The Wheel of Fortune (98 page)

Bronwen too had a baby girl by this time. She was born at the end of 1931 and named Sian, which I knew was Welsh for Jane. Since Lance was only two, Gerry four and Evan, my admiring acolyte, seven, Bronwen was kept very busy—in fact I often wondered if she was kept too busy, for she looked pale and tired and I heard Uncle John say he was worried about her. There had been a new series of anonymous letters after Sian was born and more nasty messages daubed on the Manor walls. Bronwen was again too afraid to leave the house on her own, but Uncle John used to drive her and the children to Oxmoon so that they could take the baby for walks in the safety of the grounds.

“You mustn’t worry about it,” I said to Evan, wanting to cheer him up. “The fuss will soon die down and then everything will go on as before.”

But Evan looked up at me with grave green eyes and said nothing. Evan’s view of the future was already less sanguine than mine.

Later he began to look forward to going away to school. Harry had spoken to him enthusiastically about Briarwood, and even Bronwen, who had confessed to my mother that she had mixed feelings about boarding schools, had said it would be lovely for him to meet other boys of his own age.

“Kester,” said Evan once, “why don’t you go to school like Harry?”

“Well, actually I’m so busy learning how to be master of Oxmoon that I just don’t have the time,” I said airily, but Uncle John had never given up hope of packing me off to school, and as soon as I was twelve in the November of 1931 he began his campaign to persuade my mother to send me to Harrow in the autumn of 1932. By some great mismanagement on my part I failed to eavesdrop on the vital scene (no doubt Uncle John, knowing me all too well by this time, took care to stage it when I was out of the house) but he was so often at Oxmoon in those days that I had no way of distinguishing his vital visits from the trivial ones.

The truth was that Uncle John was now using Oxmoon as his formal home in order to circumvent the difficulties of the situation at Penhale Manor. After Lance’s birth he decided he could no longer expect people to accept his invitations to the Manor, but since my mother loved to entertain she was able to come to his rescue. Nobody ever refused an invitation to Oxmoon. My mother gave dinner parties, cocktail parties, garden parties—even a dance in the ballroom—and always Uncle John was there to act as host, immaculate in his impeccable clothes and looking, as Aunt Julie once remarked to my mother, the very last man in the world to harbor a socially unacceptable mistress and numerous illegitimate children.

“Uncle John was here this afternoon, pet,” said my mother soon after my twelfth birthday in 1931.

Since this was such an unremarkable occurrence I merely grunted and turned a page in my book.

“He was talking again of toughening you up at school.”

This horrific news made even the exploits of Ivanhoe fade into mere printed words on a page. “Oh no!” I said aghast. “I thought he’d got over that!”

“My dear, such a bore but we can’t tell him to mind his own business (a) because he’d be upset and I can’t bear the thought of upsetting him and (b) because it really is his business, and he’s been so marvelous with you since Daddy died that the least we can do in return is consider his point of view.”

“Mum! You’re wavering!”

“Well, not exactly—I’d never force you to school against your wishes, but would school really be such a disaster now you’re older? Not everyone there would be like Harry—you might make some friends, and that wouldn’t be such a bad thing either. You’re a bit solitary, darling.”

“Only because other children seem so boring! I’m mad about grown-ups!”

“Yes, but I can see why Johnny worries about you. … Listen, pet, if you did go to school I wouldn’t send you to Harrow. I’d send you to a modern enlightened school where they’d encourage all your artistic interests—”

“Would they allow me at least three hours a day to write?”

“Well …”

“I’d cut my throat if I couldn’t write for three hours a day.”

“But darling, I can’t tell Johnny I’m keeping you at home so that you can scribble in your room! Scribbling’s just not the done thing!”

“What about Shakespeare, Jane Austen and Emily Brontë?”

“They weren’t masters of Oxmoon.

We argued a little longer. Eventually I became so cross that I accused her of wanting to wreck the idyllic life that was absolutely due to me after all my awful early years when no one had cared whether I had lived or died.

“Well, we won’t talk of that,” said my mother, shifting guiltily in her chair. “That’s over now.”

“It’s all very well for you to brush it aside in that fashion, but I was miserable and neglected then and I shall be miserable and neglected again if you condemn me to school! And when you’re having a wonderful time at all your sumptuous dinner parties, how will you be able to bear thinking of poor little me, crying night after night into my pillow, bullied, tortured, brutalized—”

“Oh God,” said my mother.

I scented victory. “I might even die,” I said, much moved to think of it. “The eldest Brontë sister died at school. And when I die and you’re standing at my grave—”

“Oh, do shut up, pet, you’ve made your point. But listen, you really do need to be with men—”

“I
am
with men—constantly! Uncle John practically lives here and Simon does live here—”

“That’s true,” said my mother. She puffed furiously at her cigarette. “Actually I’ve always thought you didn’t need to go to school in order to grow up masculine.”

“I may look sissyish,” I said defiantly. “I suppose I must do since all my most-hated people say so, but I’m very masculine inside my head, I know I am, and when I grow up I shall marry the girl of my dreams and have four children and I’ll be the best master Oxmoon’s ever had.”

“Darling!” said my mother, folding me in her arms. “
I
don’t think you look sissyish at all—and no, of course I can’t wreck your happiness by sending you away; you’re such a good boy and you don’t deserve any more misery and I’m going to keep you at home.”

Uncle John was livid. There were quarrels which took place behind the closed door of the library; I eavesdropped valiantly but could hear next to nothing. An interval followed during which Uncle John stayed away from Oxmoon, but eventually he sued for peace. By Christmas he and my mother were kissing under the mistletoe and all the trouble was over—at least, all
my
trouble was over.

Uncle John’s trouble was just about to begin.

V

Six months later in the summer of 1932 Uncle John heard from the headmaster of Briarwood that Evan could not be accepted as a pupil. I heard the news from Evan himself who arrived at Oxmoon as usual for his lessons and cried as he told us what had happened.

Simon and I were both horrified.

“But that’s monstrous!” said Simon, understanding at once. “The headmaster must have a grudge against John!”

I was used to vandals throwing stones but the idea that the headmaster of a preparatory school might have his own stone to throw on the subject of illegitimacy did not immediately occur to me.

“But Evan, why?” I said baffled.

“He doesn’t have children whose parents aren’t married. Dad didn’t tell him but someone else did. Dad thinks he was cross at not being told. Anyway he said if he accepted me the parents who were married would be upset.” More tears. “I did so want to go.”

“Evan,” said Simon, “if that’s the attitude of the headmaster, then you’re better off not going there. It must be a very poor sort of place.”

“But what’s to happen to me?” said Evan, trying to wipe away his tears. “I said to Mum, ‘Is it always going to be like this?’ and she said no, not if she could help it. Then Dad said he’d find another school, but Mum said, ‘And is he going to go on being shut up here every holidays? Or are you going to board him out like Dafydd?’ And then I cried, I couldn’t help it, because I don’t want to be boarded out like Dafydd, but Dad said no, I wouldn’t be boarded out, and then Mum said, ‘Well, what sort of life is he going to have here?’ and then she cried too and I cried all the more because she was crying—”

“Kester,” said Simon, “run and ask Cook to make some cocoa and send it up to the schoolroom with some biscuits. We won’t start lessons just yet.”

On my way back from the kitchens I met my mother, and when I told her what had happened she came with me to the schoolroom.

“Evan—my poor little darling, what a cruel disappointment for you …” I saw the glances she exchanged with Simon and suddenly I felt cold.

“Dad says he’ll find another school where the headmaster doesn’t know, but supposing he finds out! Would I be expelled? Would the boys throw stones at me?” He broke down again, sobbing against my mother’s large comfortable bosom where I had sobbed so often myself in the past, but my mother for once seemed to have no words of comfort to offer. Finally she said, “Evan, I’m going to telephone Bronwen and ask your father to take you home. I think you’re too upset for lessons today.”

“Dad’s not there.” He raised his tearstained little face to hers. “After he dropped me here he went on to Swansea. Mum told him to go away and leave her alone.”

There was a dead silence.

“I see,” said my mother. “Well, never mind, I’ll take you home myself and have a word with your mother. Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”

I had just finished my morning lessons when my mother arrived back at Oxmoon. Running down the stairs, I found her pulling off her gloves in the hall.

“Mum, what did Bronwen say? Is Evan all right?”

My mother hesitated before replying: “He was a little better by the time I left.” She dropped her gloves on the hall table and moved towards the drawing room.

“Mum …” I followed, nearly treading on her heels. “Mum, what are you thinking? Tell me,
tell
me—”

“Oh, stop pestering me like that! God, how you irritate me sometimes!” said my mother crossly, and began to mix herself a large pink gin. However when she saw my expression she added abruptly: “Sorry, pet, I know you’re worried but the truth is I’m worried too. Bronwen’s very unhappy.”

“Do you think Uncle John might take them all away to live somewhere else?”

“Oh darling, that would be no solution because the truth would inevitably catch up with them. Johnny’s situation is widely known now, and wherever he went he’d be quite unable to lead an obscure secluded life. He’d join another golf club and be offered half a dozen new directorships and eventually he’d be certain to meet someone who knew of his past and then the whole trouble would begin all over again.”

I was relieved to learn that no imminent departure was planned, but it was soon after this crisis that the changes began to take place at Penhale Manor. First Rhiannon left Gower directly after her seventeenth birthday and went to London with Dafydd; she found a clerical job in a bank and Dafydd went to work in a garage. After Rhiannon left Bronwen was ill for a while and had to lie in a darkened room. I took her flowers but she was seeing no visitors.

My mother explained that she was suffering from migraine.

Then I noticed that Uncle John had become thinner and more careworn. He stopped coming to my mother’s parties. My mother offered to have all the children to stay while he and Bronwen had a holiday on their own in Cornwall, and Uncle John was keen on the idea but nothing came of it. Bronwen refused to go.

“I’d spend my whole time worrying in case something happened to the children,” she said to my mother.

“But my dear, nothing would happen to them at Oxmoon!”

“Your servants would look down on them—pass cruel remarks—I couldn’t bear Evan to suffer any more—”

“Leave us, Kester, please,” said my mother, and by the tone of her voice I knew I was absolutely forbidden to eavesdrop. All I heard as I left the room was Bronwen weeping: “I didn’t mind when it was just myself. But I can’t bear the children suffering, it’s destroying me.”

In the new year I noticed that whenever I visited the Manor Bronwen seemed to be sorting things out. The toy cupboards were purged. Piles of clothes were set aside for Mrs. Wells to take to the jumble sale. The nursery assumed an uncluttered, almost eerie appearance.

“Bronwen’s beginning her spring cleaning early this year,” I said to my mother.

Once I saw a letter lying on the hall chest. It was addressed to Bronwen and bore a Canadian stamp.

“Who do you know in Canada?” I said to Evan.

“Mum has cousins in Vancouver. We’re going to visit them in the spring.”

“Gosh, what fun! I wish I could go too!” I said, and when I returned to Oxmoon I remarked to my mother: “Uncle John’s taking everyone to Canada for a holiday in the spring.”

“No,” said my mother. “Uncle John won’t be going.”

“Well, I suppose, it would be inconvenient for him to be away for such a long time when he’s so busy,” I conceded, and retired to look up Vancouver, in my atlas.

At Easter the Canadian visit seemed to come closer when six new trunks were delivered to the Manor to be packed and sent on in advance.

“Heavens!” I said to Bronwen. “How long are you going for?”

“I don’t want the children to get homesick,” she said, “so I’m taking as much as I can with me, all their favorite toys and games.”

The departure was fixed for the sixteenth of May, and on the Sunday before that date my mother invited all the children to tea at Oxmoon. Bronwen did not come; she had another migraine and we did not see her when we collected the children from the Manor.

I enjoyed playing with the younger ones. Sian was very pretty; I spent some time amusing both her and Lance who had a mild shy equable temperament. In contrast Gerry was far too noisy for me to tolerate for long, but my mother gave me a rest by taking him for a walk in the woods. Later he and Evan and I played croquet, but Gerry soon tired of that and demanded a cricket bat.

“Another perfect Godwin in the making!” I groaned to my mother, but she didn’t smile. All she said was “It’s very sad.”

Two days later they all departed, Uncle John driving them down to Southampton, and that evening, just as I had finished my homework and was on my way to my room for a quiet read before dinner, I glanced out of the landing window and saw Uncle John’s Rover speeding up the drive.