Marlford (4 page)

Ernest seemed pleased by evidence of such virility. ‘Good man.' He looked sidelong at Ellie, who was busy stacking the bowls; she must have sensed his attention because she spoke to him quietly, without raising her head.

‘They were hoping we would allow them to use a telephone, Papa.'

‘A telephone? Here?' Ernest stabbed his knife into the table, where it remained, quivering. ‘Whatever would we have a telephone for?'

The boys stared at him.

‘Yeah, well, it doesn't matter, man. It's cool the way it is.' For the first time since his arrival, Dan smiled. Ellie felt he was testing them.

‘We can direct you to somewhere in the village,' she offered.

Dan shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, thanks… you know—'

‘I'm sure someone will be able to fix it for you. Do you know what the problem is?'

‘It's not my thing.' Dan was dismissive. ‘I'm not good with mechanics.'

‘No, well, if you like…'

Gadiel leaned forwards, interrupting before Ellie could finish.

‘Why don't you tell us about the place? About Marlford.'

She started at the sudden request. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I suppose. All right.'

She saw Dan stretch and lean back in his chair, as though he was pleased not to have to go on speaking to her. Gadiel placed his elbows on the table and waited. She shrank from their elaborate awkwardness and looked at her father.

‘Would you like to explain it, Papa – would you like to tell them?'

Ernest pulled the knife from the table with a twang and placed it in front of him. It seemed for a moment as though he might simply stand up and leave the room but, instead, he straightened himself in his chair, tugged purposefully at the lapels of his dinner jacket and cleared his throat with a series of small coughs. Then he began. ‘The Barton family has lived at Marlford since 1894, when my father acquired the mansion and the estate. I was born here two years later, the third of three sons. Henry and Albert fell together at Passchendaele, so I inherited the place after the war. I am, as you can see, the latest, but hopefully not final, incumbent.' He fixed his attention on a point at the far end of the table,
holding his chin high, his expression unwavering in its solemnity. Ellie pulled out the chair alongside him and sat down. ‘The original sixteenth-century manor house has, of course, been much altered, improved in particular by my late father, Braithwaite Barton, in the years immediately after he acquired the property. Indeed, the original manor itself, or what we now regard as the original manor, was built over the structure of an existing medieval building. Marlford has been here, you might say, for ever. But you can see…' He could not resist a peek at his visitors at this point but, seeing their disinterest, the smirk they juggled between them, he lost his way. ‘Well, the thing is, with a place like this…' He paused, frowning at the heavy quiet, then he thumped the table sharply. ‘Damn it, when you think about Marlford, you see—'

But the idea of the place was too knotted. He could not unravel it.

Ellie leaned across him and picked up the knife.

Ernest sighed. ‘Yes – thank you, Ellie.' He watched his guests as they passed up their cutlery. He would end with a flourish. That at least.

‘At Marlford the ancient and the modern are side by side. The constancy of Marlford, that's what I call it. I – I am the modern.' His voice rang out, quite certain again, his finger wagging at them, driving home the lesson. ‘And we have a duty to it – to believe in it, to nurture it through this trying century. Whatever it takes.'

It felt, perhaps, as though there should be applause, but there was just a cheerless silence. Ernest was determined not to break it himself so he braved it out, puffed up and magisterial.

It was Ellie who attempted further conversation. ‘Perhaps you stopped at the village on your way through? It's called Marlford, too.'

‘Marlford.' Dan repeated the name thoughtfully, as though it was the first time he had heard it, drawing out the sound on his tongue to mean something. ‘Yeah. We came through the village.'

‘The house was here first, a very long time ago. The village was established much later, by my grandfather, on part of the estate,' Ellie explained. ‘It was specially designed for the workers. It has everything they might need, designed in a way to be pretty and yet practical.'

She felt as though she had made too long a speech. She flushed and fiddled with the cutlery.

Dan spoke just loudly, sharply, enough to surprise them. ‘Where did he get his money from?' He smiled with tight lips. ‘Must cost a bob or two, to build a whole village, mustn't it? I mean, you can't just snap it together from Lego, can you, man.'

Gadiel looked up, sharply. Something passed between them, too quickly for Ellie to fathom, but she sensed the dart of it, aggressive. She, in turn, glanced at her father. Ernest looked down the length of the table as though nothing had been said, and she felt forced to answer.

‘Braithwaite Barton was an industrialist. He had a number of interests – shipping and canal building, some banking – but mostly he invested in the salt industry. He opened the mines here, providing rock salt for manufacturing processes.'

‘Ah! The mines – yeah, man, of course – the chemical works.' Dan seemed delighted. ‘It's all built on the backs
of the workers, the sweat of the poor, isn't it? I should have thought of that.'

He sat up and stared at Ernest, quite openly, as though the man were an exhibit behind glass; as though he might estimate the exact extent of the Barton family's culpability from the colour of Ernest's eyes or the rutted pattern of lines around his mouth. It was not immediately clear what such genetic inheritance might have told him, but he leaned back finally in his chair with a long sigh, suggesting that everything had been resolved much as he had expected.

Ernest accepted the scrutiny and then rose from his seat, brushing down his dinner jacket with great care. ‘I don't think, Ellie… if you don't mind.' He did not look at the boys but examined his scarlet pumps, flexing his toes so that the soft fabric rippled. ‘I have no port to offer. Not today. So, if we're replete…'

‘Yes, Papa, I think we've finished.'

‘Then I shall retire.'

He made his way to the door. Only when his hand was resting on the doorknob did he turn and look at them.

‘Braithwaite Barton was an ingenious and philanthropic man,' he said. ‘A gentleman of great principle and foresight. You're wrong if you doubt that – quite wrong.'

After he had left, there was a long pause until Ellie finally stood up and began to gather the dishes; Gadiel sprang from his place, coming round to her and reaching out a hand. ‘Look, I'm sorry. Dan's sorry, aren't you, Dan? He doesn't mean to be rude, asking about the money and stuff. He's just… Can't I help you? Let me help you. I'll take something. I'll take the soup thing.'

‘Tureen,' she corrected, picking up the bowls alongside, barely glancing at him.

‘Tureen,' Gadiel repeated, not laughing at her, not exactly, but trying to make her laugh instead, or trying to force her to look at him, at least. ‘I'll take the… tureen.'

She could see that he was attempting to be kind, but he was simply making things worse.

‘Thank you.' She steadied her own load and led from the room, walking briskly down the narrow corridor towards the kitchen, hearing him follow.

‘Wait – Ellie, please, just a moment.'

Even carrying the tureen, he was quickly upon her. He had balanced it against his chest, leaving a hand free to grab her arm.

She gasped.

‘No – please,' he was saying. ‘I just wanted to apologize. For Dan. He doesn't mean it. He loves these kinds of places really, but he's into politics at the moment and he gets a bit over-excited sometimes, that's all. We didn't mean to offend you.'

She was taken aback by the concern in his eyes.

‘It's perfectly all right,' she said.

The tureen began to slip, and Gadiel had to hoist it further into his grip. Ellie took advantage of the movement to pull back and, the next moment, she had escaped, turning the pinched elbow of the corridor, hurrying on towards the kitchen. By the time Gadiel came through with the tureen she was nowhere to be seen.

When she finally came back to find them, they were loitering in the hallway, Dan sitting at the foot of the stairs
and Gadiel crouched near the door, examining the ruts in the old flagstones. She had the momentary impression that they were spectral; not insubstantial or alarming, but simply imagined, completely and accurately, emerging quite naturally from the depths of her mind.

She hesitated. For a moment she thought of Oscar Quersley; she pictured him sweeping the library, waiting for her, the Dante ready on the table, the ledger unmarked. She put the distraction aside.

‘Would you like a game of billiards before you leave?'

‘Who said we were leaving, man?' Dan sprang up.

Gadiel stood and stretched, smiling at her. ‘Don't worry. He's joking.'

‘Yeah, well.' Dan glared at his friend. ‘I don't play billiards. Who on earth plays billiards these days?'

Ellie tugged at her plastic beads. ‘Never mind. It's a very old table, anyway.'

Dan looked at her properly for the first time. She seemed smaller than he had imagined, rounded and plump enough, but with an odd bluish pallor that made her seem fragile, like finely worked porcelain.

‘An antique billiards table.' He snorted. ‘Well, man, every home should have one, I suppose.' He reddened, turning away and swinging foolishly on the banister, hanging awkwardly for a moment, like an albatross trying to take flight into the massive hallway. Then he spun round to face them again.

Ellie was watching him quite calmly, her expression unchanging. He wondered if his irony had passed her by; she was not quite like any of the other girls he knew, he sensed that already.

‘But we could do something else.' He let the idea linger, a plea and an apology. ‘Wouldn't you like to come out and see the van? I've had the paintwork done, and the interior. It's cool, man.'

‘If he'd had the engine done instead, I wouldn't have had to push it up your drive.'

But Dan ignored Gadiel's jibe.

‘Come on,' he urged. ‘I'll give you the guided tour.'

Ellie glanced down at her threadbare pumps. ‘I suppose so. If I change my shoes.' But before she looked up again, Gadiel had stepped towards her.

‘I don't mind playing billiards,' he said, firmly. ‘I quite like it.'

She did not see the look the boys parried between them.

‘Would you? Yes, all right – that's good. I'll show you.'

Dan trailed behind, pausing at the threshold to the billiard room and leaning against the doorframe. He watched Ellie pull the cord on the low-slung light; its long, bare tube groaned for a moment, clicked, then pulsed out a menacing orange glow that thrust him into uneasy shadow.

They set up the game quickly. Ellie smoothed the baize with slow hands and took two cues, chalking them both and offering one to Gadiel.

‘These things need to be aired, you know.' Dan spoke over the click of the balls, his abruptness seeming to stir the dust in the room.

‘Come on, Dan, leave it.' Gadiel chalked his cue again.

‘I'm just making the point, man – slave labour, all that kind of thing. We see it for what it is now, in the twentieth century. We're clued up.'

It was Ellie's turn at the table. She had never taken on a real opponent; she imagined this was why her hand was shaking.

‘Braithwaite Barton was a good man.' She made her shot.

Dan pushed his spectacles into place. He was carefully patient, only raising his eyebrows to signal the extent of his forbearance. ‘All I'm saying is – that kind of exploitation… Man, it's no wonder your dad's embarrassed by it all. Who wouldn't be?'

The billiard balls clicked, not quite a friendly sound.

‘You're mistaken. Papa's not embarrassed by Braithwaite Barton.'

Dan shook his head and smiled. ‘That's even worse, then. That means he doesn't get it.'

The air seemed too dense between them, a barrier.

‘Your turn, Ellie.' Gadiel stepped back from the table.

She dipped her cue towards him, a terse acknowledgement.

‘Ellie – your turn,' he repeated, when she did not come forward to play.

Dan pulled a battered packet of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘I'm going outside for a smoke,' he said. ‘It's poky in here, man.'

Ellie felt his retreat like a sudden change of light.

Gadiel turned out to be an excellent player. He approached the table with skill and flair; Ellie was captivated by some of his movements: the way he flicked his little finger before settling it on the baize, the stretch of his shoulder. As he played, the faint chink of the balls seemed pregnant with
meaning, a series of questions skittering urgently, one upon the other.

‘Won't you tell me about you and Dan?' she asked, as boldly as she dared, the frame coming to a close.

‘There's not much to tell. We're just travelling, like we said – or would be, if the van was working.'

‘Yes, but – apart from that.' She was surprised by her own insistence. ‘Not many people come here, you see.'

‘We're at university together… we thought it would be cool, for the holidays.'

Ellie felt his careful rejection of her curiosity, his account purposely bland, but she saw how she might begin to measure herself against them, these interlopers, and she was undeterred. ‘What do you study, at the university?'

‘History. Well, Dan does, and he's into politics as well, like I told you – I'm supposed to be doing history too, but I don't take it very seriously. I'm not sure it's really my thing. I've thought about dropping out.'