Until the Colours Fade (24 page)

‘I could never accept unless you got something in return.’

‘I’ll need somewhere to stay until I find rooms.’

‘Charlotte Street isn’t St James’s,’ said Tom with a smile.

‘Nor were the paddy fields of Ceylon.’

Magnus caught Tom’s eye and he smiled involuntarily.

‘The stove smokes, the sky-light leaks, and the studio hasn’t
been cleaned out for years.’

‘I hate being tidy,’ laughed Magnus.

‘Army officers have no servants to tidy for them?’ asked Tom with quizzical amusement.

‘They run their masters’ lives. I like the idea of an independent existence.’ Magnus smiled. ‘I’m sure we could run to a
maid-of-all
-work. See who’s doing the begging now, Mr Strickland.’

Before Tom could answer, the landlord came in and
announced
that a lady had come to see Mr Crawford. Moments later Tom and Magnus rose as Catherine entered. She
recognised
Tom’s presence in the room by a slight inclination of the head and then turned to her brother.

‘Magnus, I must speak with you.’

‘Of course, Kate,’ he replied, offering her a chair. She glanced meaningfully in Tom’s direction, but Magnus refused the hint.

‘Perhaps Mr Strickland will excuse us,’ she said reluctantly.

‘Unless what you have to say is….’

‘Very well,’ she cut in impatiently. ‘Father’s been asking why you haven’t been home to see him.’

‘Dear father, can’t he wait a little longer to tell me I’m a fool to have left Ceylon?’

‘Couldn’t he just want to see you? You were away a long time and he is your father.’

‘Then I’m sure he won’t have forgotten that I went away
because
he wanted it.’

Catherine was wearing a mantle of green and cream shot silk and Tom noticed the way she was twisting the fringed edge, as though nervous or upset.

‘You still ought to come back, unless you want Charles to have everything his own way.’

‘He will anyway.’

Magnus’s bland replies infuriated Catherine. How easy for him to spend his time as he pleased, drinking with friends, going where he wished. She resented the fact that he had delayed his return to Leaholme Hall, when a moment’s reflection would have told him that she would need his support on their father’s homecoming.

‘Charles has told father that I refused George because of your lies.’

‘And you set him right?’

‘You know what he’s like,’ she said with unconcealed
exasperation
, turning coldly to Tom. ‘You see what a united family we are, Mr Strickland.’ The sadness and anger in her voice made
Tom wish that he had after all left the room. Magnus took his sister’s arm.

‘I’ll come tomorrow, Kate. Now don’t be so stern or Mr
Strickland
will think you’re always like it. Do you think father might like to sit for his portrait? Thanks to me, Tom lost the
opportunity
to paint Mrs Braithwaite.’

‘I’m not wholly disappointed,’ Tom replied softly.

Magnus thought for a moment and then smiled.

‘She always reminds me, with those tight waists of hers, of a sausage tied in the middle, the meat moving where it may.’

‘Even the iron dictates of fashion cannot quite repeal the laws of nature,’ Tom answered with a smile.

‘I heard that you were to paint Lady Goodchild,’ said
Catherine
abruptly.

‘Her ladyship took another view of the matter.’ He turned to Magnus. ‘I should have told you, she wrote thanking me for riding out to Hanley Park that evening. Your brother, Miss Crawford, told me to go for her.’

Catherine smiled briefly at Magnus.

‘I fancy Charles might have needed less persuasion, or does Mr Strickland not know about our brother’s devotion to her ladyship?’ She turned to Tom with mocking politeness. ‘But
perhaps
you do not share Charles’s opinion of Lady Goodchild’s looks? As an artist would you call her beautiful?’

‘As an artist, I would like to have painted her.’

Catherine laughed brightly.

‘Artists like to paint all manner of things … cows by a river, ships at sea. You’re very diplomatic, Mr Strickland. Did you ever have dealings with George Braithwaite when you painted his father?’

‘He talked to me sometimes.’

‘Did you think him the fool Magnus does?’ she asked sharply.

‘For God’s sake, Kate,’ interrupted Magnus angrily. ‘How can you possibly expect an answer to that?’

‘You refused to speak to me alone, so can have no secrets from him. Should he not repay the compliment?’

‘I should not have stayed; I apologise, Miss Crawford.’ Tom bowed slightly and picked up his hat. Magnus jumped up.

‘You were my guest and I made no such request and make none now. Accuse
me
of discourtesy, if you must, Kate.’

Catherine sighed and lowered her head.

‘Perhaps if you were at home with Charles and father you might make some allowance, Magnus. I’m sorry, Mr Strickland.’

When Magnus returned from seeing his sister to her carriage, he stood in silence by the window for a moment.

‘Unhappy people often say things they later regret.’

‘I’m not offended. Your sister thinks me her inferior and treated me accordingly.’

‘I’m sure not. She envies Helen Goodchild’s freedom, resents me for neglecting her, felt humiliated at speaking about father in front of you. I was a fool; but she chose her moment badly.’

‘It’s kind of you to make excuses for her, but I really don’t mind.’ Tom laughed suddenly. ‘Imagine if I were to fall in love with her and she with me … I wonder what sort of a welcome your father would give me. Why pretend the world isn’t as it is? While I was in Paris, a good many gentlemen who had read Murger’s
Vie
de
Bohème
came to the ateliers to live like artists…’

‘But they had plenty of money and the artists had none. Don’t make things even worse than they are, Tom. If you think I’m as stupid, we may as well forget what I said earlier.’

‘Why should I?’ asked Tom, smiling at Magnus. ‘Don’t ask me why, but I’ve decided to accept your offer; nothing would be very different if I refused, except that I’d lose an opportunity. If you do come to Charlotte Street you’ll hate it, but that’s your affair.’

‘I see, you’ve decided to take advantage of me because
Catherine
was rude to you.’

‘Perhaps, but really I can’t remember why I thought of
refusing
. The wine, I think…. I’m very grateful too.’

Magnus shook his head, confused by Tom and yet pleased that he had changed his mind.

‘Although of course I may ask you to paint my crest several times a day and expect you at all times to remain my most humble and obedient servant.’

‘Which is why I’m so grateful,’ muttered Tom with feigned servility.

‘Deference in the blood.’

‘No escaping it, sir.’

When Tom had gone, Magnus dozed in front of the fire.
Occasionally
noises from the tavern parlour or the stable-yard roused him and he tried without much success to recall the
precise
manner in which Tom had made his decision. Instead he imagined he saw his pale alert face and sensitive eyes and was happy to think that they would soon meet again. In his mind he pictured the engine looming out of the morning mist and the roofs and chimneys of Rigton Bridge slipping away into the past,
as the train, flying its long banner of smoke, sped across the
soaring
arches of the viaduct towards the open country. The
recollection
that he had promised to see his father only briefly interrupted his contemplation of the future.

On entering the library at Leaholme Hall, Magnus saw his father writing at the round table in the window. When Sir James rose and came towards him, Magnus’s dominant feeling was
embarrassment
. As his father took his hands and gazed at him, he still could think of nothing to say. All the while he felt unpleasantly conscious of his sling and the gashes on his cheek and forehead.

‘You’ve changed, Magnus, and I don’t just mean your
injuries
.’

‘You look just the same,’ replied Magnus, aware of the
banality
of their greeting. Could they really do no better after seven years? As he looked at his father, he was not even sure that he had spoken the truth. Still the same thick grey hair, flecked with silver at the temples and side-whiskers; his mouth as firm, and his jaw as decisive – once again reminding Magnus of the sculpted heads of certain Roman emperors, with flawlessly
chiselled
features and short-cut hair brushed forwards; but in his heavily-lidded eyes there seemed a softer almost sad expression.

At first, while they spoke in safe generalities about the election riots and the strangeness of returning home after a long period away, Magnus’s uneasiness persisted, but gradually it dawned upon him that his father also felt tense. One trait, which he remembered well, was the casualness with which his father wore civilian clothes: his cravat loosely tied, and a cream silk
embroidered
waistcoat worn with a faded morning coat. Fastidious in many ways, especially about punctuality, Sir James also had the slightly negligent air often possessed by men used to having everything done for them, and never exposed to any personal criticism. After a short silence, Sir James frowned and said in a low gruff voice:

‘You still bear me a grudge, I daresay?’

‘Because you sent me away?’ The admiral nodded. ‘You paid my debts, I had no cause to complain.’

Sir James, who had been resting against the table, stood up and shook out the tails of his coat.

‘So you don’t think I had too little sympathy for youthful weakness?’

‘I don’t think youth ever had much charm for you,’ replied
Magnus with a smile. ‘Your own may have, but mine certainly never did … what little you saw of it anyway.’

Sir James pursed his lips and gazed past Magnus at the vellum and calf-bound books in the shelves on either side of the doors. His eyes looked distant and sad.

‘I often thought if your mother had lived….’ He broke off almost angrily and shook his head. ‘In life, like chess, one can’t take back the moves already played.’ He sat down and absently drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. ‘Charles says you’re not going back to Ceylon.’

‘He’s right,’ murmured Magnus, surprised that his father did not seem disturbed.

‘I read your evidence to the commission and can’t say I blame you; though it’s a pity to lose so many years’ seniority in the
service
.’ He paused and looked at Magnus with sudden concern. ‘If you agree, I can probably get you something in the Foreign Office; a civil post … possibly in England. Not just influence, you understand; your record in Ceylon was excellent.’

‘I was thinking of something rather different,’ said Magnus, certain, from the way his father raised his eyebrows with ironic surprise, that he had wanted to see him merely to persuade him to accept some quiet position from which he could cause no trouble in the future. ‘I’m thinking of journalism.’

‘To what purpose?’ Sir James asked abruptly. Magnus met the searching gaze of his father’s flinty blue eyes.

‘The influence of the press on the course of public affairs is not negligible.’

‘Very true, and as often as not that influence is far from
beneficial
.’

Magnus managed an unforced laugh.

‘I’m sure you don’t think I’ll pander only to the most maudlin and vicious public taste.’

‘Charles expects you to write only in the Radical interest.’

‘I’ll have to find employment before I can write in any
interest
.’

Magnus, who had expected his father to press him on this point, was surprised when he said in an unmistakably
conciliatory
voice:

‘You are not perhaps aware that those who have written most for the public press, and often with the nation’s interests at heart, often live in obscurity and die in poverty. A briefless
barrister
may end a judge; a physician be knighted and come to five thousand a year. Not so the journalist, whose profession gives no
social distinction and small financial reward. In society the
occupation
is not even avowed, except in private. A journalist may be feared, but never respected. I don’t pretend to understand why this should be so, but know it to be true.’ He got up and walked across the room, turning by the antique globe next to a small pair of library steps; his habit of pacing about, Magnus supposed,
deriving
from the quarter-deck. ‘Few men are happy, Magnus, unless their efforts are properly appreciated and rewarded.’

‘I don’t want social distinction or to avow my occupation in
society
, but I’m grateful for your opinion.’

Sir James glanced at his son to see that he was not mocking him, but, encouraged by his apparent sincerity, said quietly:

‘Allow me to make a proposition … treat it how you will. If you decide to pursue a career which I consider worthy of your abilities, I will provide you with sufficient capital to add a further five hundred per annum to your income. On my
retirement
from the active list, whenever that may be, I will add a further five hundred to that sum.’ He paused to give Magnus time to take this in. ‘Of course you will need to consider this.’

‘I reject it,’ Magnus replied without hesitation.

‘You do?’ Sir James stared at him with amazement. ‘May I ask why?’

It occurred to Magnus that during the past fifteen years, as post-captain, ambassador and admiral, his father would have had few opportunities for any conversation other than with
subordinates
, and was therefore entirely unaccustomed to
disagreement
.

‘I don’t think my reasons would please you.’

Sir James nodded, as though he had predicted this answer.

‘Nor did your absence on my arrival and the discovery from Charles that you chose instead to stay in a posting-inn.’

‘I hope he also told you what it feels like to travel on a country road with a broken shoulder.’

‘I accept that reason, and would still like to know why …’

‘If Charles gets this estate and most of your capital, I am
entitled
to some capital of my own without conditions.’ Until Magnus had said this, he had not realised how angry he had become.

‘There’s some logic in that,’ Sir James conceded calmly. ‘But what’s the use of my settling capital on you when you’ve never stuck at anything? Prove yourself, and then I’ll think again.’

His father’s evident conviction that every word he had spoken was just and reasonable provoked Magnus almost to the point of
screaming.

‘When I was twenty,’ he whispered, ‘you cleared my debts and for that service I spent seven futile years on a distant island as a criminal might serve a sentence.’ His voice rose and shook as he said: ‘I will submit to no further conditions.’

‘You’re perfectly entitled to do as you please, and so of course am I.’

Magnus was trembling with rage as he walked to the door.

‘Since you have chosen to speak of money … you may remember that when mother died her capital became yours. Do you suppose
she
would ever have withheld my rightful share from me as a bribe to make me please her?’ He breathed deeply, horrified that he felt exactly as he had done in his father’s
presence
eight years before. ‘Your legal ownership of that money,’ he ended quietly, ‘gives you no moral right to keep it from me.’

‘My moral obligation to her is to see that you are saved from imbecile connections such as the one Charles tells me you formed with the
Rigton
Independent
.’

Magnus paused in front of the mahogany doors, knowing that he should leave before his anger led to a permanent estrangement. Finally he turned.

‘I am to understand that if I pursue a secure career you will add to my security, but if I choose a precarious profession, you will guarantee me the poverty which you profess to be so eager to spare me? Like those excellent fathers who cut off with nothing those daughters who marry poor men and need help most.’

Sir James listened impassively and turned the antique globe with a ringed finger.

‘Forgive me if I reject your comparison,’ he replied with frigid and urbane politeness. ‘You have only to change your mind and to act in your own best interests for me to alter my attitude. I have not given you up. The harder the road, the more likely is the traveller to return. One day you will thank me.’ He looked at Magnus with sudden reproachfulness and pain. ‘I offered to use my influence on your behalf … proposed a capital
settlement
… Great heavens, must I now apologise for being at fault?’

‘Of course not. You’d thought hard and long about what I should do; it was ungrateful and selfish of me to have views of my own.’

Stung by his son’s sarcasm, Sir James came towards him and held out his hands.

‘Should a father not encourage a son to follow the course most
likely to make him happy?’

The real perplexity with which this had been said calmed Magnus.

‘People learn nothing from advice, father, only from
experience
. I served the crown long enough to know I want other
employment
. Since you can’t live my life for me, I must go my own way.’

‘Don’t you mean to stay a few days?’

‘No.’

‘Because we disagreed? A day or two and both of us may see matters quite differently.’ Sir James’s tone was almost
imploring
.

‘I intended to go anyway.’

‘Surely we can …’ Sir James let his hands fall and looked away.

‘What did you say about chess, father?’

‘The comparison was a stupid one.’

‘But moves can’t be taken back, however long ago they were made. We both know that.’ Magnus opened the doors and looked back over his shoulder. ‘Look after Kate.’

‘I am not indifferent to her situation.’

‘I’m glad, father.’

From the landing Magnus heard his father call:

‘When you’ve proved yourself….’

He sighed and shouted back:

‘There are no admirals in Grub Street.’

*

Magnus met Charles in the hall. To the right of the door was a trunk and several chests.

‘Father going again so soon?’ asked Magnus.

‘I am … tomorrow. Damned inquiry at Devonport.’

‘I’m glad I didn’t miss you before you went, Charles. I wanted to thank you for all the helpful things you said to father about me.’

Charles met his eyes without embarrassment.

‘I said nothing discreditable.’

‘Then I’m sure you won’t find it discreditable if I tell you what I think of you.’ Magnus watched the blood rush to his brother’s cheeks and asked mildly: ‘Do you loathe me, Charles?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I could have sworn that my feelings for you were warmly reciprocated. You disappoint me.’

‘You’ve failed in a third-rate colony and I expect you’ll fail
again; but I don’t loathe you. I pity you. You’re eaten up with envy and bitterness.’

‘Envy of you, Charles?’

‘Among others, yes.’

Magnus smiled and said quietly:

‘Please don’t worry about my unhappiness, Charles. I’d rather be dead than change places with you. Come to think of it,
complacency
like yours is a kind of death. My father’s distorted mirror-image, at best a pale reflection: an eager ghost.’

Charles walked to the door and said over his shoulder:

‘Nothing I could say would damage you more than your own words.’

‘I wonder where you read that, Charles.’ Suddenly Magnus laughed and went over to his brother. ‘I’m sorry. You did your best to blacken me with father, but I don’t suppose it made much difference. You talked about us being children … Best forget. I hope you get a good command and the widow; I hope you get her too.’

‘Is there nothing
you’ve
ever wanted?’ murmured Charles.

The unexpectedness of the question disturbed Magnus; it was not something he would have thought Charles capable of asking.

‘Many things,’ he replied softly, realising with a sense of shock that what first came to mind was to be a boy again, to do what he had told his father was impossible and take back past moves. To be hopeful and confident. To live in the protective mist of a child’s half-formed imagination. Better by far to have Charles’s crude ambitions than this yearning for a bright lost world. Without looking at his brother, Magnus walked past him.

‘I must see Catherine.’

Magnus found his sister in the blue morning room. She got up and came towards him, her grey silk dress rustling as she moved.

‘I’m afraid my talk with father went as might have been expected.’

‘Tell me,’ she murmured.

‘He was reasonable according to his lights … I according to mine. There was no meeting.’ He took her hand for a moment and pressed it before letting it fall. ‘I’m afraid I’ve done you little good. I can understand why you felt angry with me yesterday.’

‘Can you, Magnus?’

Pretending not to have noticed the sad hint of reproach in her voice, he smiled.

‘If I had to stay here, I think I’d murder one or other of them.’

‘Necessity is an excellent pacifier.’

He remembered the terror of the future she had expressed on the evening he came to Leaholme Hall. The sight of her sad face and bright eyes filled him with grief.

‘We’ll see each other soon. You’ll stay with Aunt Warren in London; we’ll do lots of things.’

‘I should like that.’ She hesitated a moment and then said awkwardly: ‘I’m sorry I behaved badly to your friend.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘It’s so stupid. … I liked him, you see.’ She looked despondent but brightened. ‘Perhaps I’ll have a chance to apologise to him in London.’