‘God damn the dog!’ shouted the Admiral. ‘How did he get in!’ His cry of ‘Out, you brute!’ was met by the familiar snuffle, and I shrank back into the darkness of the corridor.
Chapter Three
I
I COULD not get him out of my mind for weeks. There was something dominantly, frighteningly male about him such as I had never encountered before. I could describe it in coarser terms but will not. Suffice that he walked behind me in the garden, sat in a corner of my room and listened to me sing, occupied a part of my bed at night. Everything I said I said as if he were listening. I was on a stage performing before an audience of one. No one took much notice of any change in me except Sally Fetch, and she seemed chiefly concerned because I had gone off my food.
I suppose it was not only because he was so dynamic that I took it so much to heart; it was also because it was the first time ever that I had been treated as if I were a normal girl. Of course he had referred to my disfigurement, tactlessly perhaps but quite casually as if it didn’t make all that much difference. I was a fat ugly girl with a drawn-down eye and a scar, but he looked at me as I had never been looked at before.
That it was Tamsin he was really interested in hurt like a stab in the stomach, but it did not affect my feelings for him. I never passed on his message to her, but I think she must have got it because on the Thursday she made an excuse to row across to St Mawes, and must have taken the ferry to Falmouth for she was late home and her face was high-coloured. My mother stared at her suspiciously but her answers were innocent and seemed to conceal nothing.
About this time Desmond Spry, who was now twenty-two and had been travelling in Europe, came home again. Unlike Samuel, who was in the Navy, he had no ambitions either military or nautical. His great preoccupation was birds – watching and sometimes drawing them – of every shape and kind. Whether it was a kittiwake, a black-backed gull, a chough, a swift, a house martin, a black scoter or a kestrel, his interest was equal and intense. Sometimes he seemed only to become animated on this subject. A quiet young man, kind-hearted, thoughtful, a little dull, much more like Mary in temperament. Anna Maria and Samuel were the dominant children. But presently, after having been home some weeks, Desmond began to cast an eye on an altogether different and unfeathered bird.
My mother had risked her daughters’ virtue and accepted the theatrical engagement; when she returned it was with obvious relief that she found her two girls unmolested; but it was not long before she perceived Desmond’s interest in Tamsin.
I read her feelings pretty well. Of course it should not be pressed. Claudine’s hopes for Tamsin were far more ambitious than marriage to a younger son. But she had already perceived that Cornish society was not as different from London society as she had hoped, and that where marriage was concerned a beautiful girl who was penniless was not going to be enthusiastically sought after by the mothers of the county, nor even by the more level-headed of sons. Only quite recently she had had hopes of attracting one of the Boscawens, particularly George Henry who was heir to the new earldom and was much the same age as Tamsin. But somehow it had quietly cooled. Perhaps the Countess had had her say.
So Desmond? A suitable age, good-looking, placid-tempered. Unlike Samuel, who when on leave went straight to Tregolls, and rarely visited his mother and sister at Place House, Desmond whenever he was free came straight to Place. He seemed devoted to the house, and began to initiate some repairs and improvements. As a younger son he would not have a lot of money, but no Spry was poor. There were always parcels of land or part interest in some commercial concern that belonged to them. Besides, Aunt Anna had brought money to the family and some of that was likely to devolve upon the younger children. Uncle Davey was now in his seventies, and Aunt Anna subject to attacks of near insanity. When they were gone, what would happen to this beautiful house? Samuel at sea and apparently content to make his home at Tregolls. Desmond in possession, Desmond living here, possibly with the dutiful Mary. Samuel, though only twenty-five, had the look of a bachelor, not specially interested in girls. And the Royal Navy, even in peacetime, had many health hazards …
A lot, of course, would depend on Tamsin. But if she got a temperate and good-looking husband with this house and land thrown in, she might look favourably on the match. Always supposing the abominable Fox had not cast his spell.
In the late summer of that year I caught an indolent fever, and in spite of a lowering diet and an excess of leeches, I could not throw it off. Lying in bed on a starvation diet for weeks on end, I not only lost weight but grew. I suppose I grew four inches. And lost perhaps twenty pounds. With Bram Fox still in my mind, however infinitely out of reach, I resolved not to put the weight back on when my appetite returned.
I remember well that the doctor would not let me eat fish while I was convalescent because it could bring on cholera.
In the October Aunt Anna began to laugh and cry and to talk continuously to her two lost boys, so she had to go away again in her black coach. A few weeks later Uncle Davey arrived in Falmouth by the Bristol steamer from Plymouth Dock.
He had always had a prejudice against these ‘ boiler things’, forecasting that a ship propelled by means of a fire in its belly was sooner or later bound to blow up. But he had been persuaded by a friend, a Captain Morris, to take the trip and his scepticism had changed to enthusiasm. He came across to Place by naval pinnace, and after satisfying everyone’s enquiries as to Aunt Anna’s well-being, announced that he had invited two other guests along with Captain Morris to sup with them that evening. They were, he said, two engineers, a Mr Bruton and a Mr Lane, who were doing a great deal for the maritime and industrial development of the country.
Since even his own arrival had been unheralded, there was a great bustle and toing and froing while suitable food was prepared. One of the footmen was sent across to St Mawes to buy fresh oysters, sugar, cornflour and damsons for a tart – and extra candles. Uncle Davey said that this Bruton, who was the head man, dressed like a foreigner, was maybe half Frenchie or something of the sort. That Uncle Davey should think of entertaining somebody who was even a quarter French suggested that his guest was in some other way notable or had caught his fancy.
Since he was in a very good mood he also commanded that all his family should sup with them.
When the boat arrived with our guests, among the bobbing lanterns I perceived a very tall heavy man and a slight short brisk one. The small man added somewhat to his height by wearing an unusually high stovepipe hat which had somehow survived the gusts of the crossing. He was wearing a long black frock coat and a fancy waistcoat with a gold chain. As he came across the lawn, walking with noticeable vitality, he threw away a half-smoked cheroot.
Beside him the other man towered. (They were both youngish, probably in their late twenties.) This one had taken off his hat, and his thick brown hair, worn long, blew in the breeze. He seemed to take only one step to the other’s two and to bend his head deferentially to hear what the other was saying.
I had put on my best plum-coloured velvet dress, with lace at the throat and wrists. Tamsin had once kindly said that its colour matched my discoloured eye, but I had nothing much else to choose from. It was two years old and had become too tight: now it was slack again and its hem was four inches from the floor.
We drank canary and presently supped in the big dining room, nine of us altogether. I would gladly have been absent. I sat next to the tall Mr Lane, and on my other side was Captain Morris. Mr Lane had rather kind greyish eyes under thick eyebrows. He moved clumsily and ate slowly, yet he did not give the impression of being mentally slow. You had the feeling that he was in harmony with himself, a very different impression from Mr Bruton, who you would think was constantly disciplining himself – when he wasn’t disciplining others.
Mr Bruton was very dark, much better-looking than Mr Lane, with bright, dynamic dark eyes, full lips, a high forehead – or it could have been a receding hairline. He talked a great deal, full of h
imself and his ambitions, a voice almost totally English with an occasional word burred in a foreign way. He had recently been seriously injured by a dangerous fall in the tunnel under the Thames which he and his father had designed and were building; and he talked of some competition he had entered to build a bridge across the Avon, near Bristol, and spoke as if he had already won it.
An arrogant conceited young man, I thought at first. But as the supper went on I fell under his influence – could you call it a spell? – as he conveyed to us his passion for engineering progress, the development of England as a manufacturing power, the conquest of distance by the use of steam trains and steam oceangoing vessels, the building of great railroads, expanding on the present developments in the north of the country and creating a nationwide network of communication and commerce.
And what had Mr Lane to do with this? Mr Lane was clearly a subordinate with few, if any, of the brilliant ideas of the other man. (I noticed that his big hands were calloused with hard physical work.) But clearly he was someone on whom Mr Bruton depended. A steady reliable trustworthy assistant. And likeable. For the first time since my meeting with Bram Fox I found another man likeable. When he looked at me and spoke to me his eyes did not immediately wander to my disfigurement. He was like a big friendly bear. For an hour or two it cured my heartache.
II
THEY LEFT about ten; the two men in the pinnace that had been waiting to take them back. Captain Morris was spending the night with us, and stayed on with the Admiral drinking brandy. By the time we left Uncle Davey was becoming maudlin. Slade hovered in the background as the Admiral, his face flushing with emotion, told Morris about his afflicted wife and what a tragedy her illness was to him in their happy married life. He seemed temporarily to have forgotten Betsy Slocombe living at Killiganoon.
Desmond and Mary went to bed, and Mother and Tamsin and I went back to our own sitting room, where we drank camomile tea and discussed the evening. As I went into the room I saw an opened letter on the tallboy. It was lying face upwards, with a few fragments of sealing wax loosely on the envelope. The letter was addressed to Mistress Claudine Spry, Place House, St Anthony, in a big masculine hand that I instantly recognized, though I had seen it only once, on a note he had left for Tamsin. It was from Bram Fox.
As I sipped my tea I wondered what Bram Fox could possibly be writing to my mother about. It must be something to do with Tamsin. But clearly whatever was said in the letter had not been passed onto Tamsin, otherwise she would not have looked as bored as she did. How could I get hold of it? Certainly there was no opportunity now.
‘I think if you will permit me, Mama,’ I said, ‘I will retire. Mr Bruton was a fascination, but towards the end he became too technical and I could not follow him.’
‘’Fraid I did not try,’ said Tamsin with a yawn.
‘His name was not Bruton,’ said my mother. ‘Your uncle is getting deafer by the month. I can’t remember what his name was, but it wasn’t Bruton.’
‘Brunel,’ said Tamsin. ‘As he was leaving I saw the name inside his hat.’
III
THAT DECEMBER Admiral Davey Spry caught a cold; it settled on his lungs and turned to pleurisy. He stayed at Place over Christmas, and Anna Maria and Edward Carlyon and their baby – with a second on the way – came over for Christmas Day. In January he recovered, and presently Aunt Anna returned, smiling and seemingly recovered too. Parish was allowed out of the kennels and infiltrated the household again. At the first opportunity the Admiral pleaded pressure of work and left, but got only as far as Tregolls, where he took to his bed again. There were stormy scenes in our own wing at Place where my mother and sister quarrelled fiercely over Tamsin’s attachment for Mr Abraham Fox. The next time I saw Mr Fox was when I walked over with Sally Fetch to St Mawes to buy some lace. Our own boat was in use so we walked to Polvarth and took the ferry, whence it was a short distance to St Mawes and the little bow-windowed street climbing up towards the castle and overlooking the quay. Parish came with us on a lead, which he did not like, but I did not trust him when there were lambs frisking. A blustery April day with bags of cloud being hoisted across the sky, like the bags of coal being taken in at Place. So far none of the bags had opened, but we were prepared. Mama had told me that I must call in at Mr Hoskins, the mayor, and he would give me tea. The tiny town was a parliamentary borough returning two members to Parliament with a minimal number of voters, so there had to be a mayor, and since the Admiral was Lord of the Manor anyone with the name of Spry, be she never so insignificant, would be greeted and treated with esteem. But I had not asked Mama what to do about Fetch, and as she had now become almost a personal friend – my only friend – I did not fancy seeing her go off into the servants’ quarters. So with Parish tugging and panting and wanting to stop and snuffle where he chose we walked down through the narrow cobbled streets with the smell of fish and tar and damp rope in our nostrils, keeping an eye on the scurrying clouds, and so almost bumped into my secret lover.
I had only seen him four times but always he was well-dressed in a raffish way. Blue denim trousers over darker blue waterproof shoes, and a high collared almost naval jacket with brass buttons, a tasselled hat which he pulled off as soon as he saw me.
‘Ministers of Grace! I was just thinking of you, Miss Emma! This very moment I was thinking of you and up you pop like a cork out of a bottle and nearly hole me below the waterline!’
To my annoyance I had flushed and my tongue would utter nothing at all.
‘And Fetch. Good afternoon, Fetch.’
‘Good af’noon, sur.’
‘I hope your mistress is well?’
‘Thank ’ee, yes, sur. I b’lieve so.’
‘And mongrel. A well-bred mongrel, I’ll be bound. What is his name?’
‘Parish.’
‘What strange names you have at Place! Well, Parish, boy, good day to you too.’ Rather to my annoyance Parish made a great fuss of him, so there was a lot of patting and snuffling and tugging at my lead for the next minute or so.
‘Are you returning home?’ he asked me eventually, looking me up and down with his mischievous, urchin eyes.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re walking? May I accompany you?’
‘We’re crossing at Polvarth.’
‘This far and no farther, eh? I’m content.’
He fell in beside us and with an authority which further annoyed me, waved Fetch to take the dog’s lead and to fall a few paces behind.
‘You’ve grown,’ he said. ‘And so much fined off. Is that the expression? You’re now a beautiful girl with a flawed face.’
I said angrily: ‘So what other discourteous remarks do you wish to make?’
‘Not discourteous,’ he said judicially. ‘ Personal, yes. But such comments show interest, not disinterest.’
‘Do you suppose I care?’
‘Well … any woman would. Find me a girl of any class, from the highest to the lowest who does not care to be thought beautiful.’
‘You did not say that. Nor could you.’
‘Oh, could I not! Challenge me if you dare!’
We left the last cottage behind and walked down the dusty country lane. A few wild flowers were colouring the hedges.
He said: ‘This is much like the day I first met you.’ When I glanced at him, he said: ‘ Well, cloud and rain and a fresh breeze. It would be agreeable sailing in the Roads today.’ He was carrying a stick with a round bone handle, and he flicked at a waving bramble. ‘I was impressed.’
‘Impressed?’
‘By the way you handled my little cutter. Or James Biggs’s little cutter, to be precise. You can tell a lady of quality by the way she trims her sails.’
My anger half turned to laughter but I did not show either. My heart was thumping like one of Mr Brunel’s steam engines. Here this man was, walking down the lane, pretending to flirt with me.
What was behind it? Did he think that by cultivating Tamsin’s sister he wo
uld have a friend at court? I had thought that before, when he had asked me to give her a message. But I had not given it to her, and when they met she must have told him this. Or was it just that he was so predatory a male that he could not resist teasing and flirting with any woman, however disfigured?
He laughed, showing the uneven white teeth against the olive skin.
‘What is it?’
‘The expression on your face, Emma. You can’t make head or tail of me, can you?’
‘Certainly not head.’
‘Witty as usual. Is it a devil’s tail or a fox’s tail that you see?’
It came into my mind to say ‘a monkey’s’, but I just did not dare.
He glanced behind to see that Fetch and Parish were following at a discreet distance. ‘Do not try to understand me. That way one’s own notions add to the confusion. I am really very easy to understand. My wishes, my hopes, my needs are plain to be seen. As clear as water. As clear as gin.’
We were nearly at the ferry. Tregrundle stood with his new boat ready. It was half tide and one would only need a dozen strokes. I was short of breath. I half turned to wait for Fetch, but he caught my elbow.
‘I want you. As clear as clear. Think on it, little Emma. Now I have exceeded all good taste. All the frilly lace curtains of convention are torn to ribbons. Blown quite away. Polite words are not in me. Shall I ever be forgiven? Not, I’m sure, for this utter disgrace.’
‘Please leave me alone!’ I pulled my elbow free.
As he turned to Sally Fetch his face was quite expressionless. We might have been talking of the next regatta.
‘Come along, Fetch, your mistress is waiting.’ He bowed slightly. ‘Dutiful respects to your sister and your mother, Miss Emma; it has been a privilege.’ He turned and left us, and we stood and watched him walking back the way he had come. Parish barked a farewell.
We still stood there.
The Ugly Sister Page 4
