Theirs Was The Kingdom

by R. F Delderfield

  It was all Henrietta could do to prevent herself boxing the girl's ears. It would not have been the first time by any means. All the children, at one time or another, had felt the weight of her hand, although Adam had never laid a finger on any of them. She controlled herself, however, for it suddenly occurred to her that she might know a possible reason for Jo's wretchedness. It was linked, she was sure, to Helen's abrupt removal from the scene and also, perhaps, to Helen's husband Rowland, for Henrietta now recollected her own astonishment when the young doctor had turned up demanding Helen's hand after squiring Joanna all over the county for months. The conviction grew on her then that she was looking at a jilted bride, the victim of a scurvy trick on the part of her closest confidante, and with this she felt a rush of sympathy for the girl. She said, “Tell me, Jo. It’ll surely help to tell someone. Is it because of Helen? Helen and Rowley?”

  “Rowley?”

  She mouthed the word as if it was all but incomprehensible to her. “You think I’m crying for Rowley?”

  “Why not? He was your beau to begin with. You saw a rare lot of one another before Helen…”

  “It's nothing to do with Rowley! Rowley was… was dull, and it was I who helped Helen get him! But I don’t want to talk about it. Stop nagging me, please.”

  It was not often Henrietta felt as baffled and helpless as she felt in the face of this. Instinct told her that Joanna, in so far as Rowland Coles was concerned, was telling the truth. She was not concerned for her pride and therefore had no interest in her brother-in-law. She said, quietly, “Very well, if you say so, but I would have thought you could talk to me since you’re obviously extremely upset over something,” and she turned to leave.

  She had her hand on the latch when Joanna called; the urgency in her voice spun Henrietta round, as if in response to someone crying out in fear of death. “Mamma! Please…!” And then, in a voice not much above a whisper, “Don’t go. Shut the door. Is everyone asleep—Phoebe, the children?”

  “They’ve all been in bed for hours.”

  She came back into the room and stood close to the bed, aware that Joanna was making a great effort to control herself, to contain a fresh storm of tears and talk rationally and coherently.

  “Well, Jo?”

  “It isn’t Rowley. It's nothing to do with him and nothing to do with Helen. In the beginning it was. But now… it's Clinton, Rowley's brother.”

  “You mean you’re in love with Clinton Coles and he doesn’t love you?”

  “That's a part of it.” Her teeth, whiter and stronger than the teeth of any of the others, clamped over the heavy underlip. “Yes, I’m in love with Clint. I told myself I wasn’t over and over again but I am. I must have been… must have been, you understand?”

  Henrietta did not as yet. The girl was making no more than partial sense and all this time hysteria was trying to raise the key of her flat, impersonal tone.

  “He's marrying someone else?”

  “Not him. Clint won’t marry in a hurry. He isn’t the marrying kind.”

  “Very well then, put him out of mind. You’re nearly twenty-two and you’ve been racketing about long enough…”

  But the girl seemed not to be listening. She was sitting on the very edge of the bed with her head bowed so that her hair was a copper screen masking her face. Her hands fidgeted with the ruin of a pocket handkerchief, twisting it and tugging it, as if it had been the knot on a parcel.

  “‘Put Clint out of mind’? How can I? I’ll be having his child in six months.”

  Henrietta's first reaction was not one of shock, or even extreme indignation. It was something more practical, for at once her glance moved from the girl's head to her figure, searching out evidence of this appalling announcement. She found none. Joanna had always inclined to plumpness and there seemed no sign of pregnancy about her rounded, sturdy figure, although that might be because she was still wearing her corset.

  She said, in a voice that seemed to come from the back of her head, “Stand up! Stand up and look at me!” and Joanna stood very slowly, like someone responding to a hypnotist's command.

  “In six months? You’re sure?” and Joanna nodded, wordlessly.

  “Dr. Birtles knows?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Then you can’t be sure. You can’t be!”

  “I am sure. There's no doubt about it.”

  “Wait a minute… don’t say anything… let me think… think…” Joanna subsided slowly on the bed, resuming her former position. There was a long silence in the room. The small fire shifted, rustling like a handful of dead leaves. Outside the wind gusted down from the spur to lose itself in the avenue beeches.

  Henrietta, with an insignificant part of her mind, reminded herself yet again how much she hated wind, of the kind that tormented Tryst at this time of year.

  “You say ‘no one.’ Does that include him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve told him nothing? Not even hinted?”

  “No. I was only sure myself earlier in the week. I’ve not seen him since…”

  And at that Henrietta's speechless indignation boiled over so that she wailed, “How could you be such a fool? How could you…?” But then, to her own surprise, fury ebbed from her and she rallied on something more fundamental, some hidden force that came hurrying up like a reserve, very late and very much out of breath but infinitely welcome. Sooner or later they all had need of her. Sooner or later every single one of them, from Adam downwards, came to her to solve their complicated personal problems, to make sense out of their muddles and misjudgements, their acts of thoughtlessness and bad guesses, that persisted far beyond the time when each and every one of them should have learned to stand on their own feet, as she had done when Adam lay helpless and mutilated more than twenty years ago.

  There had been him, and after him Stella and Alex, both fugitives from their own impulsiveness. There had been George and Gisela, with their complex concerns, and soon afterwards Giles with his. And now here was Joanna, who had never once sought her counsel, telling her she had Clinton Coles's child in her belly, and that he wasn’t likely to marry her. Well, something would have to be done about it. At once. Before a whisper of it passed beyond these four walls. But before anything could be done, she would have to have a clear, unequivocal picture of the situation, and common sense told her that the least likely way to get it was storm or rave at the girl, taking the stand most mothers took when faced with a domestic problem as old as civilisation that never offered a cut-and-dried solution.

  She said, “Very well, tell me everything. Everything, you understand? For I can’t help if I have to guess and I mean to help, do you hear? I mean to sort this out before your father hears about it and before we’re all in disgrace again, the way we were over Stella.”

  Joanna's chin came up slowly. “There's not much to tell. I began flirting with him after Helen told me she was in love with Rowley. Rowley had proposed to me then but I didn’t tell anyone save Helen because I wasn’t going to accept. But I helped switch him to Helen and it worked.”

  “When was this?”

  “Almost a year ago. One day when we were over at Penshurst on a picnic.”

  “Well?”

  “After that Clint and I paired off. I didn’t take him any more seriously than Rowley, although I was always much fonder of him. We were alike, I suppose. I didn’t want to settle and neither did he.”

  “He seems to have had his fill of fun, nonetheless.” It slipped out and at once she was sorry for it. “Never mind. Go on.”

  “We went everywhere together and I grew more and more fond of him after Helen and Rowley married and went away. I missed Helen a lot, but Clint made up for it. Sometimes I thought he would propose but he never did. If he had I would have accepted, but I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t. He just isn’t that kind of person.”

  “What kind of person is he?”

  “He's weak in many ways. He doesn’t intend to work if he can
help it. He keeps refusing to go in his father's business but over there they all spoil him—his father, his mother, his sisters. I can see why. He's so gay and… well, likeable. Wherever he goes people like him. He could have any girl around here and not simply because his father's so rich but because… well, because he's always fun to be with. He laughs at everything and makes everybody else laugh, even at serious things, if you follow me.”

  “Right. Now tell me how he came to make such a little fool of you.”

  “It was more my fault than his. As much, anyway. I think it always is really… the girl's fault, I mean. I was perfectly aware what I was about. In a way it was deliberate… well, half deliberate.”

  “How can you say that? Good heavens, you’re not a child, you must have known…”

  “I wanted him so much. It seemed a way to make certain.”

  With a part of her mind she found herself admiring the girl's devastating honesty. In a way it was a matter for pride, she supposed, that a girl in her situation could bring herself to admit as much, refusing to take refuge in whining complaints about being betrayed. Until now she had never seen anyone look less dignified, but there was dignity of a kind in Jo's frankness, and Henrietta found herself responding to it.

  “It happened more than once I take it?”

  “Yes. Several times, until lately.”

  “You mean you stopped seeing him?”

  “Not exactly. I saw much less of him. When I finally decided he wouldn’t make up his mind one way or the other I was angry, especially if he paid the least attention to other girls.”

  “He's not attached to anyone else? You’re sure of that?”

  “I’m quite sure.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Nearly a month ago. We had a quarrel… well, not really a quarrel, more of a tiff. We were coming home from the Volunteers’ Ball in Sevenoaks and he began… well, I put him off, and since then I haven’t set eyes on him.”

  “How did you ‘put him off,’ exactly?”

  “I told him he was selfish, that he was all take and no give, and that I was sorry I’d let him treat me that way and wouldn’t again, ever.”

  “You didn’t mention marriage?”

  “No. I wanted to but I couldn’t when it came to the point. It seemed… well, degrading, and besides, I had a feeling it would scare him off altogether and I didn’t want that to happen. Was that the wrong way to go about it?”

  “Every single move you made was the wrong way and I would have thought any girl of mine would have known that instinctively. A village oaf can be caught that way, but not a man like Clinton Coles. But you don’t need telling that now, do you?”

  Joanna said nothing and Henrietta, glancing at her saw there was nothing more to be said, or nothing that would help. She had her, brief and it was as comprehensive as she was likely to get. She said, “Right. You’re in a rare fix, girl. We’re all in a fix, so it's up to me to do what I can to get us out of it, and with as little damage as possible. But you’ll have to help so I don’t want any nonsense about pride and dignity. It's far too late for that. From now on you’ll do as I say, and behave as I say, and not a single word of this to anyone. Is that clear?”

  “What can be done? Are you saying I should go to him, tell him…”

  “Not you. I’ll do the telling.”

  “You will? But…”

  “Hold your tongue and listen. Where would I be likely to find him? In private. Away from his house and this house. Somewhere we could talk and come to an arrangement?”

  She looked so bewildered that Henrietta felt her profound irritation returning as she thought, “She's quite the silliest of the whole string and that's a fact! No wonder she let that young rascal take advantage of her and still think she was being so damnably artful…” But then the sense of urgency returned and she snapped, “Don’t sit there gaping like a goldfish! Where can I find him? In the morning. As early as possible. I’ll call on him if I have to, but it would be far better if I didn’t at this stage. I’d sooner… sooner waylay him and find out where we stand—you, him, all of us!”

  Joanna said, uncomfortably, “He's training a horse for the flat. He goes out early most mornings, up to that long, level stretch, our side of Cudham.”

  “Alone?”

  “Usually, but…”

  “What do you call early?”

  “Soon after it's light. About seven o’clock by the time he's up there. I thought of going there myself.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. You’ll get your packing done.”

  “Packing?”

  “Packing! And only take what you have to. Two bags at the most, you understand? I want you out of here before twenty-four hours are past.”

  “But where am I going?”

  “That,” said Henrietta, “depends on a number of things. Right now, wash your face and go to bed.”

  She crossed to the door but paused, her hand on the latch. “There is one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t beat about the bush. Tell me as simply as you can, providing you have an answer. Is there any possibility he loves you? ”

  Thirty seconds ticked by as Henrietta stood waiting.

  “I think he does. In his own way.”

  “Ah, and what way is that?”

  “After himself he loves me.”

  She went out then, remembering to close the door softly.

  4

  She saw him first as a silhouette against a clear, windswept sky, horse and man rising out of the dip and moving into a smart trot as they breasted the slope to the level stretch where she rode her cob in the centre of the hammered track.

  The wind had dropped but it was cold up here, and she was glad of the steamy warmth of the cob's flanks against her legs. His horse scented hers and whickered so that he reined in, sitting well back in the saddle. When he saw who it was he came forward at a sidling walk, as if he was having difficulty holding in his grey. His easy manners came to his rescue and he called, touching his steeplechaser's hat, “Top of the morning, Mrs. Swann. I didn’t know you were in competition with me. I look on this stretch as mine!” and laughed.

  He had, she decided, a musical laugh and thought at once of his solemn brother, Rowland. She did not recall ever having heard Rowland laugh, although he had smiled when Helen's eager response went off key at the wedding last summer.

  There seemed no point in mincing matters and the nip in the air put a particularly fine edge on her voice as she said, “You’ll know why I’m here if you think about it, Mr. Coles.”

  In some ways he seemed even more stupid than Joanna, for it was manifestly clear that he did not know. She thought, studying his handsome but unremarkable face, “They should suit one another… not a ha’porth of sense between them.” But instead she said, in the tone of voice she had used to prise the facts from Joanna, “Don’t just sit there, help me down. Any minute that great beast of yours will run away with you and the cob will follow suit.”

  He made a great show of dismounting, hooking his bridle over his arm, steadying the cob with the engaged hand, and using the other to lift her from the saddle. His touch was firm but gentle. “It would be!” she thought, sourly, “he's a lady's man and no mistake.” She heard him say, “Is anything wrong, Mrs. Swann? Can I be of service to you?”

  She could have laughed at that and almost did. Resisting exploitation of the irony, she said, “Yes, there is something wrong, Mr. Coles. As wrong as can be, so far as I’m concerned. As to whether you can put it right that's up to you, I imagine. Or your folks, whichever you prefer.”

  She saw then that “the penny had dropped,” as old Mrs. Worrall, her father's Lancastrian housekeeper, had been fond of saying. He took a step backward, his eyes widening, his mouth crumpling like a child's. For a dreadful moment she thought he was going to add his tears to Joanna's, but he pulled himself together more briskly than she would have expected, and said in a low voice, “It's about Jo then?
”

  “Who else?”

  “You’d best explain, Mrs. Swann.”

  Her North Country forthrightness flashed out. “I didn’t ride out here on an empty stomach to pass the time of day, lad! Joanna tells me she's expecting your child. You’re not going to deny it, I hope.”

  “No,” he said, flushing, “I’m not a cad, Mrs. Swann.” And then, his head coming up, “Did Joanna tell you I would?”

  “No, she didn’t. And she was ready to shoulder more than half the blame. That's rare in the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It's like her. Does Mr. Swann know?”

  “Mr. Swann is away, thank goodness.”

  “Then why didn’t Jo tell me herself? Why did she send you?”

  “She didn’t ‘send’ me. And she wasn’t sure herself until a day or so ago. I happened to pass her room very late last night. She was crying and naturally I wanted to know why. I don’t imagine she could have kept it from me much longer in any case.”

  Nothing stirred up here. With the two horses they might have been the only creatures astir in the whole of Kent. The air was so crisp and heady that it made her nostrils smart. He was not looking at her. His eye seemed to be fixed on a glistening pebble lying near the grey's nearest hindleg. He said, at length, “You don’t have to worry, Mrs. Swann. And it won’t be another case of ‘having’ to get married, as they say. I’m very fond of Jo, and I think she's fond of me. I would have proposed anyway sooner or later. Without this happening, I mean.”

  The strange thing was she believed him, so that her opinion of him began to rise with every moment that passed, every word he uttered. Joanna had said he was weak but he wasn’t as weak as all that. She fancied she had learned something about men in more than thirty years of marriage to Adam Swann, and it seemed to her that Joanna's instinct had not led her far astray. She said, briskly, “So far, so good, then, but I’m not here to ‘bring you up to scratch’ as the saying goes, or not entirely. I’ve got a plan that will save us all a peck of trouble and embarrassment if you’ll agree to go through with it. Will you listen to my advice?”