The Ugly Sister (21 page)

I felt my arm where the bruise was. ‘It would be difficult to kill me, wouldn't it?'

‘I wouldn't lay a hand upon you. Because you're a Spry, see. Even if you're a spying Spry.
I'd
not touch you. But this here is a hobby, like, to me. Not so to all my old shipmates. Some make a living that way. Some has wives and children to keep, to dress and find food for their little mouths. My old shipmates might take it hard if their trade was ruined. See, I can speak for myself, and you've nothing to fear. But it would not be good, would it, if someone tampered with your face so that both sides looked the same.'

T
AMSIN SAID
: ‘But why did you come on here? I know I should have left you a note but we were very busy at the end and Celestine was fractious. I hoped my reply would have reached you in time, and at the last minute I forgot to leave a note at home.'

‘I thought,' I said, ‘when our mother remarries it seems reasonable that her two daughters might exchange a word or two.'

We were sitting in the handsome high-ceilinged drawing room of Tregrehan. The house, which like many others in Cornwall was in considerable need of repair, was a sizeable mansion, much bigger than Place, with a view to the south-east of sand dunes, copses of woodlands, mainly conifers, and the sea.

Tamsin had lost some of her looks after Celestine was born, but she was as beautiful as ever now. When I arrived Desmond was out walking with Edward, so I had not yet seen either of them. Anna Maria had appeared and disappeared after an absent-minded welcome. She had become almost stout, and I observed that she was carrying her fifth child. William Carlyon, Edward's elder brother by a year, had ushered me in, and for the moment I was alone taking tea with Tamsin. I had taken it for granted that I should stay at least one night here, but had not yet been shown to my room.

‘There's nothing we could do about it,' Tamsin said, ‘even if we wished to, and I don't wish to. I have been worried about Mama for some time. She still makes a fair living on the stage but it is bound to fall off, and I know she is heavily in debt. Desmond at present is spending all his money on his own mother and we have little to spare for maintaining her.
You
could not help, I know. How much does the Canon pay you?'

‘£10 a year.'

‘He's as mean as muck, we all know. But I suppose it is near the normal rate.'

‘How much do you pay Slade?' I asked.

‘Twenty. But he is a man and a butler.'

‘Did you know that he is also a smuggler?'

She raised her brows. ‘In what way?'

I told her, and ended:

‘The mystery of what is in the cellar is quite cleared up. People bring things to Place a keg at a time, and then once in a while it all goes out in a convoy.'

She got up and went to the window, carrying her teacup. ‘ I hope Maud is not keeping Celestine out too long. The wind today is chilly.'

‘By chance I discovered what was happening. Slade threatened me if I told anyone I might be further disfigured by his men.'

‘They're not
his
men,' Tamsin snapped in irritation. ‘He is only a cog, a link, he commands nothing.'

‘So you know all about it?'

‘I know little about it. Obviously less than you have discovered in one uninvited visit.'

‘Slade says that Uncle Davey was a party to the whole thing.'

She shrugged.

‘I don't believe that,' I said.

‘Does it matter?'

‘I don't know. I think so. Does Desmond?'

‘Does Desmond what?'

‘Know what Slade is doing.'

‘Look,' she said, coming back from the window. ‘What I know, what we know, is entirely our business. Since you no longer live at Place, it is no longer yours. Why don't you go back to Blisland and look after your Canon?'

I said: ‘Do you see anything of Bram Fox?'

She flushed. ‘Not for ages. Not for a year. Are you still besotted?'

‘Aren't you?'

A maid came into the room to remove the tea things. It took several minutes before we were alone again.

She said: ‘ Since you arrived so late you will have to sleep here. I will ask Anna Maria. But I hope you will make arrangements to leave in the morning.'

I said: ‘Did you know that our mother had had an intimate relationship with Bram?'

Tamsin flushed again. ‘That's an utterly contemptible lie! If you were not my sister you should leave this house at once!'

‘I have a very good reason to suppose that she did. I may be wrong.'

‘Of course you're wrong! Viciously, wickedly wrong! I'm ashamed to listen to you!'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘You know how she has always hated him. It's quite beyond
belief
!'

‘That's what I felt.'

‘I mean it is beyond belief that you could
harbour
such a suspicion! What can you
mean
? What so-called proof can you have?'

I realized rather late that explanations about the starfish would mean telling her of my own experience. I had not intended to say anything at all about it. The words had come unbidden and were already regretted.

But her reaction did not reassure me. I knew her too well.

‘Well, I hope she will be happy with her new husband,' I said.

‘No, tell me what you mean, what you are insinuating.'

‘I cannot, Tamsin. Otherwise I should betray someone else.'

Fortunately for me at this moment Celestine and her nurse came in, and for a time all was chatter and confusion.

Celestine was obviously highly strung and excitable. When a few minutes later Desmond and Edward came in she flew into her father's arms. Desmond, as always, was pleased to see me and at once suggested I should stay a few days and then return with them to Place on Saturday. Noticing the continuing glint in Thomasine's eye, I refused as graciously as I knew how and said the Canon would be expecting me tomorrow.

The family talk that ensued was a change from the tension of tea-time with Tamsin; but I soon observed that all was not well between her and Desmond, and that tensions of another sort existed. Tamsin's flashing smile which was one of her great assets was plainly absent when she looked at him.

The evening passed quietly enough, and all thorny subjects were avoided. Arrangements were made for me to be taken by pony trap to St Austell, where I could catch a waggonette that left daily for Bodmin.

I had one further sharp exchange with my loving sister before I left. She began it quite amiably by saying she was glad I had not bothered Desmond with my stories of Slade's misdoings. He preferred, she said, not to interfere with him so long as he performed his duties as a butler.

‘Does he not fear that if Slade were discovered he would be liable for what is taking place on his property?'

‘Desmond is at present learning to play the harp, and spends much time sketching birds.'

I thought of Mary's apprehensions.

‘Why do you not just get rid of Slade? Desmond told me when I was there with Mama that it was your idea that he would be re-engaged.'

‘We
both
agreed. We felt Uncle Davey would have been pleased that we should have him back. It's only Anna Maria really who hated him.'

‘I don't recall that we were very fond of him when we were young. He still makes me feel as if there were a cold finger on my spine.'

‘You were always one with a wild imagination,' she said. ‘By the way, your eye has improved. I've been meaning to tell you.'

‘Perhaps it's just with growing to be adult. Afraid the other marks are just the same.'

She looked at me, considering. ‘Yes, there's no difference in those.'

‘When I sang some songs in Bodmin a while ago a lady I know, a Mrs Collins, covered them with powder and it made a difference.'

‘It wouldn't make much,' she said. ‘You couldn't hide that eyelid.'

‘The first person to mention the improvement to me,' I said, ‘was Bram Fox when we met him that day at the St Aubyns.'

Tamsin moodily opened her bag and took out a handkerchief.

I said: ‘Has Slade got some sort of a hold over you?'

Tamsin unfolded her handkerchief and dabbed her nose. ‘I hope I am not taking Celestine's cold. Children's ailments are always more catching … D'you know, Emma, you have totally changed over the last few years. You were never very agreeable as a girl, but I used to put your perversity and moroseness down to the knowledge you had of your terrible disfigurement. However, since you went away you have become so much more
aggressive
, as if you want to quarrel with everyone, as if—'

‘I never want to quarrel with anybody—'

‘As if you resent the good fortune of other people and want to tear it down. I know you always smile and smirk at Desmond, so he thinks well of you, but you reserve for your sister all the festering suspicions and petty spite that your unhappy nature can conceive of. I do not know what your Canon thinks of you. Or do you save all your most unpleasant side for me?'

‘Certainly I envy you your looks and your child and your position – and always will,' I said, humbly. ‘ But I came to see you, and was looking forward to seeing you, in a mood of genuine warmth and affection. I only wanted to talk with my sister and hear about her life and tell her of mine. I didn't want to upset you, Tamsin. I just thought it was time that we met.'

Thomasine dabbed at her eyes. ‘Perhaps it was an ill time to meet. There are things in my life that do not please me. Others – forbidden ones – do. I live on a tightrope and fear to fall.'

‘Can you not tell me?'

She shook her head. ‘I don't trust you, Emma. Already you know too much. Go back to Blisland and forget us. And tell yourself to stop asking questions.'

There was still one more that I wanted to ask her, but now could not.

I
LEFT
with friendly expressions of feeling all round. Anna Maria and two of her children, William Carlyon and one of his sisters, Eliza, Desmond and Thomasine and Celestine, all came to wave goodbye. Their pony cart with a groom was waiting. The weather was fine, with streaky clouds and the Channel quiet.

I had to wait an hour at St Austell, and when it started the waggonette rumbled along only slightly faster than one could walk – indeed, slower up the hills.

Bodmin was busy, and the waggonette arrived at the inn in the centre of the town just as the London coach drawn by its four handsome horses clattered up on the stage from Truro. Instantly I decided that I could get a seat on this coach, drop off at Whitecross and walk the three miles cross-country to Blisland, as I had done when travelling back with my mother that time. If there was no room inside I would sit out. I had no thick coat but the distance was not great.

But there was room inside and when the passengers reassembled in half an hour I found that one of my travelling companions was Mr Jonathan Fox.

He recognized me at once, and was most courteous – as indeed he had been the day we met in Truro. There were three others in the coach so conversation could not be private, but I told him where I had come from and the reason for my visit and what other news I had. He was interested to learn that I was acting as housekeeper to Canon Robartes, and he told me a few casual pieces of information about his family. The coach was making good speed – almost as fast as the
Camel
– and there was not much time to introduce the forbidden subject.

‘The last time I saw Mr Abraham Fox,' I eventually got out, ‘was a year or so ago when he was at dinner with his wife at the St Aubyns. He told me then that he had taken on a new appointment.'

Mr Jonathan Fox coughed, as if his shortness of breath were a chronic disorder.

‘Commissioner for Customs and Excise for West Cornwall. He is still there. I'm afraid his wife has had a nervous collapse and now refuses to go out at all. Very sad. Such a pretty woman and still so young.'

‘I'm sorry … Does he go out much?'

‘Oh, yes. Rather to my surprise, he takes his position seriously, which means he travels about West Cornwall ceaselessly. And, as we know, he is a great party-goer. And of course very good company, which means he is popular with many hostesses.'

With predictable unpredictability the weather was changing and a light drizzle was beginning to fall. A wet three-mile walk lay ahead. Two more corners and it would be time to leave the coach.

‘The last time I saw Bram,' his cousin said, ‘ was about two weeks ago. A reception in Truro. He was with your brother-in-law and his wife. Desmond, that is, and Thomasine. At least he arrived with them. I expect they told you of it. Though I gather they have rather changed their mode of life since poor Mrs Spry returned to Place.'

‘They have,' I said. ‘ They have.'

T
HE LAST
time I had walked this way I had been thinking of Bram. (Indeed, did I ever stop?) I asked myself why Thomasine had lied to me when she said she hadn't seen Bram for over a year, and no answer I came up with was anything but disturbing. Bram was a sort of dark angel of my life. In whatever capacity he appeared he produced worry and hostility and dread. Hostility? Well, what else could it be called? Jealousy? Fear?

I had not been surprised at the anger Tamsin had shown when I blurted out my suspicion about our mother; but her vehemence had a little shaken that awful assumption. Had I been making an evil mountain out of a molehill? Or did such vehemence have a sinister spring of its own? Or was Tamsin sure it could never have happened, because of her closer more personal knowledge of Bram?

And if so, how had she gained this closer personal knowledge? Had he been at Place much during their period of parties and entertaining?

A gust of light rain blew like a sneeze in my face as I climbed one of the stiles near Trewint. There was no one about on this grey gusty afternoon. Returning three days before expected, but I did not suppose the Canon would object. Picture the pleasure on his face when I put my head around the door.