Rosemary Aitken (23 page)

‘And you never told me?’ Pa sounded really hurt. ‘I would like to have met him, any road, if you really cared for him.’

‘Well actually you did meet him,’ Effie said. ‘Though I hardly knew him then. He was that young policeman who came out to the mine. There, I’ve said it, but it doesn’t matter now in any case. It never came to being serious – he was only just a friend – and after what I said he saw the sense of it and he has started seeing someone else.’ She straightened up and put the bean strings in the pail. ‘So let’s not talk about it any more.’

He reached across and took her hand in his. He was not given to such gestures and there was a moment of special closeness before he murmured in his gentlest voice, ‘I’m some glad you told me, Effie, though I can see it gives you pain. I don’t like having secrets between the two of us.’

She sat down close beside him on the corner of the bed. ‘And no more do I.’ She paused to squeeze his fingers apologetically, then added with a little laugh, ‘But don’t for pity’s sake go telling Uncle Joe. You can just imagine what he’d say if he knew! Consorting with a policeman – and a wealthy one at that! I would never hear the last of—’ She broke off at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. ‘But let’s change the subject – here comes Aunty Madge. Why don’t we let her find us talking about how much you’re enjoying your change of view?’

But it wasn’t Aunty Madge who tapped the door a minute later. It was Peter Kellow, dressed up for visiting, his face and neck still glowing where he’d scrubbed them red and his ginger hair still damp with washing. He had even scraped the mine-dust from underneath his nails, and had clearly made an effort before coming here tonight, quite different from the day he’d come to get her from Penzance. You would never call him handsome, even now, but you had to admit that he did look quite nice when he cleaned up a bit.

He coloured with pleasure when he saw that she was there. ‘Miss Pengelly – Effie!’ he exclaimed at once. ‘I was hoping you would come. How wonderful to see you. And you too, sir, of course.’

It was a bit discourteous in a sick-room, but Pa didn’t seem to mind. In fact he chuckled. ‘Don’t mind me, young man. I don’t need glasses to see what interests you!’

Peter was instantly contrite. ‘I came to help your sister put you back to bed, but she’s putting jam tarts in the oven for your tea so she suggested that Effie could lend a hand instead – it’s only to help steady you, sir, after all.’

‘Call me Walter, boy, for heaven’s sake!’ Pa said gruffly. ‘You’ve seen me in me night-shirt and bare feet and knees – you can’t call me sir for ever more.’

It was a great concession for a person of his age to somebody who wasn’t in his family or his pare. Peter knew it too. He turned a brighter ginger than his hair. ‘Thank you, Mr Pengelly, sir. I mean Walter, sir,’ he muttered in confusion and made everybody laugh.

It was Pa who really brought things back to normal, though. ‘Well, come on, you two. I’ve done these damty beans. If you’ll just take the saucepan and the knife . . .’ He handed them to Effie, who put them safely down. ‘You can help me to my feet and get me into bed before Madge comes and makes a fuss.’

Effie took her place on the left-hand side of Pa while Peter went around towards the window side and they pulled the rug back while Pa swung his leg down from the stool and then leaned on their shoulders as they heaved him to his feet.

It was the first time that Effie had seen him try to stand and she was not prepared for how unsteady he appeared to be. But she did manage to support him as they helped him turn around and manoeuvre himself a little further up the bed. Peter had the wit to turn the blankets back and Pa was able to lean back on the bolster and put his good leg in before they helped him raise the splinted one.

Effie saw him wincing and she bit her lip. It was going to be a good few days before he walked, she thought, and she almost told him so, but Peter caught her eye. He gave her a look which told her what she should have seen herself – that she wouldn’t help her father by saying things like that. She nodded, gratefully.

‘Well, there you are again!’ She made her voice sound bright. ‘Tucked up cosy and ready for your tea. I’ll just take these beans downstairs for Aunty Madge – she will be wanting to salt them for Christmas I expect, so I can give a hand and leave you two fellows to chat about the mine.’ She seized the pail and saucepan and the piece of newspaper on which the beans had stood, and suited the action to her words.

Peter was looking at her with dismay but she shook her head at him. It was not that she wanted to get away from him, as he appeared to think; it was simply that the tears were standing in her eyes and she didn’t want her Pa to realize.

She explained that to Peter when he came down again and he was very nice. Said that he’d noticed and completely understood but that her Pa was waiting for her now. So she hurried back and talked to him herself, fifteen to the dozen – all the funny things that she could think of telling him – until it was time to catch the late horse-bus back into Penzance.

Major Knight seemed determined to be especially genial today. He had not only sent the carriage down, as promised, but as soon as the butler had taken Alex’s coat and hat, the Major had come out to greet him warmly in the hall and invite him into his private study for a brandy before lunch. ‘The ladies won’t be joining us for half an hour or so. Titivating themselves up as usual, I suppose, eh what?’ he said, expansively, leading the way into the room.

Alex had never been invited in there before and he wondered to what he owed the privilege today. It was obviously the Major’s personal retreat, with leather easy chairs, an enormous bearskin rug, crossed African spears above the fireplace, and a collection of sporting trophies and regimental photographs on all the other walls. The Major sent the manservant away and poured the drinks himself, from a glass decanter in a sort of wooden frame device which unlocked with a key, saying as he did so, ‘You like my little sanctum, eh? Well, bottoms up – good health and all that.’ He raised his glass and sank into the deepest chair.

The brandy was absolutely excellent, far better than anything usually offered after lunch. This was another unaccustomed honour and Alex felt more and more uneasy as he took the other armchair on the far side of the fire, shadowed by a gigantic fern plant in a huge brass pot. All this affability was not the Major’s general style. He was leading up to something, Alex felt quite sure, and he had an uncomfortable suspicion that he might know what it was.

He braced himself for an embarrassing exchange. He wasn’t ready to be asked what his intentions were towards Miss Caroline. He didn’t really have any, if the truth were told. He found things satisfactory exactly as they were: an undemanding conversation over a pleasant lunch followed by a gallop on a splendid horse. But how could he explain this to his host – or indeed to Caroline, who was no doubt entertaining other hopes of him?

The Major put his glass down and cleared his throat a touch. ‘I wanted to have a quiet word with you, before we went in to lunch.’

This was it, then! Alex gulped more brandy than he’d intended to, and almost ended up by spluttering. But he managed to contain it and murmur – though his voice came out unusually hoarse – ‘Of course, sir. What was it about?’

The Major surprised him by broaching something else. ‘Fact is, I happened to run into Old Broughton yesterday – you remember I mentioned that I saw him now and then?’ He made that little throat-clearing noise again. ‘Found myself sitting next to him at some charity affair. I took the opportunity to put in a word for you.’ He leaned back and looked at his guest expectantly.

‘That’s extremely . . .’ Alex said, and let the sentence lapse. Here was another dilemma he wasn’t ready for. If he expressed undying gratitude, as the Major was obviously expecting him to do, he might invite the same thing to occur again. And the truth was that he did not welcome it. He had fought for years to stand on his own feet, without his parents pulling strings for him behind the scenes, and now here was someone else’s father doing it. Or trying to at least; it was possible that it would have the opposite effect. The Borough Chief of Police (Alex could not think of him as ‘Old Broughton’ even now) had never been a military man and was said to have delivered a famous diatribe against ‘these ex-army johnnies trying to pull rank and interfering with the running of the civilian force’.

But Alex could hardly say that either. He would offend his host, so he sought words that seemed decently polite. ‘That was so unlooked for, Major, I don’t know what to say,’ he settled on at last, which had the advantage of being true at least.

The Major took it as an expression of delight. ‘Oh, don’t bother to thank me. It’s of no account at all. It was the least that I could do. After all, I’ve known the chap for years. Caroline’s been urging me for weeks to speak to him.’

Alex took another gulp to stay his nerves. He felt the liquid fire running through his veins and it emboldened him. ‘It was kind of you to think of it, Major Knight, of course. But I doubt that the Borough Commissioner would even recognize my name. He does not have much to do with us junior constables.’

Knight tossed back his brandy with a practised hand. ‘But my dear fellow, that’s just where you are wrong. Old Broughton knew exactly who you were – especially when I pointed out that you’d topped the entrance test. Said oh yes, you’d done exceptionally well and he had been keeping an eye on your progress ever since. Apparently your training sergeant speaks very well of you in his regular reports.’

Alex murmured something deprecating in reply.

‘Asked him outright what future prospects were and he told me, if you kept on doing well, you could expect promotion in due course and even have a village station of your own, with its own accommodation, within a year or two.’ Knight warmed his brandy in his hands and slowly drained the glass. ‘No doubt that’s the sort of thing that you were aiming for?’

‘That was my ambition, certainly.’ Alex saw where this was leading and made a bold attempt to parry the attack. ‘But you appreciate that it would take me several years before I could think of . . .’

The Major waved a hand to cut him off. ‘A little police house in the country with perhaps a maid to help? And perhaps a sergeant’s posting somewhere after that? It sounds idyllic in the abstract, I agree. But it’s not the sort of life my daughter is accustomed to and I warn you that I think that she would find it difficult – though she will be of age quite shortly and wilful enough to defy my judgement I am sure.’ He leaned forward sharply in the chair. ‘No, my boy,
we’ll have to find another route for you. And that’s where I can help. I hear from my contacts in the regiment that
they are particularly keen to recruit qualified policemen nowadays, especially anyone who is handy with a horse – apparently the training and drill is excellent – and a proper commission would be well-nigh guaranteed. Now, young fellow, what do you say to that?’

Alex did not have anything to say to that at all, so he said nothing – which was probably as well.

Knight hurrumphed. ‘Of course I realize that all this will take some time. You’d have to finish training and all that sort of thing. But if you did decide to make the switch, I promise you I would be generous for my daughter’s sake. Though for the moment, this is just between ourselves. May I take it this is something you’re prepared to think about?’

Alex squared his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Major, I can’t promise that. I’ve put my shoulder to the ploughshare and I don’t want to change horses in the middle of the stream.’ Panic was making him jumble up the images, so he tried to sound a little more decisive as he said, ‘I like to finish what I have begun.’

He was expecting a verbal drubbing for his ingratitude, but strangely this seemed to be the right response, because the Major laughed. ‘Good for you, my boy. Perhaps my daughter’s right. There is more about you than the other weak-chinned lads her mother’s brought here and had straggling after her. You stand by your principles and you won’t be bought. I like that in a man – it shows decisiveness. We shall make a soldier of you yet.’

‘But . . .’ Alex muttered, but the Major cut him off.

‘The army is the place for men of character. That’s what Old Baden-Powell used to say. Served with him briefly in South Africa. Picture of me with him somewhere over there . . .’ He gestured vaguely at the rows of photographs with his now-empty glass. ‘Good times they were, too. So you think carefully about what I have said. There isn’t any rush. A long engagement is quite the fashion nowadays and in a year or so you might be ready for a move.’

Alex said, in desperation, ‘I’m not looking to rush into anything.’

‘Good man! Let’s drink to that.’ He went as if to pour more brandy out when there was a sudden commotion in the hall outside: what sounded like a violent scuffle and men’s voices raised in a way one did not associate with a house like this. Knight put down the decanter. ‘What the devil’s that?’ He frowned at Alex, who had started to his feet.

‘Do you need assistance? I am a policeman, after all.’ Alex knew it sounded pompous, but he said it all the same.

The Major shook his head. ‘Some disgruntled tenant, by the sound of it. There won’t be any real trouble I am sure, but I’d better go out and investigate. I told the servants I was not to be disturbed. Help yourself to cognac.’ He strode towards the door and opened it.

Alex had just time to glimpse the most amazing sight: a large man in boots and leggings and a workman’s smock, waving a battered billy-cock hat in one enormous hand, while with the other he held the struggling, angry butler at arm’s length – with about as much effort as if the man had been a fly.

The butler was protesting in a strangled voice, ‘I’ve told him, sir, he can’t just come in here . . .’ He broke off as the hand around his throat began to shake him violently.

‘And I say I want to see her. She’s my blasted . . .’ The newcomer had a bellow like a bull.

‘Now listen here!’ The Major roared, marching out and slamming shut the study door behind him. Alex found that he was left alone. He could still hear the bellowing, but it was muffled now to a distant wordless roar. How embarrassing! What the deuce was a man supposed to do when he found himself in a circumstance like this?