Poverty Castle (28 page)

The untidiness of the bathroom would have affronted Peggy's mother. In hers even the toothbrushes had always to be in their proper place. Here jars of cream, tins of talcum, bottles of perfume, deodorants, razors, tissues, and miscellaneous cosmetic aids, were scattered over every counter and on the carpet, many with their tops or stoppers off. ‘That's not a reading-room, Rab,' her mother would say, rapping on the door, and her father would soon creep out, with his
Daily Record
folded under his oxter. Here it was like a library, with bundles of books and magazines. One book lay on the floor, open:
Mansfield Park
by Jane Austen. Which of the sisters was reading it? Not Diana: she was too ladylike to read such a well-bred book while seated on the lavatory. Not Effie: Jane Austen's characters would be too genteel for her. Not Jeanie: she would read these veterinarian magazines. Rebecca perhaps? But she probably didn't use this bathroom, which was why it was in
such a mess. Rowena then? Yes, she would appreciate the indolent ladies and gentlemen.

With your face and hands clean, and your bladder empty, you could face anyone. That was a saying of her father's which always provoked a reproof from her mother, who called it vulgar. Well, thought Peggy, as she went downstairs, I'll soon see if it's true.

Alas, never had she felt so stunted and scruffy than when Mrs Sempill came up to her, took both her hands, and thanked her for having been so helpful to Diana. Peggy wondered how she or anyone could have helped capable, self-sufficient Diana. In Mrs Sempill's blue eyes, all the brighter because of the dark patches under them, she saw, not gratitude or sympathy, but gladness that
her
girls were so much more beautiful than this waif from the slums. All her life Mrs Sempill had been pampered. When she was a little girl her doll would have had longer lashes than any other girl's. To get the attention she craved she must have resorted to many wiles and tricks. Was becoming pregnant one of them?

T
HE BIG
stone-floored kitchen with the sideboard adorned with blue delft, the bright-blue cooker irradiating warmth, the pleasant smells of baking and cooking, and the five relaxed cats would have looked a lot more homely if it hadn't been for Mrs Sempill. She had put on so much make-up and jewellery that she was more like a high-class tart than a housewife, especially as she was wearing a red dress cut so low at the front that most of her breasts could be seen. They were passable breasts for a woman nearly fifty, though not of Page Three quality, and she was proud of them. Now and then she would stare at flatchested Peggy in pity it seemed and forgot her name. Whether this was mischievous pretence or genuine loss of memory, Peggy could not be sure. Sometimes when spoken to she did not seem to hear. Her family took care not to confuse or startle her by repeating what they had said in a louder voice: they just let it pass. It must have been that same protectiveness which had prevented the girls from objecting to her mouth absurdly enlarged by lipstick and her exposed bosom. She cried out once, suddenly and shrilly, that she had to remember that she was eating for two; but for all that she did not eat much.

They are making me very welcome, thought Peggy, and are talking to me almost as if I was one of them, but I am not to be told the truth about Mrs Sempill's state of health, mental and physical. It doesn't mean that there is anything seriously wrong with her like suspected cancer or imminent miscarriage or incipient insanity, it's just that they're willing to share everything, except their mother.

Mrs McDougall, the housekeeper, a fresh-faced, white-haired
competent woman of about forty-five, was also excluded in this respect, though none of them, except Diana, treated her as a servant. All of them, again with the exception of Diana, called her Morag, and she used their first names, including Mr Sempill's. A stranger would have thought she was his sister or Mrs Sempill's, and not a housekeeper not long in their employ. Nevertheless, she was not let into the secrets concerning Mrs Sempill, whatever they were. Perhaps they were not deliberately kept from her, or from Peggy. Perhaps they were of a kind that were felt and could not be told. Only Mrs Sempill's children could feel them. At times her husband looked shut out and left in the dark.

Peggy was already fond of Mr Sempill, with his mournful Montezuma eyes. Whatever private griefs he had and whatever dooms he foresaw, he did not let them turn him sour or peevish. On the contrary he was always gentlemanly and good-natured. Wine doubtless helped, for he drank a great deal, but Peggy had seen men made morose, not to say belligerent, by too much drink. He was particularly affable to her and it was more to please him than indulge herself that she consented to have her glass refilled by him four or five times: by the end of the meal she had lost count. It was the first time in her life that she had drunk wine. To her consternation she found that it was making her talkative and boastful. When Mr Sempill asked her what historical book she was reading at the moment she should have answered vaguely and modestly, instead she said, pertly: ‘The
Conquest of Mexico
by W.H. Prescott,' and proceeded to give a not very coherent exposition of its theme.

‘Nonetheless,' said Mr Sempill, ‘it is one of the great adventures of history, the invasion by Cortes and his conquistadors of the Kingdom of Montezuma.'

‘But they destroyed it, didn't they?' cried Effie, bitterly. ‘They murdered Montezuma.'

‘No, they didn't,' said Peggy. ‘It was an Aztec killed him.'

‘Alas, Effie,' said Mr Sempill, ‘it has always been a characteristic of the human race to expend great courage and fortitude on wicked causes.'

‘A characteristic of men, Papa,' said Diana. ‘Didn't they want to bring the benefits of Christianity to heathens?'

‘What benefits, for heaven's sake?' cried Effie.

‘You heard Peggy say that the Aztecs sacrificed human beings.'

‘What about the Spanish Inquisition? And bloody Mary Tudor, who burned hundreds of people alive? Religion brings out the cruelty in people.'

‘Is that because God's cruel?' asked Rowena. She might have been asking for the brussels sprouts to be passed, so casually did she say it. ‘Well, I mean, look at famines and earthquakes. Aren't they called Acts of God?'

‘And there's Hell,' said Effie, ‘where God's supposed to torture sinners until the end of time.'

‘There's nothing in the whole Bible about being kind to animals,' said Jeanie.

Mrs Sempill shook her head and rattled her earrings. ‘You are all being too morbid,' she cried. ‘Whoever or whatever it is that gives us the miracle of life should we not be grateful? Please let us talk about something more uplifting.' She smiled at Peggy as if to forgive her for bringing up such an unpleasant subject.

‘You must read us something out of Prescott, Peggy,' said Mr Sempill. ‘In this house, you see, we do not sit like zombies in front of a television set. We read to one another, we sing, we play records, we discuss like intelligent individuals. There
is
a set upstairs, for the lazy-minded.'

‘Black and white,' said Jeanie.

‘Who needs colour television, when we have sunsets like that?' He pointed to the window.

A few minutes later they were all out in the garden, except Mrs McDougall who had the clearing-up to do and the cats on the look-out for scraps.

The sea was blood-red. Clouds, seagulls, and faces were pink. Probably so were the midges, if they could have been seen. They were certainly felt. Appreciation of the cosmic
beauty had to be stoical and brief because of those infinitesimal predators.

Mrs Sempill must have regretted showing so much bosom, Mr Sempill that he was wearing a kilt. Effie cursed. Jeanie, lover of animals, found it hard not to join in the abuse of their tormentors. Indolent Rowena led the rush into the house: hers were the biggest and itchiest blotches.

N
EXT MORNING
Effie and Jeanie were to drive Mrs McDougall to Tarbeg. She was to have the weekend off. Peggy was invited to accompany them. The alternative would have been to help Rebecca and Mrs Sempill tidy up and prepare lunch. If it had been just Rebecca, Peggy would have enjoyed it. Diana and Rowena were to spend the morning at Kilcalmonell House, horse-riding. Peggy wasn't asked.

Peggy liked strolling about the bright busy little town, though her companions seemed moody. She put it down to worry about their mother. On the way back they surprised her by discussing Diana hostilely; at any rate Effie did, Jeanie being more restrained.

Peggy quickly gathered that Diana had recently let her family know that she had given in to Lady Campton's demand that the wedding should take place in church, on the Campton's estate in the south of England. It would mean her becoming an Anglican.

Effie saw it as a great treachery. ‘She'd do anything to be mistress of Kilcalmonell House,' she said, bitterly. ‘It's been her ambition from the day she first saw it.'

‘That's not fair, Effie,' said Jeanie. ‘She loves Edwin.'

‘How could anyone with a scrap of intelligence love Edwin? Edwin's not there. He's a nonentity. All right, a nice nonentity. Do you think his mother would let him marry Di if he wasn't a nonentity? She knows Di will run the show for him. Not that she likes Di much. They're too alike for that.'

‘That's ridiculous, Effie. Di's not a bit like Lady Campton.'

‘Give her time.' Effie's anguish was genuine. ‘When we were
kids, Peggy, we thought Di was marvellous. We worshipped her. She was our heroine. We all wanted to be like her. She was afraid of nothing or if she was she never let it show. She treated everyone alike. Papa used to call her the world's best democrat. She would never have spoken to Mrs McDougall then the way she does now.'

So I wasn't imagining it, thought Peggy.

‘You remember, Jeanie, how shattered we all were when we thought she had gone over to the grown-ups? Now she's gone over to the useless rich. We've really lost her this time.'

‘She's still our sister.'

‘No. She's already a Campton. What do you think, Peggy? You must know her pretty well.'

It seemed to Peggy none of them did. She shook her head. ‘I'd rather keep out of it, Effie, if you don't mind. Diana invited me. She's my friend.'

‘Quite right, Peggy,' said Jeanie, and changed the subject. ‘Rebecca was saying you're going to borrow one of her dresses for tonight.'

‘She suggested it, but I don't think I should go. I'll stay and look after the cats.'

‘If it's Nigel, don't worry about him,' said Effie, grimly. ‘We'll keep him at bay.'

‘It's not Nigel.' Indeed, Nigel was a reason for going, not for staying away. It would have been interesting to examine his awfulness. ‘I'd feel like an interloper.'

‘But you're invited,' said Jeanie. ‘Lady Campton said we had to bring you.'

‘Di's sung your praises,' said Effie sarcastically. ‘You might find yourself being invited to the wedding.'

‘Who will all be there?' asked Peggy.

‘Lady Campton. She's a bitch but I suppose her bark's worse than her bite. It's some bark, though. She's got a voice like a female bobby and her language's not always ladylike. Sir Edwin. He's all right. Tickle his stomach and he rolls over on his back. In other words flatter him and he'll like you. Edwin. You've
met him. If anyone's cross with him he's miserable. Give him a kind word and he'll lick your hand. Nigel's just as ready to bite it. That's the lot, except for Lady Campton's sister, Lady Angela, whom Jeanie and I haven't met. Rowena says she's always slobbering over an obscene little dog.'

‘No dog's obscene,' said Jeanie.

‘Well, it's always licking its private parts, according to Rowena. Then it licks Lady Angela's face. Come on, Peggy, what's to be frightened of in that lot?'

As soon as they got home they fetched Rebecca from the kitchen and went up to her room where she selected three dresses from a wardrobe full of them and spread them on the bed.

Jeanie took charge. Effie stood aside. This business was too trivial for her.

One dress was red, another pink, and the third green.

‘Which do you prefer, Peggy?' asked Jeanie.

‘I've been told I suit red.'

‘Try it on then.'

So Peggy had to strip to cheap panties and bra in order to put on the expensive silk dress. With its white cuffs and collar it looked more suitable for a girl of fourteen than a young woman of twenty. It was tight at the chest.

‘Just as well you've got small boobs,' remarked Effie. It was also too long.

On her knees Rebecca was about to turn it up with pins for subsequent sewing.

‘Don't bother,' said Peggy. ‘It'll hide my legs.' Like her boobs they were deficient.

She studied herself in the long mirror. ‘Well, at least I'll be safe from Nigel. He wouldn't be nasty to a nice wee girl like that, would he?' She put a finger in her mouth.

It was also on the loose side.

Jeanie rushed off and returned with a red-and-white belt.

‘What about some jewellery?' asked Rebecca.

‘Just a moment.' Effie marched off and soon came back with
red beads and an assortment of earrings. She let Jeanie and Rebecca help Peggy to put them on.

‘What about your hair?' asked Jeanie.

I never realised what a freak I am, thought Peggy: puny boobs, skinny legs, meagre hips, and thin dry hair.

‘What about red ribbons?' asked Jeanie.

Rebecca found some in a drawer. She and Jeanie tied up Peggy's hair with them.

There remained shoes. None of the Sempills had shoes that would fit her.

‘I've always had small feet,' she said. ‘My mother says it's a sign of high pedigree.'

She laughed and the others joined in.