pleasure: he was light-headed.
Pride came in and announced in tones of the deepest satisfaction, ‘His Lordship is come.’
Allington looked up. He said, ‘Tregorn?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In that case, please don’t keep him waiting.’
Lord Tregorn was a stocky man with a shock of dark grey hair and a weather-beaten face, middle-aged. Up from Cornwall, where he preferred to spend his time, his London clothes made him uncomfortable.
‘Pride tells me you have had a fit of the usual sort,’ he said. ‘You had better sit down again.’ He eyed Allington keenly. ‘How are you? How are you really? You haven’t the ague, have you? That does frighten me. Why, the mantle of responsibility falls on my shoulders the instant I step into my father’s shoes. Here I am, up to make my maiden speech in the House of Lords, my first and my last, I dare say. I shall be no more effective than my father, who never could bring himself to speak more than once and then only to stammer away about rabbits and the game laws. What are you doing, Allington?’
‘Getting you a glass of wine. I keep some, you know, for your visits.’
Tregorn thought, Why do we all call him Allington? Why do we never use his Christian name? Now the old man is gone he takes the riddle of Allington’s birth with him, stepson or son, stepbrother or half-brother. Tregorn thought Allington no blood relative, with his dark brown eyes, his long figure and his cleverness. His cleverness had shocked them from the moment they had amused themselves with teaching him card games and chess. A little boy of eight or nine had no reason to be leaning forward and expounding on the last ten moves of the game when he had only just learned to play it. He had arrived in their lives, a young boy, his pretty mother to marry their father, a widower and some twenty years her senior. Allington had not resembled his mother either – a fair, timid creature – but she had been living on the estate for years, her soldier husband first absent and then dead, giving rise to supposition. No, Allington was not a blood relative; he was far too clever to be the product of the late Lord Tregorn and his second wife.
Pride had produced another chair from the bedroom. It was evident Allington was not in the habit of receiving visitors. As Tregorn sat down, the glass of wine in his hand and a plate of ratafia cakes placed beside him, he continued to speculate on the mysterious nature of this relict of his father’s estate. There was nothing straightforward about Allington – but then, there never had been. In the eyes of Tregorn and his brothers, Allington, even as a child, was too clever, and being too clever rarely did a man any good.
‘You don’t have to be responsible for me,’ Allington said.
‘But you have this wretched ill-health. I shall continue to pay your allowance.’
Allington looked as if he was trying to decide if this was or was not fair.
‘After all,’ Tregorn continued, ‘we cannot approve of your way of life, winning money at cards.’
‘It hardly seems gentlemanly, does it?’ Allington agreed. ‘On the other hand, you could not expect me, brought up as I was in the splendour of St Jude, to live on my half-pay as an officer, not required for duty or indeed not fit for duty. I look fit for duty, I can ride, and if I had just lost an arm, for example, I could be serving at this minute.’
The conundrum of how Allington should live was, as usual, too much for His Lordship, as it had been for his father. Allington’s allowance could only be increased at the expense of Tregorn’s legitimate, but plentiful, younger brothers, let alone his own innumerable offspring. Even suppose the allowance was increased, it would not necessarily stop Allington winning money at cards or however he did win it.
‘Who taught me chess? Who taught me whist?’ Allington asked, smiling.
‘Now, another thing,’ Tregorn said, ignoring this, changing the subject. ‘What is it I
Pride came in and announced in tones of the deepest satisfaction, ‘His Lordship is come.’
Allington looked up. He said, ‘Tregorn?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In that case, please don’t keep him waiting.’
Lord Tregorn was a stocky man with a shock of dark grey hair and a weather-beaten face, middle-aged. Up from Cornwall, where he preferred to spend his time, his London clothes made him uncomfortable.
‘Pride tells me you have had a fit of the usual sort,’ he said. ‘You had better sit down again.’ He eyed Allington keenly. ‘How are you? How are you really? You haven’t the ague, have you? That does frighten me. Why, the mantle of responsibility falls on my shoulders the instant I step into my father’s shoes. Here I am, up to make my maiden speech in the House of Lords, my first and my last, I dare say. I shall be no more effective than my father, who never could bring himself to speak more than once and then only to stammer away about rabbits and the game laws. What are you doing, Allington?’
‘Getting you a glass of wine. I keep some, you know, for your visits.’
Tregorn thought, Why do we all call him Allington? Why do we never use his Christian name? Now the old man is gone he takes the riddle of Allington’s birth with him, stepson or son, stepbrother or half-brother. Tregorn thought Allington no blood relative, with his dark brown eyes, his long figure and his cleverness. His cleverness had shocked them from the moment they had amused themselves with teaching him card games and chess. A little boy of eight or nine had no reason to be leaning forward and expounding on the last ten moves of the game when he had only just learned to play it. He had arrived in their lives, a young boy, his pretty mother to marry their father, a widower and some twenty years her senior. Allington had not resembled his mother either – a fair, timid creature – but she had been living on the estate for years, her soldier husband first absent and then dead, giving rise to supposition. No, Allington was not a blood relative; he was far too clever to be the product of the late Lord Tregorn and his second wife.
Pride had produced another chair from the bedroom. It was evident Allington was not in the habit of receiving visitors. As Tregorn sat down, the glass of wine in his hand and a plate of ratafia cakes placed beside him, he continued to speculate on the mysterious nature of this relict of his father’s estate. There was nothing straightforward about Allington – but then, there never had been. In the eyes of Tregorn and his brothers, Allington, even as a child, was too clever, and being too clever rarely did a man any good.
‘You don’t have to be responsible for me,’ Allington said.
‘But you have this wretched ill-health. I shall continue to pay your allowance.’
Allington looked as if he was trying to decide if this was or was not fair.
‘After all,’ Tregorn continued, ‘we cannot approve of your way of life, winning money at cards.’
‘It hardly seems gentlemanly, does it?’ Allington agreed. ‘On the other hand, you could not expect me, brought up as I was in the splendour of St Jude, to live on my half-pay as an officer, not required for duty or indeed not fit for duty. I look fit for duty, I can ride, and if I had just lost an arm, for example, I could be serving at this minute.’
The conundrum of how Allington should live was, as usual, too much for His Lordship, as it had been for his father. Allington’s allowance could only be increased at the expense of Tregorn’s legitimate, but plentiful, younger brothers, let alone his own innumerable offspring. Even suppose the allowance was increased, it would not necessarily stop Allington winning money at cards or however he did win it.
‘Who taught me chess? Who taught me whist?’ Allington asked, smiling.
‘Now, another thing,’ Tregorn said, ignoring this, changing the subject. ‘What is it I
Similar Books
