Rustication (15 page)

Between hacking coughs that shook her thin shoulders in their threadbare covering, she said:
Your sister is right. You would starve in London. You must take up Uncle Thomas’s offer. Otherwise, what will become of Euphemia and me? I want to live long enough to see my children comfortably settled. I don’t want to be a contemptible dependant like Miss Bittlestone—patronised by people like Mrs Quance
.

I said:
Uncle Thomas’s proposal is a sentence of transportation
.

There is no argument about it, Richard. You must accept. And he requires a reply within the next couple of days
.

And what if I won’t?

You’re my child, Richard. I bore you and raised you and have loved you and it would be tearing you out of my heart by the roots if I had to sacrifice you, but I warn you that under certain circumstances I would do it
. Then she left the room.

2 o’clock.

At luncheon Mother calmly announced to Effie and me that she had taken an important decision without consulting us. Boddington had written this morning to say that since she was determined to go ahead with the Chancery suit, she should sell part of the claim for a share of the costs. I had no idea such a thing was possible but it seems there is a market for actions at law as there seems to be for everything else. She now told us that she had written immediately giving him instructions to do that and had posted the letter in the village this morning.

Effie just shrugged. I said nothing.

½ past 6 o’clock in the evening.

I can hardly write for anger.

I had passed the end of our lane and got some way towards Stratton Herriard when I saw a tall man approaching me walking with a limp. It was clear from his handsome surtout and beaver hat that he was a gentleman of means. I recognised him from his height and when he had passed me I turned round and, keeping about twenty yards to his rear, I tagged him along the road wondering how to approach him. Since I was behind him I could not come up to him face-to-face. I had followed him for only about two hundred yards when he suddenly swung round and lunged at me. Before I knew what was happening he had gripped me by the shoulders and spun me around so that he was behind me. He twisted my arms so that I cried out in pain.

You damned cur! Why are you following me? Who paid you?
To my astonishment he started searching my pockets with one hand.
Are you carrying a firearm?

I said:
Certainly not!

He wrenched me round to face him and shouted in my face:
I have one and I warn you, I will use it if I need to
. Then he said:
I won’t be taken for a sitting duck a second time
.

When he had satisfied himself that I was not armed he thrust me from him.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I said:
I believe you are Mr Davenant Burgoyne
.

He said:
You know damn well I am but who in the name of the devil are you, sirrah?

I told him he had mistaken me for someone else. I said
My name is Shenstone. Richard Shenstone
.

What’s that to me?

I’m sure he was pretending not to know the name. He must have recognised it. Damnable coxcomb.

I said:
I’m the brother of Miss Euphemia Shenstone
.

Effie, eh?
he said with a sneer.
Are you, by God? What do you want to make of it?
He studied me for a few seconds and then turned away.

This was not at all what I had expected—or had the right to expect. I said:
Sir, I am a gentleman and entitled to courtesy from another. And moreover, you might have recognised from my name that you and I are related, albeit very distantly
.

The devil we are
, was all the courtesy that speech elicited.

I persevered:
My mother is the daughter of the late Nicholas Herriard, Esquire
.

Then he halted and turned to me with a thin-lipped smile:
Well, Master Shenstone, I took you for some low sneaking fellow. But now that I understand you are the grandson of Nicholas Herriard, Esquire, I realise that I have not done you justice
.

We began to march along the lane together in the most absurd manner quite as if we were partaking of a companionable stroll. I was wondering what to say. I must be wrong about him and Euphemia for surely even the most arrogant aristocrat could not be so offensive to his prospective brother-in-law. In that case, how do relations between him and Effie stand?

Then he said—almost as if he meant his condolences to be taken at face-value:
I heard of the sudden death of your much-respected father and regret that I never had the honour of meeting him, but then I don’t remember ever finding myself in The Dolphin Tavern
.

The name meant nothing to me at the time. But when I thought about it afterwards, I remembered that I have heard Bartlemew mention it as a place he frequents.

Davenant Burgoyne and I proceeded in silence for a few yards while I wondered how to respond, and then he said boorishly:
Are you following me?

I have no desire to impose my company upon you, sir
, I said with dignity.

I slowed my pace. He strode on ahead of me and after a few minutes turned up the path towards Upton Dene. I looked at his gait as he walked away and I was struck by how much more marked his limp was now than it was a few days ago.

I can’t imagine why he was in such a funk. Could he really have believed that a complete stranger—met by chance—meant to take his life?

I was marching along in a complete daze when, as if waking from a dream, I found myself suddenly a few feet from the Quance girls.

Guinevere said:
What a surprise!

She smiled pertly and I know the sly little miss was implying that I had contrived to meet them. Her sister stared at me coldly.

I don’t know why I didn’t pass them by without speaking except that I am drawn to them as to something that both hurts and gives pleasure.

Are you on patrol
? Guinevere asked, glancing at my walking-stick.

Why should I be?
I asked.

She studied my face with an intensity that was insolent and yet rather gratifying.
You haven’t heard what has happened to set the whole neighbourhood by the ears?

I shook my head.

You truly know nothing of what some wicked person is doing to poor harmless beasts?

On my honour. Are you saying that animals are being killed?

No, not killed
. (A quiver of excitement in her face.)

What then? Harmed?

Yes and in a special way
, Guinevere said and then laughed.

Was she laughing from fear or pleasure? And what could she possibly mean by “a special way”? I wanted to ask, but when I saw Enid giggling with spiteful glee I remembered that I had promised myself to have no more to do with them. I quickly took leave of them with the barest minimum of formality and walked on.

They seemed not to know that Davenant Burgoyne was in the district. Odd. Is Enid out of the running?

As I walked through the village in the twilight with the girl’s words ringing in my head, the world I had thought I knew began to metamorphose: the slumbering hills, clumps of trees, and dark shapes of houses that had seemed so safe and familiar, became the hidden lairs of some unknown and evil passion. Where the houses ended, the undifferentiated fields lay on either side of me under their coverlet of snow. By now the sun had slipped out of sight and the wind whistled through the hawthorn bushes like a sigh from the end of the world.

I was almost at Stratton Herriard when I saw two figures ahead of me in the near-darkness. I caught up with them before I realised they were Mother and Miss Bittlestone and because Mother was carrying some packages, I was about to signal my presence and take them from her when I heard her say something which made me fall back and walk behind them:

Like his father he falls into black depressions in which he spends time by himself and does not answer when spoken to
.

Miss Bittlestone said something I didn’t catch and then Mother went on:
He’s never made friends easily—and when he does, he chooses them badly
.

At that moment we arrived at the turning to our house and they both stopped. I hailed them as if I had just reached them. Mother asked the old hen to come and celebrate the season with a glass of punch but Miss Bittlestone happily explained that she was on an errand for the Quances in Upton Dene. She then chattered boastfully about how she was spending Christmas with the Rector’s family as usual. I took Mother’s parcels from her and when we arrived home she laid out their contents on the table in the parlour together with the results of a day of baking. So there were all the things she used to prepare in the drawing room at Prebendary Street: mince-pies, mulled wine and punch for the men and fruit cordial for the choirboys, candied fruit, and so on.

This is very lavish. Are we expecting the waits?
I asked.

Of course
, she said with a tired smile.
It’s Christmas Eve
.

9 o’clock.

At about seven o’clock while we were eating our supper we heard the distant sound of the band approaching down the road from Stratton Herriard. I looked at Mother’s face. This meant so much to her: recognition that we were back in the clerical fold. The thought that she cared so much that a mere rural Rector and his swinish wife should consider us to be worthy of their attention is upsetting. But it was not to be. After a few minutes it became clear that the sounds were getting fainter and I saw on her face her growing dismay at the humiliation and the waste of money that could ill be spared. The church-band and choristers had taken the fork that led to Netherton.

Don’t they know that this house is now inhabited?
Mother said.

I was sure I detected the hand of Mrs Quance in this. It was a signal that we were not yet wholly accepted. More penance would be required. I was angry with Mother for caring so much.

After supper I got Betsy alone in the passageway to the kitchen and asked:
Have you heard talk of anything strange going on? To do with animals? Something nasty?

You mean cutting off their ballocks, sir?
she said boldly looking straight at me. Was she smiling?

I hope I didn’t blush. To hear that word on her lips was strangely exciting.
Is someone doing that?

So they say. Going out at night with a knife or summat and stuffing their ballocks down their throats and slashing open their wames
.

She told me that everyone had been talking about it at the shop. Someone had gone out last night and not only maimed animals but also written lewd messages in red paint on walls in the village.

I said:
That’s frightening. Are you frightened, Betsy?

Why should I be afeart, sir?

Well, of that or anything else. Ghosts. They say this old place is haunted
. Then more softly I said:
If you’re ever frightened by a ghost or anything else during the night, come to my room
.

She didn’t say anything but as she turned away she pressed her mouth into that sly, pleasure-hinting smile, half-secretive, half-inviting.

· · ·

How can Mother say I don’t have friends? It’s true that I have always had fewer than Effie, but that is because I choose them more carefully.

10 o’clock.

I’ve just found out that a goose has been purchased from a nearby farmer. Betsy and Mother intend to pluck it tomorrow. Back at Prebendary Street she left that to the cook so I don’t know how she will manage it herself. She has been putting up holly and mistletoe around the house in an attempt to recreate the old Christmases. But it’s absurd. This year nobody has sent a single card. All of that is over and done with. I tried to tell her that but she became very upset.

This evening we opened our presents to each other as we always used to do on Christmas Eve.

Euphemia said:
My gift for you, Richard, is the ticket I bought
.

What generosity! I don’t even want to go to the damned ball.

Mother gave Euphemia a miniature of Father as a young man that used to hang by the mantelpiece at Prebendary Street, and she received in return a silver thimble Effie had owned for years and never used. What a contrast with last year! My gift from Father was a silver shaving set and Mother’s was my very handsome knapsack. This time she handed me an old shirt that I thought she had thrown away but she had secretly repaired it and embroidered the neck and cuffs into a kind of embossed lace. She asked me if I was pleased with it. How did she imagine I would respond? I shrugged and said it would do. How could she expect me to be cheerful when she was saying such cruel things about me to virtual strangers?

Euphemia said:
Don’t take any notice of him. He’s just a sulky little boy
.

That was it. I got up and left them sitting there with their sad little presents around them.

· · ·

½ past 10 o’clock.

A moment ago Betsy tapped at the door and came in with a plate of mince-pies! It was her own idea, as she admitted when I asked. I begged her to sit down for a minute while I ate so that she could take the plate back and she shyly seated herself in a chair facing me.

I was afraid I had frightened her last time so I decided not to say or do anything but all the time I was thinking how under that rough woollen skirt is a soft warm girl’s body that I longed to touch. I said:
I hope Christmas away from your own family isn’t too dreary a time for you
.

She pressed her lips together as if to discourage me from that topic. Perhaps it is too painful for her to think of her family now.

It was hard to think of any new subject after that and yet there was no awkwardness and we sat in companionable silence while I ate.