Curse of the Kings Page 5

  I could not talk to anyone of my feelings for Tybalt. They were absurd anyway, for surely it was ridiculous to feel this intense passion for someone who was hardly aware of one's existence.

  But our relationship did undergo a change and he began to be a little aware of me. Tabitha Grey was very kindly and she noticed how despondent I was when Evan Callum ceased to teach us. As I grew older she seemed to grow younger. I suppose at fourteen anyone of twenty-four seems very old; but when one is nearly eighteen, twenty-eight seemed younger than twenty-four did at fourteen. Tabitha was Mrs. Grey so she had been married. Ever to have called her Grey Tabby was incongruous. She was tall with rippling dark hair and large light brown eyes; when she played the piano her expression changed, something ethereal touched it and she was then undoubtedly beautiful. She was gentle-natured, by no means communicative; sometimes I thought there was a haunting sadness in her face.

  I had tried to find out from Sabina what exactly her position was in the household.

  "Oh, she just manages everything," said Sabina. "She's there for me when my father and Tybalt are away; and she looks after the servants—and Nanny Tester too, though Nanny won't admit it. She knows quite a lot about Father's work. He talks to her about it—so does Tybalt."

  I was more interested than ever and that gave us something in common. I had one or two talks with her after our music lesson. She became quite animated discussing Sir Edward's work. She told me that on one occasion she had been a member of his party when they had gone down to Kent working on some Roman excavation.

  "When Sabina is married I shall go again," she said. "It's a pity that you're a girl. If you had been a boy you might have taken archaeology up as a profession."

  "I don't think we have the money for that at the rectory. I was lucky they tell me to get the sort of education I have. I shall have to earn some money. What I shall do, I don't know . . . except that I shall probably have to be a governess."

  "You never know what's waiting for you," she said. Then she lent me some books. "There's no reason why you shouldn't go on reading and learning all you can."

  It was when I went to Giza House one late afternoon to return some books that I heard music. I guessed Tabitha was playing and glancing through the window into the drawing room I saw her seated at the piano and Tybalt was with her; they were playing a duet. As I watched the duet ended; they turned to each other and smiled. I thought then: How I wish he would smile at me like that.

  As people do they seemed to guess that they were being watched and both of them looked simultaneously towards the window and saw me.

  I felt rather ashamed for being caught looking in but Tabitha waved that aside.

  "Come in, Judith," she said. "Oh, you've brought the books back. I've been lending these to Judith, Tybalt. She's very interested."

  Tybalt looked at the books and his eyes lit up quite warmly.

  "What did you think of them?"

  "I was fascinated."

  "We must find some more for her, Tabitha."

  "That was what I was going to do."

  We went into the drawing room and we talked . . . how we talked! I had not felt so alive since Evan Callum had left.

  Tybalt walked back to the rectory with me, carrying the books; and he went on talking too, telling me of the adventures he had had; and how excited he had been when he had found certain things.

  I listened avidly.

  At the door of the rectory he said: "You really are very interested, aren't you?"

  "Yes," I answered earnestly.

  "Of course I always knew that you were interested in mummies."

  We laughed. He said goodbye and that we must have another chat. "In the meantime," he said, "go on reading. I'm going to tell Tabitha what books to give you."

  "Oh, thank you!" I said earnestly.

  Dorcas must have seen us from one of the windows.

  "Wasn't that Tybalt Travers?" she said as I started to ascend the stairs.

  I said it was; and because she waited for some explanation I went on: "I took some books back to Giza and he walked back with me."

  "Oh!" was all she said.

  The very next day she mentioned him again. "I've heard that they're expecting a match between Tybalt Travers and Theodosia."

  I felt sick. I hope I didn't show it.

  "Well," went on Dorcas cautiously, "it's to be expected. The Traverses and the Bodreans have been friends for years. I'm sure Sir Ralph would like to see the families united."

  No, I thought. Never. Silly little Theodosia! It wasn't possible.

  But of course I knew that it was highly probable.

  Oliver Shrimpton had an opportunity of a living in Dorset. Dorcas and Alison were very upset.

  "What we shall do without you, Oliver, I can't imagine," said Alison.

  "You've been wonderful," Dorcas told him.

  He went to see the Bishop, and I have never seen Dorcas and Alison quite so happy as they were when he came back.

  I was in my room reading when they came in. "He's refused it," they said.

  I said, "Who?"

  "Oliver."

  "But what has he refused?"

  "I don't believe you're listening."

  "It takes a little time to tear oneself away from the ancient Egypt to the rectory of St. Erno's."

  "You get too deep into those books. I don't think it's good for you. But Oliver has been to see the Bishop and refused the living. He has explained that he wishes to stay here, and the understanding is that when Father retires he will become rector here."

  "That's wonderful news," I said. "Now we shan't have to worry about losing him."

  "He must be very fond of us," said Dorcas, "to do so much for us."

  "Fond of some of us," said Alison significantly.

  Evan Callum came down to stay at Giza House with the Traverses. I believe he was invited quite often to Keverall Court.

  He called at the rectory to see me and we had a very interesting talk. He told me I had been his most promising pupil and it was a great shame that I had not been able to take up the subject in earnest.

  Miss Graham found another post and left; and then lessons were over. It was quite clear that I was never going to be a musician; but I didn't need that excuse now to go to Giza House. I could go into the library there and select books and if they were not some of Sir Edward's precious ones, I could take them home.

  I saw very little of Theodosia now. There were many parties at Keverall Court to which naturally I was not invited; and there was entertaining at Giza too which was quite different—although Tybalt and his father often went to Keverall and Sir Ralph and Lady Bodrean visited Giza —but I gathered from Tabitha that there were dinner parties when the conversation sparkled and of course it centered round the work of those guests—this fascinating absorption with the past.

  Life was quite changed for me. I did some of the parish visiting with Dorcas and Alison. I took flowers from the garden to the sick; I read to those whose eyesight was failing; I took food to the bedridden and went off to the town to shop for them in the little trap we called the jingle —a two-wheeled vehicle drawn by our own Jorrocks, who was something between a horse and a pony.

  I was settling down to becoming the typical rectory daughter. That Christmas Oliver and I brought in the yule log and I made the Christmas bush with Alison and Dorcas.

  This consisted of two wooden hoops fastened one into the other at right angles and we decorated this framework with evergreens—an old Cornish custom which we continued to follow rather than have the Christmas tree which, said some of the old folk, was a foreign invention. I went carol singing and when we called at Keverall Court we were invited in for hot pasties and saffron cake and a sip from the great wassailing bowl. I saw Theodosia and Hadrian in the great hall and I felt a nostalgia for the old days.

  Soon after that Christmas we had a frosty snap—rare with us. The branches of trees were white with hoar frost and the children could even skate on the pon
ds. The Reverend James caught a cold and this was followed by a heart attack; and although he recovered slightly, within a week he was dead.

  Dorcas and Alison were heartbroken. To me he had been remote for a long time. He had spent so much time in his bedroom; and even when he was in a room with us he scarcely spoke so it was like not having him there at all.

  Cook said it was a Happy Release, because the poor Reverend Gentleman would never have been himself again.

  And so the rectory blinds were drawn down and the day came when bells tolled and we lowered the Reverend James Osmond into the grave which Mr. Pegger had dug for him and then we went back to the rectory to eat cold ham and mourn.

  Fear of the future mingled with the grief of Alison and Dorcas; but they were expectant, looking to me and to Oliver to bring about the obvious solution.

  I shut myself in my room and thought about it. They wanted me to marry Oliver, who would become the rector in the Reverend James Osmond's place and we could all go on living under this roof as before.

  How could I marry Oliver? I couldn't marry anyone but Tybalt. How could I tell Dorcas and Alison that? Moreover it was only in my wild and improbable dreams that that happy state of affairs could come about. I wanted to explain to them: I like Oliver. I know he is a good man. But you don't understand. I only have to say Tybalt's name and my heart beats faster. I know that he is unaware of me ... in that way. I know that they will think marriage with Theodosia a good match—but I can't help it.

  Oliver had changed since he had become rector. He was as kind as ever to us; but of course, as Dorcas said to Alison, unless something was arranged, they and I would have to move out.

  Quite suddenly something was arranged. Poor Alison! Poor Dorcas!

  It was Alison who broached the subject. I think Oliver had been trying to but was too kind to do so for fear it would appear that he was asking them to leave.

  Alison said: "Now that we have a new rector it is time for us to go."

  He looked very relieved, then he said: "I want to talk to you. I'm thinking of marrying."

  Dorcas's eyes shone as though she were the bride-to-be.

  "I could not of course ask the lady until I had something to offer her. And now I have . . . and I am indeed fortunate. She has accepted me as her future husband."

  Alison was looking at me reproachfully. You might have told us! she was implying—so I couldn't have shown her how startled I was.

  Oliver went on: "Miss Sabina Travers has promised to marry me."

  We congratulated him—I wholeheartedly, Dorcas and Alison in a bewildered way.

  As soon as I went to my room I knew they would come to me. They stood looking at me—dismay and anger on their faces.

  "To think that all this time he was deceiving us."

  "You are not being fair," I protested. "How has he deceived us?"

  "Leading us to think . . ."

  "But he did no such thing. Sabina! Well, yes, there was always a sort of rapport between them. She wasn't any better at Latin and Greek than I, but she's very pretty and feminine. And I think she'll do quite well as the rector's wife."

  "She's far too frivolous. I don't think she's capable of carrying on a serious conversation."

  "She'll be wonderful with the parishioners. She'll never be at a loss for words and she'll be able to listen to all their troubles without really hearing them. Think what an asset that will be."

  "Judith, you don't seem to care!" cried Alison.

  Dorcas said: "There's no need to put on a brave face with us, dear."

  I burst out laughing. "Listen to me, both of you. I wouldn't have married Oliver if he'd asked me. He's been too much like my brother. I'm fond of him; I like Sabina. Do believe me when I say I could never have married him, convenient as it would have been."

  Then I went to them and hugged them both, the way I used to do when I was younger.

  "Dear Dorcas and dear Alison, I'm so sorry. It's the end of the old life. We've got to leave the rectory. But even if I had been willing, Oliver had other plans, hadn't he?"

  They were touched as always by my demonstrations of affection.

  "Oh, it's not that," said Dorcas. "We were thinking of your happiness."

  "And that could not be here," I said. Then I added: "Just think. Oliver and Sabina! Why he'll be Tybalt's brother-in-law!"

  They looked at me in surprise as though to say What has that to do with our predicament?

  Then Alison said: "Well, what we have to do is to start making plans at once."

  So we made our plans.

  The Reverend James Osmond had left very little money; there would be the tiniest of incomes for his daughters, but if they could find a reasonable cottage they could just about manage to exist.

  As for me, I was dependent on them. They were happy to share everything they had with me but it would be far from an affluent existence.

  "But it was always intended that I should be equipped to work if need be," I said.

  "Well," admitted Dorcas, "that was one of the reasons why we were so pleased to be able to give you such a good education."

  "We might hear of something congenial," suggested Alison.

  It was no use sitting down waiting to hear. I promised myself and them that as soon as they were settled in their new home I would go and find a post.

  I was uneasy—not at the prospect of working but of leaving St. Erno's. I pictured myself in some household far away from Giza House when I should quickly be forgotten by its inhabitants. And what should I do? Become a governess like Miss Graham? It was the kind of post for which I was most suited. Perhaps as I had had a classical education more advanced than most rectory girls, I might teach in a girls' school. It would be less stultifying than working in some household where I was not considered worthy to mix with the family and yet was that little bit above the servants, which made it impossible for them to accept me. What was there for a young well-educated woman to do in this day and age?

  I could not bear to think of the future. I began to say to myself: If I had never found the bronze shield the Traverses might not have come to Giza House. I should never have met Tybalt, and Oliver would never have met Sabina. Oliver and I might in time have recognized what a convenient thing it would have been for us to marry and we might have done so. We might have had a peaceful, mildly happy life together as so many people do; and I should have been spared the anguish of leaving everything that was important to me.

  Sir Ralph came to the rescue. There was a cottage on his estate which was vacant and he would allow the Misses Osmond to have it for a peppercorn rent.

  They were delighted. It had solved half the problem.

  Sir Ralph was determined to be our benefactor. Lady Bodrean needed a companion—someone who would read to her whenever required to do so, assist her in her charities, give the help she needed when she entertained. In fact a secretary companion. Sir Ralph thought that I might be suitable for the post, and Lady Bodrean was ready to consider me.

  Alison and Dorcas were delighted.

  "After our disappointment everything is working out so well," they cried. "We have our cottage and it would be wonderful to have you not too far away. Just imagine, we should be able to see you frequently. Oh it would be wonderful... if ... er ... you could get along with Lady Bodrean."

  "Ah, 'there's the rub,'" I quoted lightheartedly. But I felt far from that.

  And not without reason. Lady Bodrean, I had always felt, had never really cared for me to join her daughter and nephew in the Keverall Court schoolroom. On the rare occasions when I had seen her I had been met by frosty stares.

  She always reminded me of a ship, for with her voluminous petticoats and skirts which rustled as she walked she seemed to sail along without being aware of anyone in her path. I had never tried to ingratiate myself with her, being conscious of a certain antagonism. Now I was in a different position.

  She received me in her private sitting room, a small apartment—as rooms went in Keverall
Court—but it was about twice the size of the cottage rooms. It was overcrowded with furniture. On the mantelpiece were vases and ornaments very close together; there were cabinets filled with china and silver and a what-not in one corner of the room full of little china pieces. The chairs were covered by tapestry worked by Lady Bodrean herself. There were two firescreens also of tapestry and two stools. The frame with a new piece stood close to her chair and she was working at this when I was shown into her room.

  She did not look up for quite a minute implying that she found her work more interesting than the new companion. It might have been disconcerting if I had been the timid sort.

  Then: "Oh, it's Miss Osmond. You've come about the post. You may sit down."

  I sat, my head high, the color in my cheeks.

  "Your duties," she said, "will be to make yourself useful to me in any capacity which arises."

  I said: "Yes, Lady Bodrean."

  "You will look after my engagements, both social and philanthropic. You will read the papers to me each day. You will care for my two Pomeranians, Orange and Lemon." At the mention of their names the two dogs reclining on cushions on either side of her raised their heads and regarded me with contempt. Orange—or it might have been Lemon —barked; the other one sniffed. "Darlings," said Lady Bodrean with a tender smile, but her expression was immediately frosty when she turned back to me. "You will, of course, be available for anything I may require. Now I should like to hear you read a passage to me."

  Opening The Times she handed it to me. I started to read of the resignation of Bismarck and the plan to cede Heligoland to Germany.

  I was aware of her scrutinizing me as I read. She had a lorgnette attached to a gold chain about her waist and she quizzed me quite openly. The sort of treatment one must expect when one was about to become an employee, I supposed.

  "Yes, that will do," she said in the middle of a sentence so that I knew that engaging a companion was of greater moment than the fate of Heligoland.