The Moth, page 17
He now drew the lever watch from his pocket and, glancing at it, he said, ‘Time’s gettin’ on.’ It was as if he had said, ‘Hadn’t you better go and get your clothes on?’ for, turning from him, Agnes glanced at Peggy saying, ‘I won’t be long,’ then she hurried out of the kitchen.
After she had gone, Robert, looking at Peggy Waters, said quietly, ‘I’ll go across to me room. When Mr Stanley comes in send for me, in a hurry like. You understand?’
Peggy nodded at him, her eyes wide; it was as if she was seeing him in the position of a master and she couldn’t understand it.
As he made for the door she muttered, ‘Thanks. Thanks.’ And he turned and inclined his head towards her before going out.
Whatever size his stature might have risen to in the kitchen it was back to normal when he reached his room, for he found that he was trembling. There was a quarter bottle of whisky in his cupboard, it was still more than half full. On nights when he was tired and life appeared monotonous and dull he would heat a can of water on the tack-room boiler and take it upstairs and top it with a measure of whisky and a spoonful of brown sugar. This he found enabled him to get off to sleep without thinking. Of late he had been, finding that his thinking, especially at night, was disturbing, for at times he didn’t like the road along which his mind was leading him.
Tonight he took the whisky raw, but it did nothing to steady his nerves nor did it warm him. The night had turned chilly and the room was without heat, and looking at it in the lantern light he saw, and not for the first time, its utter cheerlessness: the cobwebbed beams above him; the rough uneven floor that he imagined had never seen water since it was first laid; the little window with its drab curtains. Well, he wouldn’t have to put up with this much longer, he was going in any case, but after tonight’s business he would show the place such a clean pair of heels they’d gather no dust.
‘Bradley.’
He went to the stairhead door and, looking down, he saw Maggie standing at the foot. She held the outer door open in one hand while holding a lantern upwards with the other, and she called in a loud voice, ‘Will you come down? You’re wanted. Master Stanley’s here and needs you.’
‘Yes; I’ll be there in a minute.’
He took two or three minutes before leaving the room, then went down the stairs, pulling his coat on as he did so, and in the yard asked, ‘What’s up?’
It was Stanley who answered him, saying, ‘My father went out for a walk, presumably some time ago and he hasn’t returned. I want you to help look around the grounds.’
He did not say, ‘Yes, Mr Stanley,’ but, looking to where Dave Waters was standing outside the kitchen door, he walked towards him, muttering, but loud enough for his voice to carry, saying, ‘But it’s only on ten o’clock; the master knows his own grounds surely?’
‘Do what you’re told, man.’
Robert turned and looked towards the young fellow who had never given him a civil word since he had come into the place, and he thought, My God! I’d like to meet you in a dark lane some night, young sir. I would that. I would teach you that civility costs nothing. It wasn’t that he was unused to men bawling orders at him. He had been bawled at from the day he had entered the yard to serve his time, but it was a different kind of bawling, it didn’t indicate from its tone that you were scum or another species of human being that had been created for servitude.
For his part, Stanley’s thoughts were moving along similar channels except from the opposite standpoint: that fellow wanted taking in hand, he was too free by half with his tongue. Yet as he had said, his father should know his own grounds. Assuming he was capable. But Agnes had just told him that his father had gone out about seven o’clock and that he was rolling drunk, and, knowing him and his ways, he would never have thought of walking outside the grounds, he would have left either in the trap or on horseback. Now he could be lying anywhere in the paddocks or in the woods or down by the lake, anywhere. Thirty acres didn’t mean much of an estate, but when it was dark every foot turned into a yard. He called now to Dave, saying, ‘Waters, take the paddocks. And you Bradley, go towards the North Lodge. Hubbard, you come with me.’ Then as he turned to move away he stopped and called, ‘Whistle if’ – he paused – ‘you come across my father.’
As Robert went to move away he heard Agnes call, ‘Shall I come with you?’ and he thought, Well, she’s certainly playing her part. And then her brother’s voice came back, saying, ‘No, but I’d have another look through the house, just in case. You never know.’
No, you didn’t know, Robert thought: his ghost might already be walking. By! There would be high jinks here the night, and the morrow. What would happen in a case like this? Would there be an inquest, a police court? Or would the doctor just say, natural causes, and omit the words, brought about by a fall through intoxication?
It was just a half hour later when they brought the body back on a door.
And it was near midnight when Doctor Miller arrived and the questions Robert had asked in his mind were answered. Yes, the police must be called; and yes, there would be an inquest. This news came through the kitchen via Peggy. Then she added, ‘Now he’s got to be laid out and I can’t bear to touch him.’ And turning to Ruthie she said, ‘You’ll have to help me.’
‘Not me, Mam,’ Ruthie said. ‘I couldn’t lay anybody out, I would throw up.’
Then Robert was made to wonder yet again at the resilience and the accommodation of young Maggie who quietly now, and no laughter in her voice, said, ‘Don’t worry yourselves, I’ll do it on me own, once he’s on the bed. I’ve helped with such like afore a number of times over there.’ She inclined her head slightly to the right as if Ireland just lay beyond the courtyard.
Maggie was a good lass, one in a thousand. It was a shame unto God that He had given her such a face. But then when you got to know her you forgot what she looked like . . . Many a man would do worse than take on Maggie.
As she walked up the kitchen he said, ‘Well, here’s one off to bed because it’s going to be a busy day the morrow if I know anything, comings and goings. Goodnight to you.’ He nodded first to Peggy, then to Ruthie, and lastly to Dave. And the two women answered him, saying, ‘Goodnight. Goodnight, Bradley,’ and there was a softness in their tone, even a touch of deference.
Waters said nothing, but as Robert made towards the door he went with him, then through the boot room and to the yard door to where the lantern was still alight and swinging from the iron bracket extending from the wall; and there he stood looking at Robert but still in silence, and Robert, putting his hand on his shoulder, said, ‘Look, it’ll be all right, the worst’s over. Don’t worry about the morrow or the day.’ He turned and looked up into the sky. ‘What you said to the doctor, you’ll say again: the last you saw of the master was when he was in the dining room after the meal. And yes, he had been drinkin’ heavily. That’s all. Goodnight now, and get some sleep.’ He was about to turn away when he looked back at the old man, saying, ‘I’ve got an idea that things will be easier around here for everybody from now on.’
Dave Waters had not uttered a word but he remained looking after the figure of the man crossing the yard, the man he had never liked from the time he first started here: in his own mind he had classed him as being too much of a townie, one who would never fit in with the running of an establishment such as this, even as it was now, and one who wouldn’t have lasted two minutes in the establishment as it once was. It had been evident from the beginning that he was lacking in real respect for his masters. He was civil enough, oh yes, but underneath the civility there was an arrogance, and everybody in their positions knew that arrogance was the prerogative of the class, it got you nowhere when your life was spent working for them. And anyway if, like that fellow, you dared to show it, it was given another name, bumptiousness. Yet you couldn’t say he was bumptious in his talk because he had never given himself airs. Still there was that about him that demanded something that he wasn’t entitled to, not in this kind of life anyway.
But now here tonight he had taken over. Yes, true he had saved his neck, for as he himself knew and Bradley knew, the master hadn’t fallen by accident. When they had let go of each other and the master had swayed towards the edge he could have thrust out his arms and pulled him back; and he had thrust out his arms but pushed him forward, and he knew now that the action had not been solely in defence of his beloved miss but was coupled with retaliation for a lifetime of thankless service, for the master had never once given him a word of appreciation, and because of it he had now put himself for the rest of his life under the dominance of that fellow, fearful of what he might say if he got a drink on him. And he did like a drink, apparently, if you took in the number of times he made for The Bull when he was off duty. It was one thing to have to be subservient and bow your knee to the class, because that was their due, but to have to do the same to a fellow who was less than yourself, if you went by status of service, was something he was going to find very hard to stomach. In fact, he didn’t know how he was going to face life under these conditions from now on.
And what if the fellow started demanding money? The thought brought his hands up to his hair and he gripped the thinning strands as he turned away and closed the door behind him.
Three
The police had come; a post-mortem had followed, and the coroner’s verdict was accidental death. That’s what was reported in the papers, but many said there should have been added: through being blind drunk. The landlord at the inn at Lamesley had said that Mr Thorman was already three sheets in the wind when he called in the saloon on the day he died, and that he would have liked to refuse him but what could you do, he was a gentleman!
The funeral was well attended by those who mattered. The cortêge itself was imposing, not as elaborate as some, but nevertheless eight black cabs followed the hearse, and these in turn were followed by a number of private vehicles most of whose occupants returned to the house after the burial service to be regaled with a sit-down meal.
But now at five o’clock in the afternoon only one carriage remained on the drive. It belonged to Lady Emily Clinton-Smyth and her husband Gregory. No-one was ever known to address the couple as Sir Gregory and Lady Emily, Lady Emily came first in all ways as she was demonstrating now in the drawing room. She sat looking at the three young men and the young woman sitting opposite to her as they had done for the past half-hour while she talked non-stop.
Agnes, looking at the woman whom she used to call Aunty, but which title was a mere courtesy one as she was no relation whatever to the family, thought that her brothers were sitting as quiet as they were because they were fascinated by the face that was so plastered with make-up that the muscles seemed to have become glued, only the eyeballs and the lips moved, the upper showing a myriad of lines darting away towards the nose and those on the lower lip radiating towards the chin.
How old was she? In her late seventies or perhaps early eighties. Agnes recalled her mother saying that no-one knew when Aunty Clinton had been born, and no-one dared to ask. She was an intimidating woman, not likeable yet one couldn’t actively dislike her. She was a gossip-monger and could make or mar a reputation. That seemed to have been her occupation in life, making and marring reputations. She had marred a few, too, in the last half-hour but in a way that could have evoked laughter had one dared to laugh on such an occasion, because she punctuated all her remarks by appealing to her husband who was stone deaf. She was doing so now, crying, ‘’Twas so, Gregory, wasn’t it? He bet on everything in the house – didn’t he? – Paddy Shamon, and when he had nothing more to gamble he put up the parlourmaid. You remember, Gregory? He put up the parlourmaid, didn’t he? At least for the time she was bonded to his service. We were just engaged at the time, remember, and the girl was willing. My God! The things that happened.’
Agnes heard a faint splutter from the chair beyond that on which Stanley was sitting. That was Arnold. She, too, would like to laugh: it was wonderful having light relief like this after the last five days, which had been like a nightmare in which she had to play a part, in which they’d all had to play a part, the only one not seeming to feel any concern being the one who was at the centre of the tragedy, Millie, because since those telling words in the kitchen Millie hadn’t opened her mouth. It was as if her mind had closed down, not only on the incident but on life itself. She ate, she slept, she did what she was told without murmur, but she didn’t speak.
Agnes hadn’t asked Doctor Miller to see her, for he was sharp was old Doctor Miller and he might have put two and two together. Later, if she continued in this way, she’d have to call him in.
Something Lady Emily was saying caught her attention and caused her eyes to widen.
‘Damned nerve I’d say. Brazen as brass. The first time I saw her was in this very room with Kate, your mother you know.’ She nodded towards the four figures who were staring at her. ‘It was here she met Gerry Bendicker and she made a dead set for him, she smelt his money. Mercenary bitch she was, right from the first. She and your mother were friends, different as chalk and cheese. You were a toddler then.’ She pointed at Roland, then said, ‘No, you’re the wrong one. It was you, wasn’t it, Arnold? Yes, it was you. But she hadn’t hooked Bendicker five minutes until she started on her games with Reggie. Didn’t she, Gregory? I say, didn’t she?’ Her voice was a bawl now and the old man, leaning towards her, said, ‘What’s that, my dear?’
She turned now and looked at Agnes, saying, ‘Deaf as a post. Deaf as a post. Senile an’ all. But we’ve all got to come to it. And that’s what I said to her today: we’ve all got to come to it, I said. But she didn’t like it because she still thinks she’s good-looking. But her skin’s going; her nerve isn’t, though. My God, I couldn’t believe it when I saw her on the drive there getting out of her carriage. The nerve to come back to this house to his funeral. When she was giving him up, serve him right, I said, him being hoodwinked over the past year or more. I got the whole story from Christine Mayburn because it’s her man’s cousin she’s hooked now. They were all laughing up their sleeves at Reggie, saying it served him damn well right for the way he’d treated Kate all these years. But then, for that whore to come and show her face here today, that was the limit. And she talked to you, didn’t she?’
Agnes stared at the painted mask topped by the high velvet hat with a veil hanging down each side of it, and she opened her mouth but found she couldn’t answer because she hadn’t known that woman in the plum taffeta with a black band round her arm and the black chiffon headwear had been the woman, her father’s mistress. What would she have done if she had known? Ordered her out? She remembered now that it was she who spoke to the woman, not the woman to her, because she was standing alone as if she was a stranger. People must have been avoiding her, they had all known who she was. But what did it matter? She would never come here again. And her father was gone and she was safe. At least she had a home. And Millie was safe. Oh yes . . . Her thoughts had been about to add, Oh yes, Millie was safe, but they were checked as she glanced towards her brothers. No one of them would take responsibility for Millie and they would, she knew, put her away as quickly as their father would have done except for the obstacle standing in their way. And she was the obstacle: as long as they needed her to run the place they would put up with Millie. But for how long would that be?
She had no time to worry over this point because Lady Emily had now dragged herself to her feet and, looking towards her husband who was nodding in his chair, she bellowed, ‘Up, Gregory, and at ’em!’
As Arnold Thorman moved to the old man’s side to assist him to his feet, Roland went hastily to open the door while Stanley offered Lady Emily his arm. But before taking it she turned to Agnes, saying, ‘Got your hands full, girl. Want any advice at any time come across to me. Don’t suppose I’ll come to this place again.’ She moved her scraggy neck stiffly and looked about her. Then on a somewhat sad note she ended, ‘Spent some very happy times in this room. Your grandfather was a fine dancer. Yes, had some good times in this house. But that was a long, long time ago. ’Tis dying now, if not dead.’ Her voice sank on the last words and with them she turned from Agnes and, taking Stanley’s proffered arm, walked stiffly down the room and across the hall.
From the top of the steps Agnes watched her brothers helping the couple into their coach. She saw them put the rugs around their knees, then give a signal to the coachman. And so the last visitors of the day departed.
When they were all in the drawing room again there was silence among them for a few minutes. It was Stanley who spoke, saying, ‘What an old horror! She’s like an animated corpse. People shouldn’t be allowed to live that long. You wouldn’t keep an animal in that condition.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Arnold pressed his hand towards his brother, saying now, ‘Wait until you’re fifty or so.’
‘But she must be nearly twice fifty.’
‘Her tongue’s still young.’
Stanley now turned to Arnold and he nodded at him, saying, ‘You’re right there, she’s as sharp as a needle where scandal’s concerned.’
‘I could do with a drink.’
‘You’re not the only one.’ Arnold went to the small table on which stood a tray and a decanter and glasses. Before pouring out any of the spirit he looked towards Agnes, saying, ‘Would you like a drop?’
She nodded her head in assent, then said, ‘Did you know who the woman was that Lady Emily was talking about?’
