Rustication (5 page)

She broke off when she saw my face.
Richard
, she said.
Your sister and I are depending on you. I want to see Euphemia make a good marriage and I want to be proud of you and know that you are settled in life. And that I will be near both of you and able to share in your happiness
.

Mother
, I said.
I’ve got something important to say. Three years until I take my degree—it’s a long time. I’ve talked to the College about my future
.

She looked so anxious that I could not bear to tell her the truth. I just said:
We’ve discussed my coming down sooner than expected
.

She smiled and said:
So that fits well with Thomas’s offer
.

I turned away and found myself looking into Effie’s face. She is like a rock-pool when the shadow falls across it: You stare into it and see nothing but the black surface and your own reflection.

· · ·

Is Effie practising on the pianoforte for her own pleasure or to improve her chances of securing a post? She plays demure little “governess pieces” for the latter and thundering Beethoven with lots of fumbles for her own gratification.

1 o’clock.

I can’t stop thinking about Enid. I keep going back to that moment when our eyes met in church and she turned her head away so shyly.

2 o’clock.

The wind from the west is rising and I believe it will bring rain tomorrow. I feel the black vapours coming on.
O taedium vitae!
If only my trunk were here.

A ¼ past 3.

As I was writing a few minutes ago I heard a sound like a cry of pain. I took the candle and went out into the passage. I heard nothing. As I crossed the corridor on the first floor, I seemed to hear voices murmuring, but I think it was the wind.

I crept up the back staircase and discovered a little room with a narrow bedstead covered by a thin blanket. Odd.

Monday 14
^th
of December, 2 o’clock.

I
t was an oppressive cut-throat day but at least it was dry and so Euphemia set off after breakfast to walk to Lady Terrewest’s house.

Mother and I were lingering over the breakfast-table when the fateful letter came.

It was brought by a female letter-carrier in a much-patched topcoat and wearing men’s boots. (I later discovered she is called “Old Hannah”.)

The old creature tottered off up the lane and I handed Mother the letter she had delivered.

She glanced at it and then exclaimed:
But it’s from you!

She read it and then looked up at me with such an expression that I felt a stab in my heart. She said:
What does it mean?

I got into a bit of a scrape at College. I failed an examination
.

I thought your tutors had talked of your taking your degree early
.

You misunderstood me. I meant not going back. The College hasn’t made a decision yet
.

She was silent for a moment and then said:
You should go to Thomas before he hears from the College
.

Mother, that would be the worst thing I could do. You know he despises Varsity men anyway
.

She sat twisting her hands in her lap. Then she said sadly:
You were supposed to be helping your sister toward a better situation in life. This is one more thing for her to worry about
. She hesitated and then said:
She formed an attachment a few months ago and it all ended badly
.

What are you saying, Mother? Some man has compromised her?

Let me tell you in my own way, Richard. And don’t leap to any conclusions. They reached an understanding—she and the young man—but then it turned out that there were circumstances which made the match impossible
.

I began to say something but she held up her hand:
Don’t ask me any questions about it. I’ve said as much as I intend to
.

I was going to ask if the “circumstances” were the consequence of what had happened to Father.

6 o’clock.

I won’t have time to write all that I want to because I can hear the distant clattering of pots and pans and smell something ominously food-like.

Although the morning had seemed to promise fair, the sky grew dark at midday and there came distant rumblings like cannon fire across the marshes. The wind hit the house like a blow from a giant. Doors slammed in distant rooms and the old casements of the windows rattled as if the house were full of frightened strangers.

While Mother and I sat drinking our tea after luncheon, the rain beat against the windows and poured in floods down the panes.

That poor girl will be soaked to the skin on her way back!
Mother exclaimed.
Be a good boy and take her an umbrella
.

I had no choice but to obey. As I was about to open the front-door and brave the blasts, Mother said:
Tell her your news about Cambridge as you walk back, Richard
.

I nodded and went out.

As I battled against the gusts, a white winding-sheet of rain seemed to be wrapping itself around me. In the distance the hills wept under their umbrella of dark mist. I had just got to the other side of Stratton Herriard, when I saw a woman standing under the shelter of an open-sided barn. She was despondently holding an umbrella that had blown itself inside out and broken its struts. It was the veiled lady I had seen at church The mysterious Mrs Paytress.

I showed her the umbrella I was carrying and said I would be more than happy to escort her into the village.

Don’t you need that for yourself?
she asked with a teasing smile for the umbrella was clearly intended for a lady. When I explained my mission and said that we would meet my sister on the way, she accepted my offer. We began to talk and how many topics we covered! Music: How much we both missed it. Books: How much pleasure they gave us.

We were almost at the church when Euphemia came in sight. I could see how surprised she was that her uncouth brother had managed to engage the attention of such a distinguished neighbour.

We met and I began to make the introductions but Mrs Paytress insisted I hold the umbrella over my sister and when we both united in refusing to do that, she said:
It’s absurd to stand here while you get wet. Come inside
.

We followed her up the carriage-drive to a handsome house of mellowed red brick with a steeply pitched roof in the severe style of the Restoration. When she rang the bell, the door was instantly opened by a young servant-girl in a neat cap.

The maid took our coats and we followed Mrs Paytress into the morning-room at the front of the house. I heard her tell the girl to have a fire lit in the drawing-room. There were sophas and elegant chairs and pictures and shelves filled to overflowing with books.

We seated ourselves in front of the blazing fire and Effie and Mrs Paytress were soon chattering away: the dreadful weather, the remoteness of the place, the flatness of the countryside, etc.

Then she suddenly said:
Come and see my pianoforte. The room should be warmed by now
.

She led us across the hall and into the drawing-room—a large room that formed a capital “L” giving a view of the garden.

Even I could see that the pianoforte was a fine instrument. While Effie was admiring it, Mrs Paytress invited her to visit her one day soon and they would play duets. My sister expressed her delight at the prospect.

Mrs Paytress turned to me and asked if I were as fond of music as my sister.

I said I played the flute badly and that I mostly spent my time reading or, in fine weather, walking. I love the countryside and am fascinated by the history of buildings and the stories of the old people.

She said:
I wonder if you know an elderly gentleman in the district who is an enthusiastic antiquary. He is called “Mr Fourdrinier”
.

I said I did not and would be most interested to make his acquaintance.

She and Effie talked about the ball and how Mrs Quance’s enmity had prevented us from attending. Mrs Paytress told us how she had unintentionally offended that fearsome individual with an innocent remark at a dinner-party given by the Earl of Thurchester. She added:
He is the patron of the ball and Mrs Quance is on the committee because she and her husband know his lordship. Their elder daughter is believed to have an understanding with his nephew, Mr Davenant
Burgoyne
.

I know of him
, I said.
He was at Cambridge a couple of years ago
.

(He gambled away a fortune, kept a brace of whores for the use of himself and his friends and when he went down left a string of small tradesmen with debts that drove them out of business.)

Mrs Paytress said:
He will open the ball and there is much speculation about which young lady he will choose to dance with
.

Remembering what Miss Bittlestone had told us, I said:
Unless he has another accident
.

Mrs Paytress looked at me in surprise and said:
He rarely goes out at night now
.

· · ·

Now that I write it down, that strikes me as a strange remark. Why should Davenant Burgoyne fear another accident? And why avoid going out at night?

· · ·

I had lost the thread for a moment and then I heard Mrs Paytress say:
I know that people wonder why I’ve come here. The reason is very simple
.
I have old associations with the sea and the marshes
.

Then she asked about our mother and suddenly exclaimed:
Come to tea! Come with your mother on Wednesday
.

We accepted.

Then something very rum. The door opened and a middle-aged female looking like a housekeeper came in. She had on spectacles with small oblong lenses. Looking straight at Mrs Paytress, she said:
Will you come immediately, ma’am
.

With a quick “excuse me” her employer rose and hurried out. As she did so I thought I heard a weird moaning sound. But the door shut quickly behind the two women and there was silence. Effie and I stared at each other in astonishment. Then she stood up and hurried around the corner into the other part of the room, saying:
Stand there and speak if Mrs Paytress or anyone else comes in
.

What shall I say?

Anything, you dunce. I just need you to warn me that someone is there
.

I watched as she hurried over to the writing-desk and opened the drawers. She looked at the contents of each before pulling open the next. I saw her grasp something white—a piece of paper?

What is it?
I asked.

She made no response.

A minute later Mrs Paytress came back into the room with a distracted air. I said loudly:
I hope nothing is amiss, Mrs Paytress
.

Effie emerged slowly from around the corner as if she had merely been looking at the garden. She glanced at a painting and asked:
That’s lovely. Is the subject Gloucester Cathedral?

Mrs Paytress said:
No, it’s Salisbury
.
I lived there for some years
when I was left by circumstances to fend for myself
. She suddenly said:
My dear, if you don’t think it impossibly rude of me, I must ask you who you have found in this desert to clear-starch your collars? I’ve been admiring them surreptitiously. I can’t get my laundress to do mine properly
.

We don’t send out
, Effie said.
We have someone in the house who is very adept at that kind of work
.

Betsy? Is she adept at anything? Certainly not at cooking.

After a while Effie screamed:
Good heavens. Is that clock striking six! We can’t have taken up so much of your time
.

When the maidservant opened the door we found that it was still raining. Mrs Paytress insisted that we accept the loan of a second umbrella.

Remembering my promise to Mother, I tried to bring up the subject of Cambridge as we walked home. As soon I uttered the word, however, Effie stopped and turned to me, the umbrella flapping above her head:
Mother won’t say this to you because she wouldn’t wish to hurt your feelings, but you should leave as soon as possible. Go back to Cambridge if you won’t visit Uncle Thomas. She wants to put things right in the house and your presence is obstructing that
.

We walked the rest of the way in silence.

· · ·

As we entered the hall, brushing off raindrops and shaking our umbrellas, Mother hurried out to find out why we were so late.

Interrupting each other, we told the story of our great adventure: the friendliness of Mrs Paytress, the number of books, the beautiful pianoforte, etc.

But you’ll be able to see it for yourself
, I said.
She has invited us all to tea on Wednesday
.

Mother frowned:
What? Even myself whom she has not even met! That is strange. Did she reveal anything of her past life?

She told us that she is a widow
, Effie replied.

Did she?
I asked.
I didn’t hear that
.

Not in so many words
, Effie answered with a quick glance of disdain.
But it was clear when she said: “I was left by circumstances to fend for myself.”

Were those her words?
Mother asked slowly.

Mother, what can you be suggesting?
Euphemia exclaimed.

We cannot risk becoming involved with someone about whom there is any scandal
.

Euphemia said:
If Mrs Paytress is good enough for the earl, she’s surely good enough for us
.

Mother looked alarmed:
What do you mean:
“
Good enough for the earl”?

Simply that she seems to be on friendly terms with Lord Thurchester
.