Dick turned from her impatiently and Marianna caught at his arm.
‘Listen, please listen! I was desperately unhappy in my marriage, and when Jacinto — that is his real name — came to London three years later and we met again ... can you truly blame us for becoming lovers?’
Dick’s blue eyes withered her with contempt and he snatched his arm free. Without another word he wrenched open the door and strode out.
Six days later a Penfold Line ship called at Funchal, diverted by telegraph from the Azores especially for Dick to embark. What triumph Ralph must be feeling that the boy had turned to him, Marianna thought — not because he particularly wanted Dick in London, but because of the pain her son’s desertion would inflict upon herself.
Dick was adamant that their goodbyes should be said at the house; and Marianna knew better than to insist on seeing him off at the beach. When the servant posted down by the Custom House came to report that the steamer was entering the bay, Dick permitted his mother to embrace him, though he was unresponsive. She kissed him on both cheeks, wished him a safe voyage, and somehow stemmed her tears.
‘You will write often, Dick?’ she could not restrain herself from saying.
‘I will write.’
‘All this...’ She gestured around her. ‘All this will be yours one day, you know. It will always be here waiting for you.’
Dick shook his head, ‘No, mama, this is yours and yours alone. I feel no part of it. I want no part of it.’
A few minutes after he had departed, Marianna stirred and with leaden steps climbed to her bedroom in the turret. Linguareira was waiting there already and the two women stood at the window that faced the bay, watching. Presently, over the jumbled rooftops, they saw a longboat come into view, making for the blue-funnelled vessel that stood offshore near the Loo Rock, a plume of white smoke hissing out as if it were impatient to be away. The oarsmen drew alongside and Dick’s baggage was hauled up on ropes. Then Dick himself, a tiny figure, mounted the ship’s ladder.
The two women remained there at the window, hardly exchanging a word, until the steamer had rounded the Brazen Head and was lost from view.
It was a common enough dispute among the
caseiros,
the precise line of demarkation between two of their small terrace plots. Had Osorio slyly moved the boundary stone a few inches during the night, or was Pinqueiros only claiming he had done so in order to pay off some old score? The two men confronted each other with angry faces and raised fists, but Marianna was unimpressed.
‘I wouldn’t put it beyond either of you to try and cheat the other one,’ she said bluntly, ‘but alas there is no way for me to be sure which of you happens to be in the right this time. So my decision is that you move the stone halfway between the two positions and that becomes the new boundary. I warn you both, however, do not try this again. I have noted the exact spot, and I shall remember it.’
Nowadays Marianna spent most of her time at the
quinta,
the energy and determination which had achieved so much and brought her so far all but spent. Apart from giving a minimum of supervision at the wine lodge in Funchal, she drifted her days away in the tranquillity of the countryside.
Events in the outside world made little impact on her. Even the death of Queen Victoria the previous month seemed remote and of small concern. It was the end of an era, people said; but Marianna’s own era had ended more than a year ago.
As for the progress of this dreadful war with the Boers — the Madeirense, pro-English in their neutrality, seemed more involved and interested than she was. For the inhabitants of Funchal it was a daily topic of conversation, and there was constant evidence of the war in the supply ships anchored in the bay,
en route
to or from the Cape.
The only link beyond Madeira to have real meaning for Marianna was news of her son. Dick’s letters had been infrequent, almost curt, and she knew they had been penned purely from a sense of filial duty. There was nothing in them to give comfort to a sorrowing mother, yet in the past two or three months she had clung to a wistful belief that her son’s bitterness and anger were on the wane. Perhaps, after a full twelvemonth away, his broken young heart was mending; perhaps too, with added maturity, he was beginning to understand that his mother might not have been so grievously sinning as he had judged her to be.
Now, as Marianna strolled back to the
quinta,
she saw old Nuno hobbling along the path to find her, a letter in his
‘From the boy,
minha senhora,’
he called, his raucous voice sending a flurry of linnets and green canaries into the air.
Marianna took the letter with trembling fingers and tore it open. There were two whole pages in Dick’s sprawling hand, more than she had ever received from him previously. He began just as usual by informing her briefly that he was quite well, and trusting that she was too. But Dick then went on to describe in some detail the sad scene in London at the present time, with everyone in mourning for the Queen; besides which, there was continuing dissension over the conduct of the war.
The newspapers are full of it, and one hears so many conflicting opinions that it’s difficult to know what to think. But I’m more and more inclined to take the view of Mr Lloyd George and his Liberals, though that’s called being pro-Boer.
The war, on the other hand, was undoubtedly good for the shipping trade. Every vessel of the Penfold Line was kept fully chartered at the highest tariffs, and Ralph was positively gleeful these days.
I can’t help feeling, though, that it’s wrong to profit so much from other men fighting and dying. Perhaps instead I should be out in South Africa with them — and I’d go willingly if I didn’t have such doubts about the whole wretched business.
And then came what to Marianna was the most revealing part of Dick’s letter.
The other day I had a long talk with Sir Cedric Kendall, who took me to dine at his club. He’s a splendid fellow, isn’t he, and he spoke most warmly of you
,
mama. Of course he thinks I was mistaken in dropping the idea of Oxford, and you would agree with him about that! Ah well ...
The letter concluded with warmer felicitations than usual, and a wish to be remembered to all his friends in Madeira.
Give my fondest love to dear old Linguareira, say I miss having her smack my head. And to the servants and estate people. And Eduardo
Teixeiro and his wife.
Why had he picked on Eduardo especially, Marianna wondered. As her
feitor,
of course, Eduardo held the highest position among the villagers, but her son had never sent good wishes to him before. Was it because Dick had somehow come to know that the Teixeiros might be his grandparents? If so — and if he didn’t reject the thought as untenable — it must surely mean that he was no longer clinging with such desperation to the belief that he was truly a Penfold.
This whole letter of Dick’s … she knew her son well enough to recognize that he was reaching out to her. That even if Dick did not realize the fact himself, it was a cry for help. He had acted impetuously, rashly, and now regretted what he had done.
It was up to her to make the next move.
‘I am going to England,’ she told Linguareira, the moment she arrived back at the house. ‘On the first available ship.’
‘What nonsense is this,
menina?’
‘I’ve had a letter from Dick. Reading between the lines, I think he needs me.’
‘Then the boy should come home. He should come and beg on his bended knees for his mother’s forgiveness.’
‘What do I care about what he should or should not do?’ said Marianna impatiently. ‘I shall go to him.’
‘And be insulted and abused all over again?’
‘I must risk that. But somehow I have a feeling that Dick will be glad to see me, Linguareira. Now, about what clothes I shall need to take ... I must have proper mourning for the Queen.’
* * * *
Marianna did not cable Dick that she was coming until the very morning she took ship, lest he should try to prevent her. She also asked him to reserve accommodation for her at a suitable hotel, adding,
I
would prefer to be independent.
She had expected, of course, that Dick would do his duty and come to meet her at Southampton, but all the same it was something of a relief to see him standing among the waving throng on the dockside. As she watched her son stride up the gangway and step aboard, she was astonished to see how he had filled out, what a man he had become. There was a confidence in the way he wore his smart raglan overcoat, and the small moustache he sported made him look older than his eighteen years.
Marianna held out her arms, and to her great joy he came and hugged her warmly.
‘Oh mama, it is good to see you.’
‘And you, dearest. I hardly recognized you, you are so grownup.’
They went down to her cabin and Dick paced around in the confined space while Marianna, to cover her own nervousness, collected together the few items remaining now that the trunks had been packed and collected.
‘Why have you come to England, mama?’ he asked presently, and very casually.
Marianna knew that she must tread with caution. ‘There is really nothing to prevent me from taking a few weeks’ holiday, you know, and it seemed a nice idea to come and see you.’
‘I’ve booked a suite for you at the Savoy,’ he told her. ‘It’s a new hotel on the Victoria Embankment. I think you will be comfortable there.’
‘I’m sure I shall be.’
‘I was jolly thankful that you decided to stay at an hotel.’ He ran his finger round the polished brass rim of a porthole, carefully not looking at her. ‘Things aren’t very happy between Ralph and me these days.’
‘Oh, and why is that?’
He hesitated a moment, then shrugged. ‘We don’t exactly see eye to eye about a number of things … important things.”
‘Am I to understand that you and he disagree about the management of the Penfold Line?’
‘It’s about Ralph’s whole attitude, in matters of business and everything else. I’m not so innocent, of course, that I don’t realize there are plenty of firms — firms of all kinds — doing extremely well out of the war, but —’
‘It is Ralph Penfold’s good fortune,’ Marianna pointed out, trying to be fair, ‘that he has ships available at a time when shipping must be desperately needed.’
‘Oh, but there’s far more to it than that, mama.’
‘How do you mean?’ she asked, but Dick would not be drawn, and just gave a shrug. Marianna turned the conversation by inquiring about Ralph’s wife and their two children.
‘They’re well enough.’ After a pause, he went on, ‘I must admit that I feel sorry for Alicia... I’d feel sorry for any woman married to Ralph. He’s not at all caring, he doesn’t pay attention to her the way a husband should.’ Dick gave a small sigh. ‘Luckily for Alicia, she’s got her parents. They seem a very close family.’
‘Yes, that’s good.’
Into a growing silence, Maranna said, ‘You said in your letter, Dick, that you liked Cedric Kendall. I’m glad about that. I liked him too, very much. Not that I got to know him well, because he and Eunice were married soon after I arrived in England, and almost at once they left for India. They remained out there until after I had returned to Madeira. I heard that Cedric’s father had died, so I suppose he now runs the family estate in Sussex?’
‘That’s right. Actually, he’s invited me down to Hardwick Manor for Easter,’
‘Will you go?’
‘I should like to, I think.’
‘Then why not? Eunice wasn’t disposed to be friendly towards me in the old days, but I daresay that time has mellowed her.’
‘She has always been pleasant to me the few times we have met in town, when they’ve lunched or dined at Cadogan Place.’ He gave Marianna a hesitant look. ‘Cedric explained that things were not made easy for you, when you lived in England.’ He hung back, then said in a little rush, ‘There is a great deal I have come to understand lately, mama.’
Whether he would have said anything more Marianna was not to know, for they were interrupted by the arrival of her stewardess, a cheerful young woman whose husband was one of the ship’s engineers.
‘Ready to go ashore, ma’am?’
‘Yes, I think so. Betsy, this is my son who has come to meet me from London.’ Marianna had a sovereign ready, and pressed it into the girl’s hand. Thank you so much for all you have done for me.’
The boat train was rather full and she and Dick had to share their first-class compartment, so that their talk was confined to generalities as they hurtled across the mist-shrouded countryside of an English February. Marianna was thankful that this particular train did not stop at Edgeley, and she caught only a brief glimpse of Highmount’s red chimneys as they flashed past.
By the time they reached London the worst of the fog had been left behind and pale sunlight gave a phantom beauty to the rows of grim little houses backing on to the railway line. Waterloo Station was surely larger and more bustling than she remembered, and when they took a cab (quieter now because of the india-rubber tyres, Dick explained) the skyline as seen from the bridge across the Thames was vastly changed.
‘That’s the Savoy Hotel over there,’ Dick told her, pointing. ‘And the larger building on the left of it is the Cecil. But I thought the Savoy more your cup of tea, mama; it’s not so flashy.’
A few minutes later they were being ushered into a river-facing suite on the second floor. In the sitting room, where a welcoming coal fire burned, the wallpaper was a William Morris design of chrysanthemum flowers and foliage, and the chairs and sofas were upholstered in sage green velvet. There was electric lighting throughout, demonstrated by the
maître d’hotel
with a few deft flicks of a switch, and a magnificent tiled bathroom for her private use.
‘Do you like it, mama?’ asked Dick anxiously. ‘Will you be comfortable here?’