He paused to eat another sprout. I looked up and had a shock. For a moment it seemed that Sissy’s face was grotesquely distorted. Then I realized that in order to facilitate her reconnaissance she was standing on her head.
I repressed a grin for the subject was serious. ‘I thought the English were unparalleled in their snobbery and addiction to social-climbing.’
‘There isn’t a nation in the world that doesn’t have its hierarchies based on birth or money or a harvest of shrunken heads.’ Perhaps he thought he was being rather too lenient for he added, ‘Of course you English can detect a ploughboy ancestor from the way someone buttons their waistcoat or holds their spoon.’
From the moment of my arrival in Ireland I had been eager, perhaps disingenuous, in my readiness to admit the criminal tendencies of Imperial Britain. This had been partly as a pacific in the face of hostility and partly because of a genuine conviction that we had behaved badly in the past. Now I felt a sudden desire to wave the flag, or at least to allow it to flutter feebly. ‘It’s true. But less so these days, I think. And we do have more or less complete religious toleration. I expect you’ll say that’s not a virtue. It’s simply indifference. And you’d be right. But I’d say we are a fairly peaceful nation. Terrorism receives no support from the general population.’
Finn frowned. ‘I admit I can’t defend violence whether it’s inspired by religion or politics … We seem to have strayed from the subject. Where were we? Yes: Maud. I remember Violet’s father once broke his arm in a fall out hunting. He knocked up the nearest doctor and had the bone set without anaesthetic so he could be in at the kill. I expect Maud’s opinion of the poor man went into irreversible decline when he finally broke his neck.’
‘I suppose there’s something admirable, if a little heartless, in that attitude. But we can’t let Maud’s prejudices get in the way of Violet’s recovery. And there’s another thing I wanted to consult you about. It’s lonely for Violet and it’s extremely inconvenient for the rest of us to have her shut away on the top floor. There’s a large bright room on the first floor, which used to be the nursery, that we’ve just finished clearing out. Don’t you think it would be more suitable?’
He laughed. ‘Miss Norton, you’re an irresistible force and I can no longer even pretend to be an immovable object. Everything shall be as you say. I promise I’ll do my best to make Maud see sense. But she’s like all women in that once she’s made up her mind about something you can’t budge her. It would seem like a humiliating loss of face.’
‘Mr Macchuin, you delude yourself if you think that’s an exclusively female characteristic. And if you eat one more sprout I’m going to have to fetch a new sack from the larder and peel some more.’ He dropped it back into the pan. ‘Besides, uncooked they’re terribly indigestible.’
‘Look here.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘You may turn my house upside down, reclaim my garden, amend my bank balance and reroute my drive – in short you may revolutionize my entire domestic world – but my digestion is my own affair.’ Before I could reply he added, ‘Didn’t we get on to first name terms last summer before I went away?’
‘We only said we would. You left before we could get comfortable with it. It’s that tiresome caste system again. I am your housekeeper, after all. If Mrs Treadgold, our housekeeper in Sussex, called my father Gifford, he’d probably faint with shock. And Timsy, Katty and Pegeen call you “sir” and “the master”.’
He shrugged. ‘Your father was in the army, wasn’t he? I’ve always found ex-soldiers to be particularly keen on rank. As for Timsy and the girls, that’s just tradition. I was Finn to everyone who worked here until my grandfather died. But I shouldn’t mind in the least what they called me as long as it wasn’t insulting.’
I thought this was probably true. He didn’t seem to care for ceremony or deference. I should not have dared at Liddy’s age to speak to my father with the casual insolence which she sometimes used to hers. But my father was jealous of his position. His first concern was to receive his due as the head of the household and a person of importance in the county. Having no competition Finn took it all for granted.
‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘you know perfectly well that whatever the traditional housekeeper is, you aren’t it. What does your housekeeper call you?’
‘Roberta.’
‘Very pretty – and democratic. But as everyone else here calls you Bobbie, so shall I.’ He stretched his hand towards the pan of sprouts then drew it back as he caught my eye.
‘I have to admit that however democratic we are superficially, we aren’t as egalitarian in other …’ I paused in the process of sharpening a knife on the steel. ‘How did you know my father was in the army? I’m sure I haven’t told anyone that.’
‘We’re back!’ Flavia came running in. ‘It was the longest, most boring sermon ever and we’re starving! Hello, Maria! Hello, Osgar—Bad boy! Let go!’ They began a tug-of-war with her scarf.
Finn folded his arms, perhaps as a gesture of self-protection. ‘That’s an impressive glare. It reminds me of the picture of Medusa in my Latin primer. I gave myself away there, didn’t I? The fact is there was a lot about your father being a war hero in the newspapers.’
The mere mention of the horrible things brought back my old phobia. My heart began to race and I felt hot and sick. ‘You read all that stuff about me?’
‘Not in detail. It seemed like fairly unimportant gossip. But I could hardly have failed to recognize you since your photograph was on the front page of every English newspaper for several days running.’
‘Are you fighting again?’ Flurry, who had followed Flavia into the kitchen, looked from my face, probably flushed, to his father’s, on which masculine superiority almost but not quite concealed what I suspected was amusement – or was it contempt? Flurry caught my arm. ‘Why was your photograph in every newspaper?’ When I did not reply he looked at the table on which lay a large salmon, locally caught and smoked, waiting to be sliced. ‘When can we eat? Must I have some of that?’
‘Half an hour if your grandmother’s back.’ I addressed myself to the children. ‘And you must try a little: it’s really delicious. Don’t forget to hang up your coats and wash your hands. There are peanuts and crisps on the drinks tray in the drawing room if you’re both hungry but leave some for the others. Flavia, Osgar’s pulling your scarf into holes. Let him have it for a bit and perhaps he’ll get sick of it. Will you run up and see if your mother has everything she needs? And, Flurry, check the fire in the dining room, would you?
‘It didn’t occur to you to say anything about it at the time?’ I said when the children had departed to carry out these tasks. I intended to sound detached but there was an infuriating break in my voice.
Finn remained calm, arms still crossed, irritatingly aloof. ‘I thought it was more tactful to refrain from mentioning it.’
‘You mean because of the insulting things they said about me.’ I approached the fish and began to cut slivers fine enough to see the blade through. I was angry with myself. How could the memory of those stupid articles still have the power to hurt after all this time?
‘They weren’t exactly complimentary, were they?’
I was thankful that my hair had fallen forward to hide my face. I applied myself with greater energy to slicing, not trusting myself to speak.
‘Let me do that,’ he said, standing up and coming round to my side of the table.
‘I’ve started it now,’ I said ungraciously, keeping my head down.
‘I should have known at once, from the moment I met you.’
‘What?’ I was unable to make my tone anything but defensive.
‘That everything they said was a lie.’
I was so surprised by this unexpected kindness that the tears rushed into my eyes. The blade, sharpened to an edge that could have cut leather at a stroke, slipped to one side and pierced the flesh of my left thumb.
‘Now you’ve cut yourself. You should have let
me do it. Is it deep?’ I rolled my eyes expressively as I sucked the gash. ‘You’d better have a plaster.’
I removed my thumb from my mouth to say, ‘Top right drawer of the dresser.’
He stirred the contents of the drawer into a terrible mess while I held the cut under the cold tap.
‘Here we are. Let’s see.’ We watched the blood bead and then disperse over the wet surface of my skin. ‘Hm. You need a big one.’
He fumbled in the box, dropping plasters over the floor, while I held my arm above my head to stop it bleeding. Above us Sissy grinned from ear to ear, exultant at the success of her spellbinding.
‘Does it hurt?’ He extracted the plaster from its envelope and pulled the waxed paper from the sticky ends, cursing under his breath as they clung to his fingers and stuck to themselves.
‘Yes, a bit. You’re supposed to pull the bits of paper off after you’ve applied the pad to the wound. Try another one.’ He took out a second plaster. ‘Ow-how!’ I cried as he pressed it over the cut.
‘Think of it as punishment for excessive independence.’ He tried to straighten the gummed sections which had folded into concertina creases.
I could not help smiling. Transgression and retribution. However much intellect and experience may shape our characters the teaching of our early years can never be entirely erased.
He glanced up. ‘What amuses you?’
‘Who was it who said give me a boy before he is seven and he is mine for life?’
‘What? Oh, I see the cunning way in which your mind works. Probably someone like Ignatius Loyola. A Jesuit, anyway. I call that churlish after I’ve done everything I can to save you from bleeding to death. Hold still. I can’t see.’ Sissy’s head and up-ended body were obstructing some of the light that straggled into the kitchen. He took my hand and peered closer, trying to smooth the ridges and crumples from the crooked plaster. ‘There now.’ He gave me a minatory look as though daring me to disagree. ‘I call that a thoroughly professional job.’
For what might have been one second or a hundred we stared at each other. I felt the pressure of his hand, saw his pupils dilate. I heard Sissy heehawing in fits of laughter and then a faint thump as amusement got the better of her sense of balance. The sounds of the tap dripping, the ticking of the clock, the puddings rattling in the pan grew loud. The challenge in his eyes had been replaced by an expression that was aghast. This was probably mirrored in my own. We were transfixed like creatures in a flood of light. The glare revealed at a stroke something that, despite my best efforts, and no doubt his, had been growing since our first meeting from a suspicion, a disturbance of the mind, a sudden pressure round the heart into a condition that insisted upon recognition. It was inexpedient, indefensible, quite impossible; yet I was disarmed, helpless, deprived of motive power by it, unable to move or speak or even breathe.
‘I’ve given Mummy a drink but she says she wants you, Daddy.’ Flavia had come in unnoticed.
‘Well …’ he said at last, in a voice that had lost all its usual certainty. ‘Well …’
I took my hand away. ‘We’d better get on with carving the salmon.’ My own voice sounded distant because of the drumming of blood in my ears.
‘Yes. Hm, where’s that knife?’
We looked around helplessly, dazed by the alarming and unwelcome revelation.
‘What’s happened to your thumb?’ asked Flavia.
‘I’ve cut it but it’s not bad. You go up, Mr Macchuin – Finn. I’ll be much more careful this time.’
‘We don’t want blood all over our fish.’ He picked up the knife and approached the salmon. ‘Particularly not English blood.’
‘Daddy! You mustn’t be mean to Bobbie,’ said Flavia reprovingly.
He lifted his eyes briefly to mine. ‘Joke.’
Again I had a sensation of terrible danger. I looked away and smiled to show Flavia I was not hurt. ‘The old grudges are the best.’
‘Don’t stand around idly, you girls. Bring me some plates.’
While Flavia and I took the smoked salmon, bread and butter and lemons into the dining room, Finn went upstairs to see Violet. A glass of champagne later I felt more relaxed. By the time we sat down to eat my pulse was more or less normal and the presence of Father Deglan and Colonel Molesworth was a welcome distraction.
After the roast geese I brought in a clear jelly, made with lemons and egg whites and set with carrageen, for those whose digestions might find the accompanying plum pudding too rich. I had made the jelly in a mould shaped like a castle and it had turned out perfectly.
‘What do you think, Bobbie?’ Finn said as I put the puddings on the sideboard behind his chair. ‘I’ve a Tokay Aszú in the cellar that ought to be drunk. Or do you think the fruit will overwhelm it?’
‘That would be wonderful!’ I detected a note of hysterical enthusiasm in my voice and felt myself blush to my eyebrows. ‘But shouldn’t we drink it on its own to be sure of appreciating it properly?’
It was an attempt to be natural which to my ears failed completely. We did not look at each other and had carefully avoided doing so since the epiphany in the kitchen. There was an unaccountable pause in the general conversation as though someone had rung a bell for silence. Anxiously I sought for something to say to fill it but my thoughts scurried away like insects when a stone is lifted. I heard him clear his throat, then cough. To my relief, Constance asked Colonel Molesworth to tell us more about the monograph he was writing and Maud said, ‘Good heavens, girl! Have pity. It’s Christmas Day.’
I cut up the jelly and plum pudding and the children took round the plates. The awkward moment had passed and I wondered if I had imagined it. But when I sat down I saw that Maud was staring at me, her amethyst eyes inquisitive. I looked away and met Sissy’s scowl. I turned eagerly to listen to Colonel Molesworth whose long nose and massive hoary head made me think of a polar bear. Luckily he was deaf in his left ear and had not heard Maud’s rudeness. He launched without preamble and in a trumpeting voice into his favourite subject, ancient battles that had been fought on Irish soil. He was writing a short history of the Scottish mercenaries hired by the Gaelic lords during the sixteenth century (to fight the English, of course). They were known as Redshanks because they went barelegged in kilts so their calves and knees were always scarlet with cold. The rest of lunch ran smoothly, if one discounted the usual spats between Maud and Father Deglan. I was careful to keep my eyes from the other end of the table.
In the afternoon Flavia, Constance, Eugene and I went for a walk. The rain held off obligingly for an hour or two so we were able to inspect progress in the walled garden. Eugene found a mole whose tunnelling days were over and laid it at the feet of St Fiacre as a Christmas offering. This brought on a poem, which silenced him for the rest of the walk and made him so abstracted that Constance and I had to take an arm each or he might have wandered away to the mountains instead of back to the house. Luckily there was a strong breeze, laced with the lavender water which had been Liddy’s Christmas present to him. Eugene had thanked her most charmingly and politely doused his handkerchief upon receipt.
The problem of the recherché extravagance of Eugene’s shopping list had been dealt with by a few words of tactful advice from Constance. The result had been surprising and a reminder that people are sometimes more gifted and resourceful than they appear. Eugene had produced homemade presents for everyone. To me he gave his own translation of ‘The Lament for Art O’Leary’. Art O’Leary had been shot (by an Englishman, naturally) for refusing to sell his favourite horse for a pittance. Eugene had accompanied the poem, written in his own elegant calligraphic hand, by a pen-and-ink illustration of the widow throwing up her hands in grief as the mare returns riderless, covered in her master’s blood. The drawing struck me as being really accomplished and I was touched by the trouble he had taken. Eugene had bowed his forehead almost to his knees in acknowledgement of my sincere praise.
I had given Constance a pair of yellow yacht
ing boots I had found in a hardware store. She wore them that afternoon and pronounced them to be as light and flexible as silk, like walking barefoot. She had given me a magnificent electric mixer with beaters, a dough hook and a blender attachment, which I was certain must have cost nearer fifty pounds than five.
‘Well, perhaps it was fractionally more,’ Constance had admitted, ‘but there didn’t seem to be anything in Williamsbridge half nice enough to give you otherwise. Actually, Finn gave me the money but he said I wasn’t to tell you. I’m hopeless at keeping secrets, aren’t I? But I don’t want you to feel guilty, thinking you’ve bankrupted me.’
‘It was enormously kind of you both.’
‘Not as kind as all that, considering we’ll be the beneficiaries. I’m looking forward to tea.’
As it was Christmas Constance was allowing herself a slice of cake. She had been tremendously self-disciplined during the months before Christmas and was trimmer by a stone. I thought she looked marvellous during the walk, the sharp air colouring her cheeks and brightening her beautiful eyes. It was a pity that Eugene’s were bent on the ground as he rolled syllables around his tongue and occasionally groaned aloud with the agony of composition.
We called on the Flying Irishman on our return. Flurry was hard at work with his new tool set, a present from his father. The engine was nearly ready for painting.
‘Want to see it start up?’ asked Flurry. ‘Of course it needs rails but it can get up a head of steam and move a little way.’
We professed ourselves eager. Flurry set light to the turf in the fuel box. Soon rings of steam were puffing from the funnel and when he threw a lever the train moved slowly forward.
‘Florence Finn Fitzgeorge Macchuin, you’re a genius,’ cried Constance, her eyes moist with pride. She swooped down on Flurry and kissed him.
‘Don’t.’ Flurry took a filthy handkerchief from his pocket and polished his spectacles with it before wrapping it round his hand to shut off the steam. ‘The trouble is the handles get red-hot. I haven’t found a way to insolent them yet.’
Moonshine Page 56
