Джорджетт Хейер - Penhallow

“Well, you can ask the Guv’nor, if you don’t believe me,” yawned Bart, selecting another split from the plate, and consuming it in two mouthfuls.

“Good lord, he must have blackmailed old Cliff into it!” said Conrad. An unwelcome thought occurred to him; he added with foreboding: “I say, does it mean that we shall have Clay living here, year in, year out?”

“That’s the idea,” nodded Bart.

“Christ!” exclaimed his twin, in shattered accents.

Faith flushed angrily, but as she knew Conrad too well to suppose that he would attend to any remonstrances from her, she pretended to be listening to what Myra was saying to Clara.

“I must say, I should have thought there were more than enough people living here already,” remarked Vivian, getting up to take Eugene’s empty cup from him, and carrying it to Clara to be replenished.

“Thank you, my sweet,” he murmured. “Not quite so much milk this time, please, Aunt Clara. I do wish you would move away from the fire, Ingram; I am feeling very chilly, and I got up with the suspicion of a cold in my head this morning.”

“Eugene! You never told me!” Vivian said quickly. “Are you sure you’re all right? I thought you didn’t look quite so well today, but I put it down to the wretched night you had. Ingram, can’t you sit down? You’re screening all the warmth from Eugene!”

“Blast Eugene and his colds!” responded Ingram, without any particular ill-will. He removed himself to a chair beside Bart’s, and lowered himself into it, stretching his stiff leg out before him. “Hand over those splits, you young hog!”

“Eugene, I know you’re sitting in a draught,” Vivian said anxiously.

“Yes, darling, I imagine you might,” said Eugene, “since it is impossible to sit out of a draught in this room.”

“Somebody run and get our fragile pet a nice warm shawl,” suggested Bart. “Perhaps he’d like a foot-warmer as well?”

“No, dear little brother, he would not,” retorted Eugene, in no way discomposed by this heavy satire. “But I think if someone — you, for instance — were to move that screen a little, I, and possibly others as well (though that is not as important) should be much more comfortable.”

“Gosh, you have got a nerve!” ejaculated Bart. “I fancy I see myself!"

“I’ll do it!” Vivian said, setting down her cup-and-saucer, and laying hold of the screen in question, a massive, fourfold, ebony piece, with a peacock brilliantly inlaid upon it.

“Here, don’t be a fool, Vivian!” Bart said, hoisting himself out of his chair, and lounging over to her assistance. “You can’t move that! What a blooming pest you are, the pair of you! Where do you want the damned thing?”

"Just behind my chair,” directed Eugene. “Yes, that will do very well. I thought that I could make you move it, and you see that I was quite right.”

“If you weren’t a lazy swine you wouldn’t let Vivian haul furniture about just because you think you feel a draught!” said Bart, returning to his chair, and wresting the plate of splits away from Ingram.

“Ah, but I had an idea that your chivalry would be stirred, you see,” smiled Eugene. “Of course, I wouldn’t have risked it with Con or Ingram, but I have often observed that you have a nice nature, beloved. Now I’ll reward you by divulging a piece of news which I rather fancy will make you view the prospect of Clay’s arrival in our midst as a wholly minor ill. Our respected parent has taken it into his head to draw Aubrey back into the fold!"

“What?” demanded Bart, horrified.

“He won’t come,” said Conrad confidently. “Not enough scope for Aubrey in these parts.”

“Yes, but he’s broke,” Bart pointed out. “Oh, I say, but it’s too thick! Honestly, Aubrey puts me right off my feed!”

“Bet you he doesn’t come,” Conrad insisted.

“You ass, he’s bound to come down for the old man’s birthday!” Bart reminded him. “Even Aubrey wouldn’t miss that! Then, if he’s broke, I’ll lay you any odds he stays. Oh, Ray, is it true that Aubrey’s coming home?”

Raymond, who had just come into the room through the door at the far end, replied harshly: “Not if I have anything to say to it.”

“As you won’t have anything to say to it -’ began Ingram sarcastically.

Bart cut in on this. “Well, say everything you can think of, will you? Damn it all, we can’t have Aubrey here, corrupting our young minds! Think of Con and me!”

A shout of laughter went up from three of his brothers, but Raymond remained unsmiling. He walked over to the tea-table, and stood waiting for his aunt to fill a cup for him.

“It only remains for the old man to summon Char home for the circle to be complete,” said Eugene, in his light, bored voice. “What a memorable day this has turned out to be!”

“One way and another,” remarked Conrad, cutting himself a large slice of seed-cake, “there’s a good deal to be said for Vivian’s point of view. Too many people already in this house.”

“Don’t worry!” said Raymond. “One day there will be fewer!”

Vivian flushed hotly, but Eugene smiled with unimpaired good humour. “Do tell me!” he invited. “Is that to my address?”

“Yes,” replied Raymond bluntly.

“Now you know what to expect!” said Ingram, with one of his aggressive laughs. “Raymond was always overflowing with brotherly affection, of course.”

Raymond stood stirring the sugar in his tea. He glanced at Ingram, with a slight tightening of his mouth, but he did not speak. Bart, having eaten the last of the splits, turned his attention to a dish of saffron cakes. “Oh, I say, Ray! Are you going to turn us all out when the old man dies?”

The frowning eyes rested on his face for an instant. “Shan’t have to turn you out,” Raymond said. “Father will hand Trellick over to you — if you don’t make a fool of yourself.”

Bart coloured up, and muttered: “Don’t know what you’re driving at. I wish the old man would hurry up, that’s all.”

Ingram’s eyes went from him to Raymond, with quick curiosity. “Hallo, what have you been up to, young Bart?”

“Nothing. You mind your own business!”

“Love’s young dream!” murmured Eugene.

“Oh, is that all!” said Ingram, disappointed.

At this point, Myra, who had not been paying any attention to the interchange, appealed to her husband to corroborate her statement that Bertram’s housemaster had said that that young gentleman had plenty of ability, if he would but learn to take more pains; and under cover of the animated account, which followed, of Rudolph’s and Bertram’s prowess in the field of athletic achievement, Bart lounged out of the room.

He found Loveday in one of the passages upstairs, curled up in a deep window-embrasure, and looking pensively down upon Clara’s fern-garden. She turned her head when she heard his step, for she had been expecting him, and embraced him with her warm, slow smile. He pulled her up from the window-seat without ceremony, and into his strong young arms. “Gosh, it’s an age since I saw you last!” he said in a thickened voice.

Her body yielded for a moment; she kissed him with parted lips; but murmured, with a quiver of laughter in her voice, as he at last raised his head: “"This morning!”

“For two minutes!”

“Half-an-hour!”

“It isn’t good enough. I can’t go on like this! Here, come into the schoolroom!”

He thrust her into the room as he spoke, grasping her arm just above the elbow, and kicked the door to behind him. She let him kiss her again, but when he pulled her down beside him on the old horsehair sofa, she set her hands against his chest, and held him a little away from her. She was still smiling, and there was a kind of sleepy desire in her eyes, but she slightly shook her head. “Now, Bart! Now, Bart!”