Castle Orchard

by E A Dineley

  She received no letters and supposed if Captain Allington wished to communicate he would, unless he was not well enough to write. She thought about it as she clopped along on the grey, the silent Dan half a pace behind her. Dan knew his place. He lived in one silent world and she lived in another. There was Annie and Phil and Emmy, to whom she gave words and attention, but she was solitary, elsewhere, in a sea of nothingness. She was not wretched as she had been when first married, racked, miserable, desperate – that is, until she had learned to manage, to recognise her husband for what he was and to desist from grieving over it. Now she was sad, as if she had been given a glimpse of another world, another sort of life, a door opening halfway before banging shut.

  As for money, she chose to accept Captain Allington’s word. Had he not said there was no cause for concern on her part? So she assumed, all in good time, she would receive the jointure. When that happened, she must ask Mr Westcott if he had some little house she could take, something less than the Dower House he had already offered. With this in mind she occupied herself in remaking her wardrobe and also the children’s. There was an advantage in the delay. By the time she was living elsewhere, there would be no need for her to be wearing more than halfmourning and certainly no need to put Phil and Emmy into black. She asked Louisa to send her cloth in shades of grey and lilac, white for Emmy, with appropriate patterns, dipping into the hundred pounds to pay for it. Mrs Arthur knew how to sew. She had taken apart many an outworn garment to see how it was made. As for the pink silk Louisa had sent her, she still could not see she would have any occasion for it.

  Christmas arrived. Emmy received a new set of clothes for her doll, worked by her Aunt Louisa. There was, for Phil, a puzzle comprising the English monarchs from Their Majesties William I to George IV, to be set in order. Were there no kings before William I? Phil asked.

  Annie said, ‘How can we be joyous at Christmas if we don’t know how the captain is? That Pride could write if he left off talking for once.’

  Louisa included, amongst the parcels, a letter for her sister.

  My dear Caro,

  I quite understand you must look after the house for Captain Allington while he is gone into Cornwall for his health. You are, I see, under an obligation to him. My mother doesn’t understand this and thinks it odd. However, his not being at Castle Orchard must be such a relief to you, for never can a situation be so absurdly awkward as yours. What can the banks and the lawyers be doing that your affairs are at a complete halt? It is very odd. John says if you will send him a written note giving your authority, he will go to London. He wishes to know who is your lawyer. Now, dearest Caro, the moment Captain Allington returns, do have your bags packed and come to Westcott Park. From here you can make all further arrangements. You know Mr Westcott says he will send the coach for you. He or John will wish to escort you. It really will appear rather odd if you don’t. My mother says it will cause a sensation, and you know how she is when it comes to anything that may draw attention to oneself . . .

  The word odd predominated.

  Louisa’s letter went on and on, even to how many servants her sister might like to bring. Mrs Arthur, while reading it, answered things in her head. She could not tell John the name of her lawyer, which he would find odd; she found it odd herself, but she had never asked Captain Allington the name. Was it Jonas or had he seen fit to employ someone else? If she told Louisa she had put her affairs into the hands of Captain Allington, her sister would be struck dumb.

  She wrote Dearest Louisa, and then stopped to gaze out of the window where a few lone flakes of snow drifted from an iron sky. She was fond of her but Louisa was so very much the younger and she had but one cause of anxiety in her well-regulated life – that of producing no boy. Mrs Arthur could see this as unfortunate for John and Louisa, as the estate was entailed, but not a disaster as John had four younger brothers.

  The New Year was marked by a peculiar incident, or Mrs Arthur saw it as such. Castle Orchard lacked the glories requisite on the public demanding to see it. On no occasion had Annie been required to show strangers the portraits of deceased Arthurs. The most ever requested was permission to enter the park in order to view the Philosopher’s Tower and the remains of the castle. Now a card was sent from the nearest post-house with a note to say a viewing of the house would be much appreciated as it was known to be an antique and the owner of the card had been a friend of the late Mr Arthur.

  Mrs Arthur’s first instinct was to refuse. Who could want to come to Castle Orchard – though it did have its charm, and was certainly an antique – out of anything but base curiosity? On the other hand, the rarity of such a request made her feel it churlish to refuse. The name on the card was Rampton, which meant little to her beyond the idea there was an estate in Dorsetshire to which some scandal or gossip had been attached. She gave permission for the visit, at the same time putting on, without enthusiasm, one of her new gowns. Seeing they declared themselves friends of Johnny’s, she supposed she must entertain them. Within an hour a smart travelling coach pulled up at the door.

  As the elegantly dressed couple descended from the vehicle, it occurred to Mrs Arthur how neat and orderly Castle Orchard must now appear. For a moment she was proud of it. She herself would appear as a respectable widow, living in quiet retirement, her only article of real finery the beautiful shawl Captain Allington had provided. It then occurred to her that they must know Captain Allington was the owner of Castle Orchard.

  Mr Rampton, plump, dark-haired and handsome, wearing a copious neckcloth and a double-breasted green frockcoat with full skirts to his knees, bowed deeply. His wife, slightly the elder, wore pale yellow. Mrs Arthur knew from her sister that waists were back, but as Mrs Rampton was expecting a child, there could not be much of a waist. There was a profusion of tucks and frills about the hem of her gown, however, and she had on a wide-brimmed bonnet covered in bows and trailing ribbons. Under the bonnet was a quantity of fine, pale hair and large, pale eyes. Mrs Arthur thought Mr and Mrs Rampton served a useful purpose in telling her what was the mode, much as Louisa had intimated. She could see why Mr Rampton had been a friend of her husband’s, though much younger. They seemed as remote from her life as some exotic creatures from the zoological gardens.

  She instructed Annie to send in some wine and biscuits.

  ‘I fear we intrude,’ Mr Rampton declared. ‘We understood in the village that the owner of the property was absent for his health.’ Mr Rampton had made these enquiries, for no amount of entreaties on the part of his wife, who usually had her own way, would have betaken him to Castle Orchard had he thought Captain Allington in residence.

  ‘That is so,’ Mrs Arthur replied. She thought some explanation for her own presence was in order, but none sprang to her mind.

  ‘We were passing, you know,’ Rampton continued. ‘Your late husband was a much valued friend.’

  ‘We have the property of Bell Hill Abbey,’ Mrs Rampton said, accepting a glass of wine. ‘It is interesting, is it not, to compare properties of similar antiquity?’

  ‘Why yes,’ Mrs Arthur agreed. ‘But opportunities for my doing so have been limited.’

  ‘Travel, even in a small way, broadens the mind,’ said Mrs Rampton.

  ‘Mine must be much confined,’ Mrs Arthur replied, ‘if that is the case.’ She turned to Mr Rampton and said, ‘Did you really know my husband so very well?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. His death is a lasting tragedy to me. His circumstances were so unfortunate. I fear it a delicate subject. I had no idea I should ever have the pleasure of conversing with his widow.’ Mr Rampton got out his handkerchief as if to dab at his eyes. It was accompanied by an aroma of Attar of Roses, and for a moment Mrs Arthur had the unfortunate sensation of Johnny Arthur himself about to enter the room.

  Mr Rampton, feeling more at his ease, continued, ‘You must forgive my mentioning it, but the presence of a widow and orphans was not known to society. We all very much idolised Mr Arthur, but he did have h
is curious ways.’

  Mrs Arthur could think of nothing appropriate to add.

  ‘I frown upon gambling,’ Mrs Rampton remarked.

  ‘I too,’ Mrs Arthur concurred.

  Mr Rampton looked uncomfortable but he said, ‘I don’t allow myself this fashionable indulgence.’

  ‘It is unfortunate when a gentleman gambles,’ Mrs Rampton said. ‘He has no idea when to stop.’

  ‘No idea at all,’ Mrs Arthur consented. She was surprised to find she had so many notions in common with the young vision in yellow before her.

  ‘Allington allows you to continue in residence here,’ Rampton said next. ‘I dare say it’s a convenience for you.’

  ‘It is,’ Mrs Arthur nodded, though she thought it more of a necessity than a convenience.

  ‘Not a comfortable fellow, Captain Allington. Too clever by half. He is revered in military circles, but beyond that he never was to be seen anywhere but the Travellers Club and now he’s gone altogether.’

  ‘It cannot be pleasant to have your fortune built on other people’s ruin,’ Mrs Rampton said piously.

  ‘My dear, that is going a great deal too far in Allington’s case, especially where Arthur was concerned. Why, people begged him to play, it amused them so.’

  ‘And didn’t people lose a great deal of money to him?’ Mrs Rampton demanded, roused from her accustomed cool.

  ‘Of course, but why should they not? It’s the most diverting of occupations. They are not coerced into losing their money. I am, as you know, far too cautious to indulge, too aware of what is at stake, my love. Pray have no fear.’ Rampton turned to Mrs Arthur and said, ‘I was, you know, the witness to the game that ultimately cost Arthur this estate.’

  ‘The witness?’ Mrs Arthur said, surprised. ‘I had always imagined forty witnesses in White’s or Brooks’s or one of those other places where gentlemen seem to reside on a permanent basis. I don’t even know what all these card games are – faro, macao and such things – or are they played with dice? Isn’t Captain Allington the exception that proves the rule, that he apparently plays no more, that he has known when to stop?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call Allington a gambling man,’ Rampton said. ‘I don’t believe he ever played a game of chance in his life. You quite misunderstand him if you think that, but I dare say he never mentions such things.’

  ‘But in that case, how did my late husband lose Castle Orchard?’

  ‘Bound to lose it anyway, if you will forgive my saying so, he owed so much money. He lost at play to Allington and never paid up. An odd way to behave because such debts are debts of honour, you know, and they have to be paid. It was Allington at fault for letting him get away with it. Arthur set Allington to play against him with Castle Orchard as the stake. If Allington lost, he was to forgive Arthur his previous debts, which amounted to a great deal of money. I begged Arthur not to make such a bargain, but he would. He was sure, this time, he would win. We were in his lodgings in Half Moon Street. The whole horrid occasion is etched upon my mind, never to be forgotten.’

  ‘But what sort of game was it they played?’ Mrs Arthur asked.

  ‘Chess.’

  ‘Chess,’ Mrs Arthur echoed, astonished. ‘But of course, Johnny thought himself an excellent player of chess.’

  She got up from her chair and for a moment moved anxiously about the room. Her mind was more occupied with Allington than with her late husband. However had she supposed Allington would rely on games of chance to amass a fortune? She had indeed misunderstood him.

  Rampton was saying, ‘Of course, he would have needed to be a genius to beat Allington at chess. It was the best of three, but as Allington won the first two there was no need for the third.’

  ‘I had never considered it could have been chess,’ Mrs Arthur repeated, as much to herself as them.

  ‘I don’t see how it could make a difference what the game was,’ Mrs Rampton said. As Arthur had been the doyen of what was fashionable, it was no surprise he had kept his wife out of sight for Mrs Arthur’s gown was very plain and her hair not properly dressed. She then thought, perhaps it suited mourning, but her shawl . . . that was exceedingly fine, better even than Mrs Rampton’s own.

  ‘Allington is a cold, calculating man,’ Rampton said. ‘My dear friend, the late Mr Arthur, pronounced his sensibilities to be deadened by the horrid scenes of war, the carnage and slaughter.’

  ‘But a soldier’s life is noble,’ Mrs Rampton interposed. ‘They give up their lives in defence of their country.’

  Mrs Arthur thought, She is like clockwork, wound up to give the correct response. She believes what she says but without having considered it.

  ‘Very heroic and all that,’ Mr Rampton conceded, ‘but in peacetime they have no occupation – and then what is to be done with them? A soldier should be a creature for active service only, and after that he should dissolve like a bubble of soap.’ He was pleased with this pronouncement and supposed it worthy of Johnny Arthur himself. He then began to wonder if it were not something Arthur had said to him and he was merely repeating it. He concluded, ‘The expense of keeping a standing army is too much, and the presence of barracks around the countryside is wholly unnecessary and a threat to the civil liberties of the people.’

  Mrs Arthur said nothing. She thought of the men – sons, brothers, husbands, lovers – who willingly dashed upon the enemy and died, while others were complacent, even jocular, on the subject of their sacrifice. Her own words would be hackneyed phrases falling on stony ground. It occurred to her that Captain Allington would have preferred to leave his bones unhallowed, unburied on some hot Spanish plain, than suffer the tame but endless trials of lameness and ill health.

  Impatient with the company, she stood up. ‘I am sure you have a journey before you and will wish to delay no longer.’

  For a moment she wondered if she should lend Annie to show them the house. She then thought, Captain Allington would have frightened them off the moment they arrived and it was his house. Why should they be spying out the secrets of his life to prattle in some smart London drawing room?

  Mrs Rampton said to Mrs Arthur, ‘What a remarkable shawl you have. I declare myself quite envious.’

  Mrs Arthur extended her arms for the better display of it. She said vaguely, ‘Yes, it is pretty.’

  ‘I shouldn’t venture to wear such a thing except upon a most special occasion.’

  ‘Would you not?’ Mrs Arthur said. ‘I wear it to keep warm. You will see the Philosopher’s Tower, if you cross the garden, on your way out.’

  Thus dismissed, the Ramptons departed only a little wiser than when they came.

  Mrs Arthur stopped in the hall to examine the post, searching for a letter from Cornwall that never came. There were only bills from tradesmen which Captain Allington had instructed her to open and pay from the sums he had left for the purpose.

  Jackson, having spent the morning shuffling logs into wood baskets, sighed with relief at regaining the sanctuary of the boot room.

  ‘Dunno why they wants so many fires. Dangerous thing, fire. I seed a man drop down ’alf dead from lighting a fire an’ ’aving no chimney. They foreigners, yer Portuguese, don’t ’ave no chimneys. ’Twas a battle once, Talavera, where yer wounded was shot down in a field o’ corn an’ that corn caught alight, see, an’ burned the lot o’ them up. ’Tisn’t always pleasant the way yer goes to kingdom come, not when yer soldiering.’

  Robert asked, ‘Why did you join up, Jackson?’

  Jackson was silent for a while. He lit his clay pipe and puffed at it, ruminating. Then he said, ‘’Twas on account of a girl. Family way, her trouble. ’Er pa were after me to marry ’er. Danged if I knew ’twere my fault. Anyway, recruiting man come by an’ I joins up mighty quick.’

  ‘Didn’t you want to be married?’ a little boy asked.

  Jackson shook his head.

  ‘Not ever?’

  ‘I was married the once. Didn’t last. ’Twas like this. Corporal Sm
ith ’ad a right useful sort o’ wife. There ain’t many wives in the Army, six to each company. Draw lots they do, for to get in the boats. T’others ’ave to starve or go on the parish. Well, I says to Mrs Smith, if ’er man goes – gets killed, like – I’ll ’ave ’er next. She’s willing an’ the corporal, ’e goes down in the next action – Salamanca it were – an’ I gets the chaplain to wed us. She needs to be wed to go on getting ’er rations, see. Can’t say if she fancied me otherwise, but good enough I s’pose. Anyway, didn’t last. She would go out after nicking an officer’s watch. Horse Artillery, ’e were. I remembers looking at him and thinking he were a bonny lad, though dead as a doornail.’

  ‘But he was English then?’ Robert asked, shocked. ‘You didn’t rob the English?’

  ‘Ain’t too fussy. If yer don’t nick off o’ them,’ t’others will. Anyways, I says to the missus, “Don’t yer go out there till the guns are quiet”.’

  Jackson came to a halt. His pipe had gone out.

  ‘But what happened?’

  ‘What d’yer think? Bit o’ shrapnel got ’er. She an’ the young officer were laid down side by side, an’ blow me if I weren’t right off marryin’ after that. She ’ad blood on ’er ’ands. Yer peeked at the poor laddie an’ yer thought ’twas a pity ’e ain’t stayed at ’ome with ’is mammy. ’E wouldn’t never ’ave touched ’is cheek with a razor yet awhile. Brought up delicate, like, it makes yer wonder. I gives such a one me biscuit once. Dead on ’is feet, ’e were.’

  The boys, open-mouthed, could not concede of Jackson giving away his biscuit, and Jackson himself, perhaps ashamed at confessing to such weakness, shook his stick at them with more than his usual vehemence, and they scampered away.