Rustication

  Effie talked, her voice almost breaking, of how she had longed to lighten Father’s periods of darkness. And then she said: Father would have been a much happier man if he had gained his bishopric.

  I could not stop myself saying: Would he?

  That threw her for a moment. Then she said: What do you mean, Richard? Do you mean that the Church could never have found a proper use for a man of his abilities?

  If you want to put it that way.

  She objected to what she called my “tone”. We grew heated. Strangely, Mother sat in silence without making any attempt to defend Father. And then disaster! I don’t know how it happened but I knocked my wine-glass over and the tablecloth was soaked. Mother gave a cry as if she had been physically hurt. She said: That was stupid of you. She accused me of having taken too much wine. (Hypocrite! She’d drunk at least as much as I.)

  I told her it was just a tablecloth. She said: That’s typically selfish of you. There’s so little left of my life and now you’ve taken one more thing from me.

  Euphemia told me to apologise and I said you can’t apologise for an accident.

  I think that what was really annoying me was that Mother was making me think the less of her for being so obsessed with material things. I said: Can’t you let your mind rise above tablecloths and bed-linen?

  She said: How dare you. Your father would be horrified to hear you speak to me like that.

  I said: I’ve heard him say worse things to you.

  You are being impertinent and unkind! Go to your room this instant.

  I said: I don’t see why I should. I’m not twelve years old any more.

  Euphemia said: Then stop behaving as if you were.

  I said: Since you feel like that, you won’t want my company at the ball. I’ve decided I’m not going.

  Instantly she got that look like a snarling cat with its ears flattened against its head and its eyes wide and she said: In that case, you’re of no use here. You’re in the way. Just go. I don’t care where. Just leave the house tomorrow. And then take ship for anywhere in the world as long as it’s far away from here.

  I got up and said: I won’t inflict my company on you for a minute longer.

  Came up here. Left them to their bickering and spite.

  ½ past 11 o’clock.

  They don’t care what happens to me. Very well. In that case, I don’t care either. I won’t struggle against temptation any longer. It will be my Christmas gift to myself.

  3 o’clock.

  ∑

  Walked to the village. The stars were like a million sharp eyes blinking down at the earth where nothing moved. The moon, hidden by transparent veils of cloud, suddenly sailed out from behind a gauzy net of mist and the cattle looked ghostly in the silver glow she cast. Bats flickered in the milky light like cinders swirling up in a fireplace. One of them flew at my head—a tiny monster with a cruel little face—and I thought I saw jowls and small round spectacles and heard it squeaking out its venomous proprieties.

  As I walked among the silent unlit houses I felt I could jump into the air and hover there like a falcon, slowly raising and lowering my arms to skim above the houses and fields.

  Saturday 26th of December, 11 o’clock.

  Woke up dry-mouthed, head aching, fingers and toes prickling. Managed to stagger down to breakfast very late. As I came into the room Euphemia stared at me malevolently.

  Mother went into the village to do her marketing and since Effie had gone back upstairs, I lay on the sopha in the parlour with a book and I must have drifted off for I was suddenly wakened by my sister saying: Perhaps you might think of dozing during the hours of darkness? Or do you have more interesting pursuits while decent people are asleep?

  Then she said she would have to warn Mother what I was doing if I did not stop. It explained so much of my “eccentric and disruptive” behaviour—and for example my ridiculous refusal to accompany my own mother and sister to the ball. But she would spare Mother that if my conduct improved.

  I replied that she could tell Mother what she liked. The truth was that I have given it up and will never take the stuff again.

  She told me I was deluding myself and she was certain I had indulged as recently as last night and with that she walked out.

  1 o’clock in the afternoon.

  Old Hannah brought a letter late this morning and I took it from her and seeing that it was addressed to Effie—in oddly illiterate handwriting—I carried it to her in the parlour. She opened it and gasped and flung it down and then stared at it as if she were terrified of it. Mother jumped up from the table and cried out: What is it? Effie hurried out of the room and I heard her running up the stairs. Mother picked up the letter, glanced at it, and hastened after her.

  The cry, dropping the thing, running out. That’s not like Effie. It looked like the first-act climax to some lurid melodrama.

  When Mother came back I asked her who the letter was from. She said: I don’t know.

  I said: How is that possible? You must know who wrote it?

  She sat down heavily and said: What I mean is that what matters is what was in it. Mr Davenant Burgoyne has become affianced to Miss Whitaker-Smith.

  Extraordinary news given that he and my sister have been meeting regularly! What puzzles me is how Effie was able to talk so calmly of Davenant Burgoyne being engaged to Enid as she did when Miss Bittlestone came to tea, and yet she is so upset by this news? I suppose she must have been confident that he had no intention of proposing to the Quance girl. The blackguard! All the time he was planning to marry Maud.

  I feel sorry for Effie. Her dearest, oldest friend is marrying the man she loves. Her father’s wealth has secured her the prize.

  This revelation throws a new light on Lucy. That piece of news must have been what she told Enid yesterday and she must have known how much pain it would cause.

  I wonder who sent the letter that came this morning. Maud herself crowing in triumph? Surely not. More probably some “friend” in town anxious to pass on the news.

  No wonder that arrogant brute was so offensive on Thursday. He knew very well who I was: the brother of the girl whom he was planning to jilt.

  If someone once tried to harm him, I hope they try again.

  5 o’clock in the afternoon.

  Euphemia did not appear at luncheon. Mother was tight-lipped about her and just said she had a headache.

  · · ·

  Can’t stop thinking of that smile of anticipation on Lucy’s face as she tripped over to Enid.

  Beautiful creature, I have fallen into the waters of love and drowned in the deep brown of your eyes.

  7 o’clock.

  Out on the Battlefield this afternoon I ran straight into that surly fellow with the red neckcloth I had seen with the tall stranger. I greeted him and quickly put a sixpence into his hand and now that I had his attention, asked him about the oaf in the wagon with the chained dog.

  That’s Tom the Swell, he said, damn his eyes. I asked if he was the man I had seen talking to him ten days ago and he confirmed it. He told me that nobody knows much about him or where he lives but he is thought to be a “swell” by which is meant “gentleman”.

  I asked him why the animal had been in chains and he explained that the man is involved in dog-fighting and the chains were attached to the poor beast in order to build up its neck and shoulder muscles so that it would be stronger for the fray.

  He’s gone to cover, curse him, he said. The man had cheated him and others in “the Fancy” and had not been seen in the district since then. He became more and more enraged at the memory and finally turned and strode off.

  Memorandum: OPENING BAL: 9s. 8½d. EXP: To informant: 6d. FINAL BAL: 9s. 2½d.

  · · ·

  I was approaching Stratton Herriard when I saw a large group of people clustering at the side of the path against the wall that marked the boundary of the adjacent field. As I approached they revealed themselves to be the Greenacres’ brattery and their
governess whom I had seen in church. The two older girls—Juliet and Emma—were clutching each other and in tears. The governess was holding the hand of the youngest child, a little boy of about six, who was also weeping.

  The older boy—Frederick who is about ten or eleven—was behind the wall so that all but his upper body was hidden. He appeared to be hitting something. The youngest girl was standing on the track and watching in fascination.

  I greeted the governess and went to look over the wall which was just low enough to allow me to see over it. To my horror I saw a sheep lying on its side with blood spattered across its body and over the grass around it. It was feebly kicking its legs in what looked like a mild protest at what was happening. I now realised that the boy was not just hitting it but stabbing it with a knife—raising his arm and thrusting it down into its belly with all his strength. There was a long slash from its neck down its front from which unimaginable things were bulging. I felt dizzy with the horror of it.

  As in a nightmare the boy’s arm rose and fell like a piston.

  I thought: Gracious heavens, I’ve found the madman who is doing these dreadful things. And he’s not much more than ten years old.

  I hurried over and seized the child’s arm. For God’s sake, I said. What in heaven’s name are you doing?

  He said: I’m putting it out of its pain.

  Then cut the poor creature’s throat and make a quick end of it.

  The boy raised his arm and I looked away. I heard a sound I can’t describe. When I turned back a few seconds later the animal lay mercifully still.

  Frederick was smiling and wiping his knife on the grass. There was now fresh wet blood all the way up his right arm.

  What on earth has been going on? I asked.

  Frederick took no notice of me. He seemed excited and proud at what he had done.

  The governess said sharply: Frederick, answer the gentleman. And I too wish to know what you were doing.

  She began to walk towards us as if she intended to look over the hedge. I held up my hand and said: Don’t come any closer. There’s something here I think the other children shouldn’t see.

  She stopped and looked at the boy expectantly. He explained that he and Amelia had heard the animal whimpering and looked over the wall and spotted it several minutes before the rest of the party had caught up. Seeing that its belly—Stomach, Frederick! the governess interrupted—had been slashed, he had used his knife to bring its suffering to an end.

  Amelia is about twelve years old and has a sharp little face. She will be pretty once she has learned to hide that scowl. She made me think of Effie at that age. Now the spiteful little minx cut in and said: You’re lying. It was you hurt the sheep. You saw it in the field and you went and stabbed it. You wanted to try out the knife Father gave you for Christmas.

  Frederick shouted at her: You’re a horrid liar!

  He advanced towards her still holding the knife, but the governess interposed herself.

  To my amazement those decorous young ladies in embryo, Juliet and Emma, started shouting at their younger sister that she was a deceitful fibber and a malicious trouble-maker. One of them exclaimed: You’re always trying to make trouble for Freddie. You’re just jealous.

  Amelia, undaunted by this attack, screamed: I’m telling you, I saw him. He was cutting the poor sheep. There was nothing wrong with it before that.

  I was putting it out of its misery, he shouted. My knife couldn’t have made that slash down its body, he said. He appealed to me as the only competent male present: Look. My blade is not long enough to go so deep.

  He bent over the animal and I assume was prising apart the wound but I couldn’t watch. I heard him say: I’m shoving it in. See? The blade doesn’t go to the bottom of the cut.

  Amelia came closer and peered at it. She said: You did it twice. You slashed once and then went back and slashed again. She called on me to play the arbiter: Look. Here’s the first cut and here’s the second.

  I said: I can’t believe Frederick would do such a thing.

  Amelia said: What do you know about it? He does horrible things all the time.

  The governess said: Amelia, be silent. You’re being very discourteous.

  But the girl shouted at her brother: Look what you’ve done to your coat! Mama will be furious.

  Yes, he cried. And now I’ll get it all over you, too. And serve you right for telling such lies.

  He moved towards her and both she and the governess scurried aside, not wanting to be touched by this blood-soaked apparition. With gore smeared over his coat and spots of it on his face he looked like some figure from a Gothic melodrama. I stepped forward and held out my arm to bar his path. That’s not a gentlemanly way to behave, I said.

  That seemed to have an effect. He stopped and replaced the knife in its sheath.

  The little governess thanked me as if I had performed some heroic action. Then she knelt and kissed the youngest child who was sobbing and said: Now, children, look how you’ve frightened poor Sammy.

  I watched in amazement as all the children hurried over to comfort their little brother—hugging him and ruffling his hair and digging into their pockets to find small gifts. Stricken with remorse for what they had said and done, they started sobbing and embracing one another. Amelia gave Frederick a cautious kiss, holding herself away from his blood-smeared sleeve, and they seemed to have forgotten and forgiven the cruel insults they had just thrown at each other. What a contrast with my own family!

  We strolled on and it seemed natural that the governess and I should walk together with the children going before us.

  She told me her name is Helen Carstairs and said that she knew who I was. I asked her if she liked her present employment. She hesitated and said: I am very fond of the children.

  She must have seen my surprise because she smiled and said: They are not always as troublesome as this. Then she talked of the difficulty of a governess’s position caught between the family and the servants. She admitted that she had had little choice in taking up such a post and said: I have a widowed mother and two younger siblings who depend on me.

  What is a governess paid? Fifteen pounds a year? Certainly, it is very little since she is given lodging and sustenance. If her relatives are so much in need of that, their circumstances must be desperate indeed.

  We found that we both love the poetry of Keats and the novels of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters. She is teaching herself German and has begun to read Goethe. She loves music, too, and told me how she would creep down the stairs at night and listen when anyone was playing in the drawing-room.

  I asked: And are they kind to you?

  She said: Mr Greenacre and I have long conversations about books and ideas. She paused and then said: Mrs Greenacre used to be very considerate but she has been influenced by the Rector’s wife. I fear that Mrs Quance dislikes me for some reason. (You’re young and clever and not positively ugly. That’s reason enough, I thought.)

  I told her I hated Mrs Quance for her sanctimonious self-righteousness and her wicked mischief-making. Helen was silent for a while and then she said a strange thing: Such people are their own punishment.

  We talked of the isolation of the district and she asked: Aren’t you lonely out here so far from everything?

  I said without reflecting: Only when I’m with other people.

  She laughed and said: Then it’s fortunate we have come to the parting of our ways.

  I hadn’t noticed but we had reached the turning down our lane and so we made our farewells.

  Now that I have had the chance to look at her closely, I see that she is not really pretty: the poor girl squints. But she is thoughtful and clever.

  · · ·

  Such an open display of emotion! Such volatility! Another family is a foreign country. Why were we so inhibited? Was it because we had always to calculate: Will this revelation of my feelings anger Father? If I replied to him in a sulky tone Father would shout: I will not allow these
moods. Strikes me now that he was the only one of us who showed his feelings without restraint.

  When I entered the parlour they were so engrossed that they did not notice me. Mother was standing smiling and clapping her hands while Effie walked round and round in front of her showing off a rather magnificent red dress that I hadn’t seen before. Mother’s eyes were hungrily devouring her daughter. I spoke and as they turned and looked at me her smile faded.

  Euphemia is trying on the dress that we’re making for the ball, she said in a tone that implied that I would not find it of any interest.

  Effie, however, smiled at me and made an elaborate curtsey in my direction.

  Mother said: It looks almost as good on you as it did on me. I was a fine-looking girl once myself.

  I heard a catch in her voice and she put her head down and hurried out of the room.

  Effie twirled round to show me the garment. The dress left her arms and shoulders bare and because it was unfinished it was open far down her back. I must have blushed because Effie laughed and said: Are you embarrassed? It wasn’t many years ago that you and I used to share a bath-tub.

  With a mocking smile she sailed out of the room.

  9 o’clock.

  Just before dinner I was in the kitchen and saw Mother trying to reach a canister down from a high shelf. I did it for her. She had been standing on tiptoe and scrabbling for it. Those quick, nervous movements. I wonder why she cannot take things more slowly but she does everything in that rapidly scrabbling manner as if she needs to clutch at everything she desires before it disappears. She looked so thin in her worn and patched garments. I wanted to put my arms around her and hug her but she wouldn’t have cared for that.

  ½ past 9 o’clock.

  I’ve been thinking. I let Mother down. I should have lent her better assistance with the goose. And I don’t know why I said that about the shirt last night. It wounded her as it was meant to, but why did I want to do that? Why do I feel a desire to cause her pain, and often at exactly the moment when she is showing that she loves me? What I heard her saying to Miss Bittlestone, it wasn’t unkind. The intention wasn’t to denigrate me. She was sharing her concern.