In Distant Fields (23 page)

‘It is mine!'

‘Hang on,' Pug protested. ‘It is everyone's, for everyone!'

‘But see – see he has so much beaches and I am pushed against the rocks!'

‘Well, it really doesn't matter much,' Gus said. ‘Because Hans here has ruined Thierry here's castle, so I say we count your castle out of the competition?'

‘I think that's fair,' Almeric put in. ‘I'm afraid you're disqualified, Hans.'

‘My name is not Hans! My name is Pieter!'

‘Fine,' Harry said, shaking his head at him. ‘Then Pieter is disqualified.'

The boy looked at him furiously, while the man Harry took to be his father shouted something at him in German, as the boy's mother led him away.

‘Anyone know what Papa said?' Valentine wondered. ‘'Fraid I don't speak the Boche.'

‘He said that we are stupid too,' Harry said with a shrug. ‘All the English are stupid, according to him, most of all for siding with the French – something apparently we shall regret.'

The young men looked at each other and then at the wreckage of the French boy's castle, as
the tide began to rush ever more quickly up the beach, only a matter of yards now from where the sandcastles were being judged by the Duchess, who was working her way methodically along the line before the sea flooded everyone's moats.

The silence in the library at Bauders had lasted for much longer than Wavell would have desired, but since he could think of no way of breaking it, he took his quiet leave, signalling to the footman to follow him and to close the double doors before heading off to the kitchens with the footman in tow.

‘One must always be aware of the times when a family wishes to be left alone,' he remarked to Tommy Taylor. ‘This will be one of them.'

‘Why? Whatever's up, Mr Wavell?' Tommy enquired. ‘Not something one of us has done, I hope.'

‘Why should it be anything to do with the likes of you, Taylor?' Wavell returned. ‘This is a matter of far greater import. It is a moral dilemma, to do with the young people – the sort of thing that eats at the heart of any family.'

As they went through the pass door on their way to the busy rooms below stairs, Tommy
Taylor frowned to himself and wondered what he might have missed. His mind had been far too full of thoughts of his girl, Tinker, to have taken any real notice of the Duchess opening the telegram that had been presented to her, nor of her subsequent remarks to the Duke. Tommy's head had been in the clouds, remembering fondly the sweetness of his girl's kisses from the evening and wondering when they could steal another half an hour together, to have gathered anything about the behaviour of anyone else, although as he followed Mr Wavell on to the kitchens he wasn't too dreamy not to notice two pairs of feet below the curtain hanging in front of one of the many bolt-holes below stairs, one a pair of riding boots he knew to be Tully Tuttle's and the other a pair of sturdy, sensible shoes that could only belong to Tully's pash, Bridie.

If had to be something in the air, Tommy decided, grinning to himself. Everyone seemed inordinately determined to find their other half, everyone that is with the exception of the ever upright Mr Wavell. But then as Tommy remembered, according to Cook, Mr Wavell was long past it anyway.

In the room Wavell and Tommy Taylor had just vacated, silence still reigned, a quiet broken only by the crackling of the fire that burned in the hearth, whatever the time of year.

‘This brouhaha is not going to reflect at all well on anyone, you know,' the Duke finally said,
breaking the silence. He was standing where he always liked to stand at such moments of reflection, at one of the long library windows, surveying his beloved parkland, seeing the white deer moving slowly among the trees, grazing the lush green grass and occasionally trying to pull down one of the branches of his precious young trees. ‘Least of all you, my dear,' he concluded. ‘Not going to reflect well on Waterside.'

‘I'm afraid you're right, John,' the Duchess replied, still holding the folded telegram she had just received and tapping it nervously on one elegant hand. ‘Of course one had no idea …'

‘Course you didn't,' John agreed. ‘Boys will be boys, don't you know. Particularly when there are pretty young ladies about.'

‘I don't think there was any
real
impropriety, John.'

‘Don't doubt your word for a moment, my dear. Fact is, however, the two of them have eloped, and there's an end of it. People like to point their fingers and this is just what people will be doing. Should have kept a more watchful eye, they'll be saying behind their wretched fans. Should have kept an eye on the emotional weather.'

‘You're absolutely right, of course, John,' Circe agreed. ‘I'm most dreadfully sorry.'

‘Quite sure you are.' John continued to stare out at the landscape while he considered the situation. ‘Since it's fairly obvious we're about to go to war, then we can be pretty sure that when
we do that'll scotch any such scandal that follows in the wake of this sort of thing. Most other times this would cause the gravest of embarrassments, but I suppose in light of what's about to happen, it will all blow over, don't you see? It'll prove to be small beer, at a time like this.'

‘You are convinced about this, John?' Circe asked, putting the telegram at last to one side. ‘You really do believe war to be inevitable?'

‘No doubt about it, my dear. Put my shirt on it.'

‘I do so hope you're not right, John. Trouble is, you invariably are. You have a way of reading the runes.'

‘Any fool can see it, Circe. Don't have to be some kind of prophet fellow. The Kaiser simply cannot wait. He's dying to show us all how big and strong he is, and how weak and feeble we are. Can't be doing with the man, but there you are. That's Germany for you.'

‘I simply cannot bear the thought.'

‘Which of us can? But that's how it is. Grown men make wars for boys to fight.'

They fell to silence once more, the Duke to stare out over his estate and the Duchess to wish the Wynyard Errol boy had been born with more sense.

‘Anyway,' Circe began again, bringing the subject away from the unbearable, back to what she now saw as the truly trivial: the subject of Valentine Wynyard Errol and Livia Catesby's totally unforeseen elopement. ‘To return to the
news this telegram has brought us: do you know how I felt when I read it? I felt as though I had been betrayed. Absurd, I'm sure, since young people do this sort of thing without any such consideration, but I couldn't help it, John. I felt betrayed.'

The Duke nodded, turning now to face his wife. ‘Don't know what they thought they were doing,' he said with a puzzled shake of his head. ‘Consolata Catesby is a bigot, it must be faced, and there's nothing to be done there. She'd never have given her consent to Livia marrying the Wynyard Errol boy. Quite apart from the religious side of it, there is the question of the Wynyard Errols being theatricals. You know how many of the Roman Catholics regard the theatre as a place of debauch and temptation, no more and no less.'

‘No, I didn't know that, John. I know my mamma's friends were all happy to go to the theatre in New York.'

‘Apparently a great many of the more backward of them still think it's sinful to go to the theatre.'

‘Surely not nowadays?'

‘The absolute sticklers I understand won't even stomach the Bard.'

‘Gracious heavens.'

‘I'm not being judgemental, my dear. Just factual.'

‘I have to tell you that I can never quite understand the notions people have about religion,
John. No one can prove God likes to be worshipped one way more than another, after all, can they, dearest?'

‘Rather not, Circe, and if He could tell us, would He? Absolutely not, because it would mean He would be favouring one lot over another, and He wouldn't do that. I have always found religions of all Kinds a trifle baffling. On the other hand, Nature,' John said, nodding backwards to the parkland behind him, ‘I have no trouble understanding, however red in tooth and claw, but religious feelings that insist on being right, I just don't understand them, truly I don't.'

‘Why should you, John? You are by nature tolerant; it is one of your many virtues,' Circe assured him. ‘But to get back to the subject of Valentine and Livia – the reason they have run off is obvious, wouldn't you say? They have run off because Livia knows that Consolata would never countenance the match so I suppose the only way open to them
was
to elope. I don't know what gets into people with their young, I really don't. You know about Elizabeth Milborne and Pug Stapleton, of course?'

‘Understand wedding bells are in the air, yes.' John grunted. ‘From what Al has told me, that is imminent, which is something to celebrate, at any rate.'

‘If only it were as easy,' Circe sighed. ‘I dare say Almeric has not told you that Elizabeth's father is refusing to give his consent.'

‘The devil he is! What is wrong with that man?'

‘What is wrong with him, John, is that he takes the greatest pleasure in putting every kind of obstacle in his daughter's way. It would appear the last thing he is concerned about is Elizabeth's happiness.'

‘He can't have any feasible objection to young Stapleton? Young Stapleton is a thoroughly decent sort of chap. All right, he is a bit mannered, but there you are, that's only a phase – sort of thing a lot of young men go through, that sort of affectation of speech. But you couldn't meet a more four-square young man. Don't know what the devil is wrong with Milborne, I really don't.'

Circe smiled to herself, amused how, as always, John seemed to know everything that was going on without ever apparently taking much of an interest. She had long suspected Wavell as being the source of the gossip, yet she knew there was more to it than that, because John always seemed to know that little bit more than even a butler could possibly know.

‘Just wish all these romances had kicked off somewhere other than your summerhouse,' John said, looking momentarily and uncharacteristically glum. ‘I can hear all the gossips at it already.'

‘Actually, John,' Circe decided, getting to her feet and going to her husband's side, ‘I think we're making a bit too much fuss. What does it matter where or how these things started? They're not children any more – they have wills
of their own and emotions the same too. And if what you say is right and there is going to be war, all these young men will be marching off to fight. When and if they do, that really is going to make all these obstacles that have been put in their way look even more stupid and pointless than they are already.' Circe slipped her arm into his, and smiled up at him, at her most beguiling. ‘Now why don't we go for a long walk in our park, sweetest? Why don't we go out and enjoy this wonderful weather and talk about all the things we used to talk about when first we met?'

‘What sort of things were they, my dearest dear?' John heard himself asking. ‘Not sure I can remember that far back.'

‘Of course you can,' Circe smiled. ‘And what you can't remember, I shall prompt, because I can remember everything we said to each other when we were young and first in love.'

‘Dash it, I suppose you can too, Circe,' John said with a sudden shy smile. ‘So very well – let's take the air. I should like to hear all the things you said to me when we met.'

‘And all the things you said to me,' Circe replied.

Besides recalling how they had met and how John had shyly but successfully wooed her, Circe suggested that rather than worrying about what society was going to say with regard to Valentine running off with Livia, they should do
what they could to shore up the happiness of the young lovers, in particular Pug and Elizabeth, who having both reached their majorities were fully entitled to marry whomsoever they wished, regardless.

‘Why don't we invite them to get married here at Bauders, John?' Circe suggested. ‘If Cecil Milborne is going to be so intransigent about poor little Elizabeth, the least we could do would be to offer to let them marry here.'

‘And incur old Cecil's undying displeasure, you mean?' John mused with apparent delight. ‘Can't think of anything better. Good for you, my dear. What a good notion.'

‘Especially in light of what you think is about to happen,' Circe added, putting her hand in his, which John promptly kissed. ‘We could make it a most memorable day.'

When the invitation for Pug and Elizabeth to be married at Bauders had first been extended, Pug had naturally been thrilled and honoured, but now that the fateful day had dawned, and he found himself staring in his shaving glass, he felt the very opposite of all those previous emotions. Now he only felt frightened, nervous and unworthy. He wanted so much to please his bride-to-be, but his reflection told him a different story. The mirror showed him what he considered to be a plain and unremarkable young man with very little in the way of character, and certainly of wealth, to offer the sweet-tempered
and talented young woman who had agreed to be his wife.

‘Touch of the collywobs?' Almeric wondered cheerfully as he walked through from his dressing room to discover Pug leaning over the basin supported by both his arms. ‘Like me to get you a little shot of brandy, old chap?'

‘No, thanks, Al,' Pug said quietly to his best man. ‘Just a little nervous, that's all.'

‘And only natural too,' Almeric assured him, putting his hands on Pug's shoulders while at the same time staring at his own reflection. ‘A small cognac might be just the thing, you know, a shot from the stick at the first meet, eh?'

‘Wish I had your looks,' Pug said gloomily, having stared at Almeric's reflection behind him. ‘Bethy's getting a very short straw, I'm afraid. I'm the sort of chap cows bolt from in case their milk turns sour.'