Penhallow (17 page)

He roared with laughter at this, slid his hand down her arm, and began to fondle one of her hands. ‘You little baggage!’ he said. ‘I’ll swear you’re as sly as a sackful of monkeys! I’d do well to get rid of you.’

She raised her eyes. ‘Have I done wrong, sir?’

‘That’s between you and Bart, my lass!’ he retorted. ‘You should know better than I what’s between the pair of you. Well, you’re no innocent! I know your kind: you’re well able to take care of yourself. Have your fun: who am I to object? But don’t think to inveigle my boy into marrying you, Loveday Trewithian! Understand me?’

She achieved a look of wide-eyed innocence. ‘To marry me?’ she repeated. ‘Why, who said such a thing? It’s nothing but a bit of a flirtation! I can look after myself.’

He pulled her down, so that she almost lost her balance, and took her throat in his large hand, holding her so that she was obliged to look into his face. ‘I’ve got a strong notion you’re maybe better able to take care of yourself than any of us guess,’ he said. ‘Answer me now! How far’s it gone?’

Her heart beat a little faster, and her colour deepened to a lovely rose. ‘Indeed, I’m a good girl, sir,’ she said.

‘You’re a damned little liar!’ he returned. ‘I don’t trust you, not an inch! What’s more, I don’t doubt Bart’s no match for you in wits. But I am, my girl! Don’t you make any mistake about that: I am! I’m warning you now! Don’t you make any plans to marry a Penhallow! I’d hound you into the gutter, you and all your family with you, before I’d allow Bart to take you to church! There! Give me a kiss, and be off with you!’

She made no objection to his kissing her, and stroking her smooth throat where he had grasped it, but she said, as she disengaged herself: ‘There’s no call for you to take on, sir. If it’s Jimmy that’s been trying to set you against me, I know well he has a spite against me.’

‘And why?’ he demanded. ‘What have you been up to give him a spite against you, I’d like to know?’

She withdrew to the door, and bent to pick up the Field. She laid this down on a table, and replied with one of her saucy smiles: ‘Indeed, I wouldn’t know, sir, unless it might be he’s jealous of me for being born the right side o’ the blanket.’

He slapped his thigh with a shout of laughter. ‘That’s one for me! You impudent hussy!’

She dropped him a mock curtsy and left him still laughing.

Outside his room, she lifted a hand to her breast, as though to feel the beating of her heart. She was profoundly disturbed, little though she had shown it; and she felt as if she had been running a great distance. She thought that she and Bart now stood in a position of danger, liable at any moment to be torn apart, for she was sure that once Penhallow suspected the truth he would be on the watch for confirmation of his suspicion. She was prepared to fight for possession of Bart; she thought that if it came to it she would fight the whole world by his side; but she had been brought up in poverty, and, unlike him, she did not minimise the hardships and the difficulties that must lie ahead of them if Penhallow disowned his son. Her most instant need was to find Bart, and to warn him not to own his intention of marrying her. She hoped she could induce him to behave prudently, but she was doubtful, knowing that he was innately honest, scornful of the tricks and shifts which were second nature to her. He did not condemn the little lies and deceits she used to protect herself; he laughed at them, believing that all women lied, and were not to be blamed for it. It was a feminine weakness, but a weakness to which he, rampantly male, was not subject. She would need all her art to persuade him to dissimulate to his father; and she became all at once frettingly anxious to find him before he could have time to go to his father’s room. He had gone off to a distant part of the estate, and had taken his lunch with him. She feared that he would only reach the house again in time to join the tea-party Penhallow was arranging, and she knew she would have no chance then of speaking to him, since she would be expected to help Reuben in the drawing-room.

Her mistress came into the hall, carrying a bowl of flowers which she had been replenishing, and exclaimed at finding her there standing with her back to Penhallow’s door. She took refuge instinctively in one of her lies. ‘I’ve been making up the Master’s fire, ma’am,’ she said easily. ‘Let me take that from you!’

‘I wish you would help me to do the vases in the Long drawing-room,’ Faith said, with a suggestion of complaint in her voice. ‘Mr Penhallow has invited all sorts of’ people to tea, and someone must attend to the flowers. I have one of my bad heads.’

‘You leave it all to me, and go and have a good lie down,’ Loveday said coaxingly. "Deed, you look fit to drop, ma’am!’

‘I don’t know what I should do without you, Loveday!’ Faith sighed.

Chapter Ten

In spite of the fact that Penhallow’s determination to hold a tea-party pleased no one, least of all the invited guests, it took place, Mrs Venngreen being the only person to decline the invitation. It was considered unlikely that Delia Ottery would come, since she visited Trevellin rarely, but she did come, persuaded, it was believed, by Phineas, who, for all his dislike of Penhallow, was extremely inquisitive, and rarely refused an invitation to visit him. Rosamund obviously came because Clifford had begged her to; and the younger Penhallows held that the Vicar came because Sybilla’s scones and cakes were very much richer than any baked under Mrs Venngreen’s auspices.

Penhallow did honour to the occasion by making Jimmy and Martha dress him, a circumstance which relieved one at least of his wife’s anxieties. The apprehension that he would appear at the party in his aged dressing-gown had induced her seriously to consider the advisability of retiring to bed with an unnamed illness.

Tea was served in the Long drawing-room, and the first guests to arrive were Clifford and Rosamund, Rosamund looking cool and remote in one of her excellent tailor-made flannel suits, and Clifford overflowing with geniality, and professing the greatest satisfaction on beholding his uncle in such robust health.

Penhallow, who had been wheeled into the drawing-room, and placed near the fire, which he had insisted on being lighted, quite regardless of the sultriness of the day, saw that Rosamund was looking cool and self-possessed, and maliciously summoned her to sit beside him, where, between the heat of the fire, and the raffish nature of his remarks, she very soon began to look hot, and even a little flustered. This pleased Penhallow so much that by the time Conrad ushered the Otterys into the room he was in a state of good humour which was felt to be only less dangerous than his moods of blind rage. He looked Delia over with twinkling eyes and said as he took her nervous hand in his: ‘Well, well! What a sight for sore eyes! Seeing you with pink roses in your hat takes me back to the time when I first met you, Delia, by God it does! Now, how long ago would that be? How old are you, Ray? Thirty-nine? Then it must be about forty years ago, eh, Delia?’

Miss Ottery blushed to the roots of her untidy grey hair, and stammered something almost inaudible. She was always at her worst and most incoherent in Penhallow’s presence, and looked now to be so unhappy that Faith, indignant with Penhallow for jibing at the poor lady’s youthful taste in dress, affectionately invited her to come and sit beside her on a sofa a little removed from his vicinity.

‘No, no, you let Delia sit next to Ray!’ said Penhallow. ‘He’s the one she really came to see, didn’t you, Delia? Always have had a soft corner for him, eh?’

‘Oh, I’m sure Ray doesn’t want to be bothered with his old aunt!’ Delia said, in a flutter of embarrassment. ‘Anywhere will do for me — not too near the fire!’

‘And how, my old friend,’ inquired Phineas, softly rubbing his hands together, ‘do you find yourself these days? It is indeed a pleasure to find you up and about!’

‘I’m still pretty clever,’ Penhallow boasted. ‘I’ll surprise the lot of you yet, Lifton included. You’re not wearing so well, Phineas: you’ve developed a paunch. You’re flabby, that’s what you are. Gone to seed. Lord, I remember when you were as thin as a rake, with all the girls after you! Sold you a horse once which wasn’t up to my weight.’

‘Indeed, yes!’ smiled Phineas. ‘A straight-shouldered grey, always throwing out a splint. I remember him well.’

‘Honours,’ said Eugene, ‘may now be said to be even. Of course, I feel that Father would have sold you an unsound horse.’

Penhallow accepted this tribute with a grin, and upon Clay’s coming into the room at that moment, at once called upon Clifford to ‘run your eye over this young cub!’ Clifford shook hands with his cousin, and said that he looked forward to having him in his office.

‘Oh well, as to that — I mean, nothing’s decided yet, is it?’ Clay said with an uneasy laugh. ‘I’m afraid my bent isn’t in the least legal. I’ve always been more on the artistic side — if you know what I mean.’

‘You know, even Aubrey doesn’t make me feel as sick as Clay,’ remarked Conrad to the room at large.

‘‘That will do, thank you!’ Faith said sharply.

‘Edifying close-up of the Penhallows at home!’ muttered Vivian.

‘But where is the rest of the family?’ asked Phineas, in a light tone plainly meant to cover an awkward breach. ‘I seem to descry gaps in your ranks. Aubrey and Char I suppose we must not hope to see, but are we not to have the pleasure of meeting Ingram, and his charming wife; and this tall fellow’s counterpart?’ He laid an affectionate hand on Conrad’s arm as he spoke, and smiled winningly round the circle.

‘Ingram’s coming up to tea, but there’s nothing charming about his wife,’ said Penhallow, with brutal frankness. ‘She’s as rangy as old Clara here, and not so good-looking. The best thing I know of Myra is that she’s bred a couple of lusty sons, and that with no more fuss and to-do than my Rachel would have made.’

This shaft impaled two victims, as it was intended to do. Faith flushed painfully, and Rosamund, the mother of three daughters, stiffened. The entrance of Ingram and Myra was felt to create a welcome diversion.

Ingram, who was rather gregarious, greeted everyone with loud-voiced heartiness; and as Myra was both shrill and voluble, Bart, who had entered the room in their wake, was able to pause for an instant by the table which Loveday was quietly spreading with one of Clara’s crochet-edged cloths, and to exchange a low word with her. She shot him a warning glance, and whispered that she must see him presently. He said tersely: ‘Schoolroom, as soon as this mob has cleared off.’

She saw that Penhallow’s eyes were upon them, and said clearly: ‘You’ll find them in your room, sir.’

‘What?’ said Bart, unused to such subtleties. Then he too saw that his father was watching them, and added: ‘Oh, I see! All right!’

‘Ah, here he is!’ Phineas exclaimed, coming towards him, with his white hand outstretched. ‘My dear fellow, what a giant you have become, to be sure!’

‘It would, I suppose, be tactless to remind Uncle Phineas that the twins attained their present stature six years ago,’ remarked Eugene softly to his Auntie Clara.

‘For goodness’ sake, don’t you go makin’ bad worse!’ she replied ‘You’d better let me pour out, Faith. You’ll only go asking’ everyone whether they take milk or cream, and upsettin’ the conversation, if you do it. There’s no need to wait for the Vicar. I daresay he won’t come.’

‘I’m afraid,’ said Faith to Delia, with a slight laugh, ‘that I’m one of those hopelessly unpractical people who never can remember who takes cream, and who doesn’t.’

‘I’m not at all surprised, not at all!’ Delia assured her. ‘Such a big family as you have to pour out for! I’m sure I should always forget, for I have a head like a sieve. So unlike dear Rachel! Now, Rachel never forgot anything. I often used to say that she ought to have been a man. Not that I meant to speak of — But I’m sure you don’t mind — Always so sensible!’

‘Talking of Rachel?’ said Penhallow, suddenly propelling his chair towards them. ‘What a woman! What a grand lass she was! By God, she’d drive the lot of us the way she wanted to go, whether we wanted to or not, eh, Delia?’

‘She was always so good — so kind!’ Delia stammered. ‘Such a strong character — there was no one like her.’

‘No, nor there ever will be. No offence to you, my dear,’ he added, turning to his second wife.

Delia began nervously to fidget with the clasp of her handbag. ‘I’m sure dear Faith — Not that anyone could take Rachel’s place, but it takes all sorts to make a world, doesn’t it? Oh, Conrad, thank you, is this my tea? So wonderful of Clara to remember just how I like it!’

At this moment, Ingram suddenly became aware of his half-brother’s presence. He broke off in the middle of what he was saying to Phineas to exclaim: ‘Good lord, the kid’s back! Hallo, how are you?’

‘I’m all right,’ Clay answered.

Ingram looked him over critically, remarking with the paralysing candour of his family that it was time he started to furnish a bit. He grasped Clay’s arm above the elbow, feeling his muscle, and expressed himself as profoundly dissatisfied. ‘Why, my young rascal, Rudolph, could give you a stone!’ he said. ‘Bertie’s got more muscle than you! Hi, Ray! you’ll have to do something about the kid! He’s growing up a positive weed!’

The fact that Ingram’s elder son was only two years junior to him always had the effect of making Clay feel that Ingram was even farther removed from him in age than Raymond. He stood more in awe of him, hated his loud, cheerful voice, and lost no time in escaping from his clutch. Phineas engaged Ingram’s attention once more by inquiring after the health and progress of Rudolph and Bertram, and Ingram was still descanting upon this theme when Reuben Lanner ushered the Vicar into the room.

The Reverend John Venngreen, a stout cleric with a wide, bland smile, and a gift for overlooking the obvious which amounted to genius, came in exuding good-will. Finding one member of the household, Ingram, boring the circle by the fire with an account of his sons’ exploits; another, Penhallow himself, reducing his wife and sister in-law to a condition of acute discomfort; a third, Eugene, apparently suffering from acute spiritual nausea; and a fourth, Clay, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible at his Aunt Clara’s elbow, he was prompted to exclaim: ‘Ah, this is a pleasure indeed! And may I be allowed to join this happy family party? Penhallow, my dear fellow! Mrs Penhallow! Mrs Hastings! Mrs Ingram, my indefatigable helper! I am more fortunate than I knew! Mrs Eugene, too, as bright and blooming as ever! Well, well, well!’

‘Where’s your wife?’ demanded Penhallow, wheeling his chair round and shaking hands.

‘Alas!’ The Vicar’s smile widened, and he made a deprecating gesture. ‘She sent me to be the bearer of her excuses. This east wind had awakened her old enemy, I fear, and she would not venture out.’

‘There!’ said Penhallow, with an air of chagrin. ‘And I particularly arranged for poor little Jimmy to be kept out of the way!’

The Vicar managed, by suddenly affecting to perceive Rosamund for the first time, to remain deaf to this outrageous speech. He said: ‘If it is not Mrs Clifford! How do you do? And your dear little girls? Your nosegay of bright blossoms!’

‘Now, don’t talk nonsense!’ said Penhallow. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the kids, but one of ‘em’s got teeth that stick out. You ought to do something about it, Rosamund. You don’t want her growing up rabbit-faced.’

‘That’s right,’ agreed Clara. ‘She ought to have a plate made for her, poor little soul! I remember we had to have one made for Char, and look at her now!’

Ingram was at once reminded of all the improper uses to which Charmian had put her plate, and Rosamund, ignoring the whole family, made room for the Vicar to sit down on the sofa beside her, and engaged him in a rather conventional conversation about gardening. Clifford went over to the tea-table, and after exchanging a few words with his mother, smiled in a friendly way at Clay, and asked him when he thought of starting work with him.

‘I told you, nothing is settled yet,’ Clay replied desperately. ‘I may as well tell you that I was never consulted about this, and it’s absolutely the last thing in the world I want to do! I don’t mean that I’m not very grateful to you, and all that, for being willing to take me, but I shouldn’t be the least use to you, and I do wish to God you’d say something to Father!’