The Legacy (1987)

by Plante, Lynda La

  Freda dusted and swept, stirred the stew and told Ed to pop over to see if Freedom and Evelyne had everything they needed. Grumbling, he put on his heavy coat and went out, crossing the yard to the stables. Freedom, Evelyne and the baby had been installed in the new stable complex along with the stable hands and gamekeepers. Ed looked around the two rooms, sparsely furnished with just the bare essentials, and he could tell that Evelyne was upset. Freedom had gone out to the woods and from the small window Ed could see his figure like a small dot on the white fields, running flat out.

  ‘Well, there’s one of us glad to be back here. There he goes, like a hare, isn’t he?’

  Evelyne snapped that she could use him indoors as she had to make up a bed for the baby, and Freedom had not lifted a finger since they arrived. He’d already had a row with the head stableboy because he had not been allowed to ride one of Sir Charles’ hunters.

  Ed made soothing noises while he watched four gardeners hauling a massive Christmas tree that was to stand in front of the drawing-room windows of The Grange. Sir Charles had not arrived home yet, and from the number of lighted windows in the house Ed knew all hell would be let loose as Miss Balfour organized the servants in their preparations for Christmas.

  Evelyne handed the baby to him, and he cooed and chucked him under the chin. Ed looked up to see Evie, neat and tidy as ever, putting on her coat. ‘Yer not goin’ out at this hour, Evie. You’ll catch yer death.’

  ‘I’m just going over to the kitchens to see everybody, say hello.’

  The cook, the footmen, the housemaids whooped when Evelyne entered the kitchen.

  ‘Well, let’s have a look at you, well I never, so you’re married, well, well, and he’s back as the British Champion, well, well.’

  They opened a bottle of cooking sherry to celebrate.

  ‘So you’re back, well don’t expect no special treatment from me, Miss Jones,’ Miss Balfour snapped, ‘And I’ll thank you not to keep everyone chatting in my kitchen when there’s work to be done.’

  ‘Will you not toast my good health, and my baby’s, Miss Balfour?’

  Begrudgingly, Miss Balfour sipped a sherry then spoke with thin, pursed lips, ‘Here’s good health to you, is it a boy you have? Well, that’s ver y nice, now if you will excuse me . . . ’ She left, ordering all of them to return to work. The housemaids sighed and looked at Evelyne as though she were a heroine, and she was delighted at being the centre of attention. She had two more sherries before she left with her cheeks flushed and rosy.

  In the cold starlit December night with the thick carpet of snow, The Grange looked magical. Evelyne breathed in the clear air, maybe it was good that they’d all come here, away from the dirty London traffic.

  ‘You look as pretty as a picture, I’ve been watching you.’

  Freedom slipped his arm around her and she cuddled close.

  ‘Happy, manushi?’

  She looked up into his smiling, handsome face. ‘I am, an’ you’re a rinkeney man all right, Freedom Stubbs.’

  He roared with laughter at her use of the Romany word for ‘handsome’, and together they walked towards Ed and Freda’s cottage. They peered like children into the kitchen and then giggled. Ed had their son on his lap and Freda was standing by giving him instructions on how to change a nappy.

  ‘I don’t think ’e needs one, love, ’e’s just done it all over me best pants.’

  The following morning there was bright sunshine and Ed talked the stableboys into allowing Freedom to ride. ‘Yer know, lads, if ’e wasn’t a champion boxer ’e could ’ave been a jockey, will you look at ’im with that animal, bloody marvel, my God ’e’s a wonderful fella.’ Ed glowed with pride and beamed at Mr Plath as he strode through the stableyard.

  ‘Ah, Meadows, all the servants are to gather in the main hall for Christmas gift time, will you instruct your party to be in the hall on the dot of eight?’

  ‘Now, Freda, there’s no need to get all uppity, all they want is us all gathered, like. Sir Charles hands out ’is gifts to the servants, see, then we ’ave a shindig, a dance in the ballroom.’

  Freda pursed her lips, furious to be classed with the servants.

  Evelyne laughed, ‘Oh, come on, Freda, it’ll be fun, and you can get all dressed up. Of course we’re not servants, well, not any more.’

  Ed refrained from pointing out to the two women that while they might not be staff, both he and Freedom were employed by Sir Charles. He was too relieved that Evelyne had accepted it and even seemed bent on enjoying her stay at The Grange.

  Promptly at eight, not a minute before or after, the staff lined up in the hall. It was impressive to watch, there were kitchen maids, scullery maids, ladies’ maids, butlers, footmen, valets, cooks, gardeners, stableboys, dog handlers, gunsmiths. Miss Balfour stood at one end of the hall with the general house manager, the estate manager and two secretaries. In a small group slightly apart from the general household staff stood Ed, Freda, Freedom and Evelyne.

  Everyone wore their Sunday best or their immaculate uniforms, and the line of more than forty people stood as though on parade. It dawned on Evelyne just how wealthy this household was, how could some have so much and others so little?

  Miss Balfour shook hands with Freedom and congratulated him as if she was telling him he’d brought in muck from the stables, ‘Sir Charles will be coming down any moment, he will wish you all a happy Christmas, and then you are to file past him one at a time . . .’

  At that moment he appeared on the staircase, and there was a sudden hush. In clipped tones he wished every one of them a happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year, thanked them for all their good work, and hoped they would remain one big family.

  Sir Charles handed Ed and Freda their gifts, polite, charming, and then turned to Freedom, who received the same cordial handshake with his neatly wrapped gift. Evelyne felt humiliated, as if she was lined up in the poorhouse, and accepted her token gift with lowered eyes, not once looking into the monocle.

  ‘Do hope you will enjoy the dance, thank you for your service.’

  ‘Well, manushi, I suppose we should go an’ perform for our lord and master.’

  Evelyne muttered that Sir Charles might be his lord, but he certainly wasn’t hers.

  In the ballroom a small orchestra played a waltz. Evelyne removed the heavy coat she was wearing over the satin gown Sir Charles had bought her in Cardiff, and got many admiring glances. Freda had shortened it, sewn on a few sequins to freshen it up, and arranged Evelyne’s hair the way Freedom liked it in a long braid down her back with ribbon threaded through, green to match her eyes. This was the only time of year that Sir Charles actually mixed with his servants so it was quite an occasion.

  Tables were laid for Sir Charles and his guests at one end of the ballroom, with pristine white cloths, silver and crystal, but they were empty as yet. A long buffet at one side was covered with cloths, and tables were ranged round the other walls for the staff. Evelyne and Freedom sat with Freda and Ed and a group of the stableboys. Ed and Freedom were sitting with their heads close together, discussing boxing as usual, and Freda gave Evelyne a little shake of her head and a shrug.

  The orchestra played on, and the evening began to liven up as they all did the hokey-cokey around the room. Everyone was in high spirits, singing at the tops of their voices, ‘You put your right foot in, right foot out, in, out, in out, and shake it all about . . . and that’s what it’s all about . . . Oh, the hokey-cokey, oh, the hokey-cokey . . . Knees bend, arms stretch, Ra! Ra! Ra!’

  During the dance Sir Charles and his guests arrived and crossed the floor to their reserved tables. When the music ended Freda flopped down in her chair, fanning herself with her hankie, ‘Oh, I’m too old, too old for this kind of dance, darlink, I must have a long drink.’

  Evelyne laughed. She was flushed, too, and she headed for the table where drinks were being served. She turned to look over at Sir Charles’ table, and her heart stopped.

  David Col
lins was standing staring across the ballroom. He was lighting a cigarette in a thin gold holder. She had forgotten how handsome he was, how refined. She was jostled along the queue for drinks, and asked for two lemonades. As she waited for them she saw Sir Charles gesturing to Freedom to join his table. Evelyne stood on tiptoe to watch as Freedom bent to kiss Lady Primrose’s hand, then pulled out a chair to sit down. His back was to Evelyne and David was on his right. Freedom must have said something amusing, as the whole group laughed.

  Taking a roundabout route Evelyne went back to her table, avoiding Sir Charles’ group. She sat down as Freda brought two plates piled so high with food it was spilling on to the cloth. ‘My darlink, eat, eat, I have never seen so much glorious food.’

  Evelyne smiled, but her eyes strayed constantly to David as she sipped her drink. Lady Primrose stood up and pulled at Freedom’s arm, dragging him on to the dance floor. Evelyne felt sorry for him, she didn’t know if he could dance and wondered if she should go to his rescue, but that would mean meeting David.

  Holding hands, Freedom and Lady Primrose walked over to the orchestra, and he tapped the conductor on the shoulder and spoke to him. Still waving his baton, the conductor nodded his head. Evelyne wondered what had been said and was fascinated to see how relaxed Freedom was, he seemed almost on intimate terms with Her Ladyship.

  The orchestra struck up a tango, and on to the floor glided Freedom, his hand out for Lady Primrose to follow. She giggled and looked towards her table, then stood as Freedom demonstrated a step. A few couples stood and watched as he waited for the beat to begin the dance. He closed his eyes and stood quite still, head up, then slowly began to dance, clicking his heels in Romany style, putting the whole room to shame as he glided elegantly across the floor. After a short solo he swept Lady Primrose into his arms and she laughed, throwing her head back. Then, the show over, he began to teach her the steps.

  Evelyne was so astounded by Freedom’s dancing that she was unaware of David’s approach until he was standing directly behind her chair. ‘I don’t know if I can tango, but I’m willing to try, would you do me the honour, Evie?’

  Startled, she turned to him, then told him curtly that she didn’t tango. He promptly sat down, insisting he could wait for a waltz. He glanced at his wife on the dance door, then back to Evelyne. ‘You’ve not changed, not at all.’

  She saw his eyes flick over her dress and she bit her lip, she knew he recognized it. He had changed. She could see the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and a slight gauntness. His blue eyes were paler than ever. He still smelt of flowers, and was as fresh and clean as his starched white collar. The orchestra began a slow waltz and he held his hand out to her, smiling softly. They stood up and began to dance, Evelyne overpowered by David’s closeness, his blond hair brushing her face as he held her close, manoeuvring her around the polished floor.

  Freda looked at them with a worried frown and swivelled in her chair to see where Freedom was. Through the throng of dancers she could see him leaning on the back of Lady Primrose’s chair. She watched him take the delicate hand and began to read her palm and suddenly realized he was a bit of a ladykiller, and by the look of Primrose she was responding to his charm.

  Lady Primrose could smell Freedom’s musky perfume – sweet, strange and exciting, as he was – and his touch on her hand was gentle as he traced the lines on her palm. Giggling, she told Sir Charles she didn’t believe in all this mumbo-jumbo, and pulled her hand away, taken aback by the expression on her cousin’s face. He was staring at Freedom, his eyes furious. When he caught Primrose looking at him, he turned away and blushed the scarlet of his monocle ribbon. It was obvious that the gypsy boxer had powers which were not necessarily confined to fortune-telling.

  David didn’t know what to say to Evelyne, he kept trying to think of some way to start a conversation, but then stopped before speaking. He could feel her in his arms, so close and yet so many miles away. There was so much he wanted to tell her – needed to tell her – but they danced on and he remained silent. Going back through the years in her mind, Evelyne turned around and came back again. Here she was, dancing close, very close, to the man she had believed she loved, so close that if she turned her cheek she could kiss his lips, and yet nothing could be further from her thoughts. He had shrunk, she was sure of it. She was taller than him now, and that cloyingly sweet perfume was surely not the one he used to wear. His eyes were so pale they seemed filled with tears, and as if he were reading her thoughts he suddenly stopped dancing and sighed, ‘I need some air, which way should I go?’

  Evelyne sat on the balcony steps, feeling cold, and David took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  ‘Do you remember everything now, David? How I used to come and visit you? Do you remember?’

  His head twitched, his mouth working. He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers, pulled her closer, ‘You are the most beautiful creature, that is what I remember most – and you have filled out to perfection, to perfection.’

  His free hand traced her bosom, heavy with milk for her son.

  ‘Please don’t do that.’

  He smiled, kissed her neck softly, and she gasped.

  ‘You liked it once, you like it now: excite me, excite me, set me on fire.’

  She looked around; he was holding her hand tightly, hurting her fingers, pulling her close, and he forced her head back, kissed her just as he had kissed her that night in his car, forcing her mouth open with his tongue.

  ‘No, don’t, please, please . . . Let go of me, please.’

  He held her even tighter. ‘What’s the matter with you, you liked it once, I remember. I remember that, you liked it, you loved me.’

  Evelyne looked at him, amazed. How could she have been so foolish? ‘That was a long time ago, David, I think we should go back into the ballroom.’

  He grasped her shoulders, tight. She didn’t push him away, but neither did she encourage him. She whispered, ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘You know, what’s the matter? Not good enough for you now? Tell me, what have you set your sights on for tonight? My God, for a little slut you certainly have done well for yourself, I have to hand it to you, wormed your way in here very nicely . . .’

  Evelyne drew back her right hand and slapped David’s face so hard that he reeled.

  ‘I am a married woman, with a son, how dare you make such insinuations, how dare you?’

  He laughed, a humourless, barking sound, a sarcastic smile on his face. ‘You are still for sale, Evie, and to the highest bidder, your type always are and you know it.’

  He was about to move away when she gripped his arm. ‘I’ve never been for sale, David, just poor. Is that a crime? You sicken me, for if there’s anyone selling themselves it’s been you . . . I loved you with a passion, a childish, naive passion that you abused, just like you abused your own friend, Freddy . . . How’s your wife? You knew he loved her, and yet you had to have her. Why, David? Because she’s titled? Because she had money? It’s you who’s been for sale, David, you . . . you’re nothing. Go back to your high society, your rich friends who laugh at you behind your back!’

  He backed away from her, wringing his hands. ‘You know, you’re terribly wrong about one thing, my wife, I love her, I always have, but she makes a fool of me . . . a public fool.’ His voice was childish, pitiful, and to Evelyne’s dismay he started to cry. His shoulders shook, and he stuttered through his sobs, ‘We’re stony broke, all my fault. I lost my way, Evie, so long ago, lost my way, you see . . .’

  He lifted his hands to Evelyne, a helpless gesture, then she saw the familiar habit he had of sweeping his hair back. His signet ring glinted. ‘Damned wretched business, can’t seem to hold on to anything . . . my father short-changed me, ya know, should have given me a sharp rap across the knuckles, but instead he encouraged me, because . . .’

  He turned away from her, rested his hands on the balcony rail. ‘ . . . Because he wante
d me to succeed. Laughable, really – get in with the right set, Mother always used to say – and here I am, cap in hand, begging from Charles because we’re penniless.’

  ‘Why don’t you work? You were studying to be a lawyer.’

  His voice was soft, full of pain. ‘I can’t remember things, hardly the best credentials for the Law Society . . . ’ His eyes pleaded with her, ‘I don’t remember, Evie, I pretend I do, but so help me God, I don’t, because . . . because I’m scared. Sometimes when I have been with you I recall pictures – Mrs Darwin, my father . . .’

  She knew he was lying, she sensed it, lying like a guilty child. She moved closer, almost touching him, ‘David, you can remember. What happened? What happened to you?’

  He stared at her as if cornered, trapped. He shook his head and she inched even closer. ‘What did you do that made you so afraid? Tell me? You can tell me.’

  She held him in her arms, felt him trembling, smoothed his hair, patted the silky hair she had longed to touch all those years before. ‘You know, David, in a way you don’t belong here either, you are as much out of your depth as I am. Whatever you did surely can’t make you hide for the rest of your life?’

  His face altered, the child disappeared. His slender grasp of reality began to slip. His mouth turned down and his face twisted in fury at her assumption that he was no better than she, as if they were of the same class. When he spoke he had reverted to his usual, over-precise speech pattern. ‘I’m not hiding, duckie, what do you take me for? I know what you bloody are.’ He made a grab for her breast, ripping her gown.

  Neither of them had heard Freedom’s soft footstep, or were aware that he had been standing close by. With one swift move he gripped David’s jacket and tossed him aside.

  ‘It was that bitch’s fault, don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.’ For one moment Evelyne would have liked Freedom to throw David over the balcony, then she turned, looking for help to stop him.

  Ed had been searching for Freedom since Freda had told him David and Evelyne had disappeared together. As he came around the side of the house, he saw Freedom dragging David along the balcony and ran as fast as his fat legs would carry him.