“Put the date forward,” said Penhallow, chuckling at the memory. “Oh, she scratched my face for me all right! But she was a remarkable woman, was Rachel. She hadn’t got a pack of sentimental ideas, like that whey-faced bitch I took for my second wife, God help me! Queer, the way I’ve never been able to steer clear of baby-faced women who think you’re a sort of hero to start with, and shudder at you the instant they find their mistake. But Rachel wasn’t like that. Not she! She knew what I was like. She knew it was herself I really cared for. She never set a bit of store by any of my little sideshows. But she was proud, and she was determined no one should ever know the fool Delia had made of herself. She fixed it so that no one ever did — no one in this country, barring Martha. Unless old Phineas guessed, which he may have done, for all I can tell.”
A wave of nausea swept over Raymond. “Martha! Oh, my God, no! no!”
Penhallow regarded him with a satirical twist to his full lips. “You fool, you don’t suppose we could have worked the trick without her, or another like her, do you?” he said. “Rachel and I were married at once. She gave it out that I was impatient to put the date forward. True enough: I was. Lord, and she made Delia be chief bridesmaid, just as it had been arranged at the outset!” He began to laugh again, his great bulk shaking. “What a woman! What a woman! No half-measures about my Rachel! We went off on our honeymoon. She’d fixed it all up that Delia was to join us, with Martha, before it got to be obvious that she was big with child. She’d thought up a whole lot of cast-iron reasons for remaining abroad beyond the time we’d arranged. I had nothing to say to any of it: she’d drive the lot of us the way she meant to go, and never even see how damned comical it was, the three of us living under one roof in some Godforsaken Austrian village or other — forget its name for the moment. As a matter of fact, you’re a couple of months older than we gave out. That was all right: you were a backward, undersized brat. I never thought you’d turn out as well as you have. I didn’t want Rachel to palm you off as one of her own, but I’m bound to admit there’s precious little of your mother in you.” He set his empty glass down, and surveyed Raymond, triumph gleaming in his eyes. “But you’re only another of my bastards, Ray, and don’t you forget it! Maybe I’ll let you succeed me, and maybe I won’t! But whichever way I decide, that’s where you are, my boy!” He jabbed his thumb down hard upon the table as he spoke, and grinned malevolently at his son’s ashen face.
The gesture seemed to release Raymond from the spell of horror which had held him rooted to the ground, gripping the Gothic chair, and listening with only half-comprehending ears to the story so casually recounted. The blood rushed suddenly to his head; an uncontrollable shudder ran through him; he flung the heavy chair out of his way; and with a sound between a groan and a curse launched himself upon Penhallow, seizing him by the throat, trying with all his strength to choke the breath out of him.
“Devil! Devil!” he panted, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarling grimace. “I’ll kill you for this, do you hear me? I’ll kill you, you fiend, you devil!”
Penhallow grabbed at his wrists, trying to wrench them from his throat. They struggled together, Penhallow heaving his bulk half across the bed, and dragging Raymond with it, still pressing on his windpipe with his desperate thumbs, and cursing him in a dreadful whisper.
He was sprawling on top of Penhallow, one knee up on the bed, when the door opened, and Jimmy ran into the room, shouting at him. Jimmy leaped on him from behind, yelling to Reuben to come to his assistance, and managed to jerk back his head. In that instant Penhallow tore the hands from his throat, choking and gasping amongst his tumbled pillows. The table by the bed had been overturned, the papers and fruit on it spilled all over the floor, the glasses smashed, and the decanter was rolling over the carpet, leaving a trail of claret in its wake.
Reuben came hurrying in as Raymond threw Jimmy violently off, and, taking in the scene in one glance from his quick shrewd eyes, attached himself to Raymond’s right arm like a limpet. “Give over, Master Ray, give over now! You should knave better than to do like this, and you in your forty! Set down a crum! Lorjimmery, what’s got into un all on a sudden?”
“He were trying to choke the life out of Master!” Jimmy said,, picking himself up from the floor. “If it hadn’t ha’ been for me he’d ha’ done it, surely!”
“You keep a still tongue in your head, and get the whisky out of the cupboard, quick!” Reuben commanded, his concerned gaze on Penhallow. He gave Raymond a push towards a chair, and thrust him down into it, repeating: “Set down a crum! Please the pigs you haven’t done for him!”
Raymond sank down and dropped his head between his clenched fists. “I hope I have!” he said savagely.
Reuben, finding that his mad rage was waning, paid no more heed to him, but snatched the whisky from Jimmy, and bade him help him to straighten Penhallow. The laboured breath rattled alarmingly and Penhallow’s colour was very bad, but when they had laid him back on his pillows, and revived him with neat spirit, he began to recover, and even to be able to speak. “Murderous dog!” he gasped, his lips twisting into a rueful grin. “Hot-blooded ruffians, my sons, Reuben!”
“You lay quiet, Master! As for you, Jimmy, get along out of this! You’re not wanted here!”
“Happen I might be needed yet,” Jimmy said, looking at Raymond.
Penhallow waved him away with one hand, feeling his bruised throat with the other. His gaze travelled to Raymond, who had risen, and walked over to the fireplace, and was staring down at the smouldering logs in the hearth. He smiled rather unpleasantly, and transferred his attention to Reuben, directing him to pick up the table, and the scattered papers. “And clear that mess of glass away before my poor little bitch can cut her paws on it!” he said huskily. “Go and get a dustpan, you old fool! There’s nothing the matter with me. Heave me up a bit first!”
The effort of struggling into a more upright position made him pant again, and drag a hand across his brow to wipe away the sweat, but he nodded dismissal to Reuben, who,. after looking undecidedly from him to Raymond for a moment, reluctantly left the room.
Penhallow lay recovering his breath, allowing his overdriven heart to steady down. Its wild flurry made him feel sick; he pressed his hand to his side, and swallowed once or twice, and licked his lips. Raymond raised his head and, turning it, watched him sombrely and in silence.
“A nice, dutiful son you are!” Penhallow said presently. “Oh, I don’t blame you! Tickled you up a bit, didn’t I? Well, you asked for it, and, by God, you got it! I shouldn’t wonder but what we’ll get along better now.”
“Was it true?” Raymond said, in a low voice.
“Lord, yes! Truest thing you know!”
“Then God damn your soul to hell!” Raymond said, with suppressed violence, and, striding to the door, wrenched it open, and plunged out of the room.
Chapter Thirteen
When he left his father’s room, Raymond was in the grip of an overmastering instinct to get out of the house, and away from the curious eyes of its various inmates. He had no clear notion of where he was going, or what to do. He felt as a man might who, half-stunned, had survived an earthquake only to find his home and his life-work in ruins. He would have gone out of the house by one of the garden-doors but for Reuben, who met him, and checked him, by saying dryly: “If you’ve done trying to be the death of the Master, happen you’ll ’tend to Tideford. He’s been waiting this twenty minutes in your office.”
Raymond stopped, with his hand already on the door, grasping the iron ring that lifted its latch. He stared stupidly at Reuben, feeling himself so remote from the ordinary cares of the estate that a visit from one of Penhallow’s tenants had no meaning for him. He repeated, in a blank tone: “Tideford?”