how people behaved. Erridge did not at all fit in with these.
‘But surely Erridge isn’t going to fight?’ Roddy said. ‘I suppose he has gone into the legal status of a British national taking part in a continental civil war. It is a most anomalous position-not to mention a great embarrassment to His Majesty’s Government, whatever the party in power. I presume he will be anti-Franco, holding the views he does.’
‘Of course he will be anti-Franco,’ said George. ‘But I agree with you, Roddy, that I should not have thought actual fighting would have been in his line.’
All this talk was going on outside Lady Warminster’s immediate orbit. Now she turned towards us to give one of her semi-official warnings.
‘I believe Mr Clarke has something he wants to tell me about Erridge,’ she said. ‘It might entail a more or less private talk with him after luncheon. Don’t any of you feel you have got to stay, if he decides to tell me some long rigmarole.’
She did not say, perhaps did not know, whether St John Clarke wanted to discuss Erridge’s latest move or some more general matter that concerned Erridge’s affairs. I had not heard that Erridge had been seeing more of St John Clarke recently. This indicated that their previous casual acquaintance must have grown in intimacy. The escapade with Mona, the decision to take part in the Spanish war, such things showed Erridge’s more picturesque side, the aspect at which his beard and tattered clothes freely hinted There were other, less dramatic matters to cause his family concern. The chief of these was the reopening of the question of death duties; but, in addition, the Thrubworth agent had died while Erridge was in China, revealing by vacation of office a situation often suspected by the rest of the family, that is to say gross, perhaps disastrous, mismanagement of the estate, which had been taking place over a long period. The account was seriously overdrawn at the bank. Thrubworth woods would probably have to be sold to meet the deficit. At least, selling the woods was Erridge’s idea of the easiest way out; the trustees, too, were thought to be amenable to this solution. It was possible that Erridge, having no taste for meeting his step-mother to discuss business, had entrusted St John Clarke with some message on the subject, before he himself set off for Spain, where he could forget the trivialities of estate management in the turmoil of revolution. Perhaps Lady Warminster’s last aside was intended to convey that, if business affairs were to be discussed at all, they were not to be interrupted. If so, she made her announcement just in time, because a second later St John Clarke himself was announced. He came hurriedly into the room, a hand held out in front of him as if to grasp the handle of a railway carriage door before the already moving train gathered speed and left the platform.
‘Lady Warminster, I am indeed ashamed of myself,’ he said in a high, rich, breathless, mincing voice, like that of an experienced actor trying to get the best out of a minor part in Restoration comedy. ‘I must crave the forgiveness of you and your guests.’
He gave a rapid glance round the room to discover whom he had been asked to meet, at the same time diffusing about him a considerable air of social discomfort. Lady Warminster accepted St John Clarke’s hand carefully, almost with surprise, immediately relinquishing it, as if the texture or temperature of the flesh dissatisfied her.
‘I hope you were not expecting a grand luncheon party, Mr Clarke,’ she said. ‘There are only a few of the family here, I am afraid.’
Plainly, that was only too true. There could be no doubt from St John Clarke’s face, flushed with running up the stairs, that he had hoped for something better than what he found; perhaps even a téte-à-téte with his hostess, rather than this unwieldy domestic affair, offering neither intimacy nor splendour. However, if disappointed
‘But surely Erridge isn’t going to fight?’ Roddy said. ‘I suppose he has gone into the legal status of a British national taking part in a continental civil war. It is a most anomalous position-not to mention a great embarrassment to His Majesty’s Government, whatever the party in power. I presume he will be anti-Franco, holding the views he does.’
‘Of course he will be anti-Franco,’ said George. ‘But I agree with you, Roddy, that I should not have thought actual fighting would have been in his line.’
All this talk was going on outside Lady Warminster’s immediate orbit. Now she turned towards us to give one of her semi-official warnings.
‘I believe Mr Clarke has something he wants to tell me about Erridge,’ she said. ‘It might entail a more or less private talk with him after luncheon. Don’t any of you feel you have got to stay, if he decides to tell me some long rigmarole.’
She did not say, perhaps did not know, whether St John Clarke wanted to discuss Erridge’s latest move or some more general matter that concerned Erridge’s affairs. I had not heard that Erridge had been seeing more of St John Clarke recently. This indicated that their previous casual acquaintance must have grown in intimacy. The escapade with Mona, the decision to take part in the Spanish war, such things showed Erridge’s more picturesque side, the aspect at which his beard and tattered clothes freely hinted There were other, less dramatic matters to cause his family concern. The chief of these was the reopening of the question of death duties; but, in addition, the Thrubworth agent had died while Erridge was in China, revealing by vacation of office a situation often suspected by the rest of the family, that is to say gross, perhaps disastrous, mismanagement of the estate, which had been taking place over a long period. The account was seriously overdrawn at the bank. Thrubworth woods would probably have to be sold to meet the deficit. At least, selling the woods was Erridge’s idea of the easiest way out; the trustees, too, were thought to be amenable to this solution. It was possible that Erridge, having no taste for meeting his step-mother to discuss business, had entrusted St John Clarke with some message on the subject, before he himself set off for Spain, where he could forget the trivialities of estate management in the turmoil of revolution. Perhaps Lady Warminster’s last aside was intended to convey that, if business affairs were to be discussed at all, they were not to be interrupted. If so, she made her announcement just in time, because a second later St John Clarke himself was announced. He came hurriedly into the room, a hand held out in front of him as if to grasp the handle of a railway carriage door before the already moving train gathered speed and left the platform.
‘Lady Warminster, I am indeed ashamed of myself,’ he said in a high, rich, breathless, mincing voice, like that of an experienced actor trying to get the best out of a minor part in Restoration comedy. ‘I must crave the forgiveness of you and your guests.’
He gave a rapid glance round the room to discover whom he had been asked to meet, at the same time diffusing about him a considerable air of social discomfort. Lady Warminster accepted St John Clarke’s hand carefully, almost with surprise, immediately relinquishing it, as if the texture or temperature of the flesh dissatisfied her.
‘I hope you were not expecting a grand luncheon party, Mr Clarke,’ she said. ‘There are only a few of the family here, I am afraid.’
Plainly, that was only too true. There could be no doubt from St John Clarke’s face, flushed with running up the stairs, that he had hoped for something better than what he found; perhaps even a téte-à-téte with his hostess, rather than this unwieldy domestic affair, offering neither intimacy nor splendour. However, if disappointed
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