Faith sat down beside him, and, after blowing her nose, and dabbing at her reddened eyes, said: “I did my best. He just won’t listen.”
He was silent for a moment, kneading his hands together between his knees. His mouth worked; he said after a slight pause: “Mother!”
“Yes, dearest?”
“I can’t stick it.”
With a vague idea of consoling him, she said: “I know, but perhaps you may not mind the work as much as you think. One thing is that Clifford’s nice. I mean, he’s kind, and I’m sure he...”
“It isn’t that — though that’s bad enough! It’s having to go on living here. I — I simply can’t!”
“You’ll have me, darling. And it may not be for very long, perhaps. I mean, one never knows what may turn up.”
He paid no attention to this. “Mother, I — I hate Father!” he said, as though the words were wrenched out of him.
“Oh, dearest, you mustn’t say that!”
“It’s true. What’s more, he hates me. He’ll make my life a hell on earth. He and the twins between them. It isn’t so bad now, but you wait till the hunting-season starts! I know just what’ll happen: I’ve been through it before. They’ll expect me to master all the most rawmouthed brutes in the stable, and they’ll go for me day and night, pulling my style to bits, telling me that all I need is a little jumping-powder when I don’t happen to feel like hunting. You heard Ray, the other day! You’d think it was a worse crime to pull your horse right into a fence than to embezzle a bank! I loathe horses! I loathe hunting! But what do you suppose would happen if I said that I don’t approve of blood-sports? Actually, I think they’re absolutely wrong, but that’s a detail.”
“I know so well how you feel,” Faith sighed, with more sympathy than tact. “I was always terrified of riding.”
He reddened, and replied rather loftily: “It isn’t that, so much as that I simply disapprove of the whole business. Of course, the others are utterly incapable of understanding that! All they think about is hunting! If you’re unlucky enough to be born a Penhallow you’ve got to be a good man across country, and God help you if you’re not! Yes, and if you refuse to take a drop fence, which nobody likes, hang it all, you’re told you’ve got no heart! Actually, I’ve always had a sort of premonition about jumping, but it isn’t the sort of thing one talks about, and I’ve never said anything about it.”
“Oh, darling, whatever do you mean?” exclaimed Faith.
“Oh, nothing!” Clay said. “Merely that I have a sort of feeling — some people would call it an intuition, I expect that that’s how I shall meet my end.”
His mother responded in the most gratifying way to this dark pronouncement, expressing so much horror at the grim thought conjured up before her that he was soon obliged to try to calm her fears, and even to admit that he had not so far experienced any definite vision of his own lifeless form stretched beside an oxer. He made her promise not to mention the matter to his half brothers. He said that they would only laugh, or put up jumps in one of the paddocks and school him over them until he went mad. Having, in this artless fashion, added a considerable weight of anxiety to the load already bowing Faith’s shoulders down, he said that as far as he could see he might just as well be dead for all the good he was ever likely to do now that his career had been blighted, and walked off to throw pebbles moodily into a pond below the south lawn.
Matters were in this unsatisfactory state when the two remaining members of the family, Charmian and Aubrey, arrived at Trevellin to spend a week there in honour of Penhallow’s sixty-second birthday.
They journeyed down together, and were met at Liskeard by Jimmy the Bastard, driving the limousine. Only two years separated them in age, Charmian being thirty, and Aubrey twenty-eight; but although both lived in London they rarely met, and only discovered a sort of affinity between themselves when forced to return to the parental roof. Here, by tacit consent, they formed a defensive alliance against the barbarity of the rest of the family.
In appearance, both were dark, with aquiline features, but Charmian was stockily built, and did her best, by cutting her strong, wiry hair short and wearing the most masculine garments she could find, to look as much like a man as possible; while Aubrey, a slender young man with an exotic taste in pullovers and socks, affected a great many feminine weaknesses, such as a horror of mice, and revolted his more robust brothers by assuming a decidedly fin-de-siecle manner. He was generally held to be the cleverest of the Penhallows; had published two novels, both of which had enjoyed a moderate success; a quantity of verse conceived in so modern a medium as to baffle the comprehension of the greater part of the reading world; and was at present working in collaboration with one of his artistic friends on the libretto for a satirical revue. He inhabited a set of chambers near St James’s Street; which were at the moment furnished in the Turkish style; rode a showy hack in the Park; contrived to hunt at least once a week with the Grafton; and divided his time between his artistic and his sporting friends. Occasionally, it amused him to bring both together at one of his evening parties, as a result of which the intellectuals went away saying that Aubrey was too adorably whimsical for words, and probably a case of split personality, which was what one found so intriguing in him; and the sportsmen agreed amongst themselves that if Penhallow weren’t such a damned good man to hounds, really, one wouldn’t quite know what to think.
Charmian, rendered independent of Penhallow by the timely demise of a godmother who had left her a sum of money sufficient to provide her with a small income, shared a flat with a very feminine blonde, who resembled nothing so much as a pink fondant. The Penhallows had only once been gratified by a sight of this object of their masterful sister’s passionate solicitude, Charmian having on one occasion brought her down to spend the weekend at Trevellin. The visit had not been repeated. Leila Morpeth and the Penhallows had not found themselves with anything in common; and the younger Penhallows had been so transfixed with amazement at the spectacle of Charmian hovering protectively over an opulent female of generous proportions, who had a habit of referring to herself as “poor little me” in accents suggestive of extreme childhood, that they were struck dumb, and mercifully only recovered full power of self expression when the visitor had departed with Charmian on Monday morning.
The brother and sister, meeting at Paddington Station, occupied themselves for the first part of the journey exchanging poisoned shafts, Charmian shooting hers with a ruthlessness worthy of her father, and Aubrey planting his darts with precision and sweetness; but when they approached the end of their journey they entered upon a temporary truce, which developed into a positive alliance as soon as they discovered that Jimmy had been sent to meet them.
“Darling,” said Aubrey, in flute-like accents, “how it does bring the horror of it all back to one, to see that face! Oh, I do think it is quite too low and dreadful of Father, don’t you?”
“I shouldn’t mind it,” said Charmian fairly, “if the little beast weren’t so obviously a wrong ’un.”
“Wouldn’t you, sweet? You’re so strong-minded and wonderful. Do you suppose the twins will be dreadfully hearty? It was quite too awful the last time I was here. Con was always slipping away to cuddle a most deplorable female in the village. So disgusting!”
Unlike her brother, who lounged gracefully in one corner of the car, Charmian sat bolt upright, keenly scrutinising the countryside, and conveying the impression that it was distasteful to her to be obliged to sit still and idle. She said: “I never pay any attention to what the twins do. I consider them quite beneath contempt. I doubt whether either of them has ever read a book in his life.”