Shut the door and take off your coats, she said. Put them down. Doesnt matter where.
Lady Youlgreave had been a small woman to begin with, and now old age had made her even smaller. Dark eyes peered up at us from deep sockets. She was wearing a dress of some stiff material with a high collar; the dress was too large for her now, and her head poked out of the folds of the collar like a tortoises from its shell.
Well, she said. This is a surprise.
Id like to introduce Vanessa Forde, my fiancée. Vanessa, this is Lady Youlgreave.
How do you do. Pull up one of those chairs and sit down where I can see you.
I arranged two of the dining chairs for Vanessa and myself. The three of us sat in a little semi-circle in front of the window. Vanessa was nearest the box, and I noticed her glancing into its open mouth.
Lady Youlgreave studied Vanessa with unabashed curiosity. So. If you ask me, Davids luckier than he deserves.
Vanessa smiled and politely shook her head.
My cleaning woman tells me youre a publisher.
Yes by accident really.
I dare say youll be giving it up when you marry.
No. Vanessa glanced at me. Its my job. In any case, the income will be important.
Lady Youlgreave squeezed her lips together. Then she relaxed them and said, In my day, a husband supported a wife.
I suppose Ive grown used to supporting myself.
And a wife supported her husband in other ways. Made a home for him. Unexpectedly, she laughed, a bubbling hiss from the back of her throat. And in the case of a vicars wife, she usually ran the parish as well. Youll have plenty to do here without going out to work.
Its up to Vanessa, of course, I said. By the way, how are you feeling?
Awful. That damned doctor keeps giving me new medicines, but all they do is bung me up and give me bad dreams. She waved a brown, twisted hand at the box on the stool. I dreamt about that last night. I dreamt I found a dead bird inside. A goose. Told the girl I wanted it roasted for lunch. Then I saw it was crawling with maggots. There was another laugh. Thatll teach me to go rummaging through the past.
Is that what youve been doing? Vanessa asked. In there?
I have to do something. I never realized you can be tired and in pain and bored all at the same time. The girl told me that the Oliphant woman had written a history of Roth. So I made her buy me a copy. Not as bad as I thought it was going to be. She glared at me. I suppose you had a hand in it.
Vanessa and I edited it, yes, and Vanessa saw it through the press.
Thought so. Anyway, it made me curious. I knew there was a lot of rubbish up in the attic. Papers, and so on. George had them put up there when we moved from the other house. Said he was going to write the family history. God knows why. Literature wasnt his line at all. Didnt know one end of a pen from another. Anyway, he never had the opportunity. So all the rubbish just stayed up there.
Vanessa leant forwards. Do you think you might write something yourself?
Lady Youlgreave held up her right hand. With fingers like this? She let the hand drop on her lap. Besides, what does it matter? Its all over with. Theyre all dead and buried. Who cares what they did or why they did it?
She stared out of the window at the bird table. I wondered if the morphine were affecting her mind. James Vintner had told me that he had increased the dose recently. Like the house and the dogs, their owner was sliding into decay.
I said, Vanessas read quite a lot of Francis Youlgreaves verse.
Ive got a copy of The Four Last Things, Vanessa said. The one with The Judgement of Strangers in it.
Lady Youlgreave stared at her for a moment. There were two other collections, The Tongues of Angels and Last Poems. He published Last Poems when he was still up at Oxford. Silly man. So pretentious. Her eyes moved to me. Pass me that book, she demanded. The black one on the corner of the table.
I handed her a quarto-sized hardback notebook. The seconds ticked by while she opened it and tried to find the page she wanted. Vanessa and I looked at each other. Inside the notebook I saw yellowing paper, unlined and flecked with damp, covered with erratic lines of handwriting in brown ink.
There, Lady Youlgreave said at last, placing the open notebook on her side table and turning it so it was the right way up for Vanessa and me. Read that.
The handwriting was a mass of blots and corrections. Two lines leapt out at me, however, because they were the only ones which had no alterations or blemishes:
Then darkness descended; and whispers defiled
The judgement of stranger, and widow, and child.
Is that his writing? Vanessa asked, her voice strained.
Lady Youlgreave nodded. This is a volume of his journal. March eighteen-ninety-four, while he was still in London. The lips twisted. He was the vicar of St Michaels in Beauclerk Place. I think this was the first draft. She looked up at us, at our eager faces, then slowly closed the book. According to this journal, it was a command performance.
Vanessa raised her eyebrows. I dont understand.
Lady Youlgreave drew the book towards her and clasped it on her lap. He wrote the first half of the first draft in a frenzy of inspiration in the early hours of the morning. He had just had an angelic visitation. He believed that the angel had told him to write the poem. Once more her lips curled and she looked from me to Vanessa. He was intoxicated at the time, of course. He had been smoking opium earlier that evening. He used to patronize an establishment in Leicester Square. Her head swayed on her neck. An establishment which seems to have catered for a variety of tastes.
Are there many of his journals? asked Vanessa. Or manuscripts of his poems? Or letters?
Quite a few. Ive not had time to go through everything yet.
As you know, Im a publisher. I cant help wondering if you might have the material for a biography of Francis Youlgreave there.
Very likely. For example, his journal gives a very different view of the Rosington scandal. From the horses mouth, as it were. Her lips twisted and she made a hissing sound. The trouble is, this particular horse isnt always a reliable witness. Georges father used to say but I mustnt keep you waiting like this. You havent had any sherry yet. Im sure weve got some somewhere.
It doesnt matter, I said.
The girl will know. Shes late. She should be bringing me my lunch.
The heavy eyelids, like dough-coloured rubber, drooped over the eyes. The fingers twitched, but did not relax their hold of Francis Youlgreaves journal.
I think perhaps wed better be going, I said. Leave you to your lunch.
You can give me my medicine first. The eyes were fully open again and suddenly alert. Its the bottle on the mantelpiece.
I hesitated. Are you sure its the right time?
I always have it before lunch, she snapped. Thats what Dr Vintner said. Its before lunch, isnt it? And the girls late. Shes supposed to be bringing me my lunch.
There was a clean glass and a spoon beside the bottle on the mantelpiece. I measured out a dose and gave her the glass. She clasped it in both hands and drank it at once. She sat back, still cradling the glass. A dribble of liquid ran down her chin.
There was a clean glass and a spoon beside the bottle on the mantelpiece. I measured out a dose and gave her the glass. She clasped it in both hands and drank it at once. She sat back, still cradling the glass. A dribble of liquid ran down her chin.
Ill leave a note, I said. Just to say that youve had your medicine.
But theres no need to write a note. Ill tell Doris myself.
It wont be Doris, I said. Its the weekend, so its the nurse wholl come in.
Silly woman. Thinks Im deaf. Thinks Im senile. Anyway, I told you: Ill tell her myself.
I could be obstinate, too. I scribbled a few words in pencil on a page torn from my diary and left it under the bottle for the nurse. Lady Youlgreave barely acknowledged us when we said goodbye. But when we were almost at the door, she stirred.
Come and see me again soon, she commanded. Both of you. Perhaps youd like to look at some of Uncle Franciss things. He was very interested in sex, you know. She made a hissing noise again, her way of expressing mirth. Just like you, David.
9
Vanessa and I were married on a rainy Saturday in April. Henry Appleyard was my best man. Michael gave us a present, a battered but beautiful seventeenth-century French edition of Ecclesiasticus; according to the bookplate it had once been part of the library of Rosington Theological College.
It was his own idea, his mother whispered to me. His own money, too. Quite a coincidence Rosington, I mean.
I hope it wasnt expensive.
Five shillings. He found it in a junk shop.
Weve been very lucky with presents, Vanessa said. Rosemary gave us a gorgeous coffee pot. Denbigh ware.
It was only then that I realized Rosemary was listening intently to the conversation. Later I noticed her examining the book, flicking through the pages as if they irritated her.
Vanessa and I flew to Italy the same afternoon. She had arranged it all, including the pensione in Florence where we were to stay. I had assumed that if we had a honeymoon at all it would be in England. But Florence had been Vanessas idea, and she was so excited about it that I did not have the heart to try to change her mind. Her plan had support from an unexpected quarter: when I told Peter Hudson, he said, Shes right. Get right away from everything. You owe it to each other.
It was raining in Florence, too. Not that it mattered. I wouldnt have cared if the city had been buried beneath a pall of snow.
We had dinner in a little restaurant. Vanessa was looking alluring in a dark dress which set off her hair. We talked more about Rosemary than ourselves. I found myself glancing surreptitiously at my watch. I did not eat much, though I drank more than my fair share of the wine.
While we talked, I allowed my imagination to run free for the first time in ten years. I felt like a schoolboy at the end of term, or a convict coming to the end of his sentence.
As the meal progressed, we talked less. An awkwardness settled between us. My thoughts scurried to and fro as though I were running a fever. Once or twice, Vanessa looked at me and seemed about to say something.
The waiter asked if we would like coffee. I wanted to go back to our room, but Vanessa ordered coffee, with brandies to go with it. When the drinks came, she drank half her brandy in a few seconds.
David, I have to admit I feel a bit nervous.
I leaned forward to light her cigarette. Why?
About tonight.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Well get used to it, I said. I dare say well both find it strange. The urgency was building up inside me. I touched Vanessas hand. Dearest you know, theres no reason why it neednt be enjoyable as well.
She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. Charles didnt seem he didnt want it very much. I dont know why. Of course, it happened quite a lot when we were first married, but then it tailed off.
You dont have to tell me this.
I want to explain. Charles used to stay up reading until all hours and often I was asleep when he came to bed. There just never seemed to be much opportunity.
Darling, I said, dont worry.
Her mouth twitched. Itll be all right on the night, will it?
It will be. And then it will get better and better. Shall I get the bill?
We walked back sedately, arm in arm to our pensione. There was a part of me that wanted to make love to her there and then: to pull her into an alley, push her up against a wall and tear my way into her clothes; and all the while the rain would patter on our heads and shoulders, the lamplight would glitter in the puddles, and the snarls and honks of the traffic would make a savage, distant music.
At the pensione, we collected our key and went upstairs. I locked the door behind us. I turned to find her standing in the middle of the room with her arms by her side.
Vanessa. My voice sounded like a strangers. Youre lovely.
I took off my jacket and dropped it on a chair. I went to her, put my hands on her shoulders, stooped and kissed her gently on the lips. Her lips moved beneath mine. I took off her coat and let it fall to the floor. I nibbled the side of her neck. My fingers found the fastening of her dress. I peeled it away from her. She stood there in her underwear, revealed and vulnerable. Her arms tightened round my neck.
Im cold. Can we get into bed?
I was a little disappointed: I had looked forward for months to slowly removing her clothes, to touching as much of her body as I could with my mouth. But all that could wait. She allowed me to help her quickly out of the rest of her clothes. She scrambled into bed and watched me as I quickly undressed. My excitement was obvious.
My handbag. Ive got a cap.
Ive got a condom. I dropped my wallet on the bedside table and slithered into bed beside her.
There was goose flesh on her arm. It was hard to move much because she was holding me so tightly. The restraint somehow increased my excitement. I kissed her hair frantically.
I want you, I muttered. Let me come in.
She released her hold. I rolled over and found the condom in my wallet. My fingers were twice as clumsy as usual. At last I extracted the condom from its foil wrapper and rolled it over my penis. Vanessa was lying on her back, her legs slightly apart, watching me. There was a noise like surf in my ears.
Now, darling, I said. Now, now.
I climbed on top of her, using my knees to spread her legs wider. I abandoned all attempts at subtlety. I wanted one thing and I wanted it now. Vanessa stared up at me and put her hands on my shoulders. Her face was very serious. I lowered myself and thrust hard into her. She gasped and tried to writhe away but now my hands were on her shoulders and she could not move. I cried out, a groan that had been building up inside me for ten years. And then, with embarrassing rapidity, it was all over.
Trembling, I lay like a dead weight on top of her. In a moment, my trembling turned to sobs.
Once again her arms tightened around me. Hush now. Its all right. Its over.
It wasnt over, not for either of us, and it wasnt all right. Two hours later, I wanted her again. We were still awake, talking about the future. Vanessa agreed with me that it would obviously take time before we were sexually in tune with each other. That was to be expected. The second time everything happened more slowly. She lay there while I explored the hollows and curves of her body with my mouth. She let me do whatever I wanted, and I did.