Inheritance Feud

Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Theon went first to Baron.

As his coach drew up at the door others were drawing away, the grooms and coachmen who had come with them preparing to lead the horses round to Baron stables, for an hour or two; it was the day of young Mrs. Devenham's rout party, and the gentry could be relied upon to be occupied till the early afternoon at cards, and thereafter for tea-drinking, no doubt in the garden if it did not rain. The house had grounds which were swept and immaculate, the shaven lawns smooth, the flowers well-tended. Theon saw none of them, and had asked no questions of his companion since last say ing to him on their drive, "Is this the iron gate?" It was seven and a half years since he had seen it.

He dismounted at the door and, going in after others, gave his name to the footman who asked for it; Samson kept be hind him, as usual. The servant offered to divest Theon of his cloak, but he shook his head impatiently, and the n***o signalled that he should be left alone. "I will not stay long," said Theon. The footman, who was new, thought he was one of the guests. He stood at the door of the room and announ ced in a lull that had come over the assembly, "Mr. Theon Doon!"

And Theon, in the midst of the hush that had fallen, made his way across the expanse of carpet, unerringly, towards the hearth where the Doon escutcheon was carved, and where the portrait of Philip and Grace hung waiting. His tapping staff, which he used to guide himself, made the only sound in the room. All about him were guests, fallen silent at the sound of his name; they waited foolishly, like bright, vapid fish at the approach of an adverse tide, with news of enemies, so that they hold themselves stock-still before suddenly turning and vanishing with a flicker of fins, leaving untenanted weeds and

empty water. And at the end, in her place, the hostess rose, her cheeks white as paper, a hand to her breast; and out of the grave,

where she had placed him, that other came on, and nearby somewhere was Godfrey in his invalid's chair, maintaining silence.

Theon found the fireplace, and took up his stance in front of it; turning and facing the assembly, and standing directly beneath the portrait of Philip Doon, whom he somewhat resembled. His lips smiled and his eyes, as always, were bright like those of a wary animal. He gave a short laugh and said, "Well, my cousins; do you bid me welcome home?"

It had been a mild social triumph for Hermione, today's rout-party. In the beginning, perhaps for the first year after her marriage to Godfrey, local society had been a trifle wary; not openly showing discourtesy, but in the normal manner of the county waiting to see which way the cat will jump; it was known Agnes Galadriel had laid herself out in an unseemly way for this match. Certainly there was money enough at Baron to make such a course almost excusable for an impoverished family like the Doons; equally certainly, their name was ancient. But even that advantage had been sullied by the dis graceful doings of Theon Doon, culminating in his trial for murder of a common customs-officer; and there had been the hasty indiscreet manner of the Devenham marriage itself, and the birth of little Sybilla had happened very promptly. And Kitty Bowes was, as always, a vulgarian, and her young daughter Clairette not a girl one would want to encourage at any time. The balance, in short, had been fairly evenly weighted; and it had taken much patience, and imperceptible climbing which must seem to be effortless, and a resolve not to notice snubs, and much giving without return, for young Mrs. Devenham. By now, two things were in her favour, in addition; the genuine respect everyone in the place, both men and women, had acquired for Godfrey, whose shyness no longer disguised his worth; and, in addition, the natural curio sity everyone displayed to see the improvements which had been made to Baron. Gradually, gatherings had been caused to include the Devenhams; the Master of the Hunt asked them to dinner; such things helped, and cards were left, and Anna bel later gave a small reception. There had not, or not yet, been a ball; that might, with regard to her own and Godfrey's indifferent health, wait till much later, possibly till Sybilla was old enough to be the reason for it. Today, however, Hermione had hit on the notion of bringing down the beautiful little creature, with her governess, and making Sybilla proffer, with a pretty curtsy to each female guest, a small nosegay picked from the garden early that morning. The innovation was a success; nobody could resist Sybilla, and the mingled scents of rosebuds and southernwood, clove-pink and lavender, made the room smell like a flower-garden and would refresh every. one, no doubt, in the growing heat of the card-games. Sybilla was removed upstairs, having played her part admirably and without a fault; she was quite perfect, Mrs. Lagardie of In stone said. And Mrs. Lagardie, who had at last been pre vailed upon to leave cards and to come today, and bring her two elder daughters, was, with Colonel Cazalet and the Stuart Neils and the Walmers, one of the people it was essential to know; her presence was an accolade. There had only been a minor hitch today in that George Oakes, the footman who so lovingly and knowledgeably tended Godfrey, had received word that his father in England was dying and had asked permission to go at once to the old man's bedside. Replacing him at short notice with one of the younger footmen had not,

as matters were to turn out, been entirely satisfactory. For if Oakes had been here, he would never have made the mistake of admitting Theon to the assembly, without first enquiring if he should do so. But for the raw new recruit, over burdened with his duties, it was no doubt the expected thing to do.

It was additionally unfortunate that Hermione's partner at that moment in the whist-round should have been none other than Mrs. Lagardie herself. Charity Lagardie, who of necessity made a career of always knowing the right place to be, and the proper thing to say and do-she had the immense handi cap of a stupid husband and three unhopeful and, to date, single daughters, the youngest not out of the schoolroom Charity dared let no standards slip, in an area almost devoid of single young men. Her aspect, after Theon's entry, chan ged in swift and guarded succession from, perhaps, kidskin to quartz. Her fine grey eyes hardened; she laid down, in un hurried fashion, her hand of cards, and rose; curtsied towards the host and hostess, and swept to the door. Not a word was said; the daughters, two of whom had been playing somewhat uninspiredly at a further table, rose and hurried after their parent like obedient goslings. A flurry announced the ordering of the Instone carriage. The two young Berrys, who had shared it, had no choice but to withdraw likewise, shambling in Charity's wake with a murmured lame excuse to Hermione from a scarlet-faced Edgar Berry. The rout began to resemble an ebb tide, with the figure of Theon standing like a rock among it, the waters foaming and receding about his feet. No one had addressed him or acknowledged his presence.

The withdrawal took in all about seven minutes. When there was no one left in the long room except Godfrey, his wife, his mama and young half-sister, and old Colonel Cazalet, who had fought at Culloden and was deaf and half-blind, and had seen and heard nothing of what went on, Theon moved. The Colonel said to no one in particular, "Why don't they call trumps? Eh? Eh?" and reached for his ear-trumpet.

Someone, possibly Kitty, hissed an explanation into it; no one could afterwards recall when and how the Colonel left, except that he had had the grace to apologise to Godfrey, left seated in his chair. The room now resembled a littered aban doned shore, with the idle hands of cards lying brightly about the tables, and a deserted nosegay or two making sad, nostal gic scent. The sound of carriages bowling down the drive made the only sound. Hermione stared at Theon, her face still drained of colour. She supported herself with a hand gripping her chair.

"You have come back," she said presently. "You have come back." It seemed the only thing to say.

Theon tapped with his staff, and went across to where a nosegay lay and picked it up, and sniffed at it. "This is pleasant," he said. "We used not to grow flowers."

He drew the lawyer's paper from his pocket and Godfrey took it. "Do you care to implement your offer to rent me the Mains for five years, cousin?" Hermione gasped; Theon's aspect was almost sneering. She

made a little movement forward; how dared he, how dared he

address Godfrey so, with an emphasis on the word 'cousin'

that was an insult as things were... And to move into the

Mains! Of course it must not be permitted! But Godfrey, see

ing her intention, shook his head gently. He fixed his eyes on

Theon; in their prominent gaze there showed both gravity

and kindness. The even tone he used angered Theon, who flushed a little. "I did not then know the identity of the enquirer," he said.

"If you had known, you would have refused, eh? A returned convict, a rogue who escaped the gallows-end by your kind offices and my uncle's... pah! You expect, in gratitude, that I'll hide myself forever from your sight? You still have that, Devenham, at any rate."

"Oh God." Hermione laid her face in her hands and broke down into sobbing. Presently Kitty Bowes went to her and ushered her quietly from the room. She returned presently, her red and white paint glistening like the brave varnish on a Thames barge. "Our darling has gone upstairs to her room," she told Godfrey. "She was-it is understandable, sirs-over come at sight of her cousin, returned after so long. Will you not be solitary at the dower house, Mr. Doon?" She smiled brightly; for Kitty, a disaster was best larded over. Theon grew rigid with offence; a common woman, Devenham's mother! He answered coldly.

"I shall have enough company, I assure you, madam." Poor Kitty subsided, used to such rejections as her daily lot; after wards, she realised what a fool she'd been. They couldn't ask Theon Doon here; not a soul in the place would call, and after the trouble Hermione had been at, and for the sake of little Sybilla

"Godfrey has refused to accept any rent," said young Clairette. Her eyes were shining and she looked from one to the other of the men; her mother scolded her.

"Be silent, what do you know of such things?" But she was pleased with Godfrey, for that act of swift generosity, con cluded no doubt while they'd been upstairs. It would have been almost improper for a Doon-after all, they were the old family, had sent knights on crusade from Baron-to live nearby as a paying tenant. "I hope that you will find every thing to your comfort, Mr. Doon," she told Theon, for giving his unkindness. "There have, I know, been fires lit in the house now and again, and it's furnished after a manner, I daresay; when will you move in?"

"At once," said Theon. He bowed briefly, in a kind of capitulation of courtesy, to where Godfrey sat; Godfrey was smiling a little uncertainly. "I must ask you," he said hesi tantly, "to forgive my wife. She is upset, and->>

"Never fear." The blind man spoke harshly. "A roof over my head is all I need, from which I can be near known places. I'll not trouble your social occasions, Devenham." He turned on his heel and left the house, Samson following. None of the party left behind in the deserted drawing-room said anything at once. There was, after all, very little left to say.

Hermione was not placated; when Godfrey went to her at last she was still weeping, pounding her fists on the softness of the bedcovers and the victim of harsh angry sobs, such as he had never before heard from her.

"My darling, my darling, you need not trouble about the guests. They will return, once they have seen the folly of their own behaviour." His lips tightened; he himself had assessed Mrs. Lagardie long ago for what she was, but if it pleased Hermione to have her at these affairs