A Division of the Spoils

by Paul Scott

  ‘You’ve learnt a lot. More than any of us.’

  ‘Only what he openly volunteered.’

  ‘I realize that. What puzzles me is why he volunteered it.’

  ‘Does it puzzle you? Really? You’ve no idea?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Yes, I see. And I’m sorry. I mean sorry you don’t much like him. But at least that’s better than the other thing. He told me all this because he wants to marry Susan. He said Susan had given him reason to believe she wasn’t averse to the idea but that no decision could be made until I got home. Fenny and your mother were surprised. Very surprised. They thought that if he had that kind of regard for either one of you it must be for you. I wanted to be sure how you felt. But it’s taken me a bit of time to pluck up the nerve to mention it to you. I was afraid of it hurting you. . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt me.’

  He took my hand. I said: ‘It doesn’t hurt me, it appals me. I don’t honestly believe it. She’s said absolutely nothing, but if he’s right, if she’s thinking on these lines, you’ve got to stop it. Really. She’s not fit to marry anyone yet, let alone Ronald Merrick.’

  ‘The psychiatrist apparently says she is.’

  ‘Which psychiatrist?’

  ‘The one here.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Ronald. He saw the fellow a few weeks ago.’

  ‘With Susan’s approval?’

  ‘No. He saw him before he spoke to Susan. He wanted to know what effect a proposal of marriage might have on her, whether it would set her back at all. Whether he should wait a bit before saying anything even to me.’

  ‘What a bloody nerve.’

  ‘I thought it rather sensible.’

  ‘Well of course – you thought exactly what he planned you should think. I hope Captain Richardson gave him bloody short shrift.’

  ‘Oh? Why? If you were Richardson and a man who’s short of an arm and has half his face burnt off came to you and said, Look I want to marry one of your patients, what are the problems likely to be from her and your point of view?’

  ‘I know, I know. It’s all beautifully logical. Absolutely square and above-board. Admirable. On the surface. On the surface, daddy.’

  ‘He’s very good with young Edward.’

  ‘Yes. He’s very good with young Edward.’

  ‘Better than I.’

  ‘Better than you. Better than any of us. Better than anyone. Better than Susan. But he wouldn’t be marrying Edward. He’d be marrying Susan. How good will he be with her?’

  Directly I’d said that the blood came to my face. I guessed what he probably thought. For one wild moment I wondered whether it could be true, wondered whether if I went to Richardson and described the situation to him he would say, It’s clear of course, Merrick appals you because he attracts you and your exaggerated concern for your sister is simply a reflection of your fury at being rejected in her favour.

  But it wasn’t true. What I believed was true was that my mother had deliberately tried to manipulate things. She couldn’t possibly want Susan to marry Ronald Merrick, but rather than say so she had grasped the opportunity offered by Aunt Fenny’s foolish but well-meaning hint to make father believe that it might break my heart. It could even have been in her mind that in time if the idea of having Ronald Merrick in the family persisted he could be paired off with me because neither of us deserved any better.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ father said, ‘is your having no idea how the land lay. From Susan’s point of view.’

  ‘Did mother?’

  ‘No. But sisters share confidences, surely. You’ve been very close to her. I know that. At least I know what your Aunt Fenny says.’

  ‘What does Aunt Fenny say?’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for you Susan would have had a complete breakdown.’

  ‘She had a complete breakdown, daddy.’

  ‘I meant, might have had to be put somewhere.’

  ‘She was put somewhere.’

  ‘But only in the nursing home, here.’

  ‘In a room with barred windows. They thought she might hurt herself. They were afraid of violence. She’d put the baby at risk. Hasn’t mother told you that?’

  After a while he said, ‘I suppose I’ve been told just as much as it’s thought I can take in. Fair enough. Anyway, that’s all over, isn’t it? She’s quite better now, surely. And quite capable of weighing things up and making a decision she’d have no reason to expect to regret?’

  ‘What does that mean? That she’s decided?’

  ‘Yes, I think she has.’

  ‘You’ve actually discussed it with her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did Susan say I might be upset?’

  ‘She seemed to think you were expecting it. She was surprised her mother wasn’t. She thought it must have been obvious to everyone for a long time that if she married again it would be to Ronald. She’s given it a lot of thought, you know. She said she couldn’t expect to fall in love more than once in her life, but she does respect him and she knows she’s got to think of the boy’s future. She assured me there wasn’t any element of pity or gratitude in her decision – I mean gratitude to Ronald for what he tried to do to save Teddie. And she’s also not blind to the fact that his disabilities make his future career a bit chancy. All in all, I was rather impressed by the way she’s thought it all out.’

  ‘Was mother impressed?’

  ‘Your mother was chiefly concerned about the effect it might have on you.’

  ‘She raised no objections on her own account? She hasn’t gone so far as to say she doesn’t want Ronald in the family?’

  I could have phrased that better. Again he regarded me seriously, still not entirely convinced that I was being frank about my own interests in the matter. But I let it go at that. I had to become used to the idea that I no longer had responsibilities. It was no business of mine whom Susan married. He had much the same thought, apparently. He said, ‘Well when you come down to it Susan’s free to marry whoever she likes. It would be nice if we all liked him too. Your mother hasn’t actually said she doesn’t. Being the mother she’s obviously not too happy about one of her daughters marrying a partially disabled man. Come to that neither am I. It is a liability. He’s very conscious of it himself. If for any reason you think he and Susan have been over-secretive, do take the disability into account. A girl’s got to think pretty hard before she commits herself in a case like this. Think it out on her own. So does the man.’

  ‘He’s ten years older than Su, at least.’

  ‘It’s not much.’

  ‘Why hasn’t he married before? Have you asked yourself that?’

  ‘My dear, what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It’s not supposed to mean anything. It’s just a question.’

  Eventually father said, ‘I don’t see anything in particular to question. I’ll admit he’s probably been keen to make the sort of marriage that, well, he could congratulate himself on making, but I see nothing wrong in that. Good luck to him. Why not? Senior police appointment, the guts to pester his department for a wartime commission, a DSO. It’s not a meagre record, not as though he’s bringing nothing worth while. I suppose you can say India’s made him what he is, but after all isn’t it India that’s given us whatever distinction we have? Without India, I wonder what we’d have been? Lawyers like my grandfather? Merchants like his father? And on the Muir side – Scottish crofters? A long way back, but not all that long way. It’s only a difference in timing. India’s always been an opportunity for quite ordinary English people – it’s given us the chance to live and work like, well, a ruling class that few of us could really claim to belong to.’

  ‘It’s no longer an opportunity.’

  ‘That’s hardly Ronald’s fault.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it’s no longer any use looking at Susan’s future from that angle. It’s all finished. She ought to go home. Ronald’s the kind
of man who’ll never let her. He’s worked too hard to get here. It would be different if they were in love. But they’re not. They can’t be. I don’t believe he’s capable of feeling that for anybody.’

  My father leant back, folded his arms.

  ‘It’s not his first proposal, though, is it?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That he was very fond of the girl in that wretched case that caused him so much trouble.’

  Again I stared at him. I could tell from his expression that he was still ready to believe that any reference to Ronald and another woman hurt me. ‘Daphne Manners? Ronald told you he was very fond of Daphne Manners? Fond enough to propose to her?’

  ‘Yes. He did.’

  ‘It’s not the impression he originally gave me. All he said was that he once thought he liked her but that he went off her pretty quickly when he realized she wasn’t sound.’

  ‘Sound?’

  ‘He may not have said sound. It’s what he meant. Not sound. Meaning bluntly too friendly with Indians.’

  ‘He told me he proposed marriage to her. I don’t see it as a thing a man would invent.’

  ‘And I don’t see it as a thing a man would talk about. Why did he?’

  ‘I suppose I asked him. I don’t mean directly. It just came up. We were discussing the case. Talking about his future. He said his Inspector-General had supported him but he wasn’t sure what the long-term effects would be on his career as a whole. He was very frank.’

  ‘He thinks he made a mistake?’

  ‘No. I didn’t get that impression. Rather the reverse. But I believe it’s often worried him that his feelings for the girl might have influenced him, made him act too hastily, not wrongly, just too hastily. Well, I don’t wonder. Wretched case altogether. Wretched to talk about.’ He hesitated. ‘I’d really prefer not to.’

  ‘All right, daddy, we won’t talk about it. That doesn’t mean we may not have to live with it, Susan especially, if people start pressing for inquiries into some of the things that were done at the time. But I mustn’t say that, must I? The mere prospect might make you feel sorry for him. You should never feel sorry for Ronald.’

  ‘I’d feel sorry for any man who was victimized.’

  ‘Victimized, yes. So would I.’

  I’d started to fold the paper in which the sandwiches had been packed. Noticing some still ungathered crumbs I unfolded it again, swept them in, and refolded. I had repaid him badly for the care and trouble he’d taken, for the love and affection he’d shown, making arrangements like these before telling me something he thought might upset me. I’d neither set his mind at rest nor, in the last few minutes, even spoken kindly to him.

  ‘It was such a lovely breakfast,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoilt it. I honestly didn’t mean to. Now I suppose we ought to be getting back.’

  ‘You haven’t spoilt it. What is the time?’

  ‘Eight-thirty.’

  ‘Are you on duty again?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ I remembered the Government House bag, with stuff in for me from Nigel. I’d meant to get to the daftar quite early to round up Sergeant Baker to make sure I got the packages.

  ‘What will you say to Susan?’ father asked.

  ‘Nothing. She won’t ask my opinion. The thing has been for me to be there when she’s wanted me to be there. To be there and go along with whatever she’s decided to do. Oddly enough, I’ve been quite good at that. If marrying Ronald is her new interest she’ll be all right so long as she’s making plans and seeing everything in terms of the next step ahead.’

  ‘If she stops seeing things like that, would you know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sooner than your mother?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Would you tell me?’

  ‘If I’m here, daddy.’

  ‘Might you not be?’

  ‘I can’t live at home indefinitely.’

  ‘I do understand that. But – well, for a while. At least until after the wedding.’

  ‘That might depend on when the wedding is.’

  ‘I’d not imagined anything impulsive.’ He felt for my hand again. ‘Don’t you be impulsive. What had you in mind?’

  ‘Going home, really. I’d like to get myself a job of some kind. Aunt Julia would take me in for a bit, I expect.’

  ‘Going home? But that’s a long-term plan, surely?’

  ‘I thought of going to Aunt Fenny in Bombay for a while. Then on from there when I’ve really decided. I can pay my own passage. Aunt Mabel left us each five hundred pounds of our own. Susan and me, I mean. And I’ve got a bit more.’

  ‘That’s your nest-egg. There’s no question of forking out your own fare, if going home’s really what you want. But I hope not yet. Not yet, Sarah. Give me a bit of time to enjoy my whole family.’

  I felt the net closing in again. I said, ‘Well the war’s not quite over yet.’

  ‘No, but if it is, try not to be in too much of a hurry or think me too selfish. It’ll be easier for us all to make plans when we know what’s to happen to me. The Trehearnes will be going after Christmas. It looks as if I’ll take over. But there’s just a chance of my getting the Area. Your mother’s a bit restless, she’d really like a change of scene, but if we got the Area that would rather please her. Flagstaff House. All that goes with it. And it would probably see out my time.’

  ‘You’d like it too, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I would. As a young man I assumed I’d end up a general. Small chance of that now. I’d settle for brigadier. Or just full colonel doing Trehearne’s job.’

  ‘Then I’ll cross my fingers, daddy.’

  ‘Would it make any difference to your plans?’

  ‘Flagstaff House?’

  ‘You were practically born there. And, well, if it happens I’d be sorry to think of your missing it altogether. You’ve had your share of stale gingerbread. Opportunity for a bit of gilt. But perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Raising hopes.’

  He would never understand how little the idea of moving into Flagstaff House raised my hopes. And just then they needed raising. Looking at that oddly unfamiliar view of East Hill it seemed to me that once long ago I’d been marooned there and that now the flood had receded, receded so far that you would have to walk miles to find water and even then have to wade on, endlesssly, without coming to a depth sufficient to swim in.

  For one moment I believed, perhaps illogically, my only hope of getting away lay in confessing to my father what had happened to me. I could say: Look, I’m no longer a virgin. I was bedded by one of those officers Uncle Arthur’s paid to make enthusiastic about having a career in India, only this chap turned out only to be enthusiastic about what Uncle Arthur would call the wrong things, and I was left in the club, also the wrong one, like any tiresome little skivvy, but unlike her we were able to arrange to have it brought off, and boringly unconventional though I’ve always been from most people’s point of view, I simply didn’t have the nerve to walk round pregnant and unmarried in Pankot. I know I’m not by a long chalk the first colonel’s daughter to wander down the primrose path, but the catch is that I would never marry a man without first telling him what had happened, which mother knows. I made it clear to Aunt Fenny and if Aunt Fenny’s run to form she’s obviously told mother that I’d never marry under false pretences. Mother’s probably guessed it anyway. And she doesn’t really mind because it would go against her patrician scale of values to let me marry a man she really approved of and she thinks the ones she’d approve of are the ones who’d turn tail once they knew. So she’s written me off. You’d better too.’

  I glanced at him, and then, summoning the nerve, I began to tell him. I got as far as ‘Look –’ and then, after a second or two, departing from script, ‘There’s something I want you to know, something I must tell you,’ but I got no further because he suddenly grabbed my hand and,
not looking at me, said, ‘No,’ quite sharply, and then repeated it more gently.

  ‘No. Nothing to tell me. Better be off.’

  Still without looking he let go of my hand; briefly but quite strongly put his arm round me and then let go altogether and stood up and shouted something to the boys who scrambled up and ran round to get the horses. Then he went to the head of the steps and down them. He was calling something to me, pointing, perhaps at the fir tree high up on East Hill which his better-trained eye had sighted; but half-keeping his back to me, giving me time to let the reason for his reaction sink in.

  He knew about the pregnancy and the abortion. Fenny or my mother had told him. Fenny probably; perhaps only hinting at a cause of unhappiness which my mother had more coldly identified. I went to the head of the steps, pretended to look where he was pointing, shading my eyes.

  The boys brought the horses. Ashok helped me to mount. When he’d done so I thanked him and led off without waiting for father, heading down the stony track. Half-way down my horse began to miss his footing. The effort of keeping control, slight as it was, seemed immense; the last shameful straw. By the time I reached the road I couldn’t see clearly. I waited until he came up. We could go one of two ways. He chose the shorter, and I fell in behind him. But presently he moved over to his right, waited until I was level and, apart from having to drop back a couple of times when a vehicle went by, stayed silently abreast of me until we reached home.