A Dark and Distant Shore (63 page)

When his civil note to Mr Tyler had brought an invitation to the party Mr Tyler’s good lady was giving for some of the young folks that night, Gideon hadn’t been unduly worried. In his limited experience of America, he wasn’t likely to get close enough to any lady for there to be a risk of offending her sensibilities. He knew that American hospitality was overpowering. His hand had been shaken so often that he suspected it would never be the same again, and he had been given more introductions to people from New York to New Orleans than he could conceivably have taken up in the course of a year or more. But he had found that it was the custom at most social gatherings for the men to congregate at one end of the room, smoking and drinking and talking business or politics, while the ladies gravitated towards the other, studying one another’s dresses until they must have known every stitch by heart, and discussing Parson Whatsit’s recent sermon on the Day of Judgement, or Doctor Whosit’s wonderful new dyspepsia pills. There had even been one party when the gentlemen had sat down to supper in one room, while the ladies – immobilized by whalebone, hugely puffed sleeves, and gargantuan skirts – had taken theirs, standing, in another. Although Gideon remembered vaguely that the French had the same system, he thought it quite uncivilized. There were few occupations more pleasant than talking to a pretty girl, and American girls, from what he had been able to see, were not only pretty, but lively and extremely self-possessed.

Torn between uncertainty and hope, he scanned the carriage front of the Tyler place. If it were anything to go by, things might be different here. It was imposing, to say the least – pure Gothic revival, and spanking new despite the delicately traceried oriel windows, battlemented parapet, and slender, octagonal tower. Gideon’s vulgar commercial instincts poked him in the ribs and muttered, ‘Money!’ and he grinned to himself. Repressing a craven desire to scuttle back to the hotel for another bath, he followed a servant through a hall magnificent with groined vaults and tessellated marble pavements, wainscotted walls, gilded cornices, and stained glass. There was a babble of talk coming from the great double doors on the left, broken suddenly, to Gideon’s horrified disbelief, by the familiar, bloodcurdling wail of a piper launching into the
urlar.
His grace notes were terrible. Gideon’s ears cringed.

He waited patiently beside his beaming host until it was all over, and when the last erratic warble had died, Mr Tyler shook him vigorously by the hand for a second time, exclaiming, ‘Doesn’t that make you feel great, Mr Lauriston? Say, it ought to make you feel at home, too! You’re from Scotland, ain’t you?’ Gideon admitted it.

Mr Tyler was a large, jovial fellow, splendid in dark blue tailcoat, embroidered waistcoat, and an exuberantly frilled shirt in which was embedded a massive gold brooch, and he had the air of one who would be happy to talk to someone from the Old Country all night, if only he didn’t have a hundred other guests to be hospitable to. It was clear he had never got over the breathless experience of a visit to Abbotsford eight years earlier, when he had been deeply honoured to meet the great man himself, Sir Walter Scott. ‘The greatest moment of my life,’ he said solemnly. ‘An inspiration. A real inspiration, sir.’ He waved a large hand at his surroundings. ‘I might even say that this, my home, was in some small measure inspired by his genius. I was deeply grieved to hear of his passing on to that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns. As your great poet, William Shakespeare, has it.’

Firmly repressing the temptation to say,
‘Hamlet,
Act three, Scene one’, Gideon agreed that Sir Walter had been a remarkable man. ‘My mother was slightly acquainted with him. They had interests in common. In fact, she was born in a mediaeval castle in the Highlands, though it is nowhere near as – er – impressive as this!’ It had been the right thing to say. Mr Tyler – ‘Call me Tom!’ – was delighted.

It was a splendid party. Gideon had found that Americans were sensitive to English accents, as if they expected them to utter nothing but criticisms, real or implied. But, here, no one seemed to notice, and his wasn’t even mentioned until half-way through the evening, when he was sitting in the extreme corner of a Gothic sofa, the rest of which was occupied by the rose-coloured skirts of a remarkably pretty girl with merry blue eyes, a profusion of dark curls, and the longer, sootiest lashes he had ever seen.

‘But your accent is so quaint!’ she exclaimed. ‘And I just love your English manners!’

He laughed. ‘Not
English
manners, please. I’m Scottish, through and through, for I don’t know how many generations. As a matter of fact...’

He had lost her attention. There was a tall gentleman bowing over her hand, a satirical smile on his handsome face. ‘Undoubtedly the belle of Baltimore, Angelina,’ he was saying. ‘You
have
grown up since I was here last.’

The sooty lashes fluttered provocatively at him, and his smile deepened. ‘Spare me, my dear. Not even you can deflect me from my purpose. It’s your companion I’m interested in right now.’ He turned to a surprised Gideon and said, ‘Lauriston?’

Someone from the Firearms Manufactory? Gideon bowed and said, ‘Sir?’

The gentleman took him by the arm and, with a nod at the pouting Miss Angelina, drew him aside. When Gideon glanced back apologetically, he murmured, ‘Don’t worry, there will soon be bees enough around the honeypot.’

Then, from his slight advantage of height, his grey eyes looked quizzically into Gideon’s and he said, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I’m an old acquaintance of your family and friends. My name is Randall.’

For a moment, Gideon felt as if the floor had risen up and hit him over the head. His mouth opened, and closed again, and then he stammered, ‘Perry – I mean the Honourable Peregrine Randall?’

The man laughed. ‘Only if you insist, and I hope you won’t. I’ve spent the better part of twenty years trying to slough off my effete Englishness. All I admit to is Perry.’

‘Yes. I mean, no! But fancy meeting you here, of all places!’

‘Very appropriate, I should have thought. Brighton Pavilion crossed with Fonthill Abbey, wouldn’t you say?’

Gideon didn’t know whether he was being serious or not. ‘I – er – hadn’t realized the
Waverley
novels had made quite such an impression on this side of the Atlantic.’

‘Not usually on this scale, I grant you. But the further south you go, the more widespread you’ll find Scott’s influence becomes. My dear boy’ – his voice was unmistakably sardonic now – ‘I can’t tell you what pleasures await you in Dixie! Chivalry in full war paint. Jousting and tourneys, Knights of the Green Garter, Knights of the Silver Lance. Knights of the Jumping Bean, for all I know. Have some tea.’

Gideon looked at the proffered tray doubtfully, and then at the servant holding it. The spoons obviously had some significance, but he couldn’t think what. Some were in the cups, some in the saucers.

‘Green tea or black?’ Mr Randall asked helpfully. ‘Spoon in the cup means green, spoon in the saucer black. File it away in your head; it’s quite a common practice.’

His smile, now, was one of uncomplicated amusement. ‘And now that you’ve had time to recover from your surprise, perhaps you’ll tell me which of the Lauriston boys you are. Tom Tyler doesn’t know.’

‘I’m Gideon, the middle one. But how on earth did you make the connection?’

The strong, straight eyebrows rose. ‘Lauriston – Scotsman – mediaeval castle – Firearms Manufactory. It really wasn’t difficult.’

Disconcerted, Gideon said, ‘I suppose not, but...’ Then he remembered. ‘Dammit! I’d forgotten. You’re a gun salesman.’

‘Past tense. An independent manufacturer now, with a very pretty little new project up my sleeve. I visit at Harper’s Ferry now and again, to see what the opposition’s up to, and stay with the Tylers on my way. We’re old friends. Not such a coincidence after all, you see.’

So this was Perry Randall! Gideon didn’t know what he had expected. What little he knew of the man’s history had suggested weakness and irresponsibility, even though he had never been able to imagine his mother being swept off her feet – unwillingly or not, and he had certain doubts about that – by anyone ordinary. To Gideon, the man looked positively formidable. He must be in his mid-forties by now, Gideon calculated, but he showed scarcely a sign of it. The waving black hair was touched with grey at the temples, and the creases round the eyes were pronounced, but his lean, muscular figure in its admirable tailoring was easy and athletic, his jaw hard, his mouth long and firm, and his eyes uncomfortably penetrating. He looked like someone it would be dangerous to tangle with.

Gideon, feeling rather young and immature, said breathlessly, ‘This is a very real pleasure, sir.’ He had already learned always to say ‘sir’ to Americans.

Perry Randall grinned.

Gideon said, ‘I... My... Your... Yes, well.’ Before he had sailed, Shona had taken him aside and said to him, in that sweet, innocent way of hers, ‘I’ve never known my father, or anything about him, and I’ve always wanted to, so badly! Oh, Gideon, do you think – do you
think
when you’re in America you might try to find out what’s happened to him? I know it’s a huge country, but if you’re travelling around... And it’s just possible, isn’t it? I so long to know what happened to him!’ Gideon, privately horrified, had said, ‘Of course, Shona, I’ll try. But there are God knows how many people in America. I can’t promise anything.’ He had felt slightly faint at the thought of the complications that would ensue if he found the man, and had hoped, very devoutly indeed, that his and Perry Randall’s paths wouldn’t cross.

‘As it happens,’ he said firmly, ‘I have been commissioned to look for you.’

Perry Randall’s face suddenly became very still. ‘You have? By whom?’

‘By my sister-in-law. Your daughter Shona.’ He hesitated. ‘You probably don’t know, but Shona married my brother Drew – my younger brother – at the end of ’33. They’ve a new baby now; he’s called Jermyn.’ The only reason for the name had been that Shona liked it. With a twist of humour, Gideon wondered how it felt for a man like this to be told he was a grandfather. It had made Gideon, at nineteen, feel old to become an uncle. Theo was fascinated by the baby, but Gideon, once he had reassured himself that it didn’t have two heads or six arms, had come to the conclusion he was a jolly little fellow and given up thinking about him. Vilia couldn’t bear to look at him.

After a moment, Randall said, ‘Oh. They’re happy?’

‘Indecently.’

There was a dry note in the other man’s voice. ‘Forgive me, but your brother can’t be as much as twenty yet. Is he able to keep her in the – er – in the style to which she was accustomed under her half-brother’s roof?’

‘My God, yes. At least we don’t pinch pennies at Marchfield!’ It wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, but Mr Randall didn’t seem to mind. ‘Please don’t worry about that. She really
is
happy. She has a talent for it. She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever known, and she and Drew adore each other.’ Again, he hesitated. ‘I don’t know very much about love, but theirs seems to me the kind that will last. She worships him, and he’s dedicated to her. He’s a very staunch kind of person.’

Perry Randall’s expression softened. ‘Thank you, Gideon. Even so, they were married very young. Didn’t your mother object?’

Without a trace of hesitation this time, Gideon replied. ‘Only on principle. They were young, yes. But...’ It was now or never. ‘Drew’s very like our father. Once his mind is made up, nothing will stop him.’

How ironic, Perry Randall was thinking. How unbelievably ironic. Not only the alliance of the two children, but that he and Vilia should have a grandson in common, when all he had ever wanted was that they should have children in common. Not even that, for posterity didn’t mean much to him. Only Vilia did. ‘How is Mrs – your mother?’ he asked politely. ‘It’s many years since I’ve seen her.’

And there Gideon wasn’t going to be drawn. ‘Very well, thank you. If you know her, you’ll know she thrives on being occupied.’

‘And beautiful as ever, I have no doubt.’

Gideon smiled. ‘It’s funny, you know. She’s quite ageless. She doesn’t seem to have become a year older since I was a child.’

‘Enjoying life?’

‘I think so.’ Vilia didn’t know what Shona had asked of him, and although he hadn’t deliberately kept it from her, he hadn’t felt any compulsion to mention it. He had no idea what his mother felt about Perry Randall now; dislike and contempt, probably, but there was no telling. At the moment, it scarcely mattered. What mattered was steering the conversation away from this extremely delicate subject. Gideon suspected that Perry Randall was much too clever for comfort. He didn’t think he had given anything away, but he preferred not to run unnecessary risks.

He didn’t know that Perry had noted his reserve and put it down – temporarily – to British reticence. Thinking hurriedly, he wasn’t even conscious of the silence while Perry fought down his desire to ask more about Vilia.

Was she happy with Luke? Did they have children? Those were the questions that had tormented Perry for six years, questions that, now, seemed to him more bearable than the answers could possibly be. He didn’t think he wanted to know.

Gideon said politely, ‘Shona will be delighted to know we’ve met, even if it was no thanks to me. I hadn’t a notion where to start looking for you.’

‘I have a house in Boston, though I’m seldom there. It’s big, and rather cheerless, I’m afraid. I bought it in ’28 for what’ – there was an almost derisive smile on his lips – ‘for what seemed a good reason at the time. Nothing came of it, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to get rid of the place. You’d like Boston. It’s very civilized. Much of the time I’m in New York, however. I’ve a house in La Grange Terrace, on Lafayette Place, that I bought a couple of years ago. I hope you’ll visit me there. The chances are, you know, that we’d have met anyway. I travel about a good deal, to the same places you’ll be visiting, since we’re both interested in metals. I’m in Philadelphia regularly on business...’