Darkwater (7 page)

‘Then,’ said Louisa, smoothly, ‘Amelia and I will expect a much more generous allowance for our wardrobe. Amelia needs several new gowns, and as for me—’

‘Stop it,’ said her husband harshly.

‘Stop it! Please don’t speak like that to me! I am merely asking for one small fur tippett.’ Louisa’s full mouth pouted, reproachfully. ‘Only it must be of white ermine. Lady Mowatt has something similar, but of muskrat. Ermine is a much more rewarding fur. And really it is to be such a summer, with these strange children foisted on our household—why I meekly put up with them, I can’t imagine—and then the utter fatigue of Amelia’s coming-out. But it’s the children who are worrying me so much. Your brother’s after all, and it’s scarcely my fault that he turned out to be such a waster. I don’t see why I, or Amelia, poor child, or any of us should be so put about—’

Again Edgar held up his hand to interrupt. He recognised the familiar grievance in his wife’s voice. He knew that the ermine tippet would naturally extend to being a cloak costing a great deal more than he cared to think about. He also knew that life wouldn’t be worth living until the cloak hung in Louisa’s well-filled wardrobe.

‘My dear Louisa, will you listen to me a minute? When I said that it would be out of the question to re-furbish the London house, I meant it. Money’s short at present. I’ve made one or two bad investments lately and it’s left me short of cash.’

Louisa was alarmed.

‘Edgar, it’s nothing serious?’

He laughed easily. ‘Good gracious, no. It will right itself in time. Something else will come up. But in the meantime I’d be glad if you’d exercise a little economy in the house.’

This was not amusing. Louisa pouted again.

‘That won’t be easy with two extra mouths to feed and extra servants. Though it would be the least Fanny could do to offer some help. I hope you will speak to her, Edgar. And this, I might say, was certainly not the time to give her an expensive present. Why, that sapphire would have kept the children for a year, or—’

‘Bought your ermine tippett?’ Edgar observed. ‘This was exactly the time to give it to Fanny, if we expect her cooperation. Besides, the child deserved it. Remember, she didn’t get a ball, as Amelia is going to.’

‘She’ll share Amelia’s. She can’t expect more than that.’

‘A very different kettle of fish, my dear. As Fanny would be the first to realise. Well, I suppose I must dress.’

Nevertheless, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, making no move to go to his dressing room. He was sunk in thought.

‘Edgar, what is it about this man from China that upsets you?’ asked his wife shrewdly.

‘Eh? What are you getting at?’

‘Something’s worrying you, and I know all that talk about money is merely a disguise.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’

Edgar surveyed his wife. She was laced into her stays and hooked firmly into her crinoline. The neck of the bodice was low and displayed a too generous amount of white flesh. Her hair style, with its tight sausage curls liberally flecked with grey, was more fitting to Fanny or Amelia than to a middle-aged matron. Her cheeks were flushed, and the tip of her nose swollen and bulbous. She had already arranged her face into the animated expression that would last until her guests left. After that, the pouting lips and the look of grievance would return.

When he was in his early twenties, Edgar had fallen deeply in love with a delicate and nymph-like girl called Marianne. He had laid his heart at her feet and she had laughed at him. She had said in her clear laughing icy voice, ‘But, Mr Davenport, you look so exactly like a frog!’

Seven years later he had met Louisa who had not laughed at him. She hadn’t been pale and nymph-like, but she was the granddaughter of an earl. Edgar had decided that ambition was a much more satisfying object to seek than love. Although he was not beyond expecting that Louisa’s ample flesh might be pleasant. And so it was, if grudgingly given. Also she ran his house well, and for all her propensity to be a rattle, was shrewd. She had earned her diamond earrings and perhaps her ermine tippett. It was not her fault if he always saw Marianne’s pale shadow behind her, and heard that cruel laughter.

‘If you must know,’ he said, ‘I expect Hamish Barlow to arrive with a list of my brother’s debts. It must be something serious to bring him so far. In honour bound, I shall have to try to settle them.’

‘How vexing!’ Louisa cried. ‘Couldn’t your brother have made a little money. I understand business people in China have.’

‘Not Oliver, you may be sure.’

‘Well, don’t worry about it now,’ Louisa said briskly. ‘It’s late and we must go down. Why don’t we have a little music tonight? That always cheers you up. Amelia will play the piano. And next month Amelia and I must have a few days in London shopping. I shall have to find some reliable woman to make her ball gown. She will need a great many things’—Louisa swept up to kiss the top of her husband’s head—‘and we may look at furs, too.’

‘You haven’t listened to a word I said.’

‘Oh, indeed, to too many.’

Edgar made haste in dressing, hoping for ten minutes alone in the drawing room with a glass of sherry before his guests arrived.

In this, too, he was disappointed, for he found Lady Arabella esconsed in his favourite chair. Wrapped in her fleecy white shawl with her stiff black skirts spreading about her, she looked cosy and gentle and half asleep.

‘Well, Edgar,’ she said in her husky voice.

‘Good evening, Mamma.’ His voice was hearty, easy. He had quickly overcome the irritation of finding her in his chair, and the room not empty.

‘It was so chilly, I had the fire lit. The summer’s late as usual.’

‘Good idea. Nice and cheery. Are you dining with us tonight?’

‘I thought I would. I miss Fanny. She reads to me.’

‘Doesn’t Amelia?’

‘Oh, Amelia. That harum scarum.’ The old lady’s voice was indulgent. ‘I’m looking forward to the new children. They’ll help me to pass the time. Fancy, Edgar! Such skeletons in your family.’

‘Hardly skeletons, Mamma. My brother had a past, I admit. But that’s no business of the children’s. We won’t have any of this sins of the father rubbish. I’m a broad-minded man.’

‘
And
wise and tolerant,’ Lady Arabella approved. ‘You know, I once thought my daughter was making a mistake in marrying you. But you’ve astonished me.’

‘Thank you, Mamma. I hope I have been a good husband.’

The old lady smiled gently. Her eyes stared myopically into the fire.

‘Giving her this splendid home, too. Do you know, I’ve discovered a new pastime since the children have got too old for stories. I’ve been delving into the history of Darkwater. If I had been a man I should have been an historian. These old tales fascinate me. Darkwater has quite a history, you know.’

Edgar had lifted the sherry decanter. He put it down again, listening politely.

‘All old houses have,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’re referring to the legendary bird. The bringer of disaster, eh?’

‘Not just disaster,’ said Lady Arabella enjoyably. ‘Death.’

‘Come, Mamma! How you love gloom.’

‘Ah, yes, gloom. And successions, too. Family trees. All those pictures of fruitful trees with babies in the branches. So pretty.’

Edgar smiled indulgently.

‘Where do you find all this stuff?’

‘Oh, it’s all here in the house. Some of the Davenports were admirable recorders.’

Edgar’s smile had faded.

‘The library is my preserve. I really can’t have you ferreting about in there, Mamma.’

‘All those books and no one bothering to open them,’ Lady Arabella said regretfully. ‘George and Amelia haven’t inherited my literary tastes, which is a pity. One’s mind should be cultivated. You mustn’t deny me my little hobby, Edgar. Besides. I hadn’t realised the Davenports were such an interesting family. This house has seen some times.’

Edgar stared at her. Her face was bland, innocent, lost in thought. She might have been telling this story to anyone. It wasn’t directed especially at him. Or was it?

No one had rung for lamps to be brought in and the room was full of twilight. Sunk into the wing chair, with the uneven wash of the firelight on her wide black skirts and white lace cap, Lady Arabella looked like a monstrous mole. That’s what she was, busily tunnelling her way into old books and diaries, all the musty paraphernalia of a very old house, swallowing the secrets and then letting them ferment inside her. She had a dangerous habit of embroidering and exaggerating. Not that it mattered much what scandals emerged regarding dead and gone Davenports. All the same, he should long ago have examined those old books himself.

‘All old houses have seen interesting times,’ he said, then realised that he had made that platitudinous remark before, and added, ‘It won’t see any more while I live here.’

‘But how can you be sure?’ Lady Arabella said vigorously. She was embarking on her favourite theme. ‘Events are forced on us. These strange children arriving, for instance. They will change the atmosphere and a changed atmosphere provokes things. Then there is George’s war injury. You can’t deny that has made him almost a stranger. We have to learn to know him all over again. And had you forgotten that this is the year Amelia puts her hair up, and Fanny comes of age. These are the seeds of drama.’

Lady Arabella’s voice had become deep and vibrant as it did when she got to the terrifying part of a fairy story, the moment when she was going to deliberately shock and startle her audience.

‘You will see, Edgar,’ she said portentously.

‘Come, Mamma,’ said Edgar playfully. ‘You’re just like a child waiting to stir muddy water to see what lies underneath.’

The old lady pounced.

‘Why is the water muddy?’

Edgar put down his glass of sherry, then picked it up and took a large mouthful.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hope you will keep off such a cryptic conversation at dinner.’

‘And why should I? It might liven things up. People enjoy hearing scandal about others.’

‘Scandal!’ Edgar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘What exactly are you referring to?’

Lady Arabella closed her eyes dreamily.

‘How I adore other people’s letters. So revealing. Your great-uncle was a talented correspondent. I fear it’s a dying art in this family. Can you imagine George or Amelia writing really artistic letters. Fanny may, of course. She may have inherited the Irish gift for poetry.’

‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Edgar said good-humouredly. ‘My uncle’s letters would be with the recipients, not here.’

‘Exactly my point. The replies, you understand, are still in existence. I find I have a knack with hidden drawers in desks. I’d have made an accomplished burglar. Then perhaps,’ the old lady chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t have been coming down to dinner when you entertained your friend, Sir Giles Mowatt.’

Edgar was bending over her.

‘What did you find?’

‘The next thing I shall investigate is secret panels. I can’t think why I never thought of this fascinating pastime before.’

‘What did you find?’

‘Edgar, don’t breathe on me like that. I’ve told you what I found. Merely family letters. No secret hoard of sovereigns, unfortunately.’

‘Show them to me.’

‘Yes, indeed I will when I find them.’

‘You said you had found them.’

‘And since then I’ve mislaid them. Isn’t it aggravating—I’ve grown so forgetful. But they’ll turn up, and then certainly you shall see them.’

‘Who were they from? You remember that, at least?’

‘Someone called Philip. A connection of your great-uncle’s. You’ve never explained the ramifications of your family to me. But he seemed to be a person of distinct literary talent. It’s really a pity your children haven’t inherited it. Still they do other things. Amelia is clever with her needle, and in spite of his illness, George still rides superlatively. And by the way, Edgar, the boy badly wants a new hunter.’

Their eyes met, Edgar’s still and watchful, Lady Arabella’s milkily dim. At last Edgar said, ‘George has a tongue in his head. If he wants something, he must ask for it himself.’

Lady Arabella shook her head slowly. Her frizzy grey hair ringed from her lace cap in a frosty halo. She looked vague and gentle and only half-concerned with the conversation.

‘He won’t, Edgar. Since his illness he almost seems a little afraid of you. Isn’t that odd?’ Lady Arabella picked up her stick and poked playfully at Edgar’s gently rounded stomach. ‘Such a fine figure of a man are you. I used to say to Louisa before she married you that you were an unprepossessing creature, but perhaps you would improve in middle age. And indeed you have, dear boy. That watch chain now. It must have cost a pretty penny.’

‘Mamma, keep to the subject. You were saying that George needs a new horse, but that he hasn’t the courage to ask me for it himself.’

‘Poor boy. He used not to be like that. It’s a great tragedy. We must make his life pleasant for him until he recovers his health.’

‘That doesn’t involve pampering him. Do you know what a well-bred hunter costs? At least a hundred guineas.’ Edgar began to walk up and down, thoroughly put out. What was he, an inexhaustible purse into which all his family dipped? A pool to be fished? A muddy pool, Lady Arabella had insinuated. The devil take her. What was the devious old creature up to? He didn’t underestimate his mother-in-law. But he had never remotely considered her a match for himself. The very idea was ridiculous.

All the same, it would be as well to get possession of those letters. If they existed…She was quite able to make the imaginary more dangerous than the reality. What did emerge from all this was that her great love for her grandson was going to ruin the boy.

Edgar’s irritation burst out.

‘Amelia requires ball dresses, my wife seems to think she will freeze to death without new furs, I have two penniless children arriving to be supported, children I neither begot nor approve of, and now you—you on behalf of my voiceless son, see fit to demand another horse which will probably break his neck! What am I, Mamma? Simply a bank account?’

‘How comical!’ Lady Arabella clapped her hands appreciatively. ‘What an apt description. Only you would have thought of it, dear boy. But that’s what a lot of people are, isn’t it? Mostly men, of course, but sometimes women, if they have the cleverness to keep their husbands’ hands off their money. Such predatory creatures, men. You must admit, Edgar, a new ball dress or a piece of jewellery is negligible compared with what a man will desire.’