shot missed my right tit by an inch."
The humour of it all began to boil, bursting into peals of laughter as they rolled around in the hay which was how Frederick found them when he opened the top of the stable door. It was dark inside. From the glare of the snow Frederick's eye took a moment to adjust.
"What are you doing in there," asked Frederick sternly.
"Feeding the horse… Do I know you?" called Tina pulling on her panties and pulling down her dress.
"It's Frederick. My brother. From India," said Barnaby lamely.
"Well what's 'e doing 'ere?"
"Barnaby's mother wishes to see him," said Frederick.
"Does she now?… Well go on Barnaby. Run along. Your mum wants you."
"What are you two grinning about?" asked the ex-junior magistrate from the state of Kashmir.
"Nothing, see."
Frederick, not wishing to confirm his brother's fly buttons were undone turned his back on the stable. He just hoped he had arrived in time. There was something gleaming wet on the girl's face that he did not wish to think about either. The worst part was the smell. It was quite distinct. Like under the sheets in the dark of the night with Penelope. What his family would do if the girl fell pregnant he had no idea. There was no way they could marry. The girl could barely speak English. She was pretty enough. A wicked little smile. What a pity life was so complicated, he said to himself. He walked away from them back to the cottage. At least he had done a little business. Albert Pringle was going to send him a price list and a box of fuse samples. Dynamite did not travel but the fuses and percussion caps were the key to successful rock blasting. The kids were still giggling to each other behind him. He felt old. Full of responsibility and envied them their childhood. What a shame all good things came to an end as this one certainly was going to come to an end right now. He would have a word with Granny Forrester. She would know what to do. Suddenly he was happy to remember what he had seen on the girl's face. Luck was with him. He had called out just in time. He hoped. Anyway, girls found it difficult to become pregnant. Look at Penelope after all those nights under the sheets. The idea made him tremble.
They rode back together, the oldest and the youngest of the brothers. Neither said a word but both were thinking similar thoughts. Sex, however much civilisation tried to make it look dirty, was the driving force of life. Without it nothing ever would have happened. They reached home and went their separate ways, Barnaby to have a good bath. He had never felt better in his life. Next time he would let Tina do what she had been trying so hard to do. He was in a corridor when the thought came to him. He would have to be careful not to think of Tina when the others were around. Unless he was sitting down with his legs crossed… He was going to marry her of course. There had never been much doubt of that and now there was none. When they were married they would do it three times a day. When Frederick had walked away he had made a time to see her on Boxing Day. He hoped his brother had not seen his fly buttons were undone.
The phone call had come in soon after Frederick left to haul in young Barnaby. Annabel and her new husband were at the railway station. Merlin had volunteered to pick them up in the trap, as he wanted to make sure his family knew nothing about their stay at his flat in the Barbican. It was going to be dark when he got home but the snow had stopped and Jug Ears knew his way in the dark. There was a small lantern to light and one of them would have to walk with the horse. The white snow would help. His sister was not going to stay in the waiting room. Annabel had said on the phone Pringle had gone home for Christmas and not waited for the last train. The young boy who swept the platform and weeded the garden was the only sign of life and the fire had gone cold. She and Geoffrey Winckle were the only passengers from Wareham off the train. They had got off the Brighton line train and changed at Wareham. They had planned for weeks to throw themselves on the family's mercy as they were completely out of money. Merlin's ten pounds had only gone so far. They had tried phoning Geoffrey's father who had told him to go to hell. 'You made your bed and now you can lie in it'. Geoffrey had the idea his father enjoyed the imagery. When Merlin walked down the deserted platform at Cor
fe Castle station they had never been more pleased to see anyone in their lives. Even the idea of driving the last part of the journey in the dark was not daunting.
"Is mother mad at me?" she asked.
"Richard is dead, Annabel."
"When?"
"Last night. We bury him the day after Boxing Day. He is still in his room with the window open. Our brother swallowed his tongue and choked to death. Fred's here with his rich wife. Granny Forrester thinks she's pregnant. Barnaby's being told right now not to see Tina Pringle again. Father's taken Richard badly. Added to that, the family is just about broke. Welcome home."
"And Genevieve?"
"They are spending Christmas with his parents in Norfolk. Other than them we are all together and probably for the last time if you include Richard and a looming war. I like the idea he'll still be at home for Christmas even if he is dead… Don't cry, Anna. It's better for Richard. Living in one room with the male nurse! Even Richard couldn't live that way. You couldn't have timed coming home better. For the first time since Richard died mother gave a brief smile. No parent should have to bury their child."
"We may all die young," said Geoffrey Winckle, nervously. As they drove along the top road, the ruins of Corfe Castle were lit up by shafts of winter sunlight that sprang through the cloud. The sun went out as quickly as it came, sending a shiver of premonition down Merlin's spine.
They reached the sanctuary of home without needing to light the lamp. Barnaby brushed down Jug Ears and covered the horse in a thick blanket. On the gravel driveway in front of the tall Gothic door to the Manor, carol singers from the village were singing their last song.
When Barnaby got back from the stable, holding the lantern to see his way, the children of the choir were inside with the Reverend Reichwald, eating Cook's home-made minced pies. The presents were already under the big tree twinkling with its new fairy lights, the presents tightly wrapped and ribboned, each with a small card. Barnaby had the certain premonition it was his last Christmas as a boy. Both fires were burning brightly at either end of the sitting room. Through the undrawn curtains, Barnaby could see the shape of the big car borrowed by the reverend to do his rounds.