Loving - Green Henry (читать книги txt) 📗

My darling my darling my darling, her daughter-in-law prayed in her heart to the Captain, never ever again.

'I think everything's partly to do with the servants.' Mrs Tennant announced as if drawing a logical conclusion.

'The servants?' Mrs Jack echoed, it might have been from a great distance.

'Well one gets no rest. It's always on one's mind Violet.' She got up. She began to search for dust, smelling her wetted forefinger as though there could be a smell. This last trouble over my cluster ring now. I spoke to Raunce again but it was most unsatisfactory.'

'I shouldn't have,' Mrs Jack murmured a trifle louder.

'I know Violet. But you do see one can't stand things hanging over one? This hateful business round the pantry boy. There's no two ways about it. Either you can trust people or you can't and if you can't then they're distasteful to live with.'

'Yes,' Mrs Jack agreed simply. All at once she seemed to recollect. 'What d'you mean quite?' she asked sharp almost in spite of herself.

'Well he said he had it, he told Raunce so.'

'Had what?' Mrs Jack demanded suddenly frantic.

Mrs Tennant swung round to face her daughter-in-law who did not raise her blue eyes. There was something hard and glittering beyond the stone of age in that other pair below the blue waved tresses. And then Mrs Tennant turned away once more.

'Why my cluster ring Violet,' she said going over to an imitation pint measure also in gilded wood and in which peacock's feathers were arranged. She lifted this off the white marble mantelpiece that was a triumph of sculptured reliefs depicting on small plaques various unlikely animals, even in one instance a snake, sucking milk out of full udders and then she blew at it delicately through pursed lips.

'Besides there's another thing,' Mrs Tennant went on, moving around amongst the historic pieces which made up this fabulous dairy of a drawing room. 'The peacocks,' she said. 'Now yesterday was perfectly dry without a drop of rain yet I couldn't see one of the birds all morning.'

'Perhaps they thought it was going to rain,' Mrs Jack proposed and drifted over to the windows. 'They don't like getting wet.'

'My dear Violet please tell me when does it ever not threaten rain in this climate? No I made enquiries. Like everything else in this house it was quite different. Not the natural explanation at all. Just as I'd feared. Because I had Raunce in and I asked him. Of course he pretended to know nothing as the servants always do,' and at this Mrs Jack winced, 'but I can't stand lies. D'you know what he wanted me to believe?'

'You said he was lying?' Mrs Jack asked faint over her shoulder.

'Well he must have been my dear. Now look at this pitchfork or lamp standard or whatever they call it.' Mrs Tennant was halted before a gold instrument cunningly fixed as so to appear leant against the wall and which had been adapted to take an oil lamp between its prongs. 'The damp has settled on the metal part which is all peeling. In spite of the fire I have kept up on account of the Cuyps. Isn't that provoking? And of course it's a museum piece. Or that's what they say when they come down. They simply exclaim out loud when they see this room.' But her daughter-in-law did not look. 'It's all French you know,' Mrs Tennant continued, 'they say it came from France, which is why I try to impress it on the servants that they really must be careful. There'll be so little left when this war's finished. But Raunce is hopeless. D'you know what he said to me?'

'No?'

'Well Violet I'd asked him to have a word with O'Conor. You know how extremely difficult that man is. Then it came out,' and Mrs Jack drew her breath sharp, 'or not everything, just a bit probably. You see he said O'Conor had locked the peacocks up in their quarters as he termed it. Now that's very unsatisfactory of course. After all they are my peacocks as I pointed out to Raunce. I have a right to see them I should hope. They're a part of the decoration of the place. But he told me he thought O'Conor was afraid of something or other.'

'How ridiculous,' Mrs Jack exclaimed. She turned to face her mother-in-law with a look which appeared stiff with apprehension. But if Mrs Tennant noticed this she gave no sign.

'Exactly,' she said. 'Frightened of what I'd like to know? I put it to Raunce. But he couldn't or wouldn't say.'

'Which is just like the man,' the younger woman interrupted. 'Always hinting.'

'But that wasn't the lie,' Mrs Tennant said soft. 'When it came it was much more direct than that. You see as I said before I asked him to speak to O'Conor. D'you know what he answered? Sheer impertinence really. He had the cheek to stand where you are now and tell me that it was no use his going to interrogate the lampman, can't you hear him, because he couldn't understand a word he said.'

'I don't quite see,' Mrs Jack put in livelier. 'I can't catch what he says myself.'

'No more can I. That's why I wanted someone else to go. But my dear it's not for us to understand O'Conor,' Mrs Tennant explained as she replaced into its niche a fly-whisk carved out of a block of sandalwood, the handle enamelled with a reddish silver. 'We don't have to live with the servants. Not yet. It's they who condescend to stay with us nowadays. No but you're not telling me that they pass all their huge meals in utter silence. He eats with them you know. Of course Raunce was lying. He understands perfectly what O'Conor says. There's something behind all this Violet. It's detestable.'

'Raunce told you that O'Conor shut the peacocks up? But that's too extraordinary,' Mrs Jack remarked in a confident voice. She was tracing patterns on the window-pane with a purple finger nail.

'I shall get to the bottom of it,' Mrs Tennant announced. For an instant she sent a grim smile at her daughter-in-law's back. 'I shall bide my time though,' she said, then quietly left that chamber the walls of which were hung with blue silk. Mrs Jack swung round but the room was empty.

That night the servants all sat down to supper together. Mrs Welch had asked for and been granted leave to stay in Dublin overnight to consult a doctor. Her Albert had been sent to bed. By this time he was probably running naked on the steeply sloping roofs high up. Mrs Jack now looked after her children who ate with their mother and the grandparent while Miss Swift died inch by inch in the bedroom off the nursery. And because Miss Burch was still indisposed Edith as though by right took this woman's place at table. 'Well what are we waiting for?' she asked quite natural in Agatha's manner.

'Bert's just bringing in the cold joint,' Mary replied. 'Jane's lending a hand. My,' she went on, 'this certainly is nice for us girls to have company. It's a thought we both of us appreciate Mr Raunce to be invited to your supper.'

'You're welcome,' the man replied as he sharpened his carving knife against a fork. He spoke moodily.

'Come on Bert do,' Edith remarked keen to the lad when, followed by Jane carrying vegetables in Worcester dishes, he came struggling under a great weight of best beef. He cast a reproachful look in her direction but made no reply.

'If it wasn't for O'Conor being absent this could be termed a reunion,' Raunce announced pompous. 'With Miss Swift and Miss Burch confined to their quarters as they are by sickness we won't count them. Nor Mrs Welch thanks be with her 'ardening of the kidneys.'

'Charley,' Edith remonstrated.

'Pardon,' he said. He sent her a glance that seemed saturated with despair.

'I'm sure we're very happy to have you with us,' Edith said in Jane's direction. Kate watched. Her gimlet eyes narrowed.

'Because if Paddy turns up I've been charged to speak to him,' Raunce began heavy as he set about carving the joint.

'Well you know right well where he is the sad soul,' Kate replied. 'Locked up with them birds 'e's been the past ten days and only gettin' what I fetch out. Not that I defend it,' she ended.