A Falling Star, page 12
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
But he continued to be attentive, talking to her, making her laugh with some ridiculous tale of a man and a bear in Amsterdam, while her grandmother sat as quiet as her name at the other end of the table, and Louise and Charles applied themselves ostentatiously to their food. Under the warming, encouraging influence of the claret in her glass, she found herself chattering on in reply, and if she bored him, he gave no sign of it. She was acutely disappointed when Silence, rising at the end of the meal, indicated that she and her granddaughters should leave the two men to sample the bottle of brandy which an impassive Twinney had already brought to the table. And for the rest of the evening, she relived again and again in her memory the words she had exchanged with Alex, hardly believing her good fortune, and certainly unable to concentrate on her cards: so that, for the first time, Louise was able to beat her at piquet.
Below, in the dining parlour, Charles was tasting good French brandy for the first time, and heartily disliking it. His cousin seemed to have no such inhibitions: he sat sprawled comfortably in his chair, a long clay pipe balanced in one hand and his glass in the other, wreathed in fragrant smoke like a sorcerer. Charles, feeling acutely uncomfortable, sipped at the fiery brown liquid and tried not to splutter.
‘More?’ Alex suggested, pushing the bottle towards him: he had already begun his second glass. Charles, afraid of once again being branded a milksop, surreptitiously wiped his eyes and poured a less than generous measure with foreboding. He had never been drunk in his life, and found the idea of loosening his taut self-control deeply disturbing.
‘She’s a very pretty little thing, your sister,’ said Alex, blowing a rather ragged ring of smoke. He watched its erratic progress towards the ceiling, and shook his head. ‘My powers must be failing — I used to be able to achieve a perfect circle.’
Charles refrained from pointing out that the brandy might have something to do with it. He took a reluctant sip, determined to ignore the reference to Amy. The girl’s conduct at supper had angered him. The man was their enemy, an interloper, and by talking to him with such eagerness, she had betrayed both her mother and her brother.
Alex, on the other hand, obviously had no intention of letting the matter rest. ‘And she has a very fetching innocence.’ He blew another ring, a little more neatly, and studied it, frowning. ‘Very fetching indeed. Have you found a husband for her yet?’
Charles, astonished, stared at him. ‘No — no — well, I haven’t — we haven’t really thought about it.’
His cousin shook his head reprovingly. ‘For shame, Charles. What is she now? Eighteen? Nineteen?’
‘She’ll be twenty in October.’
‘And not even a betrothal arranged? That’s very remiss of you.’
‘It didn’t seem important,’ said Charles, recovering himself with an effort. ‘And now, so soon after Uncle Nat’s death, it would hardly be fitting. Besides, there’s the question of her dowry.’
‘She has four hundred pounds from my father, has she not? Quite generous, in the circumstances. What’s more to the point,’ said Alex, finishing his brandy, ‘is her religion. You’d be surprised how many Papists can crawl out of the woodwork, given the opportunity. I know for a fact that there are several families hereabouts and in Bath, and surely Father Anselm knows of an eligible young man or two. Unless, of course, Amy is not so scrupulous in her beliefs as to insist on a husband of her own persuasion.’
‘I’m sure that she has no intention of considering anyone who is not a Catholic,’ said Charles, although he knew that his sister’s devotion to her religion was much weaker than their mother’s, or indeed his own. She would undoubtedly need very careful direction and guidance when the time came to find a husband for her.
‘That’s a pity,’ Alex observed. ‘Damned inconvenient to be a Papist, quite apart from any other considerations. Barred from the Universities and the Inns of Court, and all public life — at present, at any rate, although given the beliefs of the new King, probably not for much longer. For myself, I’d find it much too restricting to stay a Catholic — but then, unlike you, Cousin, I am undeniably not a man of principle.’
‘I was aware of that,’ said Charles, unable to keep the bite from his voice. His cousin glanced at him and smiled. It was not a particularly encouraging expression, and Charles’s heart sank. He found that he had finished his brandy, and that the bottle had been pushed his way again. He wondered if he dared refuse it, saw Alex’s face, and gloomily filled his glass once more. By taking small sips, he could at least keep his eyes from watering, and his throat from rebellion. How Alex could toss the liquor back as if it were water, he could not imagine.
‘Anyway, Papist or Protestant, a husband should be found for her,’ said Alex. ‘She’s such a lovely girl, you shouldn’t have much trouble — her looks should outweigh the minor disadvantages of her religion, if she holds to it, or, of course, her poverty.’
‘Amy’s not poor!’ said Charles indignantly.
‘Perhaps not, but she’s not richly dowered either, is she? You’ll have to find someone who’s so besotted with her golden curls that he’s willing to overlook everything else. Who knows?’ Alex said, and smiled wickedly at his cousin. ‘Perhaps even I might be tempted.’
It must have been the brandy, robbing him of his usual caution and self-control. Charles felt a great surge of fury rise within him, clenching his hands and closing his throat. For one wild moment, he moved in his mind to the heavy silver candlestick at the centre of the table, picked it up and smashed it across Alex’s malicious, arrogant face, ruining those deceptive good looks for ever. So vivid was this rare flight of his imagination that for an instant he thought that he had actually done it, until his cousin’s laughter forced him brutally back to reality. He said, hoarse with shock, ‘You wouldn’t want to marry Amy.’
‘Wouldn’t I? How do you know? Though of course you don’t want me to marry anyone at all, do you? At present you’re my heir, and it doubtless suits you very well to be in that position.’
Charles, floundering, could think of no adequate reply. Alex’s eyes, unnervingly direct and clear, were bent on his. He studied Charles for a very long, very uncomfortable moment, and then said, ‘I take it you do know about the entail which my father placed on the estate?’
‘I was his secretary,’ said Charles, aware that he sounded belligerent. ‘I could hardly avoid knowing of it. Phoebe does too — in fact,’ he added, recalling something which still rankled, ‘I believe that Uncle Nat consulted her first.’
‘Well, since he was basically disinheriting her, I expect he felt that it was only fair to do so,’ Alex pointed out, with some sarcasm. ‘I cannot imagine that Phoebe has any great attachment to Wintercombe, beyond the books that it contains — and in any case, as I have already remarked, she has been handsomely compensated. Besides, I can’t think of anything she would hate more than to be an heiress, and have her hand sought for that reason alone. But we weren’t talking about her, were we? We were discussing your pretty sister’s need for a husband, and mine for a wife. Indeed, only yesterday Philip Cousins reminded me that it was my urgent duty to marry, and produce a string of heirs for Wintercombe. He promised to keep his eyes and ears open, and hunt me out a suitable young lady. One of tender years, I think, docile and attractive and eager to fall so desperately in love with me that she — or her family — is willing to overlook my dubious reputation and my lack of fidelity, scruple and sobriety for the sake of my face and my fortune. But of course, if such a paragon were to be found under my own roof…’
His voice tailed away suggestively. Charles stared at him in horror. The idea of marriage between his sweet, innocent little sister and this debauched rake was so repulsive that his mind quailed to think of it. And yet Amy was undeniably attracted to him, she had almost flirted with him that evening, the silly little fool — did she not realise that she was playing with a fire far too strong for her? He said thickly, ‘Amy wouldn’t marry you if you fell down on your knees and begged her — I’ll make sure of that.’
Alex looked at him and laughed. ‘Have some more brandy — it’s certainly altering you for the better. And understand this, my prim and proper cousin. You may be my heir at the moment, and you may have certain hopes for the future. But I have no intention whatsoever of letting that situation continue for much longer. I mean to have a male and legitimate heir of my body to continue my father’s line at Wintercombe. And if I wish to marry your sister to do it, then I will, and I very much doubt if you, or anyone else, can stop me.’
And Charles, his fingers locked around the stem of his glass, saw the implacable arrogance on Alex’s face, and prayed, mutely and fiercely, that the justice of God would bring his vain and vicious cousin to his knees in humility.
*
The arrival of a consignment of books, reported by Martha Jones, the maid who served both Phoebe and Amy, was enough to raise Alex’s sister from her sickbed. The cold had been severe, and she still suffered headaches, a dry throat and an infuriating tendency to sneeze at the most inopportune moments. Her mirror showed a thin, wan face, deathly pale save for the dark rings round her eyes, and the raw shiny red of her painfully sore nose. Phoebe glared at her unlovely countenance, slapped on some soothing ointment, and made her halting way, with determination, to the library.
Mattie had been quite right. The central table was piled high with volumes, most of them already bound, a few still loose in sheets. The familiar, faintly musty aroma hung in the air, penetrating even her temporarily blocked and insensitive nostrils, and Phoebe sniffed with deep appreciation. Then the dust tickled her, and she sneezed loudly and explosively.
‘Don’t do that,’ said her brother. ‘You’ll frighten me to death.’
‘Frighten? You? Don’t be ridiculous,’ Phoebe told him briskly. She clumped round the table and saw him sitting behind the largest pile, evidently making a catalogue, for pen and ink and a blank ruled book lay in front of him. She said, ‘Are these what you brought back from Holland, or did you buy them in Bath?’
‘Both. That heap there is a lifetime’s collection — I doubt you’d find many of them for sale in this country, without going to a great deal of trouble. The others I bought from various booksellers in Bath, yesterday and the day before.’
Phoebe was peering at the second pile. ‘Boccaccio?’ she said.
‘That self-righteous tone ill becomes you, sister. Rest assured, it will be placed on the highest shelf.’
‘Then I shall have to get you to lift it down again for me — I don’t think anyone else at Wintercombe is tall enough,’ Phoebe told him. ‘As you well know, I’m quite beyond any normal notion of female propriety — and besides, I suspect that you and I are the only ones here who can read Italian. This is interesting — I would like to study this very much, when you can spare it.’
‘The Micrographia? I’ve been looking for that for years. I mean to order a microscope from a maker in London,’ Alex said, glancing at her. ‘And a telescope, as well — one made to Newton’s design, with a reflecting mirror. Would you like to watch the stars? Perhaps we can emulate Halley, and make a chart of the heavens, or discover a new comet.’
‘I would like to see Saturn’s rings,’ Phoebe said, enthusiasm kindling on her drawn face. ‘And the mountains of the moon, and the Milky Way and all the constellations…and I know where we could set up the telescope, too — on the top of the tower in the courtyard.’
‘We’d have to evict the doves. I do not relish the thought of wading up those stairs with my precious, delicate and highly expensive instruments through a mass of bird droppings, dead fledglings and bits of nest.’
‘Then have it cleared out — you’re the master here, after all,’ Phoebe pointed out.
Alex gave her a cool, surprised stare. ‘Am I? Well, well, I’d never have thought it.’
Unwillingly, Phoebe smiled. It faded very quickly as she saw the book at the bottom of the pile. With some difficulty, she heaved the rest off, and opened it.
The title page stared up at her. A king, crowned and sceptred, made up of many smaller individuals, reared up beyond a range of hills, whether benevolently or in threat was not entirely clear. ‘Leviathan,’ she said quietly. ‘Have you read it?’
‘Of course — I’ve had it for years, as you can probably tell by its well-thumbed condition. Have you read it?’
‘Father bought a copy, some while before the University authorities at Oxford ordered it to be burned,’ Phoebe told him. ‘So, since I’ve read every book in his library — yes, I have. Are you an atheist?’
The bluntness of her question might have surprised him, but Alex did not show it. He smiled. ‘It’s dangerous, and perhaps no longer fashionable, to admit as much — even in jest. I might very well ask the same of you — and somehow, people seem to think such opinions far more shocking in a young unmarried woman than in a debauched old libertine like me.’
‘I have no intention of discussing my private beliefs with you, brother,’ said Phoebe, but her smile robbed the words of any sting. ‘Any more than you have yours with me, I suspect. Anyway, in the eyes of most devout people, merely to possess Leviathan is to be a Hobbist, and therefore, by extension, an atheist. Charles would be horrified.’
‘I don’t intend to give Charles the run of the library. You’ve read Hobbes — have you also read this?’
‘Oceania, by James Harrington. Is he connected with the Harringtons at Kelston?’
‘Distantly, I believe. Do you know it?’
‘Only by repute,’ said Phoebe. ‘Are you also a republican, as well as an atheist?’
‘I shall admit to nothing,’ said Alex, turning on her that sudden, charming, brilliant smile. ‘As I said, such things are dangerous in these times — not to think, perhaps, but to profess openly. It’s tantamount to treason, after all, to believe that a republic or a commonwealth is the ideal solution to this country’s problems. That’s why poor Algernon Sidney was executed, a few years ago — not so much because of his plots, but because of the republican writings that he’d made, which were found in his study. Rest assured, little sister, if — if — I had republican sympathies, I would not be so foolish as to commit them to paper, nor to air my opinions to the vicar, for example.’
Phoebe gave a snort of laughter. ‘I doubt he’d hear you. He’s grown very deaf.’
‘God’s bones, is Pigott still alive? He must be well into his dotage.’
‘He’s eighty-one this year, and just as determined to carry out all his duties,’ Phoebe told him. ‘Even though his voice is grown so thin that those at the back of the church can hardly hear him speaking, let alone follow the thread of his sermons.’
‘A situation for which all the poorer sort weekly thank the Lord, and the gentry curse him,’ Alex commented. ‘Since I shall doubtless be expected to occupy the foremost pew, I shall not look forward to Sundays with any particular enthusiasm.’ He stretched, and yawned, and smiled, reminding Phoebe vividly of a very self-satisfied cat. ‘Perhaps I’ll call up a troop of demons. That should enliven the proceedings.’
His sister, resolutely refusing to be shocked, glanced at him quizzically. ‘Is that within your capabilities?’
‘Well, if it’s possible to summon demons, or angels, or ethereal spirits, then I have a mind to attempt it — purely from curiosity, you understand, just as I might also try to determine the nature of matter, or the structure of the eye, or any other example of natural science which takes my fancy. I am one of the new breed of enquirers, my dear sister — I’ll take no man’s, or woman’s word for anything, no matter how eminent my informant. If I can discover truth by experiment, then I will — and if I fail to establish the existence of demons, then I shall draw the obvious conclusion.’
‘That there are no such creatures?’
‘Precisely.’ Alex grinned at her, disarming all her doubts. ‘Have no fear, sweet sister, I do know what I’m doing. After all, what disciple of Hobbes could fail to consider any supposed denizen of Hell — or of Heaven, for that matter — as pure superstition?’
‘From my limited reading on such matters,’ Phoebe said drily, ‘an angel summoned by an unbeliever is most unlikely to appear, whereas a demon is sure to turn up just to spite you. And,’ she added, becoming severely practical, ‘where precisely at Wintercombe do you plan to perform your, er, experiments? The stillroom?’
‘Next to the servants’ hall? I’d be the subject of wild conjecture for ever more. No, one of the closets off my chamber will suffice for the present. My servant, Gerrit Tijssen, is the soul of discretion — and besides, I doubt he knows enough English to gossip.’
‘Your servant?’ said Phoebe, startled. ‘But you didn’t bring him with you.’
‘Nor I did — how observant of you. I do in fact possess one, a most capable man, who’s been with me for some years. But I left him behind in Holland to clear up one or two items of business which I had to leave unfinished. He’ll arrive here eventually.’
‘Well, I hope he is discreet — to have you taken up for a warlock would do nothing for the family’s reputation,’ said Phoebe tartly. She glanced down at the Leviathan, and then up at her brother. ‘Alex…why is everything that interests you so dangerous?’
‘Is it?’
‘Of course it is! Talking about raising demons, even if only in jest…to be a republican is to commit treason by definition — and atheism is hardly popular, and not a little inconsistent with wanting to conjure devils.’
‘I prefer to believe the evidence of my own senses,’ Alex said, smiling up at her from his chair. ‘I’m not one of these gullible souls who glean all their experience from books. I have the greatest admiration and respect for the views of Master Hobbes and his mechanical philosophy, but I would like to put it to the test myself. Much of what he says I know already to be true, from what I myself have observed and concluded, but how can I assert that there are no such things as demons or angels — and by extension, Heaven or Hell — unless I attempt to summon them in the approved manner, and fail?’
