Theirs Was The Kingdom (33 page)

Every face and every voice recalled some milestone on the road they had travelled together, and many of those present had travelled it all the way in his company and hers. The Welsh lilt of Bryn Lovell, introducing his half-caste wife to Henrietta, recalled how Lovell had achieved fame for Swann-on-Wheels and himself by stepping forward like a Pied Piper and plucking fifty-seven entombed miners from a flooded pit. The buzz-saw vowels of Hamlet Ratcliffe, introducing his wife, Augusta, called to mind the story of Hamlet’s recapture of a toothless lion allegedly terrorising a Devon plateau, to the glory of Swann-on-Wheels and himself. Everyone here had a story to swap or a reminiscence to contribute, so that it seemed to her that each volley of small talk began with the words, “Do you mind the time…” or “That was around the time…” or simply, “Time was…” an inevitable preamble for a jeremiad denouncing the present in favour of the past.

John Catesby, who always reminded her of the phrase “Such men are dangerous.” had mellowed more than most, for there he was engaged in amiable discussion with that old rascal Sam Rawlinson, the bride’s grandfather, on the rival merits of Georgian and Egyptian cotton. She had no trouble at all remembering a time when Catesby would have gladly hung Sam from a Salford lamppost, whereas Sam, for his part, would have had Catesby transported as an industrial wrecker. Their fusion, she supposed, was another achievement of Adam’s. He had never had much difficulty in persuading lions to consort with lambs, given, of course, that the consorting occurred in a waggon that bore the Swann insignia.

It was possible, standing here in this room, to pinpoint a dozen examples of this rare talent of his for deputising and this, she supposed, was a trick that all successful men had in common. Over by the window was “Young” Rookwood, of Southern Square, talking to Godsall, of the Kentish Triangle. Both were relaxed and each was using the other’s Christian name without affectation. Who would believe, at this range, that Rookwood had begun life as a Thameside waif, whereas Godsall, at the same age, had been a lieutenant in one of the oldest regiments in the British army?

The same, in a sense, was true of Morris, the manager of Southern Pickings, and Jake Higson, another of Keate’s vanboys, for when Morris had joined them, an acknowledged expert on high-grade porcelain, he had thought himself a cut above men like Higson, Rookwood, and Ratcliffe. He had soon learned otherwise. Beneath the banner of Adam Swann every regional manager was equal, irrespective of birth, background, and even annual turnover. And so they would remain, until the day it came to his notice (as everything did sooner or later) that one or other of them had run out of steam.

She carried her cake and glass of champagne out into the hall, finding an unoccupied bench near the foot of the staircase and sitting there contentedly enough, basking in satisfied memories. She remembered the day she had first crossed this threshold, a woman without hope, for Adam Swann, whom she had once loved (and still did in a way) was said to be dying, and the future of everyone in that throng across the hall was at stake.

That was the day she had first met Henrietta and discovered, to her dismay, that she was not the spoiled doll of her imagining but a woman with wits and courage equal to the best of them and superior to most. It seemed to her, looking back, that she had taken a prodigious gamble to have admitted, there and then, that she was Swann’s woman. Soul certainly, aye, and body too if it could have been accomplished with dignity. But Henrietta had not been outraged, or even astonished. It must have seemed to her then (it probably still did) that every woman in the world could be forgiven for falling in love with Adam. Looking back on that extraordinary interview, Edith saw it as the real turning point in her own life, for she had no alternative then but to stop dreaming and begin the laborious process of rebuilding her life.

It was odd how Swann touched and changed the lives of so many others, and she wondered whether he impinged to this extent on his children. It seemed unlikely. Why else would he have allowed Stella to run herself into such a corner?

A step on the stairs made her glance up and see Henrietta in her blue and silver finery, looking as if she too would appreciate a momentary withdrawal from the babel. She said, descending the last few stairs to the hall, “Come into the sewing room, Edith, and take a dish of tea while Stella changes. I really don’t know why people make such a fuss about champagne. My throat is parched with the stuff and tea is what I need. Besides, I’ve never thanked you properly for all you did for Stella that time.”

Edith said, as they shut the door behind them, “It didn’t seem to do any good at the time. Stella left much as she arrived, walking in her sleep.”

“Ah, yes,” said Henrietta, merrily, “but she’s wide awake now I assure you. I expected a little panic now the public part of it is behind her, but there she is, getting her things together as offhandedly as a French maid. It’s Denzil who has his heart in his mouth.”

“How did it happen, Henrietta? If you don’t mind telling me.”

“I don’t mind telling you anything. They say two women can’t enjoy real friendship, of the kind men boast about, but that’s only bluff on their part. Underneath they’ve got far more capacity for rivalry than women. Especially women who have faced trouble together, as you and I have. How did it happen? By a mixture of luck and guile, I suppose,” and she told Edith the story of the last few months. “Do you think I did right? To settle for what most folk would regard as a poor second-best?”

“Most folk haven’t your ability to cut the cackle and concentrate on essentials,” Edith said, and meant it. That farmboy might be all he looked, a ponderously put-together peasant, but he was clearly what Stella Swann needed at this juncture: someone who worshipped her. Henrietta must have appreciated this, notwithstanding her well-known determination to put down social roots.

“How did Adam take it?”

“How I intended he should. In matters of this kind he gives me my head. And why not? It’s the least he can do, seeing that the family he’s concerned with is in there, converting this wedding into a board meeting. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

“No,” said Edith, smiling, “you don’t, but I’ve often wondered whether you resent it. Do you?”

“Not really, seeing the person he is, can’t help being, and will always be to the day he dies. I read somewhere—I forget where—that Napoleon’s last words were ‘head of the army…’ and thought of Adam at once. His last words will be ‘did Tybalt double-check that forage bill from the Crescents?’”

Edith laughed and Henrietta, after a moment, joined in. The conspiracy that had existed between them since the day the one had bullied the other into taking the Swann helm, and piloting the enterprise through a bad winter against the spring of his return, persisted to an extent. In a way they were still plotters, conspiring together for his own good and for their own peace of mind.

Henrietta said, by way of an epilogue, “A man like him could never devote that much nervous energy to anything as small as a family. That’s why I take upon myself the job of directing everything that happens here. I make mistakes from time to time, but who doesn’t? He does, and Stella was the worst of them. It was that, I imagine, that finally decided me. He accepts it gracefully. At his time of life a man wants something more of a woman than a bedmate, and that’s all I was for long enough.”

“I don’t think so,” Edith said, “but maybe, looking back, it seems that way to you. It’s a problem I never had to face with Tom, seeing that I was…” but she stopped, remembering Adam would choose his own time for telling her about Tom Wickstead’s past.

Henrietta did not press her, as most women would have done, and this encouraged Edith to add, “When you’ve got rid of us all, and peace descends on the place once more, remind Adam that he has my permission to tell you something remarkable about Tom and me. I think it will interest you because…” But then, to their mild embarrassment, Adam popped his head in the door. His flushed face indicated that he had had more than his share of the champagne.

“What the devil are you two gossiping about in here?” he demanded, jovially. “Am I expected to entertain a hundred guests singlehanded while my wife and her crony sip tea in seclusion?”

“We’ve been discussing men and what happens to their wretched wives when they drink too much,” said Henrietta, but a ragged cheer from the hail cut short any further exchange.

Adam said, “They’re leaving now. I told Alexander to make sure that send-off nonsense is confined to a shower of rice. That poor devil Fawcett couldn’t be bullied into taking more than a sip or two of champagne.”

“He’ll not need champagne,” Henrietta said, rising and giving a touch to her hair and earrings. “Your daughter’s his substitute for liquor and has been, ever since she put her hair up. Not that
you
could be expected to notice it. Come, Edith, let’s see them off and afterwards we’ll offer tea to all the wives in the dining room and leave the men to talk haulage alone. After all, that’s what they came for; the wedding was just an excuse.”

They followed him out, through the hall and into the forecourt, where Giles (in a way the touchstone of the occasion) was holding the bridles of the team hitched to a rosetted wagonette. The April sun flooded the front of the house and over towards the downs there was half a rainbow, arched across a sea of brown, green-tinted woods. Edith thought, amid the storm of cheers and jokes directed at the couple, “By God, Henrietta knows her business. As well or better than he knows his, and that’s saying a good deal!”

4

Henrietta brought up the subject that same night, when most of the guests had departed, and the few remaining were scattered about a house that seemed silent and deserted after such a sustained commotion.

She asked Adam less out of curiosity than as a means of sidetracking his thoughts and his misgivings concerning Stella, for she believed he was troubled by guilt regarding his share in the Moncton-Price debacle. In fact, he had more or less admitted as much, saying, the moment he climbed into bed and laid himself down with a grunt, “Couldn’t get near the girl when she drove off, but she looked happy enough from the glimpse I got. Was that your impression?”

She said it most certainly was, smiling at her reflection in the mirror, but he added, with a rather pathetic attempt at raillery, “You gave her a second helping of mother’s advice, I hope,” to which she replied, laying aside her hairbrush, “Indeed, I did not. I started to, a week ago, but she laughed in my face. She’ll be giving me advice soon, I wouldn’t wonder.”

He sat up at that, saying, “Great God, you’re not hinting that our first grandchild will come across the fields, are you?” and then she laughed, for the conclusion was typical of a male, so ill-equipped to deal with subtleties of this kind.

“The difference between this marriage and the last is that the girl was courted and that taught her far more than I could. She’s head over heels in love with that humping great farmer’s lad, and not simply concerned with rescuing her pride, as you seem to think.”

He said, settling back, “Rubbish. What the devil can she know of love, except the kind she found in those trashy romances you and Phoebe Fraser leave lying about the house?”

She came round to the bedside then, turning the lamp low and saying, “Simply that working alongside him has sharpened her instincts. That’s what I meant by ‘love.’ She caught him at the right time, when he was crushed under his own troubles, and that gave her an advantage, rare enough in a woman’s case. Don’t worry your head over Stella any more. She’s off your hands, and for good this time. Instead, tell me about Edith and that Tom Wickstead. It’s all right, Edith told me to ask you. It can’t be so dreadful, can it? Was he married to someone else when she threw her cap at him?”

“Not to my knowledge,” he said. “He was a convict on licence.”

His revenge was in the look of dismay on her face, and he was glad then that she had not quite extinguished the bedside lamp.

“He was
what
?”

“A ticket-of-leave man. She first met him when he was pilfering one of our Harwich-bound packages. Later she managed to talk him out of his profession on the promise of a job with us. I don’t usually put much faith in these road-to-Damascus reformations, but it worked with him. He’s one of the best men I ever had. The Crescent staff think the world of him.”

“But that’s crazy,” she said, “Edith marrying someone like that… did you know all the time?”

“No. She told me to cheer me up, that time I met her in Peterborough after you had sent Stella to her. I always thought there was something a bit odd about the chap. Not that odd, however.” He looked at her anxiously. “Look here, Hetty, if you let it make any difference to your approach to him or her I’ll be damned sorry I told you. I wouldn’t have done, without her leave. Why did she make a point of asking you to ask me?”

“That would need a lot of thinking about!” said Henrietta, but she at once began to think about it, weighing the enormous reserve of faith and courage that would be needed to take a gamble of that size. Or perhaps faith and courage hadn’t played such a spectacular part in it, for she remembered now how glum and at odds with herself Edith had been when they had parted after all that patient coaching at the Thameside Headquarters. Adam was away learning to walk. Edith had been nearly thirty then, and might have seen Tom Wickstead as a final chance to make something of her life.

She said, wonderingly, “What made her do it? She’s always had nerve, but it seems a terrible chance to have taken. Besides, Edith never struck me as being my type of woman as regards a man.”