Brideshead Revisited(53)

(In his kindest moments Rex displayed a kind of hectoring zeal as if he were thrusting a vacuum cleaner on an unwilling housewife.)

‘We’ll think about it.’

And we were thinking about it when Cordelia returned from hunting.

‘Oh, Julia, what’s that? How beastly.’

‘It’s Rex’s Christmas present.’

‘Oh, sorry. I’m always putting my foot in it. But how cruel! It must have hurt frightfully.’

‘They can’t feel.’

‘How d’you know? Bet they can.’

She kissed her mother, whom she had not seen that day, shook hands with Rex, and rang for eggs.

‘I had one tea at Mrs Bamey’s, where I telephoned for the car, but I’m still hungry. It was a spiffing day. Jean Strickland-Venables fell in the mud. We ran from Bengers to Upper Eastrey without a check. I reckon that’s five miles, don’t you, Bridey?’

‘Three.’

‘Not as he ran…’ Between mouthfuls of scrambled egg she told us about the hunt. ‘…You should have seen Jean when she came out of the mud.’

‘Where’s Sebastian?’

‘He’s in disgrace.’ The words, in that clear, child’s voice had the ring of a bell tolling, but she went on: ‘Coming out in that beastly rat-catcher coat and mean little tie like something from Captain Morvin’s Riding Academy. I just didn’t recognize him at the meet, and I hope nobody else did. Isn’t he back? I expect he got lost.’

When Wilcox came to clear the tea, Lady Marchmain asked: ‘No sign of Lord Sebastian?’

‘No, my Lady.’

‘He must have stopped for tea with someone. How very unlike him.’

Half an hour later, when Wilcox brought in the cocktail tray, he said: ‘Lord Sebastian has just rung up to be fetched from South Twining.’

‘South Twining? Who lives there?’

‘He was speaking from the hotel, my Lady.’

‘South Twining.?’ said Cordelia. ‘Goodness, he did get lost!’

When he arrived he was flushed and his eyes were feverishly bright; I saw that he was two-thirds drunk.

‘Dear boy,’ said Lady Marchmain. ‘How nice to see you looking so well again. Your day in the open has done you good. The drinks are on the table; do help yourself’

There was nothing unusual in her speech but the fact of her saying it. Six months ago it would not have been said.

‘Thanks,’ said Sebastian. ‘I will.’



A blow, expected, repeated, falling on a bruise, with no smart or shock of surprise, only a dull and sickening pain and the doubt whether another like it could be borne — that was how it felt, sitting opposite Sebastian at dinner that night, seeing his clouded eye and groping movements, hearing his thickened voice breaking in, ineptly, after long brutish silences. When at length Lady Marchmain and Julia and the servants left us, Brideshead said: ‘You’d best go to bed, Sebastian.’

‘Have some port first.’

‘Yes, have some port if you want it. But don’t come into the drawing-room.’

‘Too bloody drunk,’ said Sebastian nodding heavily. ‘Like olden times. Gentlemen always too drunk join ladies in olden times.’

(‘And, yet, you know, it wasn’t,’ said Mr Samgrass, trying to be chatty with me about it afterwards, ‘it wasn’t at all like olden times. I wonder where the difference lies. The lack of good humour? The lack of companionship? You know I think he must have been drinking by himself today. Where did he get the money?’)

Sebastian’s gone up,’ said Brideshead when we reached the drawing-room.

‘Yes? Shall I read?’

Julia and Rex played bezique; the tortoise, teased by the pekinese, withdrew into his shell; Lady Marchmain read The Diary of a Nobody aloud until, quite early, she said it was time for bed.

‘Can’t I stay up and play a little longer, mummy ? Just three games?’

‘Very well, darling. Come in and see me before you go to bed. I shan’t be asleep.’

It was plain to Mr Samgrass and me that Julia and Rex wanted to be left alone, so we went, too; it was not plain to, Brideshead, who settled down to read The Times, which he had not yet seen that day. Then, going to our side of the house, Mr Samgrass said: ‘It wasn’t at all like olden times.’

Next morning I said to Sebastian: ‘Tell me honestly, do you want me to stay on here?’

‘No, Charles, I don’t believe I do.’

‘I’m no help?’

‘No help.’

So I went to make my excuses to his mother.

‘There’s something I must ask you, Charles. Did you give Sebastian money yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Knowing how he was likely to spend it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t understand it,’ she said. ‘I simply don’t understand how anyone can be so callously wicked.’

She paused, but I do not think she expected any answer; there was nothing I could say unless I were to start all over again on that familiar, endless argument.

‘I’m not going to reproach you,’ she said. ‘God knows it’s not for me to reproach anyone. Any failure in my children is my failure. But I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how you can have been so nice in so many ways, and then do something so wantonly cruel. I don’t understand how we all liked you so much. Did you hate us all the time? I don’t understand how we deserved it.’