The brother and sister, meeting at Paddington Station, occupied themselves for the first part of the journey exchanging poisoned shafts, Charmian shooting hers with a ruthlessness worthy of her father, and Aubrey planting his darts with precision and sweetness; but when they approached the end of their journey they entered upon a temporary truce, which developed into a positive alliance as soon as they discovered that Jimmy had been sent to meet them.
“Darling,” said Aubrey, in flute-like accents, “how it does bring the horror of it all back to one, to see that face! Oh, I do think it is quite too low and dreadful of Father, don’t you?”
“I shouldn’t mind it,” said Charmian fairly, “if the little beast weren’t so obviously a wrong ’un.”
“Wouldn’t you, sweet? You’re so strong-minded and wonderful. Do you suppose the twins will be dreadfully hearty? It was quite too awful the last time I was here. Con was always slipping away to cuddle a most deplorable female in the village. So disgusting!”
Unlike her brother, who lounged gracefully in one corner of the car, Charmian sat bolt upright, keenly scrutinising the countryside, and conveying the impression that it was distasteful to her to be obliged to sit still and idle. She said: “I never pay any attention to what the twins do. I consider them quite beneath contempt. I doubt whether either of them has ever read a book in his life.”
“Oh, darling, are you sure? There’s a kind of distinction about that. I do feel you’re wrong, somehow. Don’t you think they read Stonehenge On the Horse?”
“I daresay. I meant a real book. I can’t think how Vivian stands it here. I love Trevellin, and I always shall, but the absence of any form of culture in the house, and the paucity of ideas of everybody in it would drive me to desperation if I had to live here!”
“Darling, you don’t mean to imply, do you, that that afflictive woman you live with exudes culture as well as Attar of Roses?”
She darted a kindling look at him, and replied stiffly: “Leila has extremely advanced ideas, and is a most interesting woman. In any case, I don’t propose to discuss her.”
“You’re always so right, precious. Bricks without straw.”
She ignored this remark, and the silence remained unbroken for some time. At length, she said abruptly: “If Father hadn’t married again, I expect I should have stayed here all my life.”
“Do you say that in a complaining spirit, or are you acknowledging your indebtedness to Faith?” he inquired.
“I could never play second fiddle to anyone,” she said. “Oh, I wouldn’t choose to come back, now that I have experienced a fuller life!”
He looked amused, but refrained from making any reply. She was looking out of the window, and presently remarked in her urgent way: “All the same, this country has a hold over one! I shall tramp up to Rough Tor, and Brown Gilly. Oh, the smell of the peat!”
“Do you find scents nostalgic?” he asked languidly. “They don’t have that effect on me at all.”
“The peat-stacks on the Moor, and the wild blocks of granite, and the still pools!” she said, disregarding him. “The white bedstraw under one’s feet, and the sharp scent of the thyme! Oh, there is no place on earth quite the same!”
“Darling, ought you to be quite so sentimental?” he asked solicitously. “I mean, it makes one feel slightly ill-at-ease. Besides, one has such a different conception of you.”
She gave a reluctant laugh. “You needn’t worry!”
“I do hope you are right, but I have the gravest misgivings. Oh, not about you, sweetie! Eugene wrote that Father has developed a most oppressive desire to gather us all together under the parental roof, and to keep us there.”
“Thank God I’m independent of Father!” said Charmian.
“Yes, darling, I am sure that is a most gratifying reflection, but it fails entirely to bring any relief to me,” said Aubrey somewhat acidly. “In fact, I find it a most corroding thought that you, who are so unworthy (being uncreative, my pet, which is the most degrading thing to be), should find yourself divorced from monetary cares, while I, who have created such lovely things, am obliged to come into these wilds for the express purpose of cajoling Father into paying the more urgent of my debts.”
“Well, why don’t you write a book that will sell?”
“Darling, really you ought to abandon the fuller life, and take up residence at Trevellin again!” Aubrey told her. “I’m saying it for your own good: that remark could only be appreciated by the Philistines.”
“Oh, I’ve never pretended to be anything but practical!” she replied. “If you don’t want to prostitute your art — is that how you would put it? — you’d better sell your hunters, and give up racing.”
“No, darling, that is not how I should put it,” said Aubrey gently. “You may have noticed that I have quite a horror of the cliché. What an arid type you are, dear one! Do not let us talk any more! It is dreadfully bad for my nerves, and I find that I have stupidly left my vinaigrette behind.”
Charmian gave a snort of contempt. The rest of the journey was accomplished in silence, the limousine setting them down at Trevellin in time for them to join the family at tea, which had been spread in the Yellow drawing-room.
Neither of the twins was present, but Ingram had walked up from the Dower House, Eugene reclined on a brocade sofa, and Raymond had just come in from the stables. Clara was pouring out, as usual; Faith and Clay were sitting together by the window; and Vivian was perched on the arm of Eugene’s sofa.
The Penhallows expressed themselves characteristically on beholding two of their number, Ingram ejaculating in accents of strong disgust: “Oh lord, I’d forgotten you were turning up today!”; Raymond giving the returned couple a brief Hallo; and Eugene waving a languid hand at them. Clara said she was glad to see them; but it was left to Faith to rise from her seat, and to make them welcome.
Charmian shook hands in a very strong-minded way, pulled the severe felt hat from her head, and threw it on to a chair, giving her head a little toss. She then dug her hands into the pockets of her flannel jacket, took up a stance by the table, with her feet widely planted, and said briskly: “Well! How are you all? I see you’re down already, Clay. I suppose Eugene’s still fancying himself a hopeless invalid. How’s Father?”
“I’m afraid he hasn’t been quite so well lately,” Faith answered. “At least —— well, you’ll see for yourself. He’s had one of his restless moods on him.”
“Drinking, I suppose,” said Charmian. “If that’s Indian tea, Aunt Clara, none for me. I brought a packet of Lapsang down with me, and handed it to Reuben as I came in, with instructions to Sybilla to make it in a china pot, and not in a metal one.”
“Heaven bless you, darling!” said Aubrey. “I forgot the tea question. Oh, just look at Eugene, ruining his digestion with that dreadful stuff Eugene, how imprudent of you!”
“If you imagine that Sybilla’s likely to make two separate lots of tea, you’ve probably got another guess coming to you,” observed Raymond. “You’d better forget that kind of affectation while you’re here. We’ve always had Indian tea, and we’re not likely to change.”
“I have no patience with people who allow themselves to be tyrannised over by old servants,” Charmian said forcefully. “This house has been crying out for someone to manage it for years. Faith, of course, is hopelessly inefficient; and Clara isn’t the housewifely type; but I must say, Vivian, I did hope that you might have pulled things together. You can’t have anything else to do. That rug needs darning, and I should say no one has polished the fender since I was last here.”
“It is not my house, and I’ve no interest in it whatsoever,” said Vivian coldly.
“In saying that I fervently trust that your visit is not to be of long duration, dear Char, I feel that I speak as the mouthpiece of us all,” said Eugene, giving his cup-and-saucer to Vivian. “No, not any more, darling: my appetite — such as it ever was — has been destroyed. But I must add, in fairness to Char, tha
t Aubrey’s socks had as much to do with that as her east-wind personality.”
Aubrey gave a little shriek. “Cruel wretch! My lovely socks! Poems in silk, no less! How can you, Eugene?”
“They — and you -’ said Eugene, closing his eyes, “make me feel as though perhaps I should go to bed before dinner.”
“My dear, how too interesting!” Aubrey said, quite unruffled. “Antipathies and inhibitions! They say antipathies are always reciprocated, but I don’t think they can be, because I haven’t the least antipathy towards you. I adore being with you. There’s a fundamental likeness between us which always makes me say to myself: "There, but for the grace of God, goes Aubrey Penhallow.”
“Damned young puppy!” growled Ingram. “You want kicking more than anyone I ever met!”
“Oh, no, really not!” Aubrey assured him earnestly. “I’ve got a perfectly charming nature. It’s just my manner that you object to. I do so sympathise with you! I find all of you more than a little trying, so I know exactly how you feel!”
Ingram immediately became alarmingly red in the face, and began to say that Aubrey had better be careful. Clara recommended them all not to quarrel; and Clay wondered bitterly why he was wholly unable to hold his own against his family as Aubrey so triumphantly could, and did.
Chapter Twelve
By the time Aubrey had been twenty-four hours at Trevellin, the family, with the single exception of his father, heartily wished him otherwhere. The twins took one look at the effeminate length of his wavy hair, another at his tie, a third at his socks, and gave realistic impressions of persons taken suddenly unwell. When he appeared at dinner in a soft silk shirt and a maroon velvet smoking jacket, each expressed his firm conviction that nothing short of debagging would meet the case. Had it not been for the presence of females in their midst, they would undoubtedly have put the efficacy of this cure to the test; as it was, Aubrey smiled sweetly upon them both, and told them not to be nasty, rough brutes. When they showed a tendency to make the stables the chief topic of conversation, he flicked a glance at Charmian, and began to tell them about the revue upon which he was at work. After dinner, he lit a Russian cigarette, in a very long holder, and said that the cigars which those dreadful strong men, his brothers, smoked made him feel too terribly ill. “And what do we do now?” he asked. “If the piano were in tune, which I am sure it is not, I would play to you. Or do we still congregate in Father’s room in the repellent fashion reigning when I was last here?”
“Yes, we do,” replied Raymond. “And I don’t advise you to talk in that style to Father!”
“No, no, I wouldn’t annoy him for the world!” Aubrey said. “I do think he was quite pleased to see his little Aubrey, don’t you? I have always regarded myself as the feminine influence in the family, and definitely beneficent. Oh, Char my sweet, would you let me have a teeny-weeny share of your lovely China tea for my early-morning tray? So dear and generous of you!”
“Before you go to Father I want a word with you!” said Raymond curtly. “Come into my office!”
“Oh, must I?” Aubrey said, in an appealing voice. “I do so admire you, Ray, but I can never think of anything to say to you. I always feel — but I expect it’s just my foolish fancy — that you don’t really like me, and that’s terribly daunting to anyone with a very, very sensitive nature, like mine.”
Raymond deigned no reply to this speech, but strode off in the direction of the room at the end of the house which he used as an office. Aubrey said falteringly: “Oh dear, do you think I’ve offended him? I do hope not!” and followed him meekly.
Once inside the office, which was a severely furnished apartment largely given over to the transaction of all business connected with the estate, Raymond wasted no words on preliminaries, but gave his younger brother an abrupt and unvarnished account of the financial position of the family. Aubrey said plaintively that he knew he was a dreadfully stupid about money-matters, but all these rents and things meant nothing — but definitely nothing! — to him.
“Don’t pretend to be a bigger fool than you are!” said Raymond. “There’s only one point you’ve got to grasp, and that is that the estate won’t stand the demands you’ve been making upon it. I don’t know what your prospects are, but I hope for your sake they’re good. When Father dies, you’ll come into a small amount of capital, and I give you fair warning that you’ll get not a penny out of me after that. For the immediate present, Father may or may not pay your debts. If he listens to me, he won’t.”
“Oh, I do hope he won’t listen to you!” interrupted Aubrey. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Ray dear, but he never does, does he?”
“If he goes on at his present rate, it will become a question of taking the entire conduct of the estate out of his hands,” replied Raymond grimly. “One of these days he’ll go a step too far, and do something crazy enough to convince even a damned old fool like Lifton that he’s incapable of dealing with his affairs. When that day dawns, you and Eugene and Ingram will find yourselves without the sort of support you’ve been getting whenever you asked for it. You can damned well get down to a job of work, the lot of you!”
“I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy talking to you!” Aubrey said. “You’re so rough, and unkind! I don’t wonder poor Father wants me to live at home. I expect he feels the need of a softening influence about the house.”
Raymond looked at him under his brows. “He’s told you he wants you to stay here, has he?”
“Oh, yes, definitely! And if he won’t pay my debts unless I do it’s going to be very awkward. Because I don’t really think I could stand it here.”
“You’ll have to sell your horses,” Raymond said.
“And you a Penhallow!” Aubrey said, in a shocked tone.
“I know for a certainty that you’ve got one three hundred-guinea hunter. From what I know of you I should say your other hunter cost you as much, if not more. I don’t know what your debts amount to...”
“Oh, the merest nothing, Ray! It’s marvellous how I manage. I’ve no head for figures, but I feel sure a couple of hundred would put me in the clear.”
“You’re living far beyond your means, and it’s got to stop,” Raymond said uncompromisingly. “Nobody wants you to come and live here, but if I’ve either got to watch Father squandering hundreds on you every year, or put up with you under my nose all day and every day, I’ll put up with you! It’ll be less expensive in the long run.”
“How noble and sacrificing of you! No, really, I do feel for you very much, Ray! I mean, it must be so shocking to have Eugene here — and I shouldn’t think he’d ever go, would you? — and now you’re facing up to the thought of having me too in the most heroic way. Only I’m not a bit like that. I just couldn’t bear it. I find I am definitely allergic to this household.”
“Then I advise you to get yourself out of debt, and to draw your horns in!” Raymond said. “The old man’s breaking up a bit, and you’re likely to find him a damned sight more pig-headed than you’re prepared for. He’s taken it into his fool head to keep you at home — God knows why! — and if you’re banking on being able to talk him into paying your debts and letting you go, you’ll lose. There’s only one way for you to get away, and that is to do what I tell you: get rid of your hunters, cut your expenses down, and make yourself independent of Father. That’s a friendly bit of advice, and you’d be wise to take it.”
“But I don’t think it’s friendly at all,” objected Aubrey. “You’re simply trying to get rid of me. Mind you, I’m perfectly willing to be got rid of, but you can’t expect me to sell my lovely gees, and live in squalor! I’m sure Father would be shocked.”
Raymond strode over to the door, and opened it.
“You’d better think over what I’ve said,” he replied. They joined the rest of the family in Penhallow’s room.
Since eight persons, besides Penhallow, were already assembled there, it might have been supposed that even his patriarchal instinct would have
been satisfied. The room seemed overcrowded, and as several different conversations were being held, anyone wishing to make himself heard above the prevailing Babel was obliged to shout. This did not worry the Penhallows in the least, but Faith looked exhausted, and Vivian was trying to read a book, with her elbows on her knees, and her hands over her ears to shut out the hubbub. Penhallow, who seemed to draw renewed vitality from his children, easily dominated the stage, contributing his share to every conversation in progress, and loudly deploring the absence of Ingram from the circle. When Raymond and Aubrey came in, his eyes glinted with satisfaction, but since he addressed no word to Raymond, and promptly began to jeer at Aubrey, it was hard to understand why he was so pleased to have them in his room. Charmian, who had escaped from his sphere of influence, was the one of his children in whom he had the least interest, and beyond making a few ribald references to her appearance, and to her friendship with Leila Morpeth, he paid very little heed to her. To Faith, spiritually outside the circle, this seemed strange, for she thought that Charmian was the most like him of them all. Charmian too desired to dominate the company, and although her energy was not as fantastically directed as his, there was a strong suggestion of his driving-force in her trenchant voice and in the belligerent tilt of her chin. Charmian, who had compelled Sybilla to make China tea, and had harried one of the housemaids into polishing the fender in the Yellow drawing-room, was like a strong and slightly unpleasant wind sweeping through the house. She criticised everyone and everything in it, and would, if she remained there long enough, set them all by the ears, Faith thought. She was still the scornful little girl who had rescued her stepmother from a field full of bullocks, and Faith both resented her interference, and feared her ruthless tongue.
As might have been expected, there was a good deal of loud-voiced dispute in Penhallow’s room that evening, developing every now and then into a sudden quarrel, which flared up between any two of the family, attracted the others to take sides, raged for a little while, and as suddenly died down. Penhallow enjoyed it all immensely, and did not seem to be in the least exhausted by the noise and the strife. He was looking forward to his birthday, boasting of his vitality, promising to surprise them all yet. He drank a quantity of whisky during the evening, and when they left him had reached a reckless, elated condition, in which he laughed boisterously, flew into quick rages, recalled tangled anecdotes of his youth, and was by turns bawdy and maudlin.
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