by Clara Benson
Here his face darkened momentarily as his mind went back to the recent past. At least here in England he could be reasonably sure that no-one knew anything of him, or would bring up that business that had caused him such misery and had very nearly cost him his career. It had all been nonsense, of course. Why, nobody could possibly have believed such a thing of him! But in the end, it had been too difficult to prove that he was in the right, and by that time his reputation had already begun to suffer, so his superiors had, with reluctance, suggested he leave the university where he had been so happy and had produced some of his best work. For some time he had struggled to find another position in a Swiss university, and at length he had been forced to leave the country, and accept an inferior position at a university in Italy. He had worked hard ever since, and he had seen to it that no further scandal had ever been attached to his name, but even though he had begun to rebuild his reputation and had achieved some modest success in his field, he was still bitter at the thought of what he had lost—and all the old feelings had returned that morning when a letter had arrived from his old university. He knew what it was, but he had not read it yet, out of fear that it might not contain the answer he was hoping for.
But he must not let this most pleasant weekend be ruined by thoughts of the past. He had much to be thankful for, and this visit to Belsingham to see his old friend promised much enjoyment. He glanced at his watch. If he left now, he would have plenty of time to buy a newspaper and other sundry requirements before his train departed. He turned to his small suitcase, which was lying open on the bed, put the unopened letter inside it and closed it with a snap, then picked it up and went out in search of a taxi.
Freddy Pilkington-Soames was very fond of his mother, but found as a rule that it was best not to spend too much time in close company with her, for she had a tendency to talk at him about subjects that either pricked his conscience, required him to put himself out, or made him feel as though he were twelve years old once again—and sometimes all three at once. Today, however, he had been forced to break his own rule, since his wretched father had, at the last minute, backed out of the visit to Belsingham for reasons that were not quite clear, and so Freddy was now in the uncomfortable position of having to drive Cynthia down to Dorset himself. To make matters worse, they had been joined by his grandfather, Lord Lucian Wareham (otherwise known as Nugs), who was seventy-five and half-deaf, and who was inclined to make off-colour jokes at inappropriate moments. Cynthia had insisted upon sitting in the front with Freddy, so Nugs had the back seat to himself, and was sitting in great state, looking out of the window and humming tunelessly. Occasionally he would interrupt his song to mutter something and then give a bark of laughter. He was easy enough to ignore; not so Cynthia, who had her son where she wanted him for the next three hours and could now say all the things to him that she had been saving up for the past month.
‘I do think you might have turned up a little earlier, darling,’ she was saying. ‘As it is we’ll only just be there in time for tea, and you know Bea hates to be kept waiting.’
‘I wasn’t late,’ Freddy pointed out. ‘You weren’t ready when I arrived.’
‘Nonsense. I just had one or two more things to throw in, that’s all. Now, listen, you will be on your best behaviour this weekend, won’t you? I was sure they wouldn’t invite you again after what happened last time. Of course, we know it was all a misunderstanding, but you oughtn’t to have been wandering around at two o’clock in the morning—or if you really must go looking for food at that time of night then at least make sure you’re decent first. You nearly frightened Mrs. Bates out of her wits. I understand it was all they could do to stop her giving notice.’
‘A chap can’t help getting a little peckish sometimes,’ said Freddy grumpily. ‘I didn’t think anybody would be up.’
‘Well, it appears half the house was up that night,’ said Cynthia. ‘I don’t know what Alicia Chalmers was doing out of bed at the same time—and she didn’t seem to know either, but she ran back to her room quickly enough when all the screaming started.’
‘I expect she was peckish too,’ said Freddy. There was a loud bark from the back seat, which he ignored.
Cynthia took a pause for breath and then resumed.
‘Is Daphne Garthwaite really coming?’ she said. ‘I assume that was your fault. What on earth were you thinking?’
Freddy winced.
‘I didn’t invite her,’ he said. ‘At any rate, not exactly. It was the Philpott woman’s doing. She pinned me to the wall at Lady Featherstone’s tea-party and started blethering on about something or other, and somehow the conversation turned to Belsingham, and I happened to mention that we were going, and before I knew it she was thanking me within earshot of half the room for the invitation—which I’d never given, incidentally—and as soon as I tried to hush her up and say that it wasn’t up to me as it’s not my barn, Daphne started looking at me reproachfully and doing that thing women do where they make their lip wobble, and after that I had to jolly well get them an invitation or face the waterworks. Luckily, Bea is a sport and quite understood when I explained everything. She doesn’t mind a bit, she says.’
‘But I mind,’ said Cynthia. ‘If you must go running around with girls like that, then you might at least have the decency not to parade them in front of everybody.’
‘She’s not all that bad,’ said Freddy. ‘And anyway, I’m not running around with her, as you put it. We’ve been out to dinner a few times, that’s all.’
‘She’s common,’ said Cynthia. ‘Oh, she hides it well enough, but I can always sense it. That aunt of hers is the limit, for a start. Her parents can’t have been any sort of right-thinking people if they were prepared to let Lavinia Philpott loose on an impressionable young girl. And who were Daphne’s parents, by the way? Her mother’s dead, I know, but who was her father? Did she even have a father?’ she said, lowering her voice.
‘Of course she had a father,’ said Freddy. ‘He was a respectable tea-merchant who died of some putrid tropical disease while they were out in India. There’s no mystery about it.’
‘But why did she come back to England to foist herself onto you? You might do so much better, you know. Even if Daphne herself were unobjectionable, Lavinia Philpott is the most frightful social climber—’
‘Fine-looking woman,’ came a voice from the back seat. ‘Plenty of soft upholstery to sink into.’
Cynthia continued, as though there had been no interruption:
‘—and she has her beady eyes on a title for Daphne, I’m certain of it. You watch—I’ll bet it’s not you she wants, it’s Goose, and she’s using you to get at him. Perhaps we ought to warn him.’
‘Goose can look after himself,’ said Freddy. ‘He knows Daphne already—and besides, she’s not interested in him.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’
There was a delicate silence during which Freddy steered his father’s Wolseley carefully around a brewer’s dray which was blocking the road. Cynthia pursed her lips and went on:
‘It’s such a pity Iris didn’t want you. Now, I shouldn’t have minded her a bit, but it’s obvious she’s got a little above herself if she thinks you’re not good enough for her. I expect she wanted someone with more of a future. Ralph’s terribly respectable, especially now that he’s working at the Foreign Office. Someone—now, who was it?—told me he was thinking of running for Parliament one day. He’s one of those types who will always make something of himself, so I shouldn’t be surprised if he were to become a minister sooner or later. It’s just a shame you couldn’t have got yourself an important position like that. If you’d worked a little harder then you might have done just as well as he has, and then Iris might have stuck with you rather than throwing you over for him. Still, it’s her loss.’
‘Thank you,’ said Freddy in surprise.
‘Well, naturally I’m part
ial, but you’re much better looking than he is, and you don’t make one yawn with your conversation. One’s jaw quite aches with trying to hold it in whenever he starts talking, I find. Does Iris know about Daphne, by the way?’
‘Daphne is none of her business,’ said Freddy.
‘I suppose not. But aren’t they friends of a sort?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Freddy uncomfortably. ‘In fact, I should say they were rather the opposite.’
‘Oh?’ said Cynthia, but her mind had already flitted to another subject. ‘Bea told me Kitty Fitzsimmons is coming,’ she went on after a moment. ‘Now, why on earth she’s been invited I couldn’t tell you. You know the story about her and Rob, of course. The accident was all very suspicious, and there were rumours at the time, although nothing was ever proved. She’s a dangerous one, and all the more so because one can’t even dislike her.’
‘Dangerous? Kitty?’ said Freddy, relieved the conversation had turned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, she’s terribly discreet,’ said Cynthia, ‘but everybody knows that no husband is safe when she’s in the room.’
‘Nonsense, she’s a delightful woman,’ said Freddy. There was an echoing grunt of agreement from the back seat.
‘Of course you would say that—you’re a man. And she’s so terribly charming that one looks like a dreadful cat if one criticizes her, especially so soon after she lost her husband, but a woman knows. I shouldn’t trust her an inch around your father, for example. I wonder who she’s got her eye on? I have the feeling, from the tone of Bea’s voice when I spoke to her, that it might be Cedric.’
‘What? Cedric? I won’t believe it,’ said Freddy. ‘He’s far too stodgy to be getting up to that sort of thing.’
‘Oh, but he’s at that delicate age when a man is apt to lose his head,’ said Cynthia. ‘You remember what happened to Dickie Ratcliff, don’t you? The second he turned fifty he took up Satanism and ran off to Greece with those ghastly Americans. You know the ones I mean. There was a woman with awfully silly hair—what was her name, now? I’m sure it will come to me in a minute. At any rate, the last time I heard of them they’d set up a sort of cult, and were cavorting among the temple ruins quite naked except for a few olive garlands, which can’t possibly be comfortable. Far too prickly, I should think.’
‘Very cool in the hot weather,’ remarked Nugs. ‘I’d wear nothing but a couple of fronds of greenery myself if the summers here weren’t so beastly cold.’
‘I can’t imagine old Cedric doing anything like that,’ said Freddy.
‘No, but I dare say he’s as susceptible to a pretty woman as any man,’ said Cynthia. ‘I’d warn Bea but I expect she knows perfectly well what’s going on. Now, who else did she say was coming?’ She fished in her little bag and brought out a letter. ‘I see Mr. Wray is still there.’
‘Who?’ said Nugs.
‘Mr. Wray,’ repeated Cynthia loudly. ‘He’s the vicar of the parish where Bea’s sister lives. His chimney was struck by lightning while he was lying in bed, and the whole roof came down. He escaped by the skin of his teeth, I understand. They’re rebuilding the rectory, but in the meantime he has nowhere to live, so Jane gave him to Bea and he’s been staying at Belsingham for the past few weeks. It seems his mother was a Wareham, although nothing to do with our side of the family.’ She looked down at the letter again. ‘And there are a couple of professors, too. I don’t recognize their names. They’ll probably be deadly dull.’
‘It’s an odd sort of mixture of people to invite to Ro’s birthday dinner,’ said Freddy.
‘True, but the ball in London is the main thing, isn’t it?’ said Cynthia. ‘This is just a small family party. And we shall see Ro in the Belsingham pearls at last. I hope she takes more care of them than she did of those diamonds she lost.’
‘She didn’t lose them,’ said Freddy. ‘She lent them to a friend who forgot to give them back. They were returned eventually.’
‘It was most careless of her, and not the way to go on at all,’ said Cynthia with a sniff. ‘Cedric really ought to have a word with her about those people she runs around with in town. I’m sure most of them aren’t at all the thing. There was a most unsuitable young man at one time, but luckily she decided he was a bore and we haven’t heard about him for a while. Is that the sign for Dorchester? Look out for the turn-off. Now, you will remember what I said about being on your best behaviour, won’t you? That goes for you too,’ she said over her shoulder to Nugs. ‘We’ll have none of your usual nonsense, please. I won’t have you setting Freddy a bad example.’
‘Ha!’ said Nugs. ‘He’s quite capable of misbehaving without any help from me, aren’t you my boy? Ignore your mother. We’ll have some fun this weekend, won’t we?’
He and Cynthia began bickering. Freddy suppressed a sigh and directed his attention to the road ahead.
It was approaching four o’clock when the Wolseley turned in through the grand arch at the head of the long drive that ran for two miles up to Belsingham. The place needs no introduction, of course, for who has not heard of it? So certain is it of its own fame that it complacently refuses to append anything so commonplace as a ‘House’ or a ‘Hall’ to its name—even though, given the size of the building, no-one would utter so much as a murmur of disagreement if it decided to call itself a palace. But Belsingham it was named some three hundred years ago, and Belsingham it remains to this day, the seat of the Dukes of Purbeck ever since the wealthy but untitled Member of Parliament Henry Wareham first pleased the elderly and failing Queen Bess with some minor act of courtesy and found himself unexpectedly elevated to the peerage as the first Baron Wareham—a stroke of luck which the family failed not to act upon, successively obtaining more riches and titles for themselves as the years passed, until they were finally awarded the present dukedom. Such an exalted position required a residence to match, naturally, and as time went on, first one Wareham then another added to the comfortable but modest gentleman’s dwelling in which the family had lived for many years, and purchased as much of the surrounding land as possible, until the Belsingham estate became quite one of the most magnificent in the country, and the Wareham family one of the most notable families in England. Cedric, the present Duke, had never seriously expected to accede to the title, but had found himself landed with it some ten years earlier upon the death of his Uncle Algernon, the seventh Duke, who had no issue (or none that he was prepared to admit to in polite company, at any rate). Cedric duly removed to Belsingham with Beatrix and their two children Arthur and Rose, while Uncle Algernon’s widow Aunt Ernestine, the Dowager Duchess, took herself off to the South of France for a rest. The present occupants were conscientious in the running of the estate, and while Bea might secretly have preferred a quiet life without the duties of a duchess, she was a practical and realistic woman who knew what was required of her, and so had settled into her situation without too many regrets.
The house itself could not be seen from the gates, but was visible only after half a mile or so of bumpy road which Cedric had been promising to have mended for the past five years at least. Even Freddy, who, as the grandson of a cadet member of the family, had been running around the place every summer for as long as he could remember, always felt his spirits lift at that first sight of the house, which came into sudden view as one rounded a tree-lined bend. The road then widened into a circular carriage drive leading to the main entrance, which was at the top of an imposing flight of steps. Freddy drew up the motor-car and handed out his mother and grandfather, just as Bea came out and hurried down the steps towards them.
‘You’re just in time for tea,’ she said, kissing Cynthia on the cheek. ‘Hallo, Nugs, I hope the journey wasn’t too terribly ghastly. Do leave the car there, Freddy, and I’ll get one of the men to take it round. We’re in the small salon today, as the drawing-room still hasn’t dried out properly after the rain got in through the broken windo
w-pane during the last storm and ruined the carpet. It smells all damp and musty—and besides, the small salon is much pleasanter.’
She accompanied them, still talking, into the entrance-hall and thence into the room in question, which, despite its name, was a large, spacious apartment that might easily have swallowed an average-sized cottage. The ceiling was painted in shades of blue, white and pink, and framed by gilded cornicing, while the walls were hung with Old Masters collected over the years by the various Dukes. The enormous fireplace was a vision of ornately-sculpted marble, and everywhere the eye turned was some example of past money spent in abundance: here an ebony and ormolu cabinet from the time of Napoleon; there a pair of exquisitely-cast bronze nudes gazing at one another from opposite sides of a carved oak escritoire; in the corner a Chinese vase standing on a delicate brass pedestal. At the back of the room a pair of solemn footmen were attending to a table on which a smooth, white cloth was laid. China plates and cups clinked gently as the table was arranged. Freddy glanced around and saw that a number of people had already arrived and were gathered around Cedric, talking. A young man detached himself from the company when he caught sight of them, and came to join them. This was Lord Holme, the future Duke of Purbeck, who had been christened Arthur but was commonly known as Goose.
