The Victory (62 page)

‘
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you,' Bobbie said
meekly. 'Thank you for coming up and seeing me.'

‘I promised I would,' Mathilde said.

‘
Yes, but grown-ups don't always remember their
promises,' Bobbie said with the wisdom of experience.

Mathilde was amused at the idea of being a grown-up and
then, catching Mr Firth's eye, realised that he was probably
thinking just the same thing, and laughed.

‘
I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow,' she promised, 'and tell
you everything then.'

‘
You won't,' Bobbie called after her. 'Ladies never get up
until noon on the morning after a ball.'

‘However can you know that?' Mr Firth asked, bemused.

*

Chetwyn and Robert found a charming house in Berkeley
Square which only wanted completely redecorating and new-
furnishing to be perfect for Robert's establishment. True, it
did not have a ball-room, but there were some excellent
stables just round the corner, off Hay Hill, for his new team
of greys and a couple of Park hacks, and it was perfectly sited
within reach of all the places where a gentleman naturally
wanted to be seen. The two of them plunged into the delights
of redecorating, and when they were not harrassing the
builders or getting in the way of the painters, they were
usually to be found in the various elegant shops around Bond
Street, Piccadilly and St James's, poring over draperies,
carpets, and furniture.

Chetwyn had never been happier in his life. He did not
even much mind when Robert's mother came up from Bath, installed herself in Roberta's house, and continually turned
up under their feet, poking about the house, criticising their
taste and asking apparently unrelated questions about
anything that came into her head. She would jump from the
topic of Robert's bedroom furnishings to why Lady Aylesbury
was still in the country, and thence to Chetwyn's plans for the
summer. But he bore it all with enormous patience, and even offered to take Lady Serena driving in the Park to get her out
of Robert's way for a few hours.

A rude awakening was preparing itself for him, however.
Quite apart from the convenience of its location, Robert was eager to become a member of Brummell's new club, Watiers,
because it seemed to be attracting the kind of dashing,
elegant, witty young men amongst whom he would like to be
numbered. Chetwyn had not yet bothered to join Watier's
himself, but, happy to indulge Robert, he let it be known in
White's that he wished Mr Knaresborough to be elected, and
Sir Henry Mildmay, a distant cousin of Chetwyn's obliged by
putting him up.

Chetwyn's sense of shock and outrage when Robert's application was turned down was the more extreme because it was so utterly unexpected. He cornered Brummell in Brooks's the following day, and demanded a private interview with him, to
which Brummell, with outward calm, agreed.

‘
Well, sir?' Chetwyn said furiously as soon as they were
alone. Brummell merely waited impassively, one eyebrow
politely raised. The immaculateness of his attire, his high,
starched neckcloth, his creaseless pantaloons, made Chetwyn
want to hit him. 'I demand an explanation, Mr Brummell.
What do you mean by it, sir?'

‘Mean by what, my lord?'

‘Don't trifle with me. You know very well. Robert — Mr
Knaresborough has been refused membership of Watier's.
Have you any conception how damaging that could be to his
career?’

Brummell's face gave away nothing. 'I am sure the
committee would be flattered by your high opinion of their
consequence, my lord. Unhappily, their decision in the matter
of membership is final, and does not admit of argument.'

‘
Humbug! Damn it, you are the committee! Everybody
knows you are the final arbiter. It must have been you who turned him down, and I want to know why. I
mean
to know
damn it, and I shall stay here until you give me satisfaction!’

Brummell did not answer at once. He stood quite still,
looking at Chetwyn thoughtfully, as if deciding what to do
about him, and a little of Chetwyn's fury began to leak away,
to be replaced by apprehension. The younger man was so
unmoved by Chetwyn's anger, it was unsettling.

‘Very well,' Brummell said at last. 'You are right, of
course, that the final decision is mine. I refused Mr Knares
borough because I don't think he is the kind of young man we
want.’

Chetwyn stared at him, aghast. 'But — good God, sir — he
is
my friend!
What further recommendation can you want?'

‘
My lord, had you applied for membership, I would have
refused you, too.’

Chetwyn reddened. ‘You are impertinent, Mr Brummell!’

 
‘
I merely answered your question, my lord.'

‘
Then perhaps you'll have the goodness to explain
yourself?’

Brummell looked at him steadily. 'I think you understand
me very well,' he said quietly.

‘
By God, sir —!' Chetwyn began furiously, but Brummell
cut him off. His face was still impassive, but his eye held a
terrible pity.

‘
Come, now, my lord earl. Your wife is one of my dearest
friends, and it is for that reason alone that I presume to speak
to you as I do now. It is in everybody's interest that you listen
to what I say. In London one may do a surprising number of
things, and still be accepted, but this is not one of them. Give
up your relationship with Mr Knaresborough before it is too
late, for him and for you. Already people are talking. Send
him away with his mother to Bath. He does not belong here. Let him sink back into the obscurity from which you should
never have plucked him.’

Chetwyn whipped up his anger in defence against the fear
newly-born in his soul. 'I won't, damn it! And I'll see you
suffer for this, too, Brummell!’

Brummell looked at him with great sadness. 'No, I think
not. I think it is you who will suffer, my lord, and I'm very
sorry for it.’

*

The situation was intolerable. The story of Robert's being
refused membership soon got around, and Chetwyn began to
intercept odd looks from people who before were all too
happy to fawn on him. The number of invitations on his
chimney-piece thinned a little, and Chetwyn would not have
cared for this, if it had not been that Robert minded. When
they walked down the street together, Robert's cheeks were
perpetually crimson, and he held his head up not so much
with pride but with defiance.

Chetwyn felt helpless. There was nothing he could do to
force Brummell to change his decision. He could not even call
him out, since it was well known that Brummell made a
career of always refusing to go out, and a challenge would only have made Chetwyn ridiculous. Even Robert's mother
began to eye him with suspicion, and treat him with a
coldness very different from the obsequiousness which had
always before marked her behaviour towards him.

Then one day just before Easter, he arrived at the house in
Berkeley Street to find Robert and Lady Serena in the middle
of a violent quarrel. They stopped as soon as he entered, but
Robert was red-faced and his eyes were full of tears. Lady
Serena's eyes were sparkling, and she faced Chetwyn with her
mouth set in lines of grim triumph.

‘
Well, Lord Aylesbury,' she said coldly, 'I am come to tell
you that Robert will not be spending Easter with you at
Wolvercote after all. He will be joining me at a house party in
Gloucestershire, at Lady Tewkesbury's, at the particular
request of his
trustee,
Lord Ballincrea.' She emphasised the
word triumphantly.

‘
And is this your decision, Robert?' Chetwyn asked quietly.
Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Lady Serena
forestalled him.

‘
Robert will do as his mother and his trustee tell him to. He
is not of age yet, you know.'

‘Mother, please —!'

‘
So you see, Lord Aylesbury, there is nothing more to say. And now I suggest you say goodbye. Robert will have a great
deal to do if we are to leave tomorrow —'

‘
Tomorrow!' Chetwyn exclaimed, turning again to Robert.
‘Robert, may I speak to you alone for a moment?'

‘
He has nothing to say to you!' Lady Serena cried shrilly,
but Chetwyn continued to look steadily at his friend.

Robert returned his gaze, and then turned to his mother
and said with as much firmness as he was capable of,
‘Mother, I should like to speak to Lord Aylesbury in private
for a moment. Will you excuse us, please?'

‘I forbid it,' she cried furiously. 'I absolutely forbid it!'

‘
Please, Mother, don't excite yourself. I must speak to him,
just for a minute,' Robert said, and led the way hastily out of
the room before his resolve could be tested.

In the comparative privacy of the hallway they faced each
other.

‘
I'm sorry, Rob,' Chetwyn said at last. 'I never meant to let
you in for all this.'

‘
No, I'm sorry,' Robert said quickly. 'I don't want to go,
but you see how Mother is, and with her poor health and her
weak heart, I daren't defy her, or she'll make herself ill. But it
won't be for long.'

‘Won't it?'

‘
No, only a few weeks, over Easter and then I'll be back.'
He raised his eyes to Chetwyn's face, and his innocence and
hope and trust were heartbreaking.

‘
Rob, she won't let you come back,' Chetwyn said gently.
‘She will always have the power to make you do what she wants.’

Robert's eyes filled with tears. 'I won't let her separate
us,' he cried, and his lips trembled like a child's in his effort
not to cry. Chetwyn stepped close and took him in his arms
for a moment, his heart aching with love and sadness.

‘It's all right,' he said. 'It's all right, Rob.'

‘
We'll see each other again, won't we, James?' Robert
asked, his voice muffled by Chetwyn's shoulder. 'Please, we
must. I can't live without you.'

‘
Of course we will, my dear,' Chetwyn said sadly.
‘London's a small place.' He put him gently away from him,
and knew he had to go at once, before his resolve failed him,
before he broke down and howled like a dog for the misery
and injustice of life. 'God bless you, Rob,' he said hurriedly,
and went away.