Rustication (14 page)

· · ·

I must be careful. The girl is young and easily frightened. I don’t want to frighten her into complaining to Mother about me—though I believe she would not dare to make trouble for fear of losing her place.

Wednesday 23
rd
of December, 11 o’clock.

T
he post came so late that we had had breakfast and Euphemia had left for Lady Terrewest—yet again!—by the time Old Hannah arrived. She handed me two letters—one for Mother and one for myself. Both were from Uncle Thomas and I took mine up here to open.

He wants to ship me abroad like a convict transported to the colonies! And with the threat to reveal everything to Mother! How dare he try to blackmail me!
Unthinkable that I should employ you in a position of trust
.

I have plans for my life and they don’t involve being despatched to some stinking den in the stews of Canton or a log cabin on the shore of a frozen lake in Ontario.

By return of post
. He can whistle for it.

2 o’clock.

I had to read the letter to Mother because he told her he had made me a proposal she should discuss with me.

This is beyond my hopes
, Mother said.
A clerkship in one of the trading-companies with which he corresponds! How generous
.

Generous! It has cost him nothing but the time he took to write a couple of letters and in return he gets rid of me for ever. Canton or Hudson Bay! Both of them on the other side of the world
.

I’m sure he has your best interests at heart
.

Does he? I think he wants to avoid any prospect of having to pay my debts—which I don’t for a minute expect him to do
.

Mother shook her head.
What nonsense! And besides, you have to earn your living in some way now that you won’t be resuming your studies
.

Won’t I? Why do you say that?

She shrugged.
Even if the College will have you back, I doubt if Uncle Thomas will continue to support you
.

I’m not even sure I wish to return
.

Then if you won’t go back and won’t go abroad, how do you imagine you will earn your living?

So I took a deep breath and told her.
I intend to write for the literary pages of the newspapers
.

She stared at me in dismay and said:
I had a suspicion that something like that was in your mind
.

I told her that I was perfectly realistic about the difficulties. I will go to London and make my way by dint of hard work and talent.

At last she said:
Well, I know you can work very hard on something as long as it holds your interest
.

So we may ignore Uncle Thomas’s offer?

You must write very courteously declining it and tell him you will visit him when you arrive in London
.

Thank heavens for the improvement in the weather. It will be a fine afternoon for a walk.

6 o’clock.

The world has gone mad.

I was in the middle of the Battlefield when I spotted that old lunatic Fourdrinier standing in a patch of wild grass that came above his knee. He was bent over and using a long-handled tool to cut the roots of the undergrowth. It resembled a large dibber or a pruning-hook with a curved blade at the end.

When I spoke his name he turned to me such an unfriendly face that I almost thought I had the wrong man. He looked like nothing so much as a parrot scrabbling in the sand of his cage who had been surprised in mid-scratch—beak at an angle, one leg slightly raised, head turned so that only a single eye was visible, large and unwinking through the thick lens of his pince-nez. I can’t imagine how I ever thought of his features as cherubic and innocent when they are so manifestly corrupt with that small mouth and the round eyes with drooping lids.

It’s not just his nose that is pinched: it’s his whole moral being.

I said:
Mr Fourdrinier, I have not forgotten your gracious invitation to tea
.

He made no remark but began packing away his implements in the huge bag I had seen him with before. Then he suddenly swung round and gazed at me intently and asked:
Do you know anything about a letter?

A letter? From whom?

From whom?
he repeated indignantly.
That’s just the point. A letter from someone I don’t know
.

I looked at him without trying to hide my astonishment. I asked:
If it’s from someone you are not acquainted with, then how could I have any information about it?

He rudely showed his back to me without answering and carried on packing up.

I asked:
Where is the young lady?

He turned and glared at me and delivered the breathtaking words:
What damned business is that of yours? Any more than it was your business to find out where I live?

He glanced—I assume involuntarily—towards the north-east and there, about a hundred yards away, was the girl and she was coming towards us. She stopped and then turned her back and began to walk very fast the way she had come.

Then the most extraordinary thing: He said:
Do you hope to stir my pot? Is that what you’re thinking, young fellow? You take me for a limp brush?

I must have stared at him like a madman myself. I felt that the obligations of social intercourse were suspended and so, without another word to the old booby, I turned and ran after the girl. He called out furiously:
Sirrah!

She glanced back and saw me and quickened her pace. By now I had become excited by the chase and, furious at the old rascal’s discourtesy, I threw propriety to the four winds.

After twenty or thirty paces I came alongside her.
Please don’t be alarmed
, I said.
There appears to have been some misunderstanding
. She walked on quickly, looking behind her. The old man had dropped the tool and was scurrying towards us on his fat old legs.

Then she spoke:
Wut the ell djoo want wiv me?

It was the accent and language of the London streets—the lowest and meanest of its most abject rookeries. The contrast between the delicacy of her features and the coarseness of her voice was so striking that I stopped dead.

She turned back and began to hurry towards the old man. I let her go. The scales had fallen from my eyes. The girl is certainly not the old scoundrel’s niece. But what does puzzle me is what has occasioned this sudden change in his attitude towards me. And what the devil he meant by that letter he was talking about.

10 o’clock.

After dinner Mother said that we had to have a serious talk. She began by addressing Euphemia:
Richard and I have discussed his intentions for the future. He intends to start earning his living by
. . .

She interrupted:
That’s all very well, but what is going to happen about his debts? Who is going to pay them?

I said:
I will. If you will have the courtesy to allow Mother to speak, she will explain how
.

Mother went on uneasily:
Once my claim to my father’s estate has succeeded, there will be no difficulty in paying all our creditors
.

So I’m to see a part of my inheritance given up to pay his debts? My birthright sold like Esau’s for a mess of pottage
. She paused and then with an angry smile asked:
Did Uncle Thomas say anything in his letters about settling with Richard’s creditors?

Mother and I exchanged a look and Euphemia said:
Oh, weren’t you going to tell me? You see, I met Old Hannah on her way here this morning and asked if there were any letters and while she was rummaging in her box, I saw them
.

There was no escape. Mother showed her the letter Uncle Thomas had sent her and she read it several times and then asked Mother to explain what his proposal was. When she had heard it she turned to me:
This is a magnificent offer. It means you can leave all your mistakes behind you and start a new life
.

No regret that her brother would be on the other side of the world! (And how dare she refer to
all my mistakes!
)

It’s not much of an offer
, I pointed out.
I’d be away from England for many years and I’d be nothing more than a mere clerk
.

But with wonderful opportunities. You must know how many young men went out as penniless clerks and came back as millionaires
.

Well you go and spend the rest of your life in some remote colony
, I said.

I would if I were a man! But why do you say “the rest of your life”? When you’ve earned enough to pay off your creditors, you can return
.

I could never return. Not after fleeing abroad to escape my creditors. No gentleman could face the shame
.

You should forget all those notions. Nobody cares now who someone’s father was. Only what talents he has and how hard he works
.

Who has she been talking to? That note of
sansculottism
is a striking change of tune. This is the girl who grovels and curtsies to a title at every chance! The girl who is risking everything to catch herself an earl! Is there something I have failed to understand?

Then she said:
Mother
,
Richard must accept immediately
. She turned to me:
When are the sailing dates?

I said:
A few weeks
.

Well, when?
she demanded.
Before or after the ball?

What an extraordinary remark!
What does it matter?
I said.

It matters a great deal
, she said.
You can’t leave before then
.

Go and fetch the letter
, Mother ordered.

I hurried up here to get it and then read out to them: “
On Thursday 14
^th
January
The Hibernian Maid
departs from Southampton bound for Newfoundland
. The Caledonian Maid
sails from Rye, after being refitted, on Saturday 16
^th
January for Hong Kong
.”

Then there’s no difficulty
, Euphemia pronounced.
The ball is on the 9
^th
.

Mother seemed as surprised as I did at the idea that the course of my entire life should depend on the date of a ball.

But I’m not going to accept Uncle Thomas’s offer
, I said.
Mother and I have agreed that I will follow another course
.

And what is that?
Euphemia asked sarcastically.

I will become a literary journalist!

Her eyes widened in amazement. (Quite the actress!) I explained what I had said to Mother while she listened impatiently.

You’re deluding yourself
, she said, interrupting me before I had finished.
To earn your living by your pen at seventeen! Without even a degree! Do you have any conception of how difficult that would be?

I said:
Mother agreed that I could do it
.

What does she know about it?
She turned to Mother:
You know nothing about the world outside the cloisters of Thurchester Cathedral
.

She spoke with such unveiled contempt that Mother started as if she had been struck.
How dare you take that tone with me
.

Well it’s true. All you’ve ever thought about is running a house and looking after us. Father could never talk to you about anything serious. Anything that he really cared about
.

That’s a wicked thing to say
.

He admitted it himself. You never understood him properly. You never helped him when he was persecuted by the mediocrities who hated him because they could never match him
.

I think you’re exaggerating
, Mother said.

Are you saying he imagined it?
Euphemia demanded.
You know that Father made enemies—as he used to say himself, “effortlessly”—because people envied him, and if you’d understood that better you could have saved him from what happened
.

That wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t I who did those things. He chose to do them
.

I’m not going to deny that he didn’t make mistakes but he only made them because you failed him when he needed you
.

Mother stared at her and then rose and walked stiffly out of the room.

When the door had closed behind her, Euphemia said:
You’re like Mother. You delude yourself about what is really happening. You’re not going to make me suffer for your stupidity
.

I said:
What mistakes? Are you referring to his accounts? How could any of that have been Mother’s fault?

She crossed to the pianoforte and began to play vengefully.

½ past 11 o’clock.

She must have felt it. She must have known what it was. She cannot be so innocent. It must have felt like a finger prodding her even through her thick dress. The thought that she knew what it was is gratifying. If she hadn’t known she would have looked round to see what it was. She is interested!

· · ·

Mother and Betsy have been busy in the kitchen much of the day preparing for Christmas. It’s like a pale ghost of the old times with all the servants scurrying around and the holly and mistletoe everywhere and the comings and goings and the making up of the Christmas boxes.

Midnight.

From my room I can just see Euphemia’s window and, I think, Betsy’s above it. I have just noticed the candle being extinguished behind the curtains in Effie’s room. Then exactly four minutes later the candle went out in Betsy’s room.

Thursday 24
^th
of December, 11 o’clock.

M
other caught me on my own after breakfast and told me that she now believes that my hopes of starting a literary career are “absurd”.