by Jack Murray
‘I should imagine an estate, like this, has other staff. Not everyone needs to live at the Hall,’ said Kit.
He was glad to have come out into the air but feeling a little angry with himself also. It was always this way when the wave of panic came, and he despaired at how he could control it. Although very rare, he knew it was now a part of him since that night. This time it was particularly powerful because of where he was and who he was with. However, the walk was reviving his spirit and gave him the chance to reconsider his earlier fear that coming to Cavendish Hall had been a mistake.
When the invitation had come from Lord Cavendish, Kit’s first instinct had been to send his apologies. The more he thought about it, the more he felt it was an opportunity to confront the anxiety that had been eating away at him since he came back from the War. For as long as he could remember, Kit lived by the principle it was better to confront your fears than avoid them. Although he conveniently dropped this code when it came to visits to some of his fearsome old aunts.
Meeting the Cavendish girls had certainly been a consideration. They had certainly exceeded all expectations. However, he knew the challenge remained and he had no idea to whom he could speak about it. He sensed Miller was aware something was wrong. Equally, Miller was the last person in whom he could confide. He had been there. Who knows what demons he had returned with? Specifically, he had been there when it happened.
-
‘Did you see Kit in the library?’ asked Mary.
‘Not until you drew attention to him. He seemed to turn very pale,’ replied Esther. ‘I hope he’s not coming down with something.’
‘I don’t think he is, but it just seemed odd. One moment he was well, the next he seemed very off colour,’ continued Mary.
‘Well, hopefully he will be recovered for this evening and dinner. What did you think of him?’ said Esther smiling.
‘I hardly spoke to him,’ pointed out Mary. ‘I would be more interested in your thoughts Miss Cavendish. Operative word being Miss.’
Esther laughed. ‘He’s certainly very charming,’ she mused looking at her sister.
Mary laughed, ‘Good looking you mean.’
‘Well, yes. You were right, he’s certainly very handsome. I have a feeling he’s very smart too but tries to hide it a bit.’
‘Really, how so?’ asked Mary.
‘I can’t really define it. It’s just a feeling. I was asking about his chess matches with the Russians and Germans, but he just laughed it off. Also, I thought it interesting how he understood, very quickly about Aunt Emily and Henry.’
‘He seems to have taken to Henry.’
‘I do hope so. Henry needs someone, preferably not female and middle aged, to guide him. For instance, I didn’t know Henry was interested in reading chemistry. Did you ever hear him mention anything?’
‘No, new one on me. I would’ve liked to hear more but Aunt Emily closed it down very quickly,’ added Mary.
‘I know, she’s so overpowering. Poor Henry.’
‘Poor Henry?’ laughed Mary, ‘You’ve changed your tune. Is this the Aston influence?
‘Maybe, or maybe we haven’t given him enough of a chance. Everyone deserves a chance, don’t they?’
‘You’re too good, Essie. You should be evil like me,’ grinned Mary.
‘Hateful,’ corrected Esther.
‘Vile.’
The two sisters collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles. Finally, Mary said, ‘Right ho, I’ll be nice to Henry, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
-
Lady Emily looked up as Henry walked into the room. His face was an unhappy combination of anger and fear. It did have the benefit of bringing some colour to his usually pallid appearance. Fearing his mother would begin a sally on the need for him to embrace his future rank, he decided to go on the attack.
‘I know what you’re going to say, mother. Perhaps you can spare us both the pain, for once.’
His mother looked up at him. She had not expected him to open up immediately and it took some of the wind from her sails. Instead she remained silent for what seemed like an eternity. In truth she did not want to have this conversation.
She wanted Henry to be a self-assured, aristocratic man like Lord Aston. Looking at him now, he was clearly a long way from this ideal. And yet he had such beauty. However, she knew this beauty was only a disguise for the insecurity plaguing him. She desperately wanted Henry to leave the room. At this moment all she wanted was to cry.
The anguish was like a stream of acid pouring onto her conscience. Each drop represented the evidence of her failure as a mother. How much was the Henry before her, a reflection of her misdirected efforts to make him into something he didn’t wish to be?
Finally, she realized she had to say something. Looking at his hand, she noticed he was holding some books. ‘Raiding the library?’
‘Yes,’ replied Henry cryptically.
‘Can I see?’ asked Lady Emily.
‘No.’
‘I see. I will hazard a guess they are not on Greek or Latin.’
‘They are not.’
Lady Emily nodded absently. There was nothing she could think to say now. She decided to end their interview. ‘I would like to lie down now. You should go to your room. Can you ask Agnes to come up, please?’
As he left the room, she saw with some alarm the title of one of the books he had taken from the library it was called, “A Treatise on Poisons”.
-
Only Cavendish remained in the library. He was relatively pleased with how the afternoon had gone. Although he was no expert on romance and the attraction of men, he was convinced Kit would have made a good impression. There was much to admire in the man and recommend him as a potential spouse, not just his rank. The fatigue Kit had felt in the library had not gone unnoticed by Cavendish, but he had given no more thought to it. Uppermost on his mind was the way Esther and Kit had naturally gravitated towards one another. It was a good sign, although still early in the game.
Strangerson was now completely dismissed as potential spouse material. A likeable chap but he would be utterly out of his depth with either Mary or Esther. However, he was keen to hear more of Strangerson’s experiences with Shackleton and at the South Pole. He also wanted to hear more about Robert. This was a topic to be approached with caution. Firstly, he was not sure how the War would have affected Strangerson, notwithstanding the original letter of introduction. It was not an easy topic to talk about. Even he had tended to avoid talking about the War with Katherine. It was beyond explanation and only those who had been in conflict situations could truly understand. Secondly, he did not want to talk about Robert with either Emily or Henry around. It risked upsetting one or both. It would be best to speak outside the Cavendish Hall, perhaps he could suggest a walk to show him the grounds. Better still, perhaps they could go shooting. Strangerson was known to be a topnotch sportsman, and his War record indicated he was excellent shot. Yes, thought Cavendish, that might just do the trick.
Cavendish walked over to the bookshelves and lifted down an atlas. He looked at a map of the world. Britain seemed so small and yet so much of the land mass was under its control. This made him feel proud. He had played a small part in ensuring it remain so. There was no question in his mind, Britain was a force for good in the world. It had brought modernity and the rule of law to countries plagued by famine and lawlessness.
The extent of Strangerson’s travels was impressive. Cavendish ran his finger from Britain over to South America and then down to Antarctica. An interesting man even if he did have something of the buffoon about him. It was difficult to reconcile the scholar, the much-decorated soldier with the man who was sharing their house this Christmas.
-
Devlin was sitting in the garage smoking a cigarette when Strangerson walked in unannounced. Strangerson took a cigarette box out of his jacket pocket and nimbly removed a cigarette. He was surprised to see Curtis fixing something under the
bonnet. As if reading Strangerson’s mind, Devlin explained, ‘Mr Curtis has a genius for mechanical things.’
Strangerson raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Curtis looked up, ‘Thank you Mr Devlin. I think you’ll find it is everything is in order now.’
‘Thank you Mr Curtis,’ replied Devlin.
‘Do you mind, if I have a look at the Austin?’
‘Of course, sir. Feel free,’ said Devlin.
Curtis excused himself and left the Irishman and Strangerson together.
‘I thought I detected an Irish accent earlier. Been over here long?’ asked Strangerson.
‘Long enough,’ came the reply.
‘This is a corking set of wheels. Must be a blast to drive.’
Devlin relaxed a little as the conversation dwelt on the car. ‘She’s handles a dream, there’s no doubt about it. Would you like to get in?’
‘I say, that’s the ticket.’ Strangerson hoped in and played at steering the wheel.
‘Do you drive, sir?’ asked Devlin.
‘Yes, I learned before the War. I didn’t have to do much over the last few years. It would be great to have a spin if the weather clears a bit. Not sure I fancy skating over the roads though in a few tons of metal.’
Devlin laughed at the idea and reassured Strangerson, ‘I’m sure his Lord Cavendish wouldn’t mind at all.’
The two men both looked at the engine, with Strangerson asking questions about the various parts and how they functioned. His next question surprised the Irishman, ‘Does Lord Cavendish ever drive?’
‘Yes, from time to time. Lady Mary also.’
‘Lady Mary. Gosh are such things really allowed? A lady driver? I say, we really are in the modern world. These Suffragettes have a lot to answer for. They’ll be wanting to fly aeroplanes next or stand for Parliament. Where will it bally end?’
Devlin found himself taking a liking to the unusual guest. It was a rare occurrence for guests to spend any time talking to the staff. Lord Cavendish was friendly enough but his relationship with the lord was never anything other than formal. Lady Mary, on the other hand, was very informal and he admired her rebellious spirit. With her, he could let his guard down a little, but only so far. We all have our secrets, he thought. You can’t know mine.
-
Polly knelt down to put the last of the dishes into the cupboard. As she stood up, she had a momentary fright. In the doorway was Miller, smiling at her. ‘Sorry, Polly, didn’t mean to give you a fright.’
‘Not a problem sir, sir.’
‘Harry, no need to be so formal. We’re all on the same side here, Polly.’
‘Mr Miller, I would prefer if we kept it formal.’ She motioned with her eyes towards Curtis who had just returned to the kitchen, no doubt, listening. Miller caught her meaning and nodded with a smile.
‘Quite right Polly. We’re here to work.’
Polly nodded her thanks. She turned and walked over to Curtis. ‘Will there be anything more, Mr Curtis?’
‘No. I think you should take a half hour to rest and then we’ll begin to make ready for tonight’s dinner, thank you.’
‘Thank you Mr Curtis.’
She walked out of the kitchen and headed towards the staff quarters. Curtis looked up from his newspaper at Miller. ‘Mr Miller, I would appreciate it if you adopted a more proper mode of address with Polly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you know, Mr Miller.’
‘I’m not sure what it has to do with you.’
‘Anything related to the staff at Cavendish Hall has something to do with me. Anyway, and this is friendly advice, I would advise you not to trifle with a young girl’s emotions.’ He looked down at his paper again but something in his tone had caught Miller’s attention. Unlike his normal pious manner, this seemed a weary response from Curtis. Miller wondered what would have prompted such an unusually resigned reaction.
Unquestionably, this meant the subject was now closed. Whether Curtis was threatening him or if there was something else at play here was immaterial. The best thing to do would be to hold fire and scout the territory a little bit more. As he pondered this, Miss Buchan entered the kitchen in a flap.
‘That Lady Emily has to be the most ill-bred, unpleasant women I have ever met!’ stormed Miss Buchan. Miller remained quiet, but Curtis got up from his seat immediately to enquire what was wrong.
‘She’s with that idiot maid of hers and she was complaining about everything. If it isn’t the food, it’s the cleanliness of the rooms. I ask you, we spent hours cleaning her room specially. She goes out of her way to find fault. Horrible, horrible woman,’ said Miss Buchan with real feeling.
Curtis raised his hands and cast his eyes towards Miller to indicate to Miss Buchan that she should be more circumspect in her comments.
‘My apologies Mr Miller, it has been a difficult afternoon.’
‘Quite understand Miss Buchan, say no more,’ said Miller reassuringly.
‘Thank you, Mr Miller,’ replied Miss Buchan, ‘But really, I could kill that woman sometimes.’
The door to the kitchen opened just at the moment Miss Buchan made this proposal.
-
Agnes left Lady Emily’s room almost ready to weep. For the last twenty minutes all she had heard was a litany of complaints. None were especially directed towards her, but the cumulative effect was depressing. Christmas at Cavendish Hall always seemed to bring out the worst in Lady Emily and this saddened Agnes greatly. There was another side to her few saw and it pained Agnes when it seemed Lady Emily was intent on feeding the prejudices of people who were unworthy of her.
Agnes had been with Lady Emily ever since she was a child. She had always been a headstrong girl, spoiled by her parents. As a result, she had grown up to be willful, self centred and volatile. Fortunately, she had met Robert. Her parents had been as delighted by her marriage to Robert as she was. For a few years, the better nature of Lady Emily took over because of the genuine love she had for her husband and the arrival of Henry.
Lady Emily and Agnes found out how life is never so straightforward. Like the weather it has sunshine but also cloud and rain. Then the storms come. A calm may follow a storm but the damage it leaves can last a lifetime. Although Robert sadly proved to be a far from perfect husband, Agnes could see Lady Emily had never really recovered from his death.
Grief quickly turned to bitterness, increasingly towards Lord Cavendish and the two girls. Agnes found it difficult to comprehend how the Cavendish family had been so cold and unsupportive towards Lady Emily. She too had been infected and felt equally bitter towards them. It was not just that they seemed uncaring about Lady Emily, their coldness towards Henry shocked her. Could they not see he was turning inward? He was without friends, without a father figure, without family. How she hated the Cavendish family.
She descended the stairs in an angry mood. As she neared the kitchen she heard Miss Buchan saying, ‘I could kill that woman sometimes.’
Eyes ablaze, Agnes strode into the kitchen and faced Miss Buchan, ‘How dare you say such a vile thing.’
Miss Buchan did not need Agnes to tell her that what she had said was abhorrent, she knew herself. This was over stepping the mark and regret was immediate. However, just as she was about to apologize, Curtis intervened to bring patriarchal calm to a febrile atmosphere, ‘Agnes, I am sure Miss Buchan did not mean…’
That Curtis failed was not a surprise; sanctimony is a rarely used tool in diplomatic circles for a good reason. What caused wonder was the extent to which his intervention uncorked years of hostility and no small acerbity on the part of Agnes.
‘I know exactly what she meant, you pompous old fool,‘ snarled Agnes.
‘Well really, there is no need to be so personal,’ said Curtis, rather taken aback by the intensity of Agnes.
‘Agnes, forgive me,’ intervened Miss Buchan before things got further out of hand, ‘I spoke out of turn, you are absolutely right. It was a vile thin
g to say. I was wrong.’
This succeeded in appeasing Agnes and might well have diffused an increasingly incendiary situation until Curtis’s spluttering indignation took centre stage.
‘This is intolerable! How dare you call me pompous!’ he roared.
‘You are pompous!’ exclaimed Agnes. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you talk to me and the others here.’
Miller took a seat and made himself comfortable. This was becoming more enjoyable than an evening at the music hall. It was also, in his view, a mismatch. If he had been able to place a wager, he would have put the house on Lady Emily’s angry maid. She combined genuine grievance with a surprising knowledge of industrial language with which she was lambasting Curtis. By this stage Curtis was not getting a word in as the little maid let forth sally after sally on his demeanor, his lack of intelligence and unkindness. Miss Buchan felt it better to avoid getting into the line of fire by slowly withdrawing to allow Agnes a clear line of attack, which she proceeded to engage in with gusto.
The battle was as one-sided as it was brief, ending with a strategic withdrawal by Curtis. Observers later agreed that Agnes’s devastating use of alliteration in describing Curtis as pompous, pretentious and a pantomime butler, cleverly weaving Christmas into her bloody narrative, left the poor servant emotionally battered and bruised.
Curtis stalked from the kitchen harrumphing about manners and breeding. Whatever Agnes may be, thought, Miller, she’s no idiot. It had been a clinical dissection of Curtis. What was particularly impressive about Agnes was that she at no point raised her voice. There was a lot of pent up anger against Curtis and the family. He wondered if this was the case with Lady Emily. Probably, he thought.
-
Curtis made straight for Lord Cavendish to relay all that had taken place. His objective was for Cavendish to make a formal complaint to Lady Emily. There was no thought to how this would put Cavendish in a difficult position in a relationship that was, itself, quite fragile.
Cavendish sought to manage the expectations of Curtis. However, at the same time, he realized this could present problems. He was sympathetic to Curtis, but only up to a point. Curtis had an inflated sense of his own dignity and Cavendish had noted this over the years but chosen to turn a blind eye. Then again, he felt a duty of care to the man also. It was not an easy situation, especially with Lady Emily, of all people.
