A Division Of The Spoils (Raj Quartet 4) (58 page)

I should have liked to tell him about the night things came to a head, with Teddie obviously thinking the wooing drill had gone on long enough and that it was time to clarify things between us; the night he shifted gear and became fastidiously amorous, kissing me for so long that it was like a breath-holding contest and we both longed to come up for air, and then knew beyond any doubt that we were both bored with one another. But I felt you couldn’t tell your father a thing like that about the man who had gone on to marry your sister. So
instead I said, ‘Why did you ask about my feelings towards Ronald Merrick?’

‘I asked because – well, I’ve been given to understand that you had some special – no, that’s wrong – that you
might
have some special regard for him.’

‘Who gave you to understand, daddy?’

‘Your Aunt Fenny. She’s very fond of you, you know. She has your happiness very much at heart.’

‘And I’m fond of her. But I can’t think why she should think that. I told her a long time ago what I felt about Ronald Merrick.’

‘Yes, but she wondered whether there might have been a change of heart. No, I’m exaggerating again. She said a change of heart couldn’t be ruled out.’

‘Well it can. I can’t imagine how Aunt Fenny could get such an idea. She saw us together often enough when he turned up in Bombay. So did you, daddy. I don’t like him. It must show.’

‘I wouldn’t actually say that.’

‘Well whether it shows or not, that’s the situation. Furthermore he knows I don’t like him.’

‘Oh?’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t think he does.’ He leant back. ‘Neither does your mother. She has much the same impression as Fenny. That you might have a special regard for him.’

‘Mother
told you I might have a special regard for Ronald Merrick?’

He studied me very seriously.

‘Yes. Have you?’

‘No, daddy.’

‘I didn’t really think so, but I wouldn’t hold out as an expert, you know, not against Fenny and your mother. So I wanted to be sure. Can I be sure?’

‘Absolutely sure.’

‘Why don’t you like him?’

‘I can’t easily explain why.’

‘I know he’s not, well – how stuffy it sounds – but not quite our class.’

‘It doesn’t sound stuffy at all. It’s true. He’s not quite our class. Class has always been important to us. Why should it suddenly stop being important?’

He had leant forward, arms on the table. He was smoothing
one side of the close-cropped moustache with his knuckles. He seemed puzzled. It wasn’t the kind of reaction he expected. Not from the rebel of the family.

He said, ‘It’s only important over quite a narrow area of life, although I agree it’s an important area. The private bit. It’s easier to be intimate with someone who comes out of the same box. But there are other areas where it’s not important at all. Areas where it’s actually harmful, I’d say. Anyway, in Ronald Merrick’s case, does it honestly arise? Unless we insist on looking only at the background?’

‘You mean he’s our class now? That he’s made the effort to raise himself to our level and if he keeps quiet about his origins no one will know they weren’t much cop. Is that what you mean?’

‘He doesn’t try to hide them. That’s one thing in his favour.’

‘One thing? All right. One thing.’

‘Surely he has a lot of admirable qualities?’

‘Like what, daddy?’

‘Like physical courage, moral too, I dare say. No, I don’t dare say, I do say. Don’t you agree?’

‘I prefer a bit of moral cowardice myself.’

‘Oh?’

‘Or whatever it is that makes you admit there can be two sides to a question, other points of view as good as your own.’

‘That’s not moral cowardice.’

‘I said moral cowardice because you said moral courage. And moral courage is so often what you say people have who really only have their minds rigidly made up to suit themselves.’

‘Yes,’ he said. He smoothed the other side of the moustache. ‘I suppose it can be. I’d not thought of it like that. And I grant you in Ronald’s case a certain inflexibility. But you often find it in men who’ve had to fight their way up the ladder. They have to work so much harder. Did you know he lost both parents when he was only fifteen?’

‘He mentioned it once.’

‘You know what they were?’

‘He said they were in a very small way. I didn’t inquire how small or what way.’

‘They had a small shop in North London. Newsagent,
tobacconist. That sort of thing. I got the impression that before the First World War they were both in service. The shop did pretty well and they took over a larger one. Ronald began at a local boardschool but got scholarships and ended at quite a good grammar. Then the parents were killed in a motor-accident. There was a country uncle somewhere but he wasn’t interested in the boy. The assistant headmaster of the school was, though. He took him in to live as a ward and to stay on and matriculate. This fellow had some sort of Indian connections or interests. Socially it was a leg up. Ronald said he imagined if his parents hadn’t died he’d have been shoved into something like insurance or accountancy. He knows he owes everything to the schoolmaster. Not just the chance to complete his education but the chance of a better background as well. A good enough one to scrape him into the Indian Police. Physically and academically he must have been more than good enough.’

‘You’ve learnt a lot. More than any of us.’

‘Only what he openly volunteered.’

‘I realize that. What puzzles me is why he volunteered it.’

‘Does it puzzle you? Really? You’ve no idea?’

‘None.’

‘Yes, I see. And I’m sorry. I mean sorry you don’t much like him. But at least that’s better than the other thing. He told me all this because he wants to marry Susan. He said Susan had given him reason to believe she wasn’t averse to the idea but that no decision could be made until I got home. Fenny and your mother were surprised. Very surprised. They thought that if he had that kind of regard for either one of you it must be for you. I wanted to be sure how you felt. But it’s taken me a bit of time to pluck up the nerve to mention it to you. I was afraid of it hurting you. . . .’

‘It doesn’t hurt me.’

He took my hand. I said: ‘It doesn’t hurt me, it appals me. I don’t honestly believe it. She’s said absolutely nothing, but if he’s right, if she’s thinking on these lines, you’ve got to stop it. Really. She’s not fit to marry anyone yet, let alone Ronald Merrick.’

‘The psychiatrist apparently says she is.’

‘Which psychiatrist?’

‘The one here.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Ronald. He saw the fellow a few weeks ago.’

‘With Susan’s approval?’

‘No. He saw him before he spoke to Susan. He wanted to know what effect a proposal of marriage might have on her, whether it would set her back at all. Whether he should wait a bit before saying anything even to me.’

‘What a bloody nerve.’

‘I thought it rather sensible.’

‘Well of course – you thought exactly what he planned you should think. I hope Captain Richardson gave him bloody short shrift.’

‘Oh? Why? If you were Richardson and a man who’s short of an arm and has half his face burnt off came to you and said, Look I want to marry one of your patients, what are the problems likely to be from her and your point of view?’

‘I know, I know. It’s all beautifully logical. Absolutely square and above-board. Admirable. On the surface. On the
surface
, daddy.’

‘He’s very good with young Edward.’

‘Yes. He’s very good with young Edward.’

‘Better than I.’

‘Better than you. Better than any of us. Better than anyone. Better than Susan. But he wouldn’t be marrying Edward. He’d be marrying Susan. How good will he be with her?’

Directly I’d said that the blood came to my face. I guessed what he probably thought. For one wild moment I wondered whether it could be true, wondered whether if I went to Richardson and described the situation to him he would say, It’s clear of course, Merrick appals you because he attracts you and your exaggerated concern for your sister is simply a reflection of your fury at being rejected in her favour.

But it wasn’t true. What I believed
was
true was that my mother had deliberately tried to manipulate things. She couldn’t possibly want Susan to marry Ronald Merrick, but rather than say so she had grasped the opportunity offered by Aunt Fenny’s foolish but well-meaning hint to make father believe that it might break my heart. It could even have been in her mind that in time if the idea of having Ronald Merrick
in the family persisted he could be paired off with me because neither of us deserved any better.

‘What I don’t understand,’ father said, ‘is your having no idea how the land lay. From Susan’s point of view.’

‘Did mother?’

‘No. But sisters share confidences, surely. You’ve been very close to her. I know that. At least I know what your Aunt Fenny says.’

‘What does Aunt Fenny say?’

‘If it hadn’t been for you Susan would have had a complete breakdown.’

‘She had a complete breakdown, daddy.’

‘I meant, might have had to be put somewhere.’

‘She was put somewhere.’

‘But only in the nursing home, here.’

‘In a room with barred windows. They thought she might hurt herself. They were afraid of violence. She’d put the baby at risk. Hasn’t mother told you that?’

After a while he said, ‘I suppose I’ve been told just as much as it’s thought I can take in. Fair enough. Anyway, that’s all over, isn’t it? She’s quite better now, surely. And quite capable of weighing things up and making a decision she’d have no reason to expect to regret?’

‘What does that mean? That she’s decided?’

‘Yes, I think she has.’

‘You’ve actually discussed it with her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did
Susan
say I might be upset?’

‘She seemed to think you were expecting it. She was surprised her mother wasn’t. She thought it must have been obvious to everyone for a long time that if she married again it would be to Ronald. She’s given it a lot of thought, you know. She said she couldn’t expect to fall in love more than once in her life, but she does respect him and she knows she’s got to think of the boy’s future. She assured me there wasn’t any element of pity or gratitude in her decision – I mean gratitude to Ronald for what he tried to do to save Teddie. And she’s also not blind to the fact that his disabilities make his future career a bit chancy. All in all, I was rather impressed by the way she’s thought it all out.’

‘Was mother impressed?’

‘Your mother was chiefly concerned about the effect it might have on you.’

‘She raised no objections on her own account? She hasn’t gone so far as to say she doesn’t want Ronald in the family?’

I could have phrased that better. Again he regarded me seriously, still not entirely convinced that I was being frank about my own interests in the matter. But I let it go at that. I had to become used to the idea that I no longer had responsibilities. It was no business of mine whom Susan married. He had much the same thought, apparently. He said, ‘Well when you come down to it Susan’s free to marry whoever she likes. It would be nice if we all liked him too. Your mother hasn’t actually said she doesn’t. Being the mother she’s obviously not too happy about one of her daughters marrying a partially disabled man. Come to that neither am I. It
is
a liability. He’s very conscious of it himself. If for any reason you think he and Susan have been over-secretive, do take the disability into account. A girl’s got to think pretty hard before she commits herself in a case like this. Think it out on her own. So does the man.’

‘He’s ten years older than Su, at least.’

‘It’s not much.’

‘Why hasn’t he married before? Have you asked yourself that?’

‘My dear, what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It’s not supposed to mean anything. It’s just a question.’

Eventually father said, ‘I don’t see anything in particular to question. I’ll admit he’s probably been keen to make the sort of marriage that, well, he could congratulate himself on making, but I see nothing wrong in that. Good luck to him. Why not? Senior police appointment, the guts to pester his department for a wartime commission, a
DSO.
It’s not a meagre record, not as though he’s bringing nothing worth while. I suppose you can say India’s made him what he is, but after all isn’t it India that’s given
us
whatever distinction we have? Without India, I wonder what we’d have been? Lawyers like my grandfather? Merchants like his father? And on the Muir side – Scottish crofters? A long way back, but not all that long way. It’s only a difference in timing. India’s always been
an opportunity for quite ordinary English people – it’s given us the chance to live and work like, well, a ruling class that few of us could really claim to belong to.’

‘It’s no longer an opportunity.’

‘That’s hardly Ronald’s fault.’

‘I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it’s no longer any use looking at Susan’s future from that angle. It’s all finished. She ought to go home. Ronald’s the kind of man who’ll never let her. He’s worked too hard to get here. It would be different if they were in love. But they’re not. They can’t be. I don’t believe he’s capable of feeling that for anybody.’

My father leant back, folded his arms.

‘It’s not his first proposal, though, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That he was very fond of the girl in that wretched case that caused him so much trouble.’

Again I stared at him. I could tell from his expression that he was still ready to believe that any reference to Ronald and another woman hurt me. ‘Daphne Manners? Ronald told you he was very fond of Daphne Manners? Fond enough to propose to her?’

‘Yes. He did.’

‘It’s not the impression he originally gave me. All he said was that he once thought he liked her but that he went off her pretty quickly when he realized she wasn’t sound.’

‘Sound?’

‘He may not have said sound. It’s what he meant. Not sound. Meaning bluntly too friendly with Indians.’