by Peter Rimmer
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 upthrust 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 keys 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 Corfe 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 homemade mince 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.
Everyone was trying to be cheerful but everyone knew Richard was lying dead upstairs in his room. Barnaby knew it was not going to be a good Christmas after all. Taking a hot mince pie from the silver tray on the sideboard, he wandered across the room to meet his new brother-in-law, the enigmatic painter. The poor fellow was looking petrified.
Robert watched his youngest brother across the room and wondered what he was smirking about. The boy had the look of the cat that had licked the cream. Granny Forrester was beckoning to him. When he stood in front of her she just smiled and kissed him on both cheeks.
2
June to December 1914
Jack Merryweather rarely looked at the financial pages of the newspaper. He knew his income was grossly in excess of his expenditure and saw no point in watching what other people had done for him. When he was sick he went to a doctor. A legal problem found him with his solicitor. Pick a man in his profession and trust him and mostly it had worked. His money was entrusted to five stockbrokers and one of them was Jared Wentworth. Jack had concluded a man who hated his job could still be good at it. The man was honest, the most precious ingredient for Jack in a money manager. The connection with Elephant Walk helped. Mostly when he visited Jared’s office in the City they talked of Harry and Elephant Walk. Sometimes the portfolio of shares was worth more than the last time. Sometimes less. Over the years the profile had made a steady six per cent rise which among the five stockbrokers was the best return on his money.
“Do you feel like a gamble?” said Jared, taking a prospectus from his desk drawer.
“You’ve never suggested one before,” said Jack.
They had talked about the looming war and the dead archduke in Bosnia. He had been pleased to hear Sara Wentworth had still not married Fishy Braithwaite and would relay the information to Harry Brigandshaw in his next letter. They had both agreed long ago Sara would make the perfect colonial wife for Harry. Jack had been about to stand up in preparation to leaving Jared’s office when the surprising question was asked. Jack raised a quizzical eyebrow and kept his seat. He was thirty-three years old and had mastered the art of raising a quizzical eyebrow.
“Don’t look so shocked. I have not gone off at a tangent.” Flicking the prospectus so it landed on the desk facing Jack, Jared leaned back in his chair and smiled.
Jack was forced to read the heading. “Serendipity Mining and Explosives Company! This must be a joke.”
Jared was amused to watch Jack climb up on his high horse, his own smile making Jack climb a little higher.
“Blue chips, Jared. Don’t you remember my first instructions? Those South African mining companies have been known to float and sink on the same day. They salt the mines, damn it. In a proper world, they would lock up people who float these companies.”
“People did well enough out of Cecil Rhodes and Barney Barnato.” Jared was openly smiling.
“Take that grin off your face,” said Jack.
“Have a look at the names of the directors.”
Jack did and looked up sharply. “Lord Kenrick, Earl of Pembridgemoor, is a professional company director. He’d go on any board for five thousand a year provided he doesn’t have to attend a board meeting. The college of heralds has not confirmed his inheritance. There have been rumours for years his elder brother is still alive. I wouldn’t put a penny anywhere near Rowland Kenrick despite the fact that he’s a member of my club. Someone tried to shoot him in a duel for cheating at cards. Dreadful man. Years ago, of course.”
“Look at the names of the two executive directors.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll recognise them.”
“Well, I’ll be blowed,” said Jack.
“I propose you buy five thousand pounds’ worth.”
“There’s no mention of Lily White on the board. Albert Pringle, yes. But who’s S J Barker?”
“Sallie Barker. Used her initials to hide she’s a woman. She’s the brains, Jack. Take the prospectus home. Read it.”
“Why do you want me to invest?”
“To have some fun. He was your valet, for God’s sake. Now he’s floating gold mines on the London Stock Exchange. Where’s your sense of adventure? The gold mine may be a gamble. They always are. But the explosives factory with a war around the corner? They’ll be making artillery shots before you can turn round. Mines for the navy. The offer will be five times oversubscribed. When these shares reach the exchange they’ll be twice the listing price. Perfect timing. Your valet is going to be a rich man.”
“Better make it fifty thousand pounds.”
“You haven’t read the prospectus.”
“You have.”
“So you do have a soft spot for Sallie Barker!”
“I’m a confirmed bachelor. You know that. No, I’d like to see Sallie put two fingers in her mother’s eyes. If the shares list well it will be my pleasure to point out S J Barker to her mother.”
“Fifty thousand pounds is a lot of money to gamble.”
“You said to have some fun. Let’s have some fun. If you’re wrong I’ll fire you as my broker… Buy the shares in a nominee. Keep quiet until we know what happens. I wonder what they did with Lily White? Shows what can be made in life from rough beginnings. The three of them were running a whorehouse in Johannesburg.” Jack was now smiling.
“It doesn’t say that in the prospectus,” said Jared, worried for his biggest account.
“If they can run a whorehouse successfully, this will be a piece of cake. Thank you, Jared. I am having fun. And I will read the prospectus when I get home. But put in for fifty thousand quids’ worth to the offer broker. If you’re right we’ll only get ten thousand… Sallie Barker. She had the most perfect dark eyes and long black ringlets past her ears. That was the first time I saw her. Well, I’ll be blowed.”
Outside on the pavement, Jack felt happier than he had done for a long time. And there was no sign of boredom nagging at the back of his mind… He had even forgotten the pending war.
Lifting his rolled umbrella, he pointed it imperiously at a roving taxi, one of the new ones propelled by an internal combustion engine. The contraption stopped and he got in. It was five o’clock in the evening. He should have asked Jared to come over for a drink at the club. Instead, he gave the driver the address of his new mistress. She was eighteen years old. At that age, he had found, they were not so cynical of life. She did not have the size of the bosom of Lily White but she did have a more pleasant disposition. She was more fun. She made him feel younger. By the time he reached her small flat in Sutherland Avenue, Paddington, he had forgotten all about Lily White and Sallie Barker. He would phone his new valet from the girl’s flat and tell him he would not be home for supper. With everything in perfect order in his life, he began to climb a flight of wooden stairs to the small door with a small brass knocker. He gave one wallop on the knocker and the door flew open and the pretty little thing ran straight into his arms.
/> “Oh, Jack! Now I’m happy.” She gave him a big kiss. “What have you been doing?”
“Buying gold shares.”
“Come in and tell me all about it and then we can drive to Regent’s Park and go for a walk. It’s such a lovely afternoon. Oh, I’m so happy.”
It was like eating a soufflé when he wanted a proper meal; all fluff and no substance. It wasn’t good enough. She tried so hard to amuse him and he tried so hard to be amused. Trivia. Trivia… And more trivia. The pretty little girl parroted bits of the books he had given her to read, moving her eyes round his face to see if what she said was the right thing for the moment. Everything she did centred around keeping her job as his mistress, the void outside the comfort of the small flat he paid for always in her mind, the terrible alternative. There was fear in the chatter, that found him wishing he had gone to the club. She tried too hard and all Jack could see were dark, almost black eyes and black bouncing ringlets in his mind. It made him feel lonely and bored at the same time but he had no heart to hurt the girl prattling at his side. Would she really want to hear about another woman six thousand miles away? Could he talk about the emptiness in his life that had gone so long from one indulgence to the other? That nothing lasted. That there was no real importance in chit-chat or grand meals or plays in vogue; some new singer everyone told him had to be heard; some new amusement to counter his boredom. How lucky Sallie Barker had been when her telegram lay stuck at the back of the Elephant Walk mailbox in the Salisbury post office. He would have paid of course. They might even have started an affair. Whatever they had done, he doubted if it would have compared to a public share listing on the London Stock Exchange. She had been doing something while all the time he had drifted through his life of luxury to the echoing beat of boredom. He envied her. She had something to think about other than satisfying the bodily whims.
