Menfreya in the Morning (12 page)

I didn’t want to hear any more. It was so unkind, so unfair. My father had had a stroke, doubtless because he

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was trying to keep pace with Jenny’s youth, but that was his fault, not hers.

Suspicion crept into the house like a November fog.

The next day I saw the papers. “Sir Edward Delvaney dies from heart attack. Two months after his marriage to chorus girl, Miss Jenny Jay, Sir Edward Delvaney collapsed in his London residence. This will mean a by-election in the Lan-sella district of Cornwall, for which Sir Edward has been Member for the last ten years.”

Bevil, who had not yet left for South Africa, came to London for the funeral—to represent his family, he said. When Mrs, Trant told me that Mr. Menfrey had asked to see me, I ran down eagerly to the library. His face lit up when he saw me. I stood before him and he laid his hands on my shoulders and looked at me sadly.

“Poor Harriet,” he said. “It was so sudden.”

He was looking searchmgly into my face; he knew, of course, what the relationship had been between my father and myself.

“It’s … bewildering,” I told him.

“Of course. We were horrified when we heard, and they all send their love to you. They want you to go to Menfreya if you would care to.”

I smiled rather wanly. “It’s good of them,” I replied.

“Gwennan is away at her French school of course.”

“Only the other day … he was saying I should join her there.”

“It’s a good idea. A complete break. Then come back and start afresh. That’s the best possible plan.”

The door opened and Jenny came into the room. She was startled to see that I was not alone.

“Oh, Harriet …” she began; then she stood still, looking at Bevil.

“My … stepmother,** I said.

Bevil came forward and shook her hands. “I am sorry we must meet for the first time in such sad circumstances.”

His eyes were shining. I had seen that look before, and I was filled with dismay.

The funeral was almost a public occasion. My father had been a well-known politician and recently had been in the news when he had married a girl young enough to be his daughter—and a chorus girl at that; now he had died suddenly, a few weeks after that marriage.

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Whenever I smell lilies I remember that day. The odor of the oak coffin, the scent of the flowers and an air of foreboding filled the house. Every room was dark because the blinds were all drawn and everyone went about speaking in whispers and looking solemn, and when my father’s name was mentioned they spoke of him as though he were a saint

I remember the slow and solemn cortege of which I was a part and the faces of curious people peering in at us— particularly at Jenny. “That’s the one … Some people know a good thing when they see it. Back row of the chorus and then ‘my lady* … and still my lady and a fortune, I reckon, without encumbrances. Oh yes, some people are lucky.”

Poor Jenny! She seemed oblivious of the whispers. I wished I could have been. Aunt Clarissa sat up straight and prim, looking hideous, I thought, in her black bonnet on which the beads glistened and the jet drops dangled. She was disappointed that the autopsy had proved my father had died solely from a heart attack.

The church seemed stifling hot; I was glad of Bevil, who stood between Jenny and me as though he was determined to protect us.

The sun was warm as we stood round the grave; I kept seeing scenes from the past between my father and myself, and in vain I sought for one which had been happy. It was only when Jenny was present that he had shown any friendliness towards me; and as I listened to the sound of earth falling on the coffin I felt a great desolation in my heart because I should never see him again. I saw the tears on Jenny’s face and took her hand; she clung to mine gratefully.

Back at the house we drank wine and ate the food which had been prepared for us, and Mr. Greville of Greville, Baker and Greville came to read the will.

In the library, where this was to take place, there was an atmosphere of tension. Mr. Greville sat at the table, his spectacles on his nose, his air solemn and unhurried, as though he was going to tease those anxious people by making them wait as long as possible.

I felt wearied by the legal jargon; there was one thing which interested me more than anything else, and that was Bevil’s awareness of the young widow, and I was not yet sure whether hers for him was not growing.

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I gathered that there were legacies for the servants who were in my father’s employ when he died, that William Lister had received a small one, and that Aunt Clarissa had been remembered. I could not understand what had been arranged for myself, but I believed that I should be adequately provided for, and it seemed to me that Jenny had inherited the bulk of my father’s considerable fortune.

I looked at her face, but she did not seem to be taking it in; she was tying her handkerchief in knots very studiously, then untying them. She was crying quietly.

Poor little Jenny. I refused to believe she was a fortune hunter.

A great many plans were made and unmade; but it was decided that, as it was my father’s wish, I should be sent off to the finishing school as soon as possible,

This was perhaps the best thing that could happen, as far as I was concerned; I ceased to brood on my father’s death and instead wondered what the future would hold for me.

Bevil was leaving almost immediately for South Africa.

One day I went riding with him in the Row, and that was a happy occasion. Jenny could not ride so she did not accompany us, and I was glad of this for when Bevil called at the house either she or Aunt Clarissa were present and I never had an opportunity of being with him alone.

As we walked our horses through the park, he said: ^YouTl feel better when you’re with Gwennan. She’s delighted you’re joining her. Harriet, this has been a shock to you. You always hoped to make him fatherly towards you, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“I know a great deal about you, Harriet.” He laughed. “You look alarmed. Are you afraid that I’m in possession of your darkest secrets?”

“I have no dark ones.”

“I should hope not at your age. Harriet, I’m very probably going to take over your father’s constituency.”

“I’m glad. It’s what you wanted.”

“Odd. This happens, and then …”

“You get what you’ve always wanted.”

“I have to be elected first, you know.**

“If you are, you’ll need a secretary.”

“Welir

“William Lister is a very good one,”

“And you would recommend him?”

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“Anyone who could give my father satisfaction must be good.”

“I’ll remember that.”

He smiled at me, and we touched our horses lightly and broke into a canter.

Shortly afterwards I joined Gwennan in France.

Life at our finishing school was pleasant, lacking all the discipline of Cheltenham. Being Gwennan’s friend immediately gave me some standing and I made a few friends, but none of course were as close as Gwennan. She was delighted to see me. I shared a room with her, which was comfortable because as we had to speak French all day it seemed a great privilege to be able to chat away in English in our room.

Gwennan had grown taller and more voluptuous; she was a beauty. I was tall too, but thin, and hi any case there was the accursed limp. However, the mistresses were pleased with me, for they were certain I should be easier to handle (ban the gay and attractive girls who were in then- charge.

Very soon after Bevil reached South Africa he was wounded; not, however, before he had distinguished himself for bravery; and he came home hi time to take part in the General Election of that September, when he was returned for Lansella with a big majority, and since his party had retained power, the future looked bright for him.

Gwennan boasted of him frequently, and my opinion was demanded to endorse her claims for him. I gave this readily.

Gwennan was the most flamboyant pupil in the school and I was never more certain of the Menfrey charm. Previously I might have imagined that I had believed in it because I was a child who had lived in a particularly cold household. But now I saw Gwennan with girls from families similar to our own, and she stood out as distinctly as a name in a dark place.

I played a vicarious part in her adventures and was called on to help her out of many a difficult situation. She had admirers in the neighborhood and often slipped out when the school had retired to bed. This nocturnal adven-

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turing was the spice of life, she told me. And I was the one who must see that the French windows which led to our balcony were open, ready for her return. I was the one who must watch and warn her when it was safe to clamber up the creeper and swing herself onto the balcony. I was the one who had to do the work which was set for her so that she could be off somewhere else. I loved Gwennan as I loved everything connected with Menfreya, and she was fond of me too. I knew that if I were in difficulty, I could rely on her.

She gave parties at midnight in our room, which was of course forbidden, but a practice which was often carried out, and I believe the authorities knew of this and turned a blind eye. As long as there were no guests from outside, these parties among ourselves were considered a tradition of our life—a semisecret one.

I enjoyed them. I liked to lie stretched out on my bed and watch Gweonan talking endlessly of herself or Menfreya, of her engagement to Harry Leveret and life in Cornwall. Once she told how I had run away and come to the island and .stayed there until I was discovered. That focused the interest temporarily on me, and I was called in by Gwennan to give my account of that affair. I did it in my dry way, which they called cynical, and I was delighted to have them all sitting on the beds and the floor listening to me, as I related the story in French, for there were only a few English girls in the party.

They were happy days, and I think that I was determined to enjoy them as they passed without thought of the future or the past There would never be another time like this in my life.

Occasionally I would be uneasy, wondering what was happening not only at Menfreya but in London. Jenny wrote, but she was no writer, and her letters were brief. She was staying on in the house, for she didn’t quite know what to do, and she hoped that when I came home I would be there.

There were several of these letters to me; she was such an unsubtle person that she could never cloak her feelings, and I soon began to discover a new note in her letters. I told myself she was getting over her loss, and I had an uneasy feeling that it might be something to do with Devil.

I mentioned this to Gwennan. I remember she was lying stretched out on her bed, as she so liked to do because from

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that angle she could see herself reflected in the wardrobe mirror.

“Devil?” said Gwennan, raising her eyes and still watching her image. “I should hardly think so. Well, not more than a passing fancy on bis part. It’s Jess Trelarken for him.”

I turned my face a little, that she might not see the downward tilt of my mouth; I need not have worried; she was intent on Gwennan Menfrey’s vivacious face in the looking glass.

“Oh yes, Devil has had countless love affairs. He always will, I suppose. He’s like Papa. Dut there’s always one they go back and back to, and for him it’s Jess.”

“And what about Jess herself? Is she going to be waiting patiently for him to come back?”

“Of course. You’ve seen Bevil, haven’t you? He has the Menfrey fascination.”

I laughed. “Dut not the Menfrey conceit, I hope.”

“Conceit! My dear Harriet, is it conceit to face the truth? Would you have me pretend that I was plain and insignificant? What good would that do?”

“None at all, for you could never be able to convince people that you thought so. Your arrogance is the most convincing thing about you.”

“Pah!” she said. “And 111 tell you something I’ve told you before, Harriet Delvaney: If you were less anxious to make it clear to people that you are unattractive, they might possibly remain unaware of it.”

“At least,” I said, “I do not put myself hi the indelicate position of being engaged to one man and dallying with others.”

“My dear Harriet, I shall shortly settle down at a very early age. Don’t you think I’m entitled to sow a few wild oats?”

“When one sows, one is often obliged to reap.”

“Oh, very clever and also very trite. I seem to have heard those sentiments expressed about three thousand times during a life-time, which you must admit could scarcely be called a long one.”

“Gwennan, are you in love with Harry Leveret?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said and changed the conversation.

Gwennan finished her year abroad before I finished mine.

86 Menfreya in the Morning

When she went home I missed her very much. And three months later I myself returned.

My stepmother was pleased to see me. She told me that she felt lonely in the house without my father. “Perhaps,” she said wistfully, “I’m not the right mistress for a house like this. I’ve often thought I’d like a little place in the country,”

“Why don’t you give it up then?” I asked. “Why not find a little place in the country?”

She looked at me incredulously. “You wouldn’t mind, Harriet!”

I laughed at her. She was really rather engaging.

I went through the house. It seemed different now that my father was no longer there. I stood before his portrait in the library, contemplating it It was lifelike, but it was not the father whom I bad known. The eyes were almost benign. They had never looked like that for me. The smile was amused, the eyes alert A man who had charm for all except his daughter.

Upstairs I went; I leaned over the banisters, sniffing the smell of beeswax and turpentine and remembering what I had heard that night when I ran away. I had come a long way from that little girl who had believed herself to be ugly and unwanted because someone had carelessly said she was. Gwennan told me that I was always on the defensive, and she was right. Bevil only had to show me some attention and I bloomed into a new personality; I had only to wear a dress which had belonged to a Menfrey woman, and I became attractive.