‘You’ll do no such thing,’ was the immediate and simultaneous response from different quarters. And it was Charles who went on, ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough traipsing around the world? Why don’t you settle here?’
‘What! Settle in England? I wouldn’t stay here if they offered me half of the Palace. But this time when I go back I mean to stay and die there, because, let me tell you’—she wagged her finger first at the Colonel and then at Reginald—‘there’s a time coming when there’ll be no France and very little England, or any place else.’
‘What do you mean, Nessy?’ It was a quiet question from Reginald now; and she answered him as quietly: bending forward she looked up the table towards him as she said, ‘Strange things are happening. I go through a lot of open doors in Paris and meet a lot of different people, and I can tell you there is a swift, black current running underneath all that smiling diplomacy. William of Germany is an ambitious man, and there have been some stupid individuals on the throne here who cannot see further than their noses. They sell their daughters abroad, and into what? Royal slavery. Oh yes, I know you’re all shaking your heads, but it’s true. You’re a lot of stick-in-the-muds. Yes, you are, every one of you. You can’t see further than your noses; you never move out of this damn county. When were you last abroad?’ She was now looking at Grace.
‘I was in Rome last year, Nessy.’
‘For how long? Three weeks at an hotel with German waiters, half of them spies.’
‘Oh, be quiet, Aunt Nessy!’ said Reginald now. ‘You must be reading too many of those French novelettes. There’s a number on the market now about Secret Service and spies and assassins and rebellions.’
There was silence at the table for a moment, until the old lady spoke again; ‘You’ve all forgotten the Boer War,’ she said, ‘although Hughie’s carrying a bit of it in his leg. And what do you think there are people like Reggie for, eh? What do you think they’re training you for, Reggie?’ She was now stabbing her finger towards him. ‘Not to play at soldiers with your men, or let them play in the band in the park on a Sunday afternoon. They’re training you for war. And it’ll come. Oh yes, it’ll come. Greed must be satisfied. Turkey’s split. Italy is helping herself to bits of it. Bits, I say! She’s taken Tripoli and the Islands. And just November gone, Greece annexed Crete. Everybody wants land, somebody else’s. One country has its eye on another. And that comes down to the individual. Remember our grandfather, Hughie, remember him? He enclosed the green that had been open to the villagers for years, and he bought up Hooper’s farm just to tack on his land, this land you’re living on.’
‘That was all in the past, Aunt Nessy,’ Charles put in now. ‘We have a Liberal government. Things couldn’t be better for everybody, all round. Changes are happening every day.’
‘Liberal government!’ The old lady’s tone was a sneer in itself. ‘Gutless. Really gutless.’
‘You would rather have the Conservatives in power?’
‘No, I wouldn’t. They’re another lot. They’re against change altogether, because they’ve got fingers in too many pies. Like Lansdowne, with his estates in Ireland. Now there’s a hotbed that’s just waiting for an explosion. The Conservatives want force, and by God, I can see they’ll get it from that quarter and before very long! And it’s nothing more than what they deserve, for they’re a band of turncoats. There’s that Churchill, he was one of them. But now what does he do? He’s joined the Liberal Party, and now he’s a very important cog in the cabinet. He’s working under the new name too of humanitarian. The latest is he’s improving the prisons, and’—her head went back now and she laughed—‘he’s wanting a law brought in for heavy sentences for incest.’
‘Nessy! Nessy! Listen to me for a moment.’ Grace’s tone was stern now. ‘This is a Christmas Eve dinner. Have you forgotten that? And you’re not in Hyde Park, or in one of the boulevards in France, or sitting among half-starved artists in a garret in Paris.’
‘What do you know about half-starved artists in Paris?’
‘More than you would imagine, Nessy. Remember, I spent three years of my youth there.’
‘Oh, yes, yes’—the old lady nodded from one to the other at the table now—‘in a crocodile, from the school to the church, from the school to the conciergerie, from the—’ She stopped now; then with a wicked grin on her face she added, ‘but never from the school to the Folies-Bergère, eh, Grace?’
‘You’d be surprised at that too, Nessy.’
The old lady now moved her shoulder to let George Banks, the butler, take her plate away and hand it to Patrick McCann, who was standing behind him, then to place before her a plate he had taken from the sideboard; and she, after looking down on it, turned her head up towards him and said, ‘Iced pudding, Banks? Oh, that’s my favourite! You remembered.’ And Banks tactfully remarked, ‘Madam did, ma’am.’
‘You’re a very thoughtful woman, Grace.’ She nodded to her sister-in-law. ‘And I’ll have another glass of wine, Hughie.’ She now addressed the Colonel.
‘You’ve had three already.’
‘Well, are you rationing them?’
‘No, but knowing you, if you go over your limit we’ll have to tie you down before carrying you upstairs to bed.’
‘I’ve never been carried upstairs to bed. Oh, I’m telling a lie. Yes, I have, many a time.’ She giggled now and Charles, with a twinkle in his eyes, said, ‘Who’s your latest gentleman friend, Aunt Nessy? I mean, what nationality?’
‘Ah, let me see.’ The old lady dug her spoon into the iced concoction, took a mouthful of it, rolled it round her mouth, swallowed it and said, ‘Mm, nice!’ Then looking again at Charles, she replied, ‘He was a German. Yes, yes.’ She tapped her brow with her forefinger. ‘Yes, of course, he was a German. The Germans are very stiff lovers; he didn’t last long.’
Perhaps it was the throaty sound from the two manservants or Reginald and Charles visibly choking, or Henry bowing his head, that caused the Colonel to bellow, ‘If you can’t behave yourself, Nessy, you will leave the table!’
‘If you make me leave the table, Hughie, I shall go straight down into the kitchen. I always find good company in kitchens, and I know from experience I’ll have a welcome down below. What do you say, Banks? And you, McCann?’
She leant her painted face back to look at the two men standing at the sideboard, and it said much for George Banks who, turning to the old lady, said, ‘I feel you would always be welcome in whatever company you choose, ma’am.’
‘There you are, Hughie, you’re very lucky, you have a diplomat for a butler. No-one could have answered better.’ But now, looking across at Charles again, she said, ‘To give you the end of the answer to your question. Of all the men of different nationalities I’ve met and of all types, I have found good and bad in each, but my favourite still remains the Frenchman, because he can lie so convincingly. He can make you believe you are the only woman on earth for him, and only a Frenchman out of all the men in the world could look at me and tell me to my face that I am beautiful. What more could any woman want?’
This did not create the laughter she had intended.
And now Charles said quietly, ‘Well, as an Englishman, Aunt Nessy, I find you not only a beautiful woman, but an amusing and brilliant one. And if I had to choose a companion to be with me down the years I would take you as a pattern.’
The old lady didn’t answer for a moment, and before she did the wrinkles on her neck moved under the effect of her swallowing, and then she said simply, ‘Thank you, Charles.’
There was a moment of silence, and then the old lady, her tone returning to normal, looked at Grace as she said, ‘Now, Grace, when the meal is over and there’s all this tosh about the ladies rising so the men can enjoy their port and cigars, here’s one who is staying behind because I’m dying for a cigarette. And knowing the rules, you don’t allow smoking in the drawing room. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll join you both later.’
‘Well,�
�� put in Elaine now, ‘I’d better get upstairs and help Nanny to get the tribe to sleep, because they’re so excited.’
When Grace Farrier rose from the table, the men rose with her, and when a few minutes later she entered the drawing room, she sat down with a sigh, for she was wondering how long Aunt Nessy’s stay would be this time. It was usually a fortnight; she liked to see the New Year in. She hoped it wouldn’t be longer; she hoped it would be less, for as dear as Aunt Nessy was, she always brought a feeling of change and unrest into this quiet and well-ordered household. It always took some time after her departure to get back into the old routine again…into the old pleasant routine.
The Colonel and his wife had retired to their rooms. Reginald and Henry were having a game of billiards. But Charles and Elaine were sitting on the rug before the open wood fire in the drawing room. They were sitting as they had done as children years ago, Elaine with her legs tucked under her, Charles with his arms round his knees. For support they both leant against the seat of an armchair. Elaine’s elbow was resting on the edge of hers and her hand was supporting her head. She was saying, ‘You say you have no intention of marrying. But what about Isobel Pickering? I understood from Mama…’
‘That’s Mama’s idea, Elaine, not mine. Anyway, as you know, we were almost brought up in the same bassinet, and, as I made out to Mama just a short while ago, if Isobel had to choose between the horse and me, the horse would come out best.’
‘Yes, I think it would. Anyway, you’re better off as you are: you’re a free agent and I can’t see you married, somehow. You’ll likely end up as a male Aunt Nessy. Huh!’ She laughed now. ‘Isn’t she a character? I wonder how many men she’s really gone through. It’s a pity her two husbands left her so well off that she hasn’t had to worry about money. If she’d had to struggle to write, as you’re trying to do…’
‘Thanks, for the…trying.’
‘Well, you know what I mean. But anyway, with her mind, and I understand she did write at one time, she would have made an impression in some quarter or other.’
‘I think she’s made impressions in many quarters. Reggie gets about, as you know, and he says it’s amazing the doors, just as you said, that are open to her, and not only in Paris but in London too. She’s well known in diplomatic circles, and she’s quite right in all she said at dinner, and although I contradicted her, there are strange rumours of war going around. And as Reg says, she’s not as dizzy as she sounds. Of course, I’ve never thought her dizzy; I’ve always admired her, and I wish I had a little of her grey matter.’
‘Oh, you’ve got enough of your own. You’ll get there in the end.’
She now twisted round and stretched her feet outward across the rug, saying, ‘How many years ago is it since we sat like this, Charles?’
He put his head back, thinking, then said, ‘Not since you were married.’
‘No, not since I was married.’ She leant forward now and picked up a log of wood and threw it into the centre of the glowing ashes. And when it sprayed sparks almost to the edge of the wide hearth he made no comment, such as, ‘Be careful. You’ll have the rug on fire,’ but said unexpectedly, ‘Are you unhappy, Elaine?’
For a moment she didn’t answer him; then, supporting herself on her elbows in the seat of the chair, she said, ‘The answer is yes and no.’
‘Is it Dawson?’
‘Again you could say the answer is yes and no. Oh, he is, I suppose, the usual run as husbands go, but Charles—’ She now bent forward towards him and said under her breath, ‘I’ve been married five years, Charles, and I’ve been five times pregnant. Dawson is a breeder; I’m his heifer.’
‘Oh, Elaine; don’t talk like that.’
‘It’s true. It’s true.’ She thrust out her jaw, pursed her lips and in a deep voice said, ‘Come on old girl, up the golden stairs; let’s hit the hay.’ And her voice changing to a sad, tired note, she added, ‘I was twenty, you know, Charles, when I married. And as you remember I was a silly young twenty. I hadn’t even flirted properly. I was naive. I still believed the chatter of the dormitory; I was there till I was eighteen: marriage would be fun; husbands were adorable creatures. And, too, I had Father for a pattern: he adores Mama, and she him. But of the two I think there is more love on his side; Mama is inclined to be cool. So when Dawson came on the scene and swept me off my feet, as the expression goes, I half jumped into his arms. He was big and burly, and isn’t it known that all big and burly men are…gentle giants. Not that he’s cruel in any way, he’s just thoughtless. He’s a big, ignorant, horse-mad farmer. He couldn’t even leave the stables to accompany us here over Christmas. He never has, has he? Oh yes, once, yes, once; but it wasn’t a success. Do you know, Charles, I don’t think he’s ever read a book in his life. Well, perhaps he was forced to at school, but not since. And another thing, he’s thirteen years older than me. Oh, don’t look so sad, Charles; you’re the only one I can talk to.’
‘What about Mama?’
‘Oh, somehow I…I couldn’t talk to Mama in the same way as I’m doing now. You know something? When I had the two miscarriages—you didn’t know about the miscarriages, did you, Charles?’
‘No. I was going to ask you about…well, five pregnancies.’
‘I said pregnancies, because I lost one at four months and another at six months. All Mama said was, “Don’t dwell on it. It will be all right next time.” As for Dawson, he almost ignored it, and me for a time. I wasn’t breeding according to the stud book.’
‘Oh, you’re exaggerating, my dear.’
‘Oh, no, I’m not, Charles. No, I’m not. And you know I’m not. Because you never liked Dawson, did you?’
‘Well’—he turned his head away—‘I thought he was too old for you. You see, I was only nineteen and you were my only sister, and we had always been pals. No, you’re right, I never liked him. And I must say this to you: if you feel as you do, how can you go on? Why don’t you leave him? You could come home.’
‘Don’t be silly, Charles. What happens to a woman who leaves her husband anyway? It’s always her fault, isn’t it? And do you think he’d let me have the children? He’s got John riding every day, and the child is only four. And Grace, too, has her pony. He doesn’t show much interest in Arthur because Arthur cries all the time. He blames Thompson for this. He says she’s too young for the job. She’s twenty-three and has been nursing babies since she was fourteen. I said to him, if she can’t do anything about Arthur’s crying, no-one can.’
‘Well, I haven’t heard him cry here.’
‘No, that’s strange. A whole week and he’s never cried at nights. Thompson remarked on it, too. Of course, it might be the different milk.’ She turned her head aside now, saying, ‘I’ve made you miserable.’
‘You certainly haven’t made me feel happy.’
‘Well, forget it. Where are you going for your holidays next year?’
‘I haven’t thought.’
‘Florence again?’
‘Yes, maybe.’
‘You should write a book about that. You were eighteen when you first went there, weren’t you? And you’ve been back every year since. Is that what put you on to this business of writing about old houses?’
‘Yes, perhaps. But I’d been interested in old houses long before that.’
‘Well, you won’t find anything about here like the Medici Villa at Cafaggiolo. And those hunting lodges that took your fancy.’
‘Perhaps not, but then I’m not writing about the ancient world. I find it hard enough to do descriptions of today. But you know, you’d be amazed at the number of castles, manor houses and halls in the North here. Northumberland is studded with them. Even Fellburn, four miles away, has some fine old eighteenth-century houses tucked quietly up alleys.’
He stopped speaking as the drawing-room door opened and his brothers entered. Reginald had discarded his officer’s uniform that he had worn at dinner and was now dressed in ordinary dark trousers and a blue-velvet smok
ing jacket. But Henry, on the other hand, was still attired in his clerical outfit, and as he came in licking his fingers Charles cried at him, ‘Are you still eating, man?’
‘Well, it’s a long time since dinner. It’s close on twelve and it was only one of those little mice…’
‘Oh, you haven’t taken them off the tree?’
‘Just from the back, Elaine; it couldn’t be seen, in any case.’
‘You’re a pig, that’s what you are, Henry.’
‘No, I’m not, Elaine; I’m an underfed vicar’s assistant.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ said Reginald, ‘when you are underfed. Anyway, I meant to ask you, how have you wangled this leave?’
‘I told you. I had an operation on the appendix, swift and sudden. Here one minute and nearly at the golden gates the next.’
‘But that was three weeks ago, I understand.’
‘Yes, I know. But you see, the Reverend has a distant relative whom he means to put in my place and so I was granted sick leave over the holiday in order that his dear Jonathan could come and assist him with the Christmas services. I love the Christmas services, but I didn’t argue with him because I know he means to get rid of me one way or another. The trouble is, we don’t see eye to eye, or, more correctly, our minds move in different channels. He’s a snob. He would charge for every pew in the church except those that are placed behind pillars. Not that I’m against paid pews for those that can afford them, but in moderation. And he doesn’t like my form of questioning, as when I asked him if he believed that the gates of heaven could only be opened by gold and silver keys? And did he think there was a clerk up there who went into one’s ancestry?’
They were all laughing now as Charles said, ‘You didn’t say that to him?’
The Wingless Bird Page 7
