Born to Trouble (31 page)

Their meal was most enjoyable but Pearl sensed that the boys were somewhat uncomfortable in the opulent surroundings. On the way home they stopped at the Old Market; the carousel was there at the top and it being a Saturday night there was boxing and men playing accordions, as well as a stall where you had to get footballs through holes. Pearl gave James and Patrick sixpence each and she and Nessie watched them have fun in the more familiar surroundings. The carousel was a penny a ride for five minutes, and the lads had two rides each before trying their luck at a couple of games stalls. They finished up at the bottom end at the very large sweet stall, buying a bag of bullets and a liquorice shoelace each, along with some nuts and raisins for a ha’penny per bag from a man with a wooden barrel.

Tired but happy, they walked Nessie home to her lodgings in Northumberland Place before continuing on to Zion Street. It was a wet night and the rings of blue light around the gas lamps shone on the cobblestones, turning them blue too. When Pearl opened the door and ushered the boys upstairs to start getting ready for bed, she stood for a moment in the dark shop, counting her blessings and reflecting how, in a mere twelve months, their lives had been transformed. She had much to be thankful for. And if she cried for the moon occasionally, and the feel of a pair of strong arms holding her tight and a handsome face topped with corn-coloured hair close to hers, only she knew.

‘What the hell are you on about, boy? Who said we sent the chit off with a flea in her ear?’

‘Don’t bother to lie, Father. I know.’ Christopher stood facing his parents and Nathaniel, his eyes blazing. ‘You had her brought here and threatened her with all sorts of repercussions even before Mother and I left for Europe, and when she came back—’

‘Came back?’ Clarissa interrupted. Turning to her husband, she said, ‘You didn’t tell me she came back.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘She came back and was told I’d gone away.’ Christopher came further into the drawing room. ‘On your orders. All the staff were told to say the same.’

‘So it’s one of the staff who’s been filling your ears with tittle-tattle?’

‘No, it’s not one of the staff.’ Christopher could say this in all honesty. When Tilly the kitchenmaid had waylaid him in the stables that morning to tell him some very interesting facts, she’d also mentioned that she and one of the grooms were running off to get married. The butler had forbidden it, she’d added, since liaisons between members of staff were not allowed, but they loved each other, and the groom in question had already got a good job down South through his brother. They were leaving within the hour but she’d had something on her conscience for over twelve months and she couldn’t go without telling him. Christopher had listened to what the girl had to say and his blood had begun to boil.

‘Then who was it?’

‘That doesn’t matter. Suffice to say I know this person was telling the truth, which means . . .’ he looked straight at his brother now, ‘you lied to me.’

‘I lied to you?’ Nathaniel reared up as though he had been stung. He and his father had recently arrived home and had been enjoying a pre-dinner sherry when Christopher had walked in. He felt sorry for his brother. Since Chris had decided not to return to Oxford he’d taken over the responsibility for the farm and had been spending a lot of time with Tollett, which must be wearing for anyone, but Chris’s refusal to buck up and get over the gypsy wench had begun to annoy him. ‘When did I lie to you?’

‘When you pretended to help me find her. You never intended for us to get together, did you? It must have been a great relief when you found out she had drowned.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Oh, I
have
been stupid – I see that – but not now. Now I’m
not
stupid, Nat. Now I understand what drove Pearl to kill herself.’

‘You don’t know she killed herself.’

‘I know she went out walking in the dead of night and ended up drowned. That’s enough.’

‘It could have been an accident – that old crone herself seemed to think so. The river was in flood, she said so.’

‘Accident or no, your actions,’ he included his parents in the sweep of his head, ‘killed her as surely as if you’d held her under the water yourself. We loved each other—’

‘Oh, for crying out loud!’ Oswald’s patience, tenuous at the best of times, was being sorely tried. ‘She was a gypsy, a common vagabond. All her kind are thieves and harlots—’

‘One more word and I’ll forget you’re my father and strike you down where you stand.’

‘That’s enough.’ Clarissa was white-faced but regal as she stood up and joined her husband in his favourite place in front of the fire. ‘Your father is right, Christopher. The match could never have taken place, you must see that? And look what a brush with those people has left you with. You still have difficulty with your left arm and tire easily.’

‘I do not tire easily, I tire of life in this house! Of the shallowness and emptiness of it all. The only time I feel alive is when I’m with Wilbert.’

‘Wilbert?’ Clarissa’s smooth brow wrinkled.

‘He means Tollett, the farm manager.’ Nathaniel had joined his parents and the three of them faced the angry young man in front of them as one united force.

‘The farm manager?’ Clarissa’s expression suggested there was an unpleasant smell under her nose. ‘I trust you aren’t making the mistake of getting too familiar with a servant, Christopher.’

Christopher stared at them. He had known for some time that this moment would come. Either that or he would go insane, because there was no way he could continue living under his father’s roof and retain his sanity. He could imagine what they had put Pearl through when she’d been brought to the house, how they had made her feel, but in spite of that she had loved him enough to come back a second time to try to see him. Such a flood of hate for the three people in front of him surged into his breast that if he had had a pistol in his hand he didn’t like to think what he would have done. And Nat, for Nat to betray him like this . . .

‘I’m leaving,’ he said flatly, ‘so you won’t have to worry about Wilbert Tollett or anything else connected with me.’

‘What do you mean, you’re leaving?’ Oswald’s lip curled. ‘If you think you’re going to go off gallivanting, think again. You’ve had it too easy, m’lad. That’s your trouble.’

Christopher looked into his father’s hard little eyes. ‘You’re probably right.’

He turned away, only to be swung round by Nathaniel’s hand on his arm. ‘Wait, Chris. What are you going to do?’

‘Why should you care?’

‘I care, of course I care – you’re my brother!’

Shaking off Nathaniel’s hand, Christopher stared into the face which was so like his own. He had always seen his brother as an ally against their parents, someone who was more like him under the skin than their mother and father realised. He had also been conscious of being under Nathaniel’s worldlywise wing, but his brother’s protective-ness had never irked him because it was given with love. Or so he’d thought. Now he wasn’t so sure. ‘I have my allowance that Great-Aunt Estelle left me – I’ll survive.’

‘Your allowance?’ Oswald said contemptuously. ‘That wouldn’t keep you in boot leather.’

‘Then that will be my problem, not yours.’

‘This has gone far enough.’ Clarissa moderated her voice. Like Nathaniel, she had seen what was in Christopher’s eyes. ‘Let’s have no more talk of leaving, Christopher. What we and your brother did, we did for the best. You must believe that.’

‘The best for whom, Mother? Certainly not Pearl or myself; I fancy we came way down on the list of priorities. Anyway, it’s of no matter now. I’ve never been a hellraiser and my account has accrued to a tidy sum in the bank, more than enough for me to purchase my own farm or smallholding somewhere.’

‘What?’ Now he really had his mother’s attention. ‘You aren’t seriously considering demeaning yourself in such a fashion! You are just saying this to spite me, aren’t you? To punish me.’

‘I’m quite serious, Mother.’ The dream of the little bookshop had died with Pearl. He found he didn’t want to mix with people these days, but animals were different. They asked for nothing but to be treated well. In the last months, unbeknown to his parents, he had got his hands dirty working with Wilbert on the farm and it was only on those occasions he had found a measure of peace. It had been then this idea had begun to grow. He had no interest in being a gentleman farmer, someone who had umpteen employees and a manager to run things. He wanted – he
needed
– to work on the land and be able to breathe God’s clean air, to be tired enough at night to sleep.

‘I forbid it.’ Clarissa’s face had turned an ugly shade of red. ‘Do you hear me, Christopher? I forbid it. I won’t have you turn us into a laughing stock.’

‘If you do this, you know you’ll be cut off without a penny from me?’ Oswald said grimly. ‘Nathaniel will get the lot.’

‘I don’t want anything from you, Father. Or you, Mother.’ Christopher’s voice was calm. ‘And Nat deserves his inheritance.’

Clarissa was stretching upwards, the poise that was a part of her gone. ‘You ungrateful little cur. I won’t let you do this, I won’t!’ She stamped her foot, an expression on her countenance that could only be termed hate. ‘I’ll never forgive you if you leave now, Christopher. I mean it. From this moment it will be as if I only have one son. Do you want that?’

Christopher’s eyes moved to each face in turn. There arose in him a feeling of aloneness such as he’d never experienced in his life before, even though he had always felt alone within this family. But this was deep, devastating. It was the severing of blood ties. As he held his brother’s eyes it was Nathaniel who glanced away first, the action a declaration of where his loyalty lay. But then he had always known his brother danced to their father’s tune, hadn’t he? None of this should have come as a surprise.

‘Well?’ Clarissa glared at him. ‘Are you going to be sensible so we can discuss this in a civilised manner?’

‘Goodbye, Mother.’ Christopher turned and walked out of the drawing room and up the winding staircase to his suite of rooms. Packing a bag with his personal effects and a few clothes, he came downstairs again and paused for a moment in the hall. He could hear the low hum of voices from the drawing room. He stood looking around him. He would never set foot in this house again. He had been born here and had never known another home, and yet he didn’t feel a thing for it beyond a wish to be gone.

Leaving the house, he made his way to the stables. He was taking Jet, since he wouldn’t put it past his father to have the horse put down if he left him here. His mother talked of spite, but Christopher had never met anyone as spiteful as Oswald when he was provoked.

He had just mounted the animal and was about to canter out of the yard when Nathaniel appeared. ‘Don’t go like this, Chris,’ he implored. ‘Stay and talk things out. They’ll be reasonable, I promise you.’

‘They don’t know the meaning of the word and you know it. Anyway, I’ve had enough – of them, this house, the life we’re expected to lead. Hell, the banality of it.’

‘All this for that gypsy wench? I don’t understand you, man. You’re my brother but I don’t understand you.’

‘I understand you and them only too well, Nat.’

The two men studied each other for a moment before Nathaniel said, ‘I’m asking you not to go, Chris. I – I don’t want to lose you.’

There was a long pause before the answer came: ‘It’s too late for that.’

Again there was a pause before Nathaniel spoke. His countenance had darkened, and for a moment Christopher could see their father in his brother’s angry face. ‘You only knew her for two minutes and you’re prepared to sacrifice our brotherhood on the altar of this ridiculous whim? I agree with Mother and Father that—’

‘I know.’ Christopher cut into his brother’s furious tirade and his voice was cool, even cold. ‘Goodbye, Nat.’

He left with his brother’s curses ringing in his ears, but kept his back straight and his head high until he had passed through the gates. Once away from the house he stopped Jet in a quiet lane, taking great gulps of the freezing air as he fought to keep back the tears which were stinging his eyes. He didn’t know why he was crying – whether it was for Nat or himself or Pearl, or simply the end of an era. He just didn’t know. His stomach churning, he made an effort to pull himself together. From a child he had shrunk from scenes, hating confrontation of any kind. Perhaps he had been too inclined to circumvent any unpleasantness?

He shook his head at himself. There was no perhaps about it. He had been content to take the easy road and let his parents ride roughshod over him, and now he was getting what he deserved. But Pearl . . . Pearl hadn’t got what she deserved. The ache in his chest that came with thoughts of her made him want to groan out loud, but he was past that now. In the first few weeks after he’d visited the gypsy camp and learned of her fate he’d lain in bed at night biting his pillow in an effort to stifle the animal-like moans that made his guts writhe.

There was the odd snowflake drifting about in the wind and the night was as black as coal. He wanted nothing more than to put some distance between himself and the estate, but he couldn’t leave without making his goodbyes to Wilbert and his wife. He turned Jet in the direction of the farm.

When he reached the farmhouse, the lights shining from its window looked welcoming in the darkness. He knocked on the door and it was one of the children who opened it, immediately calling over his shoulder, ‘Da? It’s Sir from the big house.’

The next little while was one of bustle and activity. Wilbert sent his oldest boy to lead Jet into the stables, and Mrs Tollett ushered the rest of her brood to bed, despite their protests, leaving the two men to talk in peace. Before she left the room she made it very plain that she wouldn’t countenance Mr Christopher doing anything else but staying the night under their roof; she wouldn’t sleep a wink at the thought of him riding out on such a night.