Читать книгу A Woman of Substance - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 21

A few moments later, Adam strode into the morning room, his manner brisk, his face composed. As he entered the room he collided with one of the fragile tables. He grabbed it, along with the Meissen shepherdess that reclined on its surface, just before both crashed to the floor, and as he righted them he swore under his breath with mingled irritation and frustration.

Glancing at the butler, who was standing by the sideboard waiting to serve them breakfast, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Please remove this table later, Murgatroyd. Find another place for it. I don’t care where, just get it out of the way. I’m always tripping over it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Murgatroyd said, arranging the lids on the numerous silver chafing dishes.

Adam sat down and regarded his two children, who were already seated. ‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly. Gerald made a mumbled response, but Edwin pushed his chair back, stood up swiftly, and came to Adam’s chair. He kissed him lightly on the cheek and said with the sunniest of smiles, ‘Good morning, Father.’

Adam returned his younger son’s smile and patted his shoulder affectionately. His disillusionment with his life and his marriage was equalled only by his disappointment in his children, although he did have a genuine fondness for Edwin, who was the nicer of the two. He also bore a striking physical resemblance to his father.

‘How are you, old chap?’ Adam asked gently. ‘Feeling better, I hope.’ Observing Edwin’s pale face, he went on quickly, ‘But we have to get some colour into those cheeks, Edwin. I think you should go riding this afternoon, or at least take a walk on the moors. Blow the cobwebs away. Right?’

‘Yes, Father,’ Edwin said, sitting down and shaking out his linen serviette carefully. ‘I wanted to go out yesterday, but Mother said it was too cold for me.’ His face, surprisingly mature for a fifteen-year-old, lit up in anticipation. ‘Shall I tell Mother you said I could go out today?’

‘Don’t worry about that, Edwin. I will tell your mother myself,’ Adam answered crisply, thinking that Adele would turn the boy into a hypochondriac like herself if he did not watch her. Adam now felt he had been remiss of late, in neglecting Edwin as he had. He resolved to keep a tighter rein on him and remove the boy from his mother’s sickly and sickening influence.

Murgatroyd meanwhile had carried a silver platter to the table. He was standing by Adam’s side and he presented the kipper to him with an ostentatious flourish. ‘It looks right delicious, Squire. I’m sure yer’ll enjoy it. Shall I serve it now, sir?’

Adam gave his assent and repressed a feeling of rising nausea as he looked at the platter. The strong odour of the smoked fish made his stomach lurch, and he regretted the port he had drunk so conscientiously the night before. While Murgatroyd served the fish, Adam picked up the silver teapot and poured himself a cup of tea, adding sugar and milk absently, hoping desperately the tea would quell his biliousness into submission. He turned to Murgatroyd. ‘Thank you. The boys can serve themselves this morning, since you are short of help. You can go about your other duties, Murgatroyd.’

‘Thank yer, Squire.’ The butler returned the platter to the sideboard and backed out of the room. Gerald scraped back his ornate Victorian chair unceremoniously and rushed to the sideboard, followed more slowly and sedately by Edwin.

When they returned to the table Adam stared with enormous distaste at the large portions of food piled upon Gerald’s plate, and the nausea swamped through him again, so that he felt faint and slightly dizzy. Why, the boy had become a positive glutton. He decided to have a word with Gerald privately later. His seventeen-year-old son was far too gross, and his appearance, in combination with his crude and raucous manner, affronted Adam whenever he set eyes on him. For Gerald’s body was a mass of blubber, totally devoid of any sharp contrasts or hard angles, a roly-poly body thickly covered with layer upon layer of fat, as dense as a whale’s. A dollop of lard, thought Adam grimly. He corrected himself. A mountain of lard. He winced.

‘How are you progressing at the mill, Gerald? It is still going well?’ Adam waited impatiently as his elder son masticated his food laboriously, eventually swallowing it in one gulp after what seemed like an interminable time to Adam.

Gerald wiped his epicene mouth on his serviette unhurriedly, and said finally, ‘Yes, it is Father. Wilson is very pleased with my progress. He says I have a real aptitude for the wool business, and I’m enjoying it. He says there’s no sense keeping me on the mill floor, learning all the different processes. He thinks I know enough and he’s moving me into his office today.’ Gerald’s round ruddy face was bland enough, but his dark brown eyes betrayed a shifty cunning.

‘That is good news, Gerald. I’m delighted,’ Adam said, although he was not especially surprised. Gerald had always been predisposed to entering the business and he had tremendous energy and a capacity for hard work, in spite of all that monstrous weight he carried around. He was also exceedingly avaricious, which Adam found deplorable. In fact, he had lately come to believe that money was Gerald’s most consuming passion, even taking precedence over food. He considered both to be regrettable.

Adam cleared his throat and continued thoughtfully, ‘I shall be talking to Wilson myself later. I intend to stop at the mill on my way to Leeds. I have quite a few appointments to keep there today, before I meet your Aunt Olivia’s train. You do know she is coming to stay with us for several months, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Father,’ Gerald said, patently uninterested in his aunt’s arrival. He attacked the remainder of his breakfast with renewed and unrestrained vigour.

But Edwin’s face immediately lost the forlorn look which had so recently washed over it. ‘I’m so glad Aunt Olivia is coming to stay, Father,’ he announced excitedly. ‘She’s a real sport!’

Adam smiled. He picked up The Times, which was folded next to his plate, and opened it, the pages rustling as he began to read the day’s news.

Silence descended upon the room. The only sounds were the crackling of the logs, the faintly hissing gas jets, and the gentle tinkling of silver against china as the boys ate their breakfasts. They knew better than to chatter needlessly when their father was engrossed in The Times. This presented no problems since Gerald had little in common with Edwin, who had long been alienated from him.

‘A damnable mess! A damnable mess!’ Adam suddenly exploded behind his paper, his voice echoing around the room and breaking the silence. Unaccustomed to seeing their father angry, or hearing him raise his voice, his sons stared at him in startled surprise.

Finally Edwin ventured a question. ‘What’s wrong, Father? Has something in the paper disturbed you?’ he asked.

‘The Free Trade Question! Parliament has only just reassembled and they are already off to a running start with that one. It’s going to be a damnable mess, you mark my words. It will bring Balfour down, I am sure. And his government. Maybe not now but certainly in the not too distant future, if this ridiculous nonsense continues.’

Edwin cleared his throat. His light grey-blue eyes, so like his father’s, were alive with intelligence in his gentle face. He said, ‘Yes, I think you are absolutely right, Father. I read in yesterday’s paper that Winston Churchill is strongly opposed to the Free Trade Bill, and you know how shrewd he is. He is fighting it hard and I am sure it will be a troublesome time for the government, just as you say.’

Adam’s surprise was apparent. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in politics, Edwin. This is something new, isn’t it?’

Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but Gerald sniggered and interjected scornfully. ‘Churchill! Who cares what he thinks? He’s only Member for Oldham anyway. A Lancashire mill town. If he follows in his father’s footsteps his political career will be as short-lived as Lord Randolph’s. Churchill is a braggart and a flash in the pan!’

Adam coughed behind his hand. When he spoke his voice was cold but quiet. ‘I don’t agree with you, Gerald. And I think Edwin is quite right. Winston Churchill is a keen young politician who knows what the issues are all about. You know, he made quite a name for himself in the South African war, with that escape of his from the Boers. Became a hero to the public, in fact, and when he entered politics his maiden speech was well received. He’s been doing extremely well ever since, and I have a sneaking suspicion that we have not heard the last of young Winston. I believe he is going to be an important man in this country one day. But really, all that is irrelevant. You attacked Churchill in the most spurious way, but carefully ignored Edwin’s actual point, which is that the government is going to be in serious trouble over the Free Trade Bill. Edwin was echoing my own sentiments.’

Gerald, who had been listening acutely, looked as if he was about to make a caustic retort. But he thought better of it, stood up, and took his plate to the sideboard to serve himself more food. A malicious gleam entered his dark brown eyes and his posture was arrogant as he moved ponderously from dish to dish.

Edwin’s face was radiant as he turned his shining eyes on his father and smiled. He had been vindicated for once and he had found an unexpected ally in his father.

Adam smiled kindly at his younger son. ‘Do you understand what the Free Trade Question is all about, Edwin?’ Adam asked.

‘I think so, Father. Isn’t it about taxing food and other goods?’

‘Yes. But it’s also a little more complicated than that. You see, the Protectionists, led by Chamberlain, are trying to persuade the government to abandon the system of Free Trade and cheap food which this country has thrived upon for so long. They want to impose tariffs and taxation on all goods to protect the English manufacturers against so-called foreign competition.’ Adam paused, and then continued, ‘It might make some sense if we were in a slump, but our industries are enjoying a ruddy health right now. That’s one reason why Chamberlain’s bill is preposterous, as a great majority of us realize. It would be disastrous for the country. First of all, everyone fears it would mean dearer food. That would not affect us, of course, or people of our station in life. However, it is a very real fear to the working-class housewife, who sees the price of meat and bread increasing. Apart from this, there is a general belief, especially among Liberals, that free trade is the only way to preserve international peace and understanding. There’s an old saying that comes to mind, Edwin, “If goods do not cross frontiers, armies will.” Churchill understands these essential points. He has said time and time again that the Protectionists are wrong in economics, wrong in political conceptions, and most frighteningly wrong in their estimate of public opinion. He’s right, my boy.’

‘What will happen, Father?’ Edwin queried.

‘I think we are going to witness a bitter and bloody battle between the Tariff Reform League, which supports Joe Chamberlain, and the Unionist Free Food League created by the Unionist Free-Traders, who oppose him. The Duke of Devonshire is the president of the latter group and he’s gathered many distinguished Conservatives around him, including Churchill.’

‘Do you think they will win? Churchill’s group?’

‘I certainly hope so, Edwin, for the sake of the country.’

‘But the House is divided, isn’t it, Father?’

‘Indeed it is. And the Tory Party. That’s why I said I felt trouble was brewing. Arthur Balfour is attempting to sit on the fence, but that won’t do him much good. He may well find himself out of 10 Downing Street sooner than he expects.’

Gerald returned to the table noisily and he sat down so abruptly and so heavily the table rocked, the china and silver rattled, and tea splashed out of his cup, staining the white tablecloth with an ugly dark patch. Adam observed Gerald with immense coldness, and glared at him, his annoyance mounting. ‘Really, Gerald! Do try to be a little more mannerly at the table. And don’t you think you ought to curb yourself? This unrestrained gorging of food is not good for your health. It’s also perfectly disgusting!’

The boy chose to ignore this mild chastisement, reached for the pepper pot, and generously seasoned his food. ‘Mother says I have a normal appetite for a growing boy,’ he remarked smugly. Adam bit back an acerbic comment and sipped his tea.

As he ate, Gerald glanced at his father cagily. ‘To return to our earlier discussion, Father. I’m sure you’ll agree that as gentlemen we can have differences of opinion without resorting to quarrels.’ Adam flinched at this pretentiousness as Gerald went on talking. ‘I just wanted to say that I still don’t think much of Churchill, in spite of your comments to the contrary. After all, who does he represent? A lot of cotton spinners in clogs and shawls!’

‘That’s not strictly true, Gerald. And don’t be too hasty to dismiss the working classes. Times are changing.’

‘You sound like one of the new socialists, Father. Bathtubs for the workers? You know they would only put coal in them.’

‘That’s a snide and ridiculous story which has gone around lately, Gerald, put out by those antiquated diehards who are afraid of changes in this country,’ Adam said cuttingly. ‘But it is only a story and I’m dismayed you would give it dignity by repeating it. I had expected better of you, Gerald.’

Gerald grinned fatuously, but his narrowed eyes were hostile. ‘Don’t tell me you’re intending to give the Fairley workers bathtubs, Father.’

Adam looked at his son icily. ‘No, I’m not. But I’ve always tried to improve conditions at the mill, as you well know, and I shall certainly continue to do so.’

‘Well, don’t bother,’ Gerald exclaimed heatedly. ‘The men are restless enough as it is. Keep ’em down and working hard and hungry. It keeps ’em out of trouble and under our control.’

‘That’s not a very admirable motto, Gerald, or a very farsighted policy either,’ Adam snapped. ‘But we shall discuss the mill later. In the meantime, I would like to point out that you’ve a lot to learn about human nature and the workers, my boy. They’ve been treated abominably in the past. More reform has to come, and I hope it does so without too much bloodshed.’

‘You’d better not let your friends in the wool trade hear you talking like that, or they’ll castigate you as a traitor to your class, sir,’ Gerald responded.

‘Don’t be impertinent!’ his father exclaimed, his eyes flashing with chilly silvery lights. Adam, who rarely lost his temper, was in danger of doing so now. But he took control of himself and poured another cup of tea. Because of his fatigue and mental weariness his patience was worn threadbare, and his nerves were far too close to the surface for his own comfort.

Gerald grinned and winked at Edwin, who was gazing at him in astonishment after this exceptional display of insolence. He was horrified at Gerald’s effrontery, and he looked from his father to Gerald, and then dropped his eyes.

Infuriated, but in command of himself, Adam opened the newspaper and was about to disappear behind it, when Edwin, conscious of his father’s disquiet and in an effort to distract him, said, ‘Did you know Kitchener when you were in the army, Father?’

‘No, I didn’t, Edwin. Why do you ask?’ Adam queried with impatience. He put the paper down, staring at Edwin curiously.

‘I read a story yesterday about him clashing with Lord Curzon in India. Did you see the story in The Times, Father? I wondered exactly why they are always at loggerheads? Do you know, sir?’

‘Yes, I did see the story, Edwin, and the chief reason those two are always arguing is because when Kitchener went to India as Commander in Chief of the British army he took it upon himself to redistribute the troops. He rapidly gained greater administrative control of the army and the Viceroy was opposed to that, and still opposes it, I might add. Curzon’s met his match there, I’m afraid. Kitchener’s not a man to be thwarted. He’ll have his way, come hell or high water.’

‘You don’t like Kitchener, do you, Father?’ Edwin suggested.

‘I wouldn’t say that, my boy. But why do you assume such a thing?’

‘You once told me, when I was little, that it was Kitchener’s fault that Gordon was killed at Khartoum.’

Adam gave Edwin a penetrating look. ‘You have a prodigious memory. But I didn’t quite say that. If I recall correctly, I said that Kitchener’s relief expedition arrived too late to save General Gordon. Khartoum had already been stormed by the Mahdists, who had brutally murdered Gordon. It wasn’t Kitchener’s fault exactly. In reality, it was Gladstone’s, because he delayed in sending relief to Gordon for too long. It caused quite a furore at the time. In fact, public indignation at Gordon’s abandonment actually contributed to the downfall of Gladstone’s government. But no, I don’t blame Kitchener for Gordon’s death, to answer your question. And Kitchener’s a good soldier, my boy, and devoted to duty.’

‘I see,’ Edwin said thoughtfully, vastly relieved that his father was calmer.

‘Are you interested in the army, or is it going to be politics for you, Edwin? I can see you are interested in both,’ Adam said. Not one to remain irritated for long, his anger with Gerald was beginning to lessen.

‘Oh no, Father. I think I would like to be a barrister.’ Edwin announced this with enthusiasm. But then his face fell as he noticed the fixed frown on Adam’s face. ‘Do you not approve, Father?’

Adam smiled quickly, sensing his son’s sudden disappointment. ‘Of course I approve. Anything you want, old chap. I was rather taken aback, that’s all. It didn’t occur to me that you would be interested in the law. However, I have always known you were not really cut out for the business. And anyway, Gerald seems to be at home at the mill.’ He threw a swift look at his elder son and his voice hardened as he went on, ‘Correct, Gerald?’

Gerald nodded and said, ‘Absolutely! I know Wilson will give you a good report on me.’ He paused and glanced at his brother slyly. ‘Anyway, Edwin would not like working in the mill and he’s far too delicate in health for the harsh conditions. I thought at one time he might be interested in the newspaper, but since he’s not, I heartily endorse his ambition to study law. And why not? It’s quite a good idea to have a legal brain in the family.’

This was uttered in the most dulcet of tones, the words artfully couched to hide Gerald’s cunning. He was inordinately jealous of his younger brother and the last thing he wanted was Edwin interfering in the business. By rights it was his, as the eldest son and heir, and he aimed to keep it for himself and himself alone.

Adam was not deceived. Gerald’s guile was all too apparent to him, and under the circumstances it was probably fortuitous that Edwin did not nurture any ambitions to enter the family business. Adam suspected Gerald could be a ruthless adversary when necessary. ‘Well, that seems to be settled then, Edwin,’ he said slowly, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. ‘It appears you have Gerald’s good wishes, too.’

Edwin beamed, first at Gerald, and then at his father. ‘I’m so glad you approve and that I have your consent, Father,’ he cried jubilantly. ‘I thought you might object, sir.’

‘Of course I don’t.’ Adam picked up the Yorkshire Morning Gazette and turned to the Bradford Wool Market. He perused the section quickly and said to Gerald, ‘Good. Wool prices are relatively steady and exports well up. We’re still cornering the world market. England’s cloth exports are averaging something like twenty-seven million running yards a year, the same as last year and the year before. Not bad at all.’

Gerald’s avaricious eyes glittered darkly in his flaccid face. ‘Wilson told me yesterday that we would have an excellent year ourselves. Business is booming. By the way, are you going to see that wool man from Australia this morning? Bruce McGill. You do know he’s coming to the mill.’

‘Damnation! I’d forgotten,’ Adam exclaimed with exasperation. ‘I can’t see him, I’m afraid. Wilson will have to deal with him.’

‘Yes, Father. Well, I’d better be going to the mill.’ Gerald rose and clattered out noisily.

Adam frowned at his retreating figure and then turned to Edwin. ‘I’ll have a word with my solicitor about you, my boy, when I see him next week. Perhaps he will have some ideas about your further education after public school. We’ll have to decide which university you will go to, Edwin.’

‘Yes, Father, and thank you so much. I do appreciate your interest in me, I really do, sir.’ He loved and respected his father.

At this moment Emma knocked and came into the room, carrying a large tray. She stared at Adam coldly and then glanced away quickly, fixing her eyes on the silver teapot. ‘Murgatroyd sent me up ter start clearing away, if yer’ve finished, Squire,’ she said in a hard voice, clutching the tray tightly and holding herself very still.

‘Yes, we have finished, thank you, Emma. You can take everything away, but leave the teapot. I may want another cup before I leave.’ Adam’s eyes were gentle and he smiled at her kindly.

Emma, who had partially turned to listen to him, had averted her head again and she did not see the kindness and compassion that illuminated his sensitive face. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said stonily, and went to the sideboard. She propped the tray against it and returned to the table to collect the dirty dishes.

Adam sighed and continued his conversation with Edwin.

Emma moved around the circular table quietly, gathering the used silver and the plates with as little fuss and noise as possible. This was protection in itself, for she believed the less people noticed your existence, the easier it was to get along without trouble. Unfortunately, and to her constant dismay, Master Gerald always noticed her and took great pleasure in picking on her, just as he had in the hall a few moments ago. He had jostled against her and pinched her viciously on the thigh, so that she had almost dropped the tray. Her heart filled with anger and humiliation at the remembrance.

She carried the dishes to the sideboard and began to stack them on the tray, wondering how long she could tolerate living in this house, and the terrible people who occupied it. She wished she could run away with Winston, but she knew that was not possible. They did not take girls in the Royal Navy and there was certainly no other place she could go. And anyway, her mam needed her, and her dad, and little Frankie. Panic gripped her and a fine sweat broke out on her forehead and ran down between her breasts. She must get away from this house. From Fairley. Before something dreadful happened. She was powerless in this house, and she knew, with sinking dread, that all sorts of wicked acts could be committed against the poor by the rich. Money. She must get money. Not just a few extra shillings for sewing and mending clothes in the village, but lots of money. Yes, that was the answer. She had always known it was. She must find a way to make a fortune. But how? Where? It was then that she remembered Blackie O’Neill and his tales of Leeds, the city whose streets were paved with gold. That was the key, and there she would find the secret of making money, so much money she would never be afraid or powerless ever again. And then the tables would be turned on the Fairleys. Slowly the fear began to slip away.

The tray was filled to overflowing and Emma picked it up, almost staggering under its weight. She gritted her teeth and glided out of the room in silence, her head held high, a proud look on her face, rigid determination in the set of her shoulders. And for all of her youth and inexperience there was a certain regality in her carriage.

Edwin had begun to fidget in his chair. Eventually he said, ‘May I be excused, Father? I have to keep up with my schoolwork, otherwise I will be behind when I return to Worksop.’

Adam’s glance was approving. ‘Why, that’s very diligent of you. Go ahead, old chap. But do get some fresh air this afternoon.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Edwin stood up and went to the door with his usual grace.

‘Oh, Edwin.’

‘Yes, Father?’ The boy stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

‘I think it would be nice if you dined with your Aunt Olivia and myself this evening.’

‘Gosh! Thank you, sir. I’d enjoy that!’ Excited by this unexpected invitation, Edwin forgot himself and exuberantly slammed the door behind him so hard that the gas fixtures on the wall rattled and trembled precariously.

His father smiled. Edwin was growing up to be a nice boy and Adam was delighted he was beginning to show a little independence of spirit. Perhaps his mother’s sickly influence had not been so damaging after all. Adele. He should go up and see her. He had many matters to discuss with her, which, as usual, he had been avoiding for weeks. If he was honest with himself he had to admit that he was avoiding it now. He thought of his wife. Fragile, pretty, vain, brittle Adele. Smiling her sweet smile. That perpetual smile that had begun to horrify him. Adele with her iridescent blonde beauty that had so captivated him years ago. How quickly he had discovered it was a chilly beauty that camouflaged selfishness and a heart that was as cold as marble. It also apparently disguised mental instability as well. They had not had any real contact or communication for years. Ten years to be exact, when Adele had retreated gratefully into a shell of vapourish semi-invalidism. Smiling sweetly, as ingenuous as always, she had closed her bedroom door firmly, locking it pointedly against him. At the time Adam had been startled to find that he accepted her termination of her connubial duties with a resignation that bespoke his own profound relief.

Long ago, Adam Fairley had come to accept that his lifeless and loveless marriage was by no means unique. Many of his friends were bound in similar bleak and fruitless unions, although he doubted that they had to contend with disorders of the mind as well. With abandon, and without a second thought, his friends took solace in other comforting feminine arms. Adam’s fastidiousness, and his innate sense of taste, precluded casual affairs with women of easy virtue. For in spite of his sensuous nature, Adam Fairley was not essentially carnal or given to fleshly pursuits, and he required other attributes in a woman as well as a beautiful face and body. And so, over the years, he had learned to accept celibacy as a permanent condition, and it bordered now on asceticism. He did not understand that this was a state of being that held its own attractions for the women he came into contact with socially, who found him irresistible. In his misery with his life he was blind to the flurry he created, and if he had noticed he would not have cared.

Adam went to the window, parted the curtains, and looked out. The dark rain clouds had scurried away, leaving a sky that was a vivid light blue, and so sharp and polished it was like the inside of an upturned enamelled bowl, and the pale yet bright sun intensified the cold lucency of the northern light. The black hills were as stark and barren as always, but for Adam they held an overpowering and enigmatic beauty. They had been there for aeons before he was born and they would be there long after he was dead. Always the land remained, changeless and everlasting, the source of the Fairleys’ power and their strength. In the scheme of things, he was just a droplet in the vast universe and suddenly his problems seemed of little significance, and even petty, for he was just a transitory being on this rich and splendid earth and, being mortal like all men, he would die one day. And what would it matter then? What would it have all been about? And who would care?

His reflective mood was shattered by the sound of horses’ hooves, as Gerald drove rapidly across the stable yard in the trap on his way to the mill. Adam thought then of Gerald and Edwin. He had become aware of so many things this morning, not only about himself but also about his sons. By reason of primogeniture, Gerald would inherit the Fairley lands, the Hall, the mill, and all the other Fairley holdings, with the understanding that he would take care of his brother for his lifetime. But Edwin would receive nothing of real worth and would have to rely solely on the bounty of Gerald. Not a very pleasant prospect, Adam thought. He now recognized that it was imperative that he make proper provision for his younger son in his will. He determined to see his solicitor at the first opportunity. He did not trust Gerald. No, he did not trust Gerald at all.