“Austria is interested in ‘all that Slavic bickering,’ ” said Alice promptly, “and who’s hand in glove with Austria, I’d like to know?”
“The Kaiser’ll never bother us,” declared William. “So long as he can dress up in splendid uniforms and parade his soldiers as if he were a child playing with toys, he’ll be absolutely harmless. He won’t make any trouble.”
“Nonsense,” said Alice. “Grown men who play with real soldiers under the mistaken idea that they’re mere toys are a menace to the civilized world.”
“What a gloomy Cassandra you are, Alice!” said William, but his good-humored comment could not quite hide the note of irritation in his voice. “But I’m afraid I still think there won’t be a war.”
“Churchill thinks there will be!”
“Churchill’s an irresponsible warmonger!”
“I don’t think there’ll be a war—for a while anyway,” I interposed as the conversation threatened to become too acrimonious. “But if war did break out I’m sure it would only be because someone flouted all the principles of civilized behavior so outrageously that we would have no choice except to intervene. After all, when there’s an open conflict between good and evil—when one’s very principles are at stake—one simply must defend what one believes to be right. There’s no better reason for fighting, in my opinion.”
At least they both agreed with me about that. I sighed in relief. I did not like to listen to them arguing since I always felt trapped in the middle; I usually agreed with Alice, but I did not want to support her too enthusiastically for fear of being disloyal to William.
Summer came. The second Balkan war was maneuvered delicately into peaceful waters by the statesmen of Europe and Sir Edward Grey rose to new heights of popularity.
“I told you so,” said William to Alice.
“Well, I never said there’d be a war this year, did I?” said Alice, but I could see she was annoyed that William had been right and she had been wrong.
Mariana and her husband arrived for a visit at the end of July, but Cornwall was clearly too provincial for them and they did not stay long. Papa spent some time in Oxford after they had gone, and while he was away Penmarric reverberated with Jan-Yves’s tantrums as he declared he would not go to boarding school in September. When Papa returned from Oxford I thought he would find this rebelliousness very tiresome, but he took a lenient attitude toward the child’s stormy scenes and soothed Jan-Yves by promising to visit the school at half-term with William.
Christmas arrived at last. I was eighteen years old now, very tall and still much too thin, but my skin was clearing and I no longer felt so ungainly whenever I entered a room. I decided life was improving, and as winter melted into spring I began to think with pleasurable anticipation of the prospect of going up to Oxford in the autumn. When my final term at Winchester ended in July I felt sad to think my school days were closed at last, but I did not feel depressed for long and soon I was back at Penmarric and resuming my discussions of current events with Alice.
However, the news at that time was enough to revive my depression. There had been more trouble in the Balkans, but no one was taking that very seriously since we all knew from past experience that trouble there could be controlled by diplomacy. The real troubles were at home. The suffragettes were setting buildings on fire, firing shots at trains and even bombing churches. Civil war was breaking out in Ireland. And then, slowly it began to dawn on everyone that even the grave disunity at home could be eclipsed by the waning power of diplomacy abroad. From the beginning of that summer and even after the assassinations at Sarajevo I think we had assumed that the neutralist policy would keep us all out of trouble and that if we kept calm the crises abroad would blow over in their usual fashion. Now, suddenly it began to dawn on the general public that Europe was divided into armed camps, diplomacy was grinding to an impasse and the third Balkan war, far from blowing over, was in fact billowing into a massive conflict.
Yet still there was talk of peace. I was just reading a report in The Times of a speech made by Lloyd George in which he had said that the international situation had been much worse in 1913, when Papa said to me unexpectedly, “Would you come into my study for a moment? There’s something I want to show you.”
Thinking that perhaps he had made an additional amendment to his current manuscript (an article on that intriguing character William Marshal), I followed him willingly to his study. I always felt flattered when he chose to discuss his work with me and was continually eager to show my interest in his writings.
However, this time I was mistaken about the purpose of his invitation. When we were in the study he turned not to the papers on his desk but to a gold watch lying on a side table.
“I found this the other day,” he said, picking up both the watch and its chain. “I have a perfectly good watch myself which my father gave me when I was twenty-one, so I hardly need another. I want you to have it. I almost decided to wait until you were twenty-one, but then I thought I would give it to you now in token of your successful career at Winchester and to wish you well for your coming years at Oxford.”
He held it out to me. I was so overcome with surprise and pleasure that I found myself unable to speak. However, after I was about to exclaim, “How beautiful it is!” when I saw accepting the watch and holding it in my palm for a moment the inscription on the back and fell silent.
There was a pause.
“It was my father’s watch, as you can see,” said Papa. “It was a twenty-first birthday present from his own father but in spite of its age it still keeps excellent time—probably because it’s had no wear and tear for a quarter of a century. I had it overhauled in Penzance last week. It’s in perfect working order.”
I stared at the engraving. LAURENCE CASTALLACK, said the inscription. 22ND MARCH, 1864. I stared at it for five silent seconds before saying slowly, “This shouldn’t come to me.”
“Why not?” said Papa. “You’re the one boy who’s most like him. He would have wanted you to have it. It would have pleased him more than you could ever imagine to know that I had a son who resembled him.”
“But … what will the others say?”
“I should hope they won’t be so childish as to make any adverse comments! I shall give my personal belongings to exactly whom I please. If I gave the watch to Marcus he would probably pawn it and spend the money sending roses to the latest woman to catch his fancy. If I gave it to Philip he would refuse to accept it and if I gave it to Hugh—but damn it, why should I give it to him? I want to give it to you! Take it and wear it and enjoy it, and if anyone feels mortally insulted tell him to complain to me and I’ll answer his complaints in person.”
I made no farther protest. I was too thrilled with the watch. I thanked him as adequately as possible, but as I went outside to find William I still could not help wondering with a pang of uneasiness what my half-brothers would think when they heard of Papa’s unexpected generosity.
SEVEN
The King [gave a] ring, set with a sapphire of great price, to Geoffrey …
—Henry II,
JOHN T. APPLEBY
It was not absurd to suppose that … he, the favourite bastard, might have a chance to seize the English crown.
—The Devil’s Brood,
ALFRED DUGGAN
The boys—for they were still only boys—had their grievances and were filled with eagerness to rebel against their fond but masterful parent.
—Oxford History of England:
From Domesday Book to Magna Carta,
A. L. POOLE
TO MY SURPRISE THE reaction to Papa’s present was indulgent to the point of indifference.
“What an awful old relic of Victoriana!” drawled Marcus when I boldly wore the watch that evening. “My dear chap, you’re more than welcome to it!”
“Does it work?” inquired Hugh politely and, on hearing that it did, commented, “It’ll probably break down before long. Those old watches usually do.�
��
Jeanne, who at fourteen was all breathless enthusiasm, exclaimed, “Oh, but it’s beautiful! Even if it does break down you could always wear it simply for show, Adrian!”
“Certainly he could!” said Marcus genially. “It’s really an intriguing period piece, if you like that sort of thing.”
On the whole I thought they took the news fairly well.
It was a full two days afterward that Marcus said to me at breakfast, “Are you doing anything this morning? You wouldn’t like to come riding with me, would you? It’s a beautiful morning and I’m bored with riding alone.”
I was surprised, for Marcus had never made such an invitation before, but I saw no reason to be suspicious. He probably was bored with riding on his own. William was too busy with the estate these days to ride for pleasure during the working week, and Hugh was always either at the farm or away on private expeditions of his own.
“Very well,” I said after my moment of hesitation. “Yes, it’s a perfect morning for a ride. Where do you want to go?”
“Oh … why don’t we ride up on to the moors around Carn Kenidjack?”
“Fine. I’ll go and change. See you in the stables in about ten minutes.”
We rode down the drive and along the road into St. Just. It was a clear morning with a cool breeze gusting in from the sea. Beyond St. Just we followed the road toward Botallack, Pendeen and Morvah, and eventually branched away onto the bridlepath that led across the moors.
The weatherbeaten old signboard was still standing. I looked at its faded arm as we rode past and read the familiar inscription: “To Zillan, Chûn and Ding Dong Mine.”
“Why don’t we ride out to Chûn?” called Marcus. “We’d have a first-class view from the ridge today.”
“All right.”
I had a pang of uneasiness when I remembered how Hugh and I had been to Chûn before visiting Roslyn Farm two summers ago, but the uneasiness passed. It was an exhilarating morning for riding, and as we rode past Carn Kenidjack the wind whipped scudding white clouds across the sky and sent fleeting shadows across the heather. Presently when the path allowed us to ride two abreast Marcus began to talk of Oxford, relating amusing anecdotes of his life there, but soon the path narrowed again and conversation became difficult. We tried to talk once or twice, but the wind whipped away our words as soon as they left our lips and after a while we gave up the attempt and traveled in silence across the heather. We passed Carnforth Circles, crossed the lane which later joined the road from St. Just to Penzance, and rode onto the moor again by skirting the edge of Woon Gumpus Common. We were climbing steadily now and at last we reached the ridge to find before us, rising from the heather, the ancient walls of Chûn.
The view’s clear, isn’t it?” called Marcus over his shoulder. “How blue the sea of Mount’s Bay is!”
The view was indeed superb. I stared at the south for some minutes before turning north to Morvah and the cliffs.
“Let’s rest for a moment in the castle,” suggested Marcus. “We can shelter behind the walls out of the wind.”
“All right”
We reached the outer walls of the castle and, dismounting, led our horses into the inner enclosure. I was just about to hitch the reins to a convenient rock when a well-remembered voice drawled behind me, “Well, well, well! Fancy seeing you here!”
I spun around. Philip was lounging casually against the walls, and Hugh was beside him.
“Well, well, well!” echoed Marcus with elaborate surprise. “What a coincidence!”
They smiled at one another and then all turned to look at me. As the smiles gradually died from their eyes I felt my heart begin to bump uncomfortably against my ribs.
“Please don’t bother to pretend,” I said quickly to Marcus. “I can’t think why you considered it necessary in the first place. If you’d told me that you, Philip and Hugh had something you wished to discuss with me at Chûn I would willingly have come of my own accord.”
“You know damned well you wouldn’t have done anything of the kind,” said Philip. “You’d have told Marcus to go to hell.”
I checked the angry reply which rose to my lips and instead said politely, “That’s a matter of opinion. However, since I’m here I’m perfectly willing to discuss whatever you wish. What is it you want to talk about?”
There was a silence. I was aware of their cool light eyes appraising me with hostility. I clenched my hands and waited.
“Do let’s sit down,” said Marcus suddenly. “After all, there’s no reason why we should all stand around dramatically like characters on a stage. Do you smoke, Adrian? Have a cigarette.”
“I don’t smoke, thank you,” I said stiffly and watched him take out a packet of cigarettes to offer Philip and Hugh.
They all lit their cigarettes. We sat down casually, Philip with his back to the ancient walls, Hugh on a slab of rock nearby, and Marcus and I on a patch of grassy turf. Although the sky was still streaked with high white clouds the sun was warm and the horses tossed their heads impatiently as they waited for us.
“Who’s going to conduct this meeting, Marcus?” demanded Philip. “You or I? You seem very reluctant to start.”
“I was just trying to think of a civilized approach to the problem,” said Marcus with engaging frankness. He smiled at me. “I’m awfully sorry about all this, Adrian old chap, but the fact is we’re all rather—well, rather embarrassed about certain things, and we thought that if we could all have a little talk together—”
“Oh my God, Marcus!” said Philip. “Call a spade a spade, can’t you?” He leaned forward, and as he moved I realized I preferred his blunt honesty to Marcus’ determined efforts to appear friendly. “Look here,” said Philip directly to me. “There are some things we want to know. First of all, why did Father give you Grandfather’s gold watch?”
After a moment I said, “He wanted me to have it.”
“Why?”
“Because he felt Grandfather would have wanted me to have it.”
“Why?”
“He said I was the one who was most like Grandfather.”
They digested this unwelcome statement in stony silence.
“You have no right to that watch,” said Philip narrowly at last
“I have every right to it,” I said. “It belonged to Papa and he gave it to me, as he was legally entitled to. There’s no law against accepting a gift from someone entitled to give.”
“You seem to be getting on very well with Father, at the moment.”
“We’re on good terms with each other, certainly.”
“What kind of game are you playing?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Has he given you money?”
“Of course! I make no secret of the fact that I have an allowance.”
“I mean has he given you large sums as a gift over and above your allowance?”
“No, but if he had it would be none of your business.”
“It certainly would. You’re not entitled to his money.”
“If he chooses to give me what is his to give I most certainly am entitled to it.”
“Has he discussed his will with you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact he did once. He told us that although William and I could expect a legacy the bulk of his fortune would go elsewhere and we would always have to earn our living.”
Hugh said casually, “Was this recently?”
“The last time the subject came up was three years ago.”
“Three years ago?”
“Yes. It was after my mother died.”
“Past history really.”
I said nothing.
“He hasn’t discussed his will with you recently?”
“If he had,” I said, “it would be none of your business, and I should hold it as confidential information. If he wished to discuss his private affairs with any of you he would presumably do so in person.”
“You’re hoping, of course, that the legacy’s a
large one.”
“I’m certainly not expecting it to be large. Otherwise Papa would hardly have told me I’d have to earn my living.”
They stared at me.
“You see, Adrian—” Marcus began, but he was interrupted.
“I’ll handle this, if you don’t mind, Marcus,” said Philip. He looked at me directly again. “If you think for one moment,” he said to me at last, “that you can cheat us all out of our inheritance—”
“I’ve just said—”
“Never mind what you just said! You were referring to something that was said three bloody years ago, and we’re not interested in past history even if you are! We’re interested in the present—and the future. We think—”
“If you think for one moment,” I said, trying to keep my temper, “that I’m conducting some monstrous plot to swindle you all, you must be completely mad. I don’t want your wretched inheritance! I detest Penmarric! I don’t deny that Papa and I get on well together, but if Papa happens to prefer me to you, Philip Castallack, I for one wouldn’t blame him. What have you ever done to give him cause to feel affectionate toward you? You never even come near him! If he prefers me to you, you have only yourself to blame!”
“So you are trying to wangle your way into his affections and get him to make a will in your favor,” said Philip at once. “We thought you were. Hugh and Marcus have both noticed how you’ve been attracting attention to yourself recently by pretending to be interested in his work. They’ve noticed how you’ve been spending hour after hour with him in his damned study. They’ve noticed—”
“Steady on, Philip,” Marcus said nervously. “Steady on.”
“If you’re not trying to steal the inheritance,” said Hugh smoothly, “give Marcus Grandfather’s gold watch in token of your good faith.”
“My word is my good faith!” I yelled at him. “If you weren’t such a bloody liar yourself you’d understand that! Grandfather’s watch is mine and it stays mine and that’s all I have to say on the subject.” I began to stand up.
“Sit down,” said Philip. “We haven’t finished.”
Penmarric Page 41
