The Ugly Sister (16 page)

Aunt Anna was still away and no better, Tamsin looking well but a little strained, my mother older but quite suited by her dyed auburn hair, Desmond seemed happy and occupied his time between watching the baby, superintending the repairs to the church and spotting the arrival of migrating birds. Celestine, with fair wispy hair and blue eyes, slept contentedly most of the time. The staff the same – except that Slade was there.

As black-haired, as sallow-skinned, as sour as ever, he cast a shadow that followed him about the house like a miasma. As soon as I got her alone I asked Tamsin.

‘Oh,' she said lightly. ‘We felt he had been rather harsh done to by Uncle Davey's will, so, chancing on him one day in Falmouth, Desmond invited him to return. Rather to our surprise he said he would like to, and that was that. In a way it gives a house a better look to it, with a butler.'

‘I should have thought, after our childhood here, you wouldn't want him back at any price.'

She gave me a slanting look. ‘Oh, all that's long forgot. He's very proud to be here, you know. He feels he is still serving the Spry family.'

‘In the end did you ever get into those cellars?'

‘Cellars? … Oh, that. No, I didn't. When Slade came back I somehow couldn't be bothered.'

‘You couldn't?'

She gave me another look. ‘No.' Then she laughed. ‘ I have been rather busy, you know. And now that I have Celestine I'm not sure that I care.'

‘I understand,' I said, though I didn't quite.

So I said to Desmond one day, ‘You probably won't remember that about ten years ago Tamsin and I got into trouble with Slade about the cellars?'

‘Afraid I don't. What was it about?'

I told him. He laughed. ‘I didn't think Slade had that much sense of humour. Have you never been in? It was a tunnel. At some time in the days when it was a priory the prior and the black canons dug a tunnel from the priory to the edge of the cliff. I think it was some sort of an escape route. Can't think why – it was before the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Anyway it has long since fallen in. Samuel and I explored that way. There are only two cellars beyond the wine cellar, and there aren't any skeletons in them. Not even Slade's.'

I said: ‘I'm afraid I never liked him much. I am a little surprised that you chose to re-engage him.'

Desmond looked at me. ‘Oh, I did not. It was Tamsin. I always found him too possessive of my father, too ambitious to dominate the house. Tamsin persuaded me.'

‘She – persuaded you to take him back?'

‘Yes. I was surprised myself, as she had never, as far as I can recall, showed any liking for his ministrations. But when I pointed this out to her she seemed to become rather angry, as if I were attempting to thwart her of her whims.'

O
N THE
Wednesday of my visit Desmond had planned a visit to St Michael's Mount. The St Aubyns had issued an open invitation and had suggested it should take place while my mother was there. Sir John was fascinated by the theatre and liked to talk to a real live practising actress. The plan was that we should go by sea by steam paddle from Falmouth to Penzance, visit the Mount about midday and have dinner at Clowance, Sir John's country house near Marazion. We were to return to Falmouth in the evening by coach.

It was a fine day, cloudy but with little wind; we left Place at seven and took the steamer at eight. The power of the engines which belched smoke from the single funnel and propelled the great paddle wheels impressed us all, and I thought much of Mr Isambard Brunel and his prophecies, and the tall clumsy person of Charles Lane with his good-humoured kindly face and his modesty and determination. Sir John and Lady St Aubyn met us at Marazion, and we took a large rowing boat across as the tide was in. There followed the long climb up to the castle, then so much to admire in the medieval church, the Chevy Chase Room, the Armoury, the Blue Drawing Room, and the views across the Channel and Mount's Bay from every window. The sun finally came out and glinted through the tall granite-framed windows on coats of armour and chain mail.

We took refreshments there, and then returned to the mainland, where carriages were waiting to take us to Clowance.

Until now it had just been the St Aubyns with two of their sons, and our own party of four, but at the big house there were another dozen guests invited to dinner. Two of the first to arrive were Mr and Mrs Bram Fox.

Clearly the St Aubyns could have had no idea at all about the maladroitness of the invitation; both my mother and Tamsin stiffened up at the sight of him. What emotion I showed I had no idea but my heart missed a beat, my mouth dried and I could feel the heat of a flush on my stained neck. Fortunately, close on their heels came a group of another half-dozen youngish people, all of whose names I took in and instantly forgot, and then another quartet, so that it was not too difficult to avoid confronting him.

He looked different from what I remembered. His hair was shorter. (Had he had it cut off in prison? But that was too long ago.) In formal clothes he looked as usual killingly handsome. Was it also true that he looked killingly domesticated and in some way cut down to size? He only needed two children holding his hands. Was it the presence of his wife?

I found myself next to her. As tall as I was, but thin. She was beautiful, but it was as if on her face, even when she smiled, there were puckers of disappointment.

‘You are Miss Spry? Oh, yes. From St Anthony. I think my husband has mentioned that you have met.'

‘So he did,' said Bram, coming up behind her. ‘It is what – two years? That was a splendid musical evening. Do you recall it?'

‘Well,' I said. He still had the power to move me, to stir me so that my knees shook. But how much of this was rage I cannot tell.

We talked about the musicians and Mr Emidy's progress. He had settled with his family in Truro and, apart from concerts, gave tuition on half a dozen different musical instruments. During this Meliora carefully eyed my disfigurement. Was she speculating as to whether I was one of her husband's conquests, or whether my damaged face had put him off? Then Lady St Aubyn came up and Meliora turned to speak to her.

Bram said in a lowered voice: ‘And how is my little Emma? Does she prosper?'

‘Thank you,' I said. ‘But no thanks to you.'

He laughed. ‘Sadly no. It was all a trifle unfortunate, was it not? I made efforts to see you but you were not to be seen. Then my misdeeds – were they such terrible misdeeds? – caught up with me. I had been living beyond my means and was declared a bankrupt. For that I served a term in one of His Majesty's prisons. Five months. I cannot say it was altogether enjoyable, though efforts were made by family and friends to make the conditions bearable. Eventually these same family and friends clubbed together to satisfy my creditors, and out I popped like a weasel out of a hole, blinking in the bright sunshine and starting life all over again! I gather you are no longer at Place House.'

‘I took employment at Blisland with an uncle.'

‘Blisland? What a hole! I admit it has the only decent village green in Cornwall, but there is not much else there but moorland and wet winds.'

‘I find it agreeable.'

‘Good. Good. And Tamsin married Desmond, who looks well on it, don't you think? And how well your mother wears! She must be in her mid-fifties. But perhaps it is impolite to speculate on a lady's age.'

‘I think so.'

‘Very-well-brought-up-Emma. And how do you like my wife?'

‘Very pretty.'

‘Do not choke, my dear. There is much in life worse than what happened between us. You were so lovely to take. Anyway I have forgiven you.'

It was fortunate I did not hit him across the face; but Sir John St Aubyn came to speak to us and so defused the moment.

There were sufficient at the dinner table and the convenient arrangement of places that I had hoped for, so I saw him only at a distance during the meal; but afterwards, after tea and port and the remixing of the sexes, we came together at a window. Or, to be more exact, he followed me.

‘And Slade is with you still.'

‘With my brother-in-law, yes. Do you know him?'

‘Slade? Of course. Well. A ruffian.' He laughed. ‘ I gather he was sacked and then brought back.'

‘You should ask Desmond all about it.'

His glance moved to the tall long-necked figure of Tamsin's husband, and then back brilliantly to me. ‘What have you done to your eye?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘It's not any longer so bloodshot. Have you seen an apothecary or someone?'

I said: ‘I think it's just the better company I've been keeping.'

He laughed. ‘Always quick on the answer. Well, it has improved, hasn't it?'

‘Has it?'

‘You could do something with make-up too. Your mother's an actress. Does she never advise you?'

‘No.'

‘Why don't you ask her?'

I stared at him with hatred. ‘ Why don't you stay faithful to your wife and keep out of debt?'

‘Seriously,' he said. ‘ Good make-up would hide a lot. It should be worth trying. You're otherwise such a pretty woman.'

I muttered something under my breath.

‘You question me,' he said. ‘I'll tell you something. Why am I not faithful to my wife? Because she will no longer let me touch her. That is why. Strange, isn't it? And me such an attentive man! … As for the rest … I am no longer in debt. An attempt has been made to keep me in solvency. To save me from myself, you might say. Well-wishers, some friends in high places, but mainly family, have sought around to help me to a fresh start. Last year the Commissioner for Customs and Excise for West Cornwall, Captain Tremain, was killed in the hunting field. I have been appointed in his place …'

A movement was now being made to leave. We had the prospect of a long jolting journey home.

Bram said: ‘ I inspect, I supervise the gaugers, I keep an eye on attempts to evade the excise duties. Which of course is impossible in Cornwall, since almost everyone here condones the running and sale of contraband goods. But it's not altogether a sinecure. We live in Ponsanooth now, but I travel all over the west: St Ives, Portreath, Newquay, Penzance, Helston and the Helford river. Sometimes I stop 'em, sometimes I don't. It's a game of hide and seek, which suits me, and I feel better for it. Of course – goodbye Miss Pearce, it has been a great pleasure to meet you today—'. When she had gone: ‘Of course those who have appointed me to this position have done so with my best interests in mind. Nevertheless it may have stirred somewhere in their grey matter to recall an old proverb, with which I am sure everyone is familiar. “Set a thief to catch a thief.” '

‘Are you a thief?' I said after a moment.

He smiled at me. ‘Dear Emma, you should know.'

M
Y MOTHER
travelled home in the coach with me as far as Bodmin, where I would change to a waggonette which would take me right into Blisland. On the Sunday there had been tremendous rain all day, but Monday was bright and the air light and invigorating.

She had been warmer towards me than I remember before. Apparently the Canon had sent her several favourable reports. Tamsin was safely and agreeably settled with her cousin, and at present in complete control of Place House. And a little daughter of the marriage already! She, Claudine, had continued to find work on the stage and to be popular with audiences. Life was pleasanter for her, probably, than it had ever been.

She said: ‘It was a good move to send you to help Uncle Francis. It has brought out your best qualities.'

I muttered something ungracious.

She went on: ‘ He pays you a mere pittance.'

‘He is very poor.'

‘But not I think that poor. He has his stipend. I will write to him and suggest you should be paid £10 a year. Good man though he is, it is not right he should trade on a distant relationship.'

Presently I said ‘Do you think my eye has improved?'

‘What? Your bad eye? Yes.' She looked at it judiciously. ‘ It's not so bloodshot. Unfortunate about the lid. But the eye itself has improved.'

‘Do you think make-up would improve it more?'

‘Um. I'll send you some. But don't forget theatrical make-up is meant to be observed from a distance.'

We jogged along for a while.

I said: ‘ I have little use for money at Blisland. But I need a new dress.'

‘You assuredly do. You need two. You are still not good with your fingers?'

‘Not close needlework. I've done much repairing of curtains.'

‘I will send you some material. Occasionally a piece is left over from a stage costume. There is someone in the village?'

‘Oh yes.'

Just before the coach reached Bodmin the road dipped sharply downhill to Lanivet before the long steep climb. The surface of the road, such as it was, had been almost washed away in yesterday's rains, and one of the horses lost its footing among the rubble and fell. The coach lurched like a ship in a sudden cross current, the brakes squealed on the rims as it swung sideways and slowly toppled over against the overgrown hedge. The whinnying of the horses was almost drowned by the cries of passengers as those outside were spilled off and the four inside were tumbled together in a heap against the jammed door.

Luckily we were close by St Bennet's Abbey, which was a private house of some importance, and although the owner, a clergyman, was away, several of his servants came out to help. No one was seriously injured but two women riding outside were sufficiently shaken and bruised to need rest and treatment and decided not to go on when the coach was righted. The horse which had been injured in its fall was tethered to the back of the coach, and the remaining three would have all the collar work pulling us up to the town.