Michael Cox (12 page)

IN THE SUCCEEDING days, my life began to settle into the pattern it was to follow until – well, I shall not complete that sentence; for there is more to tell concerning those early weeks at Evenwood. I felt continually apprehensive, and often fearful, of what lay ahead, being still ignorant of what I would be asked to do by Madame, but I also experienced a strange relish at the prospect of impending adventure.
I would rise early and, if the morning was fine, go down the winding stairs leading to the terrace below my room where Lady Tansor usually took her morning and evening exercise, and then walk about the gardens and surrounding grounds until it was time to take my breakfast in the steward’s room. Then I would go up to dress my mistress, and while she went down to take her own breakfast, usually in the company of Mr Perseus and Mr Randolph, I would air and make her bed, and set about making all spick and span for her return, which was usually around eleven o’clock, after she had read her correspondence and conducted various matters of business with her secretary, Mr Baverstock, and the estate manager, Mr Lancing, often with Mr Perseus in attendance.
I had been given a list of tasks (my Lady was a great one for lists), which I was required regularly to undertake. On alternate days, beginning on Mondays, I was to strew dried tea-leaves over the carpets in her rooms, and then sweep them all off again. On Mondays also, all the looking-glasses, of which there were several, as well as various other items of glass-ware, were to be cleaned. On Wednesdays, the books were to be taken down from the shelves and dusted; and on Fridays, the wainscotting and panel-work were to be polished.
Every other Saturday I had to lay out all my Lady’s dresses, one by one, whether summer-or winter-wear, and regardless of whether they had been worn or not, and carefully examine them, brushing every one, removing any stains or other dirtying, and making any necessary repairs, before returning them to their respective wardrobes and presses. This proved to be an arduous task indeed, as well as a generally pointless one – several hours of brushing over wool and tweed, rubbing silk gowns with merino, shaking out and ironing tumbled muslin – which made me dread the prospect, for it left me with no time for myself, and I would always return to my room after supper with no other thought than to fall, exhausted, on my bed. Often I would wake several hours later, in the silent darkness, still fully clothed.
One or two afternoons a week, my Lady paid her calls, obliging me to accompany her to various houses in the vicinity, where I would pass the hours in some dark room below stairs, often tucked away in a corner on my own. I was happy enough, however, for I always took a book with me, and soon became blissfully engrossed in some tale of mystery or adventure. Some of the servants in these places considered me proud, I dare say; but I paid no heed to that. It was a relief to be free, even for a short time, from the need to play my usually accommodating character and simply please myself.
In the evenings, of course, I would dress my Lady for dinner, and then prepare her room for retirement. When she returned, she would usually ask me to read from one of Mr Phoebus Daunt’s interminable epics, or sometimes (blessed relief!) a few of his more palatable lyrics; then, while she took her evening walk on the terrace, I would make everything snug for her return, when I would undress her, and see her to her bed.
Oh, the tedious and hand-roughening tasks I was required to carry out! The darning; the washing; the preparation of hair-washes, pomatum, and bandoline; the cleaning of brushes and combs, the sponging of collars with gum-dragon in water! The sole task to which I always looked forward was the replenishing of my Lady’s scent-bottles. I convinced myself that it was but a very minor transgression – and no more than my due – occasionally to decant a little of some of my favourites for my own private use.
On the Friday afternoon of my first week, my Lady having gone out without me, I had taken one of her lace collars back up to my room to mend, wishing also to write in my Book, which I had been too tired to do the previous evening.
After an hour or so, thinking that she had not yet returned, I went back down to my Lady’s apartments with the intention of returning the collar to its rightful place and entered without knocking, only to find her seated on the sofa, a gentleman of most striking appearance by her side.
‘Oh, my Lady!’ I cried, alarmed at my indiscretion. ‘Forgive me. I thought—’
‘Alice, dear,’ she said, turning as she spoke towards her visitor. ‘We have a guest. This is Mr Armitage Vyse.’

6

In Which Madame’s First Letter is Opened

I
Introducing Mr Vyse

O
N SEEING
him, I racked my brains for the word – the exact word – to describe the singular person of Mr Armitage Vyse.
My immediate impressions of him, later written down in my Book, were as follows:
MR. ARMITAGE VYSE
Appearance:
aged forty or forty-five? A spare, lean, lanky man: long-bodied, long-armed, long-legged (exceptionally so). Gives the impression of unusual energy and strength held back, but in constant readiness. Sinewy. Straight black eye-brows. Square-boned, clean-shaven, blue-blushed chin. Clipped side-whiskers. Luxuriant moustache, the ends straight and waxed – a little like Napoleon III, tho’ not near so long, but which gives him a rather un-English look. Thick black hair, a little wavy at the sides, pomaded and brushed back from the forehead and temples. Remarkably long straight nose, quite pointed. Eyes small and dark – cold but alert. Striking in every way – handsome even, tho’ not to my taste at all. Expensively suited. Black-and-white checked waistcoat with black silk lapels. Gold watch on heavy chain. Large signet-ring on right hand. Crisp white linen. Boots polished to perfection.
Character:
self-regarding, self-assured, and predatory. A selfish, wholly self-interested man, I think, who sees the world as his private domain, and who gives the appearance of believing that everything, and everyone, in it has been placed there for his advantage or amusement.
Conclusion:
clever and superficially charming, but devious and dangerous.
As I stand taking in these impressions, and finding myself – very much against my will – drawn to Mr Vyse’s still, calculating eyes, the word I have been seeking to describe him suddenly comes to me.
It is
lupine
. Mr Vyse is a wolf; and everything about him is wolfish.
‘How do you do, Alice?’ he says, getting slowly to his feet and giving me a most agreeable, and no doubt well-seasoned, smile. Six feet tall, if he is an inch, he helps himself up by means of a silver-topped ebony stick. As he takes a step towards me, I see that he has some impediment in his right leg.
‘I am well, sir, thank you,’ I reply, dropping a little curtsey. I then ask my Lady whether I might take her mended collar through to the dressing-room. Having replaced the collar in its drawer, I am about to return when I hear Mr Vyse say to Lady Tansor:
‘So that is the girl?’
‘Yes,’ she replies,
sotto voce
. ‘But Mrs K said nothing to her.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Of course.’
I could not remain any longer, my ear to the half-open door, without arousing suspicion; so I rattled the handle, and went back into the sitting-room.
‘By the by, Alice,’ said Lady Tansor, in a careless tone, ‘on Mr Vyse’s advice, I wrote to Miss Gainsborough requesting confirmation of the character that she provided. Mr Vyse, being a legal man, is scrupulous in matters of business, and says that it was remiss of me not to have done this immediately on offering you the position. But I was unexpectedly charmed by you, and so did not do what I would normally have done, when engaging a new servant. Of course it is a mere formality.’
‘A mere formality,’ reiterated the smiling Mr Vyse.
‘I have, in fact, just received Miss Gainsborough’s reply.’
She picked up a letter from the escritoire. I glanced nervously at the handwriting, but saw immediately that it was neither Madame’s nor Mr Thornhaugh’s.
‘Everything is in order, as I naturally expected that it would be,’ said Lady Tansor.
‘Absolutely as expected,’ repeated Mr Vyse, with another archly reassuring smile.
‘Thank you, my Lady,’ I replied, relieved that Madame’s careful arrangements had proved so effective. ‘Will you need me at my usual time this evening?’
‘Yes, Alice. You may go now.’

AT THE APPOINTED time, I returned to Lady Tansor’s apartments to dress her for dinner.
‘What did you make of Mr Vyse, Alice?’ she asked, as she stood viewing herself in her dressing-glass.
‘I do not know, my Lady,’ I replied. ‘He seems a very amiable gentleman.’
‘Amiable? Why yes, Mr Vyse can be very amiable indeed, when he chooses. What else?’
‘I really cannot say, my Lady.’
‘Cannot, or will not?’ she then asked, apparently made peevish by my reluctance to give a fuller opinion of her visitor. ‘Come, come, Alice. I know you must have more to say about Mr Vyse than this, even on so brief an acquaintance. We shall not get along, you know, if you cannot be frank with me when I ask you to be.’
‘I assure you, my Lady—’
‘Assure me! You dare to assure me!’
The look that I had seen when she had told me that I must always address her as ‘my Lady’ had now transformed her features, like a sudden black cloud blotting out the sun, and she stood before me visibly enraged, although I could not comprehend how my behaviour could have made her react in this way.
‘It is not your place to assure me of anything, but to do as I ask, when I ask. You have an opinion of Mr Vyse. I know it, and you will tell me it.’
I stand for a moment considering how I should reply; but then she places her hands against her temples and turns away, as though in pain. I understand then that her angry words have some other cause.
‘Are you quite well, my Lady?’ I asked.
‘Yes, yes,’ she snapped. ‘Please do not fuss. I wish you simply to tell me what you think of Mr Vyse, and then go. Did you like him?’
I respectfully protested that it was not my place to express any opinion concerning Mr Vyse, especially whether I liked him or not, knowing nothing whatsoever about him; but she would have none of it. I bridled under her ill-humoured stubbornness; but, pressed again, I concocted a bland summary of my impressions, concluding with the observation that Mr Vyse had seemed to be a man possessing great natural abilities, something that was always apparent in a certain type of man (where this confident pronouncement came from, I cannot think), adding that he consequently appeared to me to be someone to whom one could safely turn for advice and help in a difficult situation, and be certain that both would be forthcoming.
‘Forgive me, Alice.’
Without saying another word, my Lady walked quickly across to the bed-chamber, closing the door behind her.
I waited for over ten minutes, to see whether she would come out; but her door stayed shut. At last I went back up to my room, expecting to be rung for at any moment.
Half an hour or more went by. When the bell still did not ring, I went downstairs to the Crimson-and-Gold Dining-Room and peeked through the partly open door.
She was there, at the head of the table. Mr Vyse and Mr Perseus Duport were sitting opposite each other, just below her; Mr Randolph sat next to his brother, down the table, and furthest from his mother.
A transformation had occurred. She now looked vivacious and composed, turning first to her eldest son, and then to Mr Vyse, with some observation or opinion, smiling and laughing, exchanging pleasantries, and appearing in every way untroubled by whatever had caused her recent distress of mind.
Of her younger son, she appeared almost unaware, and neither she nor the other two gentlemen made any attempt to include him in the general conversation. Consequently, Mr Randolph sat consuming his dinner and drinking his wine in isolated silence, leaving the others to their talk.
Mr Perseus Duport had only that afternoon returned to Evenwood, after spending a few days in London, and this was the first time that I had seen him since our chance meeting on my first morning.
Sitting now next to his younger brother, the disparity in person between the two was even more marked than I had remembered. Unlike Mr Randolph, the impress of Lady Tansor on the elder brother was most striking – not only in the many physical resemblances, but also in several little mannerisms that I had begun to notice in my mistress: the way he would tilt his head back slightly and look down his nose when Mr Vyse spoke to him, just as I had seen his mother do when she was being addressed; the slight pursing of the lips as he deliberated on some question; above all, his ability to assume, in an instant, a discomposing, unflinching gaze, which turned his handsome face into a frozen mask.
Which of the two brothers did I like best? Or did I like them equally, each in his own individual way? This was a guessing game that I had sometimes amused myself with since my arrival at Evenwood. At first, I had been sure that I liked the younger more than the elder. Mr Randolph’s readily bestowed smile soon made me look forward eagarly to his company; and, as our acquaintance increased, I found him to be just as considerate, unaffected, and as touchingly self-deprecating as he had appeared on first meeting him. He seemed also to have inherited his father’s reported capacity to associate easily and naturally with everyone, be they high or low. Yet the more I played this little game with myself – in private moments, or when I observed the brothers together – the more Mr Perseus began to assume a dominance in my thoughts, and often in my dreams as well. Whether I truly liked him more than Mr Randolph, I could not say. I knew, and saw, so little of him, for he was in the habit of shutting himself up in his study for long hours, scratching away, to the exclusion of all else, at his Arthurian drama. Yet, curiously, I seemed to think of him all the more for the absence of his physical person. Every day, as I passed through the vestibule, I developed a habit of stopping for a moment to glance at the portrait of the Turkish Corsair, knowing full well that Mr Perseus would instantly rush into my head, the resemblance between the heir and the painted image being, to my eye, so remarkable. As the weeks passed, I also began to grow a little vexed when some of my fellow servants occasionally denigrated him in my hearing for an imagined demonstration of his overbearing and self-regarding nature, being certain in my own heart – although I had not the least reason for believing so – that he did not deserve their censure.
As I stood now, peering at the brothers taking their dinner with their mother and Mr Vyse, I was suddenly aware of someone standing close behind me.
‘’Ullo? Wot’s your game, then? Spy in the camp!’
The grinning speaker was a well-covered youth of about eighteen, in livery, with apple-red cheeks, unruly hair that refused to accept the discipline of copious amounts of pomade, and wearing a collar that was far too tight for him. He was carrying a tray of ices, but seemed in no particular hurry to dispense the dainties to the awaiting diners.
‘And who might you be?’ I enquired.
‘Skinner, Charlie,’ he announced, adding, with a wink, ‘but you don’t need to tell me who
you
are. I already knows. Sukie Prout told me. You’re Miss Gorst, and I’m pleased –
very
pleased – to make your acquaintance.’
I was conscious of his eyes travelling up and down my person, but in such a comically undisguised and transparent way that I could not take offence.
‘Well, Charlie Skinner,’ I replied, ‘I’m glad to know you also. Are you a friend of Sukie’s?’
‘More than that,’ he said. ‘We’re cousins.’
‘And do you know where I can find your cousin at this hour? Will she be at home?’
‘Most certainly,’ said Charlie. ‘And once I’ve finished here, I can take you there, if you’d like.’
I told him that there was no need, as I already knew where Sukie and her mother lived. At this his face fell with disappointment.
‘Wait a bit,’ he said, suddenly looking over my shoulder towards a nearby window. ‘You can’t go now, miss. It’s already getting dark, and the rain’s come on.’
It was true. The last evening light remaining when I had first come down had now quite gone, and raindrops were running in little rivulets down the glass.
‘Very well, Charlie Skinner. When you next see your cousin, please to tell her that Miss Gorst sends her very best compliments and requests a word with her, at her earliest convenience. Will you do that?’
‘Yes, miss, that I will,’ he replied, throwing his shoulders back, like a soldier on parade, and with such gusto that I feared he would drop his tray.
Just then, Mr Pocock emerged from the service door.
‘Now then, Skinner,’ he said, severely, ‘what’s all this? Look lively with those ices, boy, before they melt.’
‘Yes, Mr Pocock,’ replied Charlie, hurrying into the dining-room, giving me another wink as he passed.
‘Oh, miss,’ said Mr Pocock, ‘there was a letter for you in the bag this afternoon. Manners should have brought it up to you, but I’ve just seen that it’s still on the table, by the front door. Would you like me to fetch it for you?’
Telling him that I would get it myself, I quickly made my way to the vestibule, retrieved the letter, and – with a brief glance at the Turkish Corsair – hurried upstairs to my room, locking the door behind me.