Charles Palliser (24 page)

So we began to walk along the carriage-drive which led gently downwards through the park in a succession of curves. It was lined with tall elm trees like those that stood in groups, elegantly interspersed down the sides of the valley into which the drive descended. As we looked down, we saw how the course of the stream along the bottom of the valley was marked by a line of willows as crooked as the vein along an ancient arm.

As we walked I urged my mother to answer my questions of the day before, but she was still reluctant. Then as we rounded the last curve and the landscape opened before us, she stopped. Ahead of us the wooded slopes of the valley undulated into the distance, and more than a mile away as the ground rose I could just make out a grey rectangle which I took to be the great house.

My mother said softly: “All of this was once my grandfather’s.”

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I had been right ! All that I had guessed from Mrs Belflower’s story was true ! I remembered stirring the Christmas pudding all that time ago and the wish I had made then.

“You see, my father was called John Huffam, for you are named for him,” she went on.

“Now, Johnnie, you must never tell anyone of our connexion with that name because it could be very dangerous.”

I blushed at the memory of my indiscretion to the little girl and the lady who had been with her.

My mother did not notice : “The family dwindled and my father was the last to bear the name. So you and I are the sole descendants.”

“They were a very old family, weren’t they?”

“I suppose so.”

“And did they build the great house we’re going to?”

“I’m not sure. I believe it’s not terribly old and there was another house, the Old Hall which is near here. I believe we might be able to see it in the distance.”

“How did all this come to belong to the Mompessons?”

“Ah, that is the whole point. A long time ago my grandfather, James, got into difficulties over money.”

“James? Did he lose heavily because of high play and drink?”

She looked at me in surprise: “Why, I believe all the gentlemen did in those days.”

“And did he murder his father?”

My mother stopped suddenly and stared at me in horror: “Whoever told you that?”

“It was one of Mrs Belflower’s stories,” I said defensively.

“Well, it’s nonsense, utter nonsense.” She walked on: “You must never speak like that again.” After a few moments she continued: “I was telling you how he sold the estate to his brother-in-law, the grandfather of Sir Perceval.”

“So now the Mompessons own it?” I asked in disappointment.

“Well, I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple. I only wish it had been. Now everything hangs upon that sale, Johnnie, and it is because of it that we are here today, for part of the contract was that Sir Perceval’s grandfather made an agreement to pay in perpetuity to James and his heirs a certain income from the estate, that is to say, an annuity. That is quite a regular way of paying for something if you don’t have enough money. It’s a kind of mortgage. I inherited it from my father and you will inherit it from me.”

“Is it very much?”

“Yes, a very great deal: nearly fifteen hundred pounds a year.”

“Goodness! Then we’re rich?”

“No, of course not, because they stopped paying it when my father died.”

“Why? How could they?”

“Oh, Johnnie, please don’t ask so many questions. There are reasons that I … There are many reasons. It’s partly because there has been a suit in Chancery about the ownership of the estate for many years because of that sale.”

“Who claims ownership of it?”

“That is no concern of ours.”

I surveyed the park and reflected that it would be a fine thing to look on all this as my own.

As we progressed, the sunken stream that I knew ran through our own 106 THE

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Mortsey-woods came in sight emerging from a spinney that coursed along the valley’s floor. Further along and on our left we glimpsed the silvery glint of water, and after some minutes saw that there was a long, narrow lake beneath the steep wooded hill opposite us. Eventually the drive curved down to run along one side of it, winding in and out of the folds of the valley so that the great house vanished and re-appeared at intervals.

“Look,” my mother said. “Beyond the lake there are chimneys above the far slope. I believe that must be the Old Hall.”

I could just make out the tall twisting chimneys in the distance. As I stared I asked:

“Who lives there now?”

“It’s a ruin. Nobody has lived there for many years.”

“But tell me, who was bringing the suit?”

My mother’s face darkened: “Our enemy.”

“Who is that?”

“I’ve told you that I won’t tell you.”

“You must.”

She refused and we walked on in silence.

We reached the end of the lake where it narrowed to form a long stretch of water curving around the front of the mansion for here, on the other side of an elegant bridge and on top of a slight rise, stood the house itself.

Suddenly my mother said: “One day you’ll know everything. I’m writing a relation of my life so that you will understand … understand everything, but only when you are old enough.”

“When can I read it?” I demanded.

“When you come of age. And there is also a letter from my father that you may read then.”

The letter I had seen in the japanned box with the tiger-hunt which held the locket that my mother had shewn me! The letter was for me!

“Must I wait so long?” I protested.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Unless something happens to me.”

Puzzled by her meaning, I walked on in silence.

We were near the house now and, viewed straight on rather than from the side as I had seen it on my visit to Hougham with Sukey, it was an imposing building. Its central block was lofty and surmounted by a pediment with Corinthian columns forming a high portico whose entrance one reached by means of a pair of semi-circular steps thrusting forward like the claws of a crab. This portion was flanked by two wings, linked to it by a curving section.

In a few minutes we had begun to ascend those steps and my heart began to pound with excitement. When we arrived at the tall, glazed doors at the top a servant in the livery of scarlet and chocolate that I had seen the day before, strode forward with a slight bow. As he straightened it seemed to me that on his otherwise impassive features was a hostile stare of enquiry, as if demanding to know who dared to ascend these steps after making so undistinguished an arrival on foot.

To this august being and his powdered wig my mother replied: “Will you please tell Sir Perceval and Lady Mompesson that Mrs Mellamphy and her son are here. I believe they are expecting us.”

The footman eyed us coldly. “Very good, ma’am,” he answered. “Will you please to enter and wait here?”

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back to allow us to pass, the tone in which he spoke made this less an invitation than an instruction. Obediently, we stepped across the threshold and found ourselves in a large entrance-hall, high-ceilinged and marble-floored, with magnificent doors in every wall.

Great fires of hewn logs were burning in the two fireplaces, and a number of high-backed chairs were set against the walls, but it was quite deserted. Standing in the very centre was a huge urn decorated with stone garlands and rams’ sculls. High up at intervals on the tops of the friezes were busts of bony white heads which were quite bald and bore little circlets of flowers like crazy wigs.

The footman had followed us in and now disappeared through one of the doors. We stood hesitating in the centre of the vast room.

I indicated two unoccupied chairs and said in an undertone: “Shall we sit down?”

“Do you think we ought?” she whispered back.

I was annoyed that she was so cowed and seeing this, she chose a seat and sat down. I stood beside her.

We waited for what seemed a very long time. At last the footman reappeared and advanced upon us. Towering over us, he bellowed:

“Sir Perceval and Lady Mompesson will receive you in the justice-room. Kindly be good enough to follow me, madam.”

The justice-room, I repeated silently. This venue seemed to augur well.

“Should he come?” my mother asked, glancing anxiously at me.

“Sir Perceval and Lady Mompesson was most particular, madam, that the young genel’man should be brung to the ante-chamber adj’ining of the room what they will receive you in.”

And so we set off, following that broad back as the footman strode ahead at such a pace that we had almost to run to keep up with him. How many passages we walked along, how many stairs we climbed, how many huge rooms we traversed, I have no idea.

Yet, dazed as I was at being inside that house at last, I could not help noticing that the livery on the back turned to us was patched and worn, the epaulettes tarnished and the stocks in which the magnificent calves were encased were yellowed and much-repaired.

Similarly, the carpets were threadbare and everywhere there was an air of delapidation and neglect.

At last, from the landing of a magnificent staircase we passed into a small room where it was made clear to me that I was to wait. The footman advanced to the other end of the room and, flinging open the lofty double doors that led into the next chamber, bellowed:

“Mrs Mellamphy!”

With a timid glance back at me, my mother went through the doors. The servant drew them shut behind her and, with a stern look at myself as if defying me to misbehave, went out through the door to the landing. I was left in absolute silence. I pressed my ear against the door through which my mother had vanished, but could hear nothing. I looked around me. The room had no windows, and the walls, except where pictures hung, were lined with book-shelves containing severely uniform leather-bound volumes which seemed never to have been touched.

Suddenly I heard the sound of footsteps running lightly past the door by which we had entered. The runner was panting heavily and seemed to be in distress. After a moment I heard the sound of another, equally quick but much heavier person running as if in pursuit. Just outside the door the pursuer seemed 108 THE

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to overtake the pursued, and I heard the sounds of a scuffle. A girl’s voice cried out:

“No, don’t, don’t!” Then there was a sharp cry of pain, and the sound of the pursuit resumed as the two ran out of hearing.

I seized the heavy handle of one of the great doors and turned it, then cautiously pushed. The door moved. Bringing my eye to the crack I had thus opened up, I looked along the passage that led from the landing. It was empty, but after a moment I heard the sound of running feet and a figure appeared coming towards me. It was a girl of about my own age, but there was something strange about the way she was running. Then I recognised her as the pale-faced child I had met at the gate of this house all that time ago.

She was almost upon me now, and I pushed open the door and called out:

“Henrietta!”

She looked at me in amazement but slowed her run.

“Come in here!” I whispered and I think at that moment she remembered me. She ran in, squeezing herself through the gap with surprising difficulty, and I quickly pushed the door shut. A moment later the heavier footsteps came running down the passage, passed the door, and faded out of hearing.

Henrietta stood panting and gazing at me. She was wearing a plain dark dress with a blue sash and her long black hair fell in ringlets around her face that seemed, for her black eyes, so pale.

“Do you remember who I am?” I asked in an undertone.

She nodded as if too out of breath to speak and as she did so I noticed that her arms and head appeared to be oddly constrained, so that as her head moved so the rest of her upper body seemed to follow. She leaned back against the door and there was a clattering sound of two hard objects colliding and I was disconcerted by this for it made her seem something strange — like a creature made of wood.

“You’re the boy I met whose name is the same as one of mine,” she gasped.

“Who was chasing you?” I asked.

“Tom.”

“Does he hurt you?”

She pulled up one sleeve a little way and showed me her forearm: it was covered in bruises and had several long scars.

I shuddered: “I’ll fight him for you!”

“If it wasn’t for this thing I could scratch his eyes out!” she said, indicating the wooden contraption strapped to her shoulders.

“What is it for?”

“It’s a back-board. It is to rectify my posture.”

Suddenly she broke off and listened intently. In a moment I heard the footsteps that had just run past the door. They were coming back, but this time at a walking pace. We froze until they had gone past, then Henrietta said: “Even he will soon guess that I am here.” She moved back towards the door.

“Are you ever allowed out alone?”

She looked at me in surprise: “Why do you ask?”

“Because I should like to meet you. Should you like to have me as your friend?”

She seemed to reflect before she replied: “Yes, I think I should like to have a friend.

I’m never allowed out alone or permitted to go outside the park. But on Sunday afternoons, if it’s fine, my governess and I walk to the Pantheon. I must go now.”

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“Then I’ll try to meet you one day. Where is it?” (I was determined not to ask what it was.) “And won’t your governess stop you from speaking to me?”

“It’s in the little wood above the lake. You can find it easily because of the cascade that runs down from it. And as for …”

At that moment the door opened softly and a young lady, whose footsteps we had not heard, came in. She wore a plain dark dress and was tall and, I thought, very beautiful: her clear grey eyes and well-shaped mouth conveyed an impression of gravity nicely balanced with playfulness and wit.

“Are you hiding from your cousin again?” she asked with concern. Then she noticed me and smiled.

I recalled Mrs Digweed saying that the young governess here had pleaded her cause with the housekeeper and smiled back at her.