A Dangerous Fortune(35)

He reached Hyde Park Corner and turned north along Park Lane. He doffed his hat to numerous relations and acquaintances: Young William and Beatrice in a brougham, Uncle Samuel on a chestnut mare, Mr. Mulberry with his wife and children. Maisie might have stopped on the far side, or she might have left by now. He began to feel that he would not see her again.

But he did.

She was just leaving, crossing Park Lane. It was undoubtedly her, with that mushroom-colored silk tie at her throat. She did not see him.

On impulse he followed her across the road, into Mayfair, and down a mews, running to keep up with her. She pulled the victoria up to a stable and jumped down. A groom came out and began to help her with the horses.

Hugh came up beside her, breathing hard. He wondered why he had done this. “Hello, Miss Robinson,” he said.

“Hello again!”

“I followed you,” he said superfluously.

She gave him a frank look. “Why?”

Without thinking he blurted out: “I was wondering if you would go out with me one night.”

She put her head to one side and frowned slightly, considering his proposal. Her expression was friendly, as if she liked the idea, and he thought she would accept. But it seemed some practical consideration was at war with her inclinations. She looked away from him, and a little frown appeared on her brow; then she appeared to make up her mind. “You can’t afford me,” she said decisively; and she turned her back on him and walked into the stable.

4

Cammel Farm

Cape Colony

South Africa

14th July 1873

Dear Hugh,

Jolly nice to hear from you! One is rather isolated out here, and you can’t imagine the pleasure we get out of a long, newsy letter from home. Mrs. Cammel, who used to be the Hon. Amelia Clapham until she married me, was especially amused by your account of the Lioness….

It’s a bit late to say this, I know, but I was dreadfully shocked by the death of your father. Schoolboys don’t write condolence notes. And your own tragedy was somewhat eclipsed by the drowning of Peter Middleton on the very same day. But believe me, many of us thought of you and talked about you after you were so abruptly taken away from school….

I’m glad you asked me about Peter. I have felt guilty ever since that day. I didn’t actually see the poor chap die, but I saw enough to guess the rest.

Your cousin Edward was, as you so colourfully put it, more rotten than a dead cat. You managed to get most of your clothes out of the water and scarper, but Peter and Tonio weren’t so quick.

I was over the other side, and I don’t think Edward and Micky even noticed me. Or perhaps they didn’t recognise me. At any rate they never spoke to me about the incident

Anyway, after you had gone Edward proceeded to torment Peter even more, pushing his head under the water and splashing his face while the poor boy struggled to retrieve his clothes.

I could see it was getting out of hand but I was a complete coward, I’m afraid. I should have gone to Peter’s aid but I was not much bigger myself certainly no match for Edward and Micky Miranda, and I didn’t want my clothes soaked as well. Do you remember the punishment for breaking bounds? It was twelve strokes of the Striper, and I don’t mind admitting I was more frightened of that than anything else. Anyway, I grabbed my clothes and sneaked away without attracting any attention.

I looked back once, from the lip of the quarry. I don’t know what had happened in the meantime, but Tonio was scrambling up the side, naked and clutching a bundle of wet clothes, and Edward was swimming across the pool after him, leaving Peter gasping and spluttering in the middle.

I thought Peter would be all right, but obviously I was wrong. He must have been at the end of his tether. While Edward was chasing Tonio, and Micky was watching, Peter drowned without anyone’s noticing.

I didn’t know that until later, of course. I got back to school and slipped into my dorm. When the masters started asking questions, I swore I had been there all afternoon. As the ghastly story began to emerge I never had the guts to admit that I had seen what happened.

Not a tale to be proud of Hugh. But telling the truth at last has made me feel a bit better, at any rate….

Hugh put down Albert Cammel’s letter and stared out of his bedroom window. The letter explained both more and less than Cammel imagined.

It explained how Micky Miranda had insinuated himself into the Pilaster family to such an extent that he spent every vacation with Edward and had all his expenses paid by Edward’s parents. No doubt Micky had told Augusta that Edward had virtually killed Peter. But in court Micky said Edward had tried to rescue the drowning boy. And in telling that lie Micky had saved the Pilasters from public disgrace. Augusta would have been powerfully grateful—and perhaps, also, fearful that Micky might one day turn against them and reveal the truth. It gave Hugh a cold, rather scared feeling in the pit of his stomach. Albert Cammel, all unknowing, had revealed that Augusta’s relationship with Micky was deep, dark and corrupt.

But another puzzle remained. For Hugh knew something about Peter Middleton that almost no one else was aware of. Peter had been something of a weakling, and all the boys treated him as a weed. Embarrassed about his weakness, he had embarked on a training program—and his main exercise was swimming. He stroked across that pool hour after hour, trying to build his physique. It had not worked: a thirteen-year-old boy could not become broad-shouldered and deep-chested except by growing into a man, and that was a process that could not be hurried.