Rustication

  I realised she was sobbing.

  · · ·

  When I reached out for my music earlier this evening, Effie’s hand touched mine and stayed there for a moment.

  11 o’clock.

  The reason for Euphemia’s changed mood must be that Davenant Burgoyne has proposed marriage. Mother knows and that is why she wept.

  A ¼ past midnight.

  Just now I heard raised voices. I crept down the stairs and found that Mrs Yass and Mother were arguing in the front parlour. I couldn’t make out the words.

  Then Mrs Yass stormed into the passage followed by Mother. Just at the door of the kitchen, she turned and said: You’ve treated me bad and I’ve lost money by it, Mrs Shenstone. It’s not you I blame. But I will say this: I’ve niver heard of nobody changin’ her mind. Not as late as this, leastways.

  She went into the kitchen banging the door behind her.

  · · ·

  Miss Fourdrinier is a real beauty and such a face promises other virtues that are hidden—so unlike the brazen vacancy of an Enid. And the fact that she keeps her counsel makes her all the more fascinating and mysterious.

  Until I saw you I looked on womankind with a bitter smile. Distracted by your beauty, I have missed my footing on the path of life and fallen into the waters of love where I am drowning in the deep blue of your eyes.

  · · ·

  [A passage in Greek letters begins here. Note by CP.]

  It is a hot day in July. We meet on the Battlefield. We lie concealed by a bush. She helps me to unbutton her bodice. Her golden hair is down now in the confusion of our haste and falls unregarded across her naked breasts. I brush it aside, my fingers just touching her . . .

  Δ

  [The passage in Greek letters ends here. Note by CP.]

  Tuesday 22nd of December, 11 o’clock in the morning.

  Came down late and missed all the pother over Mrs Yass. She had not made breakfast and when Mother went up to her room she found it had been cleared and there was no clue to where she has gone.

  The letter-carrier had brought a letter for me and it lay reproachfully on my place at the table. Mother was annoyed with me and I soon found out why. Bartlemew’s mother had written on the envelope: Return to sender. My son has left home and I have no communication with him.

  Luckily, Effie had gone to spend the day with Lady Terrewest.

  I could not think of anyone else to go to, I said.

  Even his own parent has disavowed him, Mother said.

  He’s not my friend, I said. I never liked him. I’ve told you.

  But you met him during the holidays.

  I only ever ran into him in the street by chance.

  You seem to be forgetting, Richard, that you brought him to the house. You introduced him into the family.

  She said it as if she were charging me with some capital offence. I said: You must be confusing him with someone else.

  Noon.

  Have just remembered that I once ran into him in the street during the Easter vacation. We were almost outside our house and he made it plain he wanted to be invited in.

  Father came home earlier than usual and the three of us talked in the drawing-room and Bartlemew mentioned that he had sung at Harrow and Father encouraged him to join the Cathedral choir. By that stage the malevolence of the Precentor had barred Father from involvement with the choristers.

  5 o’clock.

  Walked to Thrubwell with the idea of meeting Euphemia. I was approaching the village when a big wagon came lumbering towards me. It halted about thirty yards away and the carter got down to look at the hoof of one of his team.

  There was a man lying in the back among the bales and he was struggling with something. I came closer and realised that he had a dog—a bull-terrier—under his coat. It was trying to escape and managed to get out from under the coat and I saw that it was wearing chains—iron links looped around its body whose purpose I could not imagine. The beast jumped out of the vehicle while the man shouted at it and then tugged on the thick leather lead fastened to its collar whose other end was shackled to the stranger’s belt with iron fetters.

  The man, still in the wagon, had yanked the lead so viciously that the animal was pulled off its feet. Then he knelt over the edge of the vehicle, took a whip from his belt and began to give it a prolonged and brutal flogging while the creature growled and whimpered and bowed its head in submission. He stopped the beating and shouted: Get back, sirrah. Damn you!

  The dog tried to jump up but the weight of the chains was preventing it.

  I had been standing a few feet from the wagon and now the man noticed me and said: What the devil are you doing? Walk on or you’ll get the same treatment.

  To my astonishment he spoke, despite his labourer’s dress, in the tones of an educated man though his speech was roughened as if he were accustomed to the society of working men.

  I said: Your dog can’t get up with that weight he’s carrying.

  For answer the man leant further out raising his whip and then he brought it down so that it missed me by a few inches. He said: I told you once. You won’t get another warning. If you don’t walk away I’ll tear your arm off and beat you with it till you piss blood.

  I don’t know what I would have said or done if at that moment the dog had not managed to scrabble up the wheel and get back into the wagon. The man began hitting it with the handle of the whip. I was going to protest but the carter had got back on his seat and the wagon lurched into motion.

  I walked home without seeing Euphemia.

  9 o’clock.

  At dinner Mother told us that she had received a letter from Boddington containing bad news about the Chancery suit: Her father’s will has been set aside. She will have to pay the costs so far incurred not only by herself but also by Cousin Sybille. Almost frightened to utter the words I asked how much that would be.

  In a tiny voice she muttered: About two hundred pounds.

  We are ruined. I cannot imagine where that sum of money will come from. Effie and I stared at each other. Mother will be in a debtors’ prison for the rest of her days.

  So that’s the end of it, I said. There is no hope of regaining your rights.

  On the contrary, Mother said. I am confident of winning. Now that my father’s will has been annulled, it is as if he had died intestate.

  I said: There is a set of rules for sharing out an estate among the relatives in such a case, but I’m not sure what they are.

  Mother smiled. They are very simple. As his only child I will inherit everything.

  Effie asked: But if that is so, why has Cousin Sybille gone to all this expense?

  Despite our efforts, Mother would not say any more.

  10 o’clock.

  Got Betsy alone ten minutes ago and asked her to bring up hot water tonight.

  Effie was charming after dinner. We played some duets for a while and she did not lose her temper when I got out of time.

  Midnight.

  She’s so much younger than me—three years—I don’t want to do anything to frighten her.

  · · ·

  [A passage in Greek letters begins here. Note by CP.]

  She came up with the bucket of hot water ten minutes ago. I stood beside the bath in nothing but my gown. In the candlelight her pale skin and large eyes made her seem very desirable. I believe my rising cock lifted the gown a little but she didn’t look at me so she couldn’t have seen that.

  I heard my voice trembling with anxiety and desire when I said: I was afraid you wouldn’t come once again, Betsy. I’m so glad you’re here. You look very pretty tonight.

  She said: None of that nonsense, Master Richard.

  She had to come and stand beside me to pour the water into the bath and I didn’t move away. I wanted to touch her but I merely said: Would you wait until I get in and then wash my back?

  She looked down at what she was doing and made no response.

  I said: Are you shy of seeing a man? Hav
e you ever seen a man’s thing?

  She bent over to feel the temperature of the water in the bath and I slipped the gown off so that I stood naked with a stiff cockstand beside her but she kept her head turned away. I moved forward slightly so that when she straightened up and backed towards me my cock poked at her thick skirt at the waist and we both stood for an instant like that. She didn’t seem to have noticed. I leaned towards her, my teeth almost chattering with the cold and with nervousness, and whispered: Betsy, give me your hand. Let me put it on me.

  She seemed to be hesitating. Had she noticed it? Did she like to feel it prodding her in desperate supplication?

  After a moment she turned away and went out of the room without speaking or looking round.

  I should have put my arms around her from behind and nuzzled her ear and said nonsensical things about how she was driving me wild while my cock jabbed at her rump and my hands get under her collar and stroke her breasts and she starts to breathe faster and says: Oh, sir, don’t make a poor girl do anything bad and . . .

  Δ

  [The passage in Greek letters ends here. Note by CP.]

  3 o’clock in the morning.

  Idiot idiot idiot!

  About two hours ago I was trying to sleep when I heard a sound I could not identify. I put my greatcoat on over my nightgown and crept downstairs. In the dark scullery I found a stub of candle standing burning on a sideboard. The noise was coming from outside and so I pushed open the door which was unbolted and went out into the yard.

  It was bone-chillingly cold. I saw Mother working the pump-handle beside the well-head and filling a bucket. As I watched she suffered a fit of coughing and was doubled up by it, her thin shoulders jerking awkwardly. I could see how much pain her coughing was causing her. She was holding her hands over her mouth.

  When I spoke to her she started guiltily and said: Whatever are you doing out here at this hour?

  I might say the same to you, I answered. It’s freezing now. The cold air is making you cough.

  I took the bucket from her and we went into the scullery. I closed and locked the door.

  When I turned back she had plunged her hands into the sink and was rubbing pieces of cloth between her fingers. I said: What in heaven’s name are you doing, Mother?

  Do you remember how Mrs Green used to starch the trimmings to Father’s vestments and his bands and cambric ruffs? I often watched her and that is how I learned how to do it.

  Can’t Betsy do it?

  She smiled. No, Richard. Betsy can’t do it. She explained patiently as if to a child that good linen of this kind—the few articles of value still in our possession—had to be washed very carefully and then parts of the garment starched and that it was a delicate and painstaking operation requiring skill and patience.

  I saw that her hands were red and raw. I seized one of them and it was cold as ice and chapped.

  I said: Those are Effie’s collars, aren’t they? She nodded. Does she know you’re doing this?

  Mother said almost indignantly: She is a beautiful girl and deserves the best that I can do for her.

  So that’s what Euphemia meant when she told Mrs Paytress there is someone in the house who is very adept at that kind of work. A classic instance of Euphemia’s fine-ladyism! She knows Mother performs this arduous task for her but chooses not to think about it.

  You mustn’t do this, I said.

  Richard, people make sacrifices for those they love.

  I said: I hate to see you doing this. Why are we so poor now? Why did you have to sell Father’s pension?

  She stopped what she was doing and said: I didn’t tell you I sold it. The pension was never granted.

  Whyever not?

  Because of the circumstances in which your father resigned. She looked down at her work. While he was Canon Treasurer he made some mistakes in his accounting. The Dean—who as you know hated your father—demanded full repayment. So everything we had was seized by bailiffs and a sale was held.

  That was the shock that brought on Father’s death?

  She paused and then nodded.

  I asked: That was the revelation you threatened me with if I didn’t go away?

  She scrabbled nervously at the wet linen. Then she said brightly: Yes, that was it. She turned away and for a minute or two concentrated on wringing out the wet cloth.

  Then she said: So you can see why I was so upset to learn that you’ve been getting into debt. Uncle Thomas said he has learned something he doesn’t want to tell me. Something the College is upset about.

  I hope the darkness hid my face.

  I’m not a complete innocent, Richard. I’ve heard that young men at the Varsity behave really quite . . . That some of them . . .

  I said quickly: Mother, you can set your mind at rest on that score. No woman was involved.

  She gave me such a strange look. Why wasn’t she reassured?

  Then she suddenly said: Richard, promise me you’ll have nothing to do with him. That dreadful creature, Bartlemew.

  I said I had no intention of seeing him ever again.

  4 o’clock.

  Why did Father need money? Why did such a proud and upright man do what he did?

  I wanted so much to ask her more questions and yet I dared not press her. She looked so frail and gazed at me timidly even as she asserted her maternal authority.

  · · ·

  Not defiled with women. Unfortunately not.

  · · ·

  I must be careful. The girl is young and easily frightened. I don’t want to frighten her into complaining to Mother about me—though I believe she would not dare to make trouble for fear of losing her place.

  Wednesday 23rd of December, 11 o’clock.

  The post came so late that we had had breakfast and Euphemia had left for Lady Terrewest—yet again!—by the time Old Hannah arrived. She handed me two letters—one for Mother and one for myself. Both were from Uncle Thomas and I took mine up here to open.

  He wants to ship me abroad like a convict transported to the colonies! And with the threat to reveal everything to Mother! How dare he try to blackmail me! Unthinkable that I should employ you in a position of trust.

  I have plans for my life and they don’t involve being despatched to some stinking den in the stews of Canton or a log cabin on the shore of a frozen lake in Ontario.

  By return of post. He can whistle for it.

  2 o’clock.

  I had to read the letter to Mother because he told her he had made me a proposal she should discuss with me.

  This is beyond my hopes, Mother said. A clerkship in one of the trading-companies with which he corresponds! How generous.

  Generous! It has cost him nothing but the time he took to write a couple of letters and in return he gets rid of me for ever. Canton or Hudson Bay! Both of them on the other side of the world.

  I’m sure he has your best interests at heart.

  Does he? I think he wants to avoid any prospect of having to pay my debts—which I don’t for a minute expect him to do.

  Mother shook her head. What nonsense! And besides, you have to earn your living in some way now that you won’t be resuming your studies.

  Won’t I? Why do you say that?

  She shrugged. Even if the College will have you back, I doubt if Uncle Thomas will continue to support you.

  I’m not even sure I wish to return.

  Then if you won’t go back and won’t go abroad, how do you imagine you will earn your living?

  So I took a deep breath and told her. I intend to write for the literary pages of the newspapers.

  She stared at me in dismay and said: I had a suspicion that something like that was in your mind.

  I told her that I was perfectly realistic about the difficulties. I will go to London and make my way by dint of hard work and talent.

  At last she said: Well, I know you can work very hard on something as long as it holds your interest.

  So we may ignore Uncle Thom
as’s offer?

  You must write very courteously declining it and tell him you will visit him when you arrive in London.

  Thank heavens for the improvement in the weather. It will be a fine afternoon for a walk.

  6 o’clock.

  The world has gone mad.

  I was in the middle of the Battlefield when I spotted that old lunatic Fourdrinier standing in a patch of wild grass that came above his knee. He was bent over and using a long-handled tool to cut the roots of the undergrowth. It resembled a large dibber or a pruning-hook with a curved blade at the end.

  When I spoke his name he turned to me such an unfriendly face that I almost thought I had the wrong man. He looked like nothing so much as a parrot scrabbling in the sand of his cage who had been surprised in mid-scratch—beak at an angle, one leg slightly raised, head turned so that only a single eye was visible, large and unwinking through the thick lens of his pince-nez. I can’t imagine how I ever thought of his features as cherubic and innocent when they are so manifestly corrupt with that small mouth and the round eyes with drooping lids.

  It’s not just his nose that is pinched: it’s his whole moral being.

  I said: Mr Fourdrinier, I have not forgotten your gracious invitation to tea.

  He made no remark but began packing away his implements in the huge bag I had seen him with before. Then he suddenly swung round and gazed at me intently and asked: Do you know anything about a letter?

  A letter? From whom?

  From whom? he repeated indignantly. That’s just the point. A letter from someone I don’t know.

  I looked at him without trying to hide my astonishment. I asked: If it’s from someone you are not acquainted with, then how could I have any information about it?

  He rudely showed his back to me without answering and carried on packing up.