‘How fast will it run on rails?’ I had had an idea.
‘Six, or perhaps eight miles an hour.’
‘Is it strong enough to pull anything?’
For answer Flurry found a particular page in his Bassett-Lowke manual and showed me a train about the size of the Flying Irishman with three carriages behind packed with people.
‘That’s it!’ I said. ‘We could offer something I bet none of the other houses open to the public will have. A model railway you can ride on! Think what a draw it’d be for families with children! Do you think you could do it, Flurry? Could you make little carriages like that?’
‘Course.’ Flurry was dismissive. ‘They’re only boxes on wheels. But I’ll need wood and the wheels cost masses.’
‘The thing is, Flurry, it’s your train. What do you think of the idea?’
He stuck out his lower lip considering. ‘It might be quite good fun,’ he said solemnly.
We hauled Eugene from the pile of sleepers on which he had been reposing, lying on his stomach with his head propped on his elbows and one foot pointing to the roof, gazing dreamily at a drum of engine oil and dragged him back indoors.
‘Won’t it be fun!’ Flavia’s eyes, deep-set like her father’s, looked fathomless in the subdued light of the kitchen. ‘Imagine being able to ride on a dear little train. Where will it go? All the way down to the lake?’
‘The train wouldn’t be able to get back up the hill,’ I pointed out. ‘We’ll have to work out a scenic route, perhaps through the woods. Will you fetch the cake from the larder while I make the tea?’
‘I’ll lay the tray,’ said Constance.
While I was waiting for the kettle to boil I emptied the contents of the jar marked Isinglass where we kept the income from the poteen. I counted more than a hundred pounds in notes. There had been thirty-eight pounds two days ago. Timsy must have done excellent business on Christmas Eve despite the extra church attendance required by the celebration.
‘It’s the most beautiful cake I’ve ever seen.’ Flavia had covered it with crisp waves of icing and decorated it with silver balls, sugar flowers, plaster robins and a snowman on a toboggan.
Liddy put her head round the door. ‘What are you all doing?’ She had forgotten to be sophisticated and cynical. Her expression was unusually animated. ‘There’s a surprise in the drawing room. Hurry up.’
Flavia went ahead of us bearing the cake in triumph. At the door of the drawing room she screamed. I grabbed the plate in time to prevent the cake sliding to the floor. Violet was sitting in the wing chair.
‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!’ Flavia raced to embrace her.
‘Careful, darling!’ Finn was bending over his wife adjusting the cushions that propped her up. ‘I’ve had a job to get her to stay upright. Are you warm enough, Violet?’
The wing chair had been placed close to the fire and she was wrapped in blankets but her bare feet, like a child’s in their unblemished smoothness, were tinged with mauve. Her rich brown hair coiled about her neck. Her useless right hand lay curled, a bird’s claw, in her lap.
‘’Es.’ Violet stared at us with huge, excited eyes. ‘Bob-bie. Dow’ stairs. Good.’ She looked down at her daughter who was kneeling beside her with her arms as far round her mother’s waist as she could reach. ‘Drink, please.’
‘I’ll get you a cup, Mummy. Would you like some cake? You can have the bit with the snowman and the toboggan on.’
‘Hell-o, Con.’ Violet gave her lopsided smile. ‘D’awing ’oom.’
‘Yes, darling.’ Constance bent to kiss her sister-in-law tenderly. ‘Just like the old days.’
‘’Es. Old days.’ Violet laughed with happiness.
Constance looked at her brother as he turned from stoking the fire. Her eyebrows rose. He responded with a half-smile, quickly lost as he pressed his lips together as though troubled. I tried to imagine what this moment must mean to them. Dreams of a return to a past life, perhaps. It was pretty to see Flavia put a cup into her mother’s trembling hand and guide it carefully to her lips. The frowning concentration on the child’s face as she fastened the ribbon of her mother’s nightdress and brushed crumbs of icing from the corner of her mouth, like a proud parent anxious to display her offspring favourably, must have touched her father if he noticed it. But the expression on his face as he stood with his hands in his pockets gazing at his wife and daughter was absent, pensive. No doubt he was wondering what would happen if Violet remained an invalid, unable to walk or to voice her thoughts freely, dependent on others for the fulfilment of the slightest wish and fully conscious of her incapacity.
‘I’ll get something for her feet.’
I hobbled up to my room and found a pair of thick woollen socks. Coming downstairs I passed Maud’s room, the door of which was fractionally open. I heard the tap of her stick as she walked up and down, exercising as her doctors had instructed, though it was Christmas Day. On impulse I knocked. ‘Maud, it’s Bobbie. Shall I bring you a cup of tea?’
The noise ceased at once. There was no answer. Constance told me later that she had mentioned to Maud the possibility of Violet’s being brought downstairs at tea-time. Maud had said she didn’t want to be a spectator at a freak show and there was a television programme she particularly wished to see. She remained in her room until dinner, long after Finn had carried a tired but jubilant Violet back to her attic room.
I found it difficult that night to slow my thoughts sufficiently for sleep to overtake them. As I turned restlessly in my bed beneath the weight of slumbering cats I asked myself whether the reckless indulgence of my inclination to meddle in other people’s business did not deserve the severest censure. Considering the potential hazard to other people’s happiness, I was inclined to think it did. Then I allowed that other matter – such a piece of folly, so dark a secret that I shuddered to confess it even to myself – to surface in my mind and considered stepping out through my window there and then to throw myself from the battlements.
THIRTY-NINE
‘You both look marvellous,’ I said.
It was the evening of St Stephen’s Day. Constance, Liddy and I were on the landing, preparing to reveal our sparkling party selves to the world. Liddy was wearing a dress she had made herself from a length of tangerine-coloured silk found in the linen cupboard. It was cut extremely low in front, revealing edges of her black bra, and had a slit up to her knickers. It was the perfect colour for her and lent warmth to her pallor. Heavy make-up concealed the spots and dark circles under her eyes. I remembered with sadness how well she had looked at the festival of Lughnasa.
Constance wore a pretty blue dress which she said she had not been able to get into for at least ten years. Her eyelashes were sooty with mascara and her lips were crimson with the lipstick I had given Liddy for Christmas. But the greatest transformation had been effected by the plucking of her eyebrows. Liddy had begun the task five days before, tweaking out small areas at a time to minimize the swelling and redness. She had been much more ruthless than I would have dared. But the resulting fine dark bows emphasized Constance’s good bone structure and the fascination of her eyes.
I had put on one of Maud’s beautiful dresses with a sensation of pleasure, despite the unsuitability of bare necks and arms in temperatures close to freezing. It was pale pink taffeta, with a ruched strapless bodice and a full skirt. She had lent me some marvellous creamy pearls to wear with it. When I had tried to thank her she had said, ‘I’m repaying a debt. Constance would undoubtedly have given me food poisoning before much longer.’
‘You don’t think I look tarty?’ Constance asked anxiously. ‘I’ve never worn such a bright lipstick.’
‘It’s Estée Lauder,’ said Liddy with pride. ‘It would make anyone look a million dollars.’
‘Though why I should worry, God only knows,’ Constance sighed. ‘If I went downstairs wearing nothing but a bra and pants Eugene wouldn’t notice.’
‘What?’ cried Liddy. ‘You can’t po
ssibly mean you fancy that smelly—Ow, Bobbie, that hurt!’
‘Awfully sorry.’ I lifted my right foot from Liddy’s toes. ‘I’m still so clumsy.’
‘You aren’t going to wear those dreadful old things this evening?’
I lifted my skirts to reveal the zippered boots. ‘My foot’s too puffy to get into anything else. Luckily they won’t show beneath my dress.’
‘You’ve overdone it,’ Constance said reproachfully. ‘I told you so. You wouldn’t let me do the ham or make the salads.’
‘You were finding glasses and polishing the dining table. I’ll be all right. I’ll sit about and take it easy and the swelling will go down.’
‘But you won’t be able to dance!’ said Liddy. ‘And you look fantastic in that dress.’
‘I shan’t mind a bit. I’ll be able to watch you.’
‘If only there was someone worth dancing with,’ cried Liddy in anguish.
‘Perhaps Colonel Molesworth’s nephew will be good-looking.’
‘Not if he’s anything like his uncle. Besides, he’s nineteen. Not nearly old enough to be interesting.’
‘You won’t remember,’ said Constance, ‘but the colonel’s brother was a dish.’
‘I don’t think our tastes in men are the same, Aunt Con.’
‘Anthony Molesworth was the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. But a complete cad.’
‘Really?’ Liddy began to sound interested.
‘I hate this bit.’ Constance seized my arm as we reached the head of the stairs. ‘I always mean to hurry so I can get downstairs before anyone else. But somehow the time seems to run away with me.’ Liddy and I had found Constance standing in her room half in and half out of her dress, sucking the end of a pencil as she adjusted the metre of a line of poetry. These days she was more absent-minded than ever but I loved to see the light of inspiration in her eye. ‘However old I get,’ said Constance, ‘I’ll never be mature enough to go to a party, even my own, without feeling panicky. I always imagine people are staring at me, criticizing my physical imperfections. Which is silly and vain. Just one last trip to the loo.’
We waited until she reappeared.
‘I’ll go in front,’ Liddy said kindly to her aunt. ‘They’ll be too busy looking at me to notice you.’
The group of men on the hearth stopped talking as we descended into view. The young man standing next to the colonel had definite promise. I should not have called him exactly handsome but he was certainly attractive with dark wavy hair and a charming smile.
‘Please God, don’t let him be queer,’ whispered Liddy as we crossed the floor.
Introductions were made. When I allowed myself to look at Finn, he turned away his eyes at once and bent to put another turf on the fire. I refused a drink and went almost immediately to the kitchen to superintend the dressing of salads. But not before I had heard the nephew, whose name was Nigel, murmur to Liddy, ‘Hello, Phyllida. You’re a turn-up for the books, I must say. Fancy finding a swinger like you in the howling wastes of Connemara. That’s an awfully pretty dress. Heh, heh! What there is of it.’
Father Deglan’s face, whose eyes had locked on to Liddy’s near-naked chest from the moment of her entrance, darkened to a dangerous shade of mulberry.
Once I had satisfied myself that everything on the dining table was as near perfection as it could possibly be I allowed myself a glass of punch. Constance had insisted that the poteen fund should pay for three girls from the Fitzgeorge Arms to serve and wash up so I could rest my foot. I joined the others in the hall with a delightful feeling of freedom from responsibility, only partly curbed when I remembered a particular piece of meddling on my part, which at the time had seemed such a good idea and about which I now had second thoughts. These moments of horrid doubt are the ineluctable evils in the career of any busybody. The consequences would follow shortly. The musicians were tuning up, guests were arriving and soon the bench in the downstairs cloakroom was buried feet deep in beaver and musquash.
‘Good evening, Miss Norton.’ Michael McOstrich shook my hand.
I had not seen him for several months. His flaming hair and beard had been cut very short. A buttonhole and a daffodil-yellow waistcoat gave him the air of a dandy but his eyes were cold. I was not forgiven.
‘Lovely party.’ Colonel Molesworth bent his good ear close to my face. ‘It’s generous of Finn to keep up the old ways. There never was a better fellow. Will you allow an old man to tell you you’re looking very lovely, my dear? I was never married myself – too shy to ask, you know. Better with my own sort. Soldiers now, you know where you are with them … but I can still appreciate the fair sex.’ He smiled, baring a set of brown pegs. ‘You’re the best-looking girl in the room, in my opinion, but you’d better keep that to yourself. Invidious comparisons, you know, Miss Norton.’
‘Thank you, Colonel. Do call me Bobbie. It is a jolly party.’
The noise level was rising fast. Liddy and Nigel were already dancing. She looked happier than I had ever seen her.
‘Thanks, I will if you’ll call me Basil. Pretty little thing,’ said the colonel of Liddy as they skipped past. ‘But too thin. And giddy. Hope she won’t let my scamp of a nephew take advantage. He’s like his father.’ The colonel tutted and shook his head. ‘Blood’s thicker than water and all that but I shouldn’t like … Young women these days are allowed a lot of licence but I don’t know if it makes them any happier. You’d better put her on her guard.’
‘I’ll try if you think it’s necessary but I don’t suppose Liddy will listen to me.’
‘Do that, my dear. I know what you mean. Whoever takes advice? I don’t meself. I may not have been much good with women but I used to get into scrapes. Finn’s father, now – we were the same age, you know, served together – there was this filly in Anzio, a stunner, all bosom and lips … Yes, well, we won’t go into that. He was a good man. Ought to have stayed in the army, become a regular. Fools here didn’t understand him. Tragic what happened … wicked waste.’
Colonel Molesworth – Basil – was in an unusually loquacious mood. I had drunk no more than a single glass of punch but I was feeling remarkably cheerful myself. I glanced over to the side table which bore the punchbowl. Timsy had been instructed by Constance to prevent any unauthorized additions. He lounged against the wall, his eyes fixed on Liddy’s chest.
‘His wife wanted him home,’ the colonel burbled on, ‘to dance attendance on her. No good comes of marriage as far as I can see … Greatest respect for the sex, of course, but she was a flighty piece if ever I … Still, nil nisi bonum. Better not speak ill of the—Good God! Did you ever see anything like that!’
The colonel’s jaw dropped as he stared over my shoulder. Gradually a hush fell over the great hall as we all turned towards the staircase. Finn was coming down with Violet in his arms. Liddy and I had spent a long time preparing her for this moment. We had chosen the black lace dress as it had a high neck and wrist-length sleeves that concealed Violet’s wasted muscles. Liddy had curled her mother’s hair to give an impression of abundance and applied rouge with a liberal hand so that she looked rosy with health. Violet, seeing the rapt assembly literally at her feet, reacted on cue. She stretched out her good arm towards them and said slowly, with her very best diction, the phrase we had been teaching her for the last twenty-four hours.
‘Hell-o ev—one. So lovely – see you – all.’
There was a collective gasp, almost a groan. No heart could fail to be touched by this vision of Beauty awakened. A tide of excitement ran through the crowd, then everyone surged forward to kiss Violet, clap Finn on the back, exclaim, laugh, shake their heads and articulate their amazement in any way they could. A few brave ones dared to embrace Maud who was seated by the fire, holding court among her acolytes. Maud smiled though her eyes were stony. For a moment she was dumb, pale. Only the heaving of her chest, visible because of the flashing of her diamonds, betrayed her emotion. Then, with dignified hauteur, she pulled herself
up on to her sticks and began to hobble towards her daughter. The guests stood back to make a path for her.
‘Finn,’ she said as soon as she reached him. ‘You had better put Violet on one of the sofas in the drawing room. I shall take care of her. You will have other things to see to.’
I went ahead of them to organize wraps and cushions. When Violet had been laid tenderly down, supported behind her back and beneath her arms, her dress arranged to hide her stocking feet, Maud beckoned to one of the girls from the Fitzgeorge Arms and asked for two glasses of champagne.
‘Honestly, Maud,’ said Constance. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for Violet to drink.’
‘Nonsense. Of course she will drink. This is a party.’
‘I’ll open a bottle,’ said Finn. ‘But don’t say anything or everyone will want it.’
The guests laughed good-humouredly at the little joke and pressed round the sofa. Violet gazed upon them with impartial affection, charming them with her sloping smile as they fought to get close enough to stroke her hand, pat her head and assure her of their devotion. It did not matter that her speech was slow and slurred for everyone talked and no one listened. Their warm hearts responded unreservedly to the romance and pathos of her condition. There were many tears as well as smiles. I saw Basil Molesworth’s shoulders shaking as he held his handkerchief to his eyes and several guests had to be revived with glasses of punch.
We were, most of us, a little drunk already, which may have accounted for the extravagance of the reaction, yet I still could not imagine this scene taking place in Sussex. The English are generally too afraid of making fools of themselves. We – myself included – would have fallen back on the old ploy of pretending we had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. But, swept along by the rip-roaring euphoria around me, I enjoyed the sensation as much as anyone and, possessing neither a handkerchief nor a sleeve, resorted to blinking hard.
‘’Tis a miracle,’ said Father Deglan, his face glistening and his nose glowing with the thrill of the moment.
Moonshine Page 57
