Richard and Judy Bookclub - 3 Bestsellers in 1: The American Boy, The Savage Garden, The Righteous Men

“Damn him,” Carswall said to me as I was the only other person in the room. “He’s confined to bed with piles. He trusts to the mercy of Almighty God, the application of steam to the afflicted part, and an electuary as a mild laxative. I wish Almighty God may give him inflammation of the bowels. That will serve him.” He screwed up the letter and threw it into the fire. “You will have to sit down with us, Shield, there’s no help for it. It could be worse. Mrs Frant tells me that you were intended for the Church: is that true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And in your best coat you look a gentleman-like fellow. You need not say very much. Make yourself useful to the ladies and do not get in the way of the gentlemen.” The old man hesitated, standing there with his back to the fire in the library, raising his coat-tails so the warmth would reach him. “Or perhaps I should have Charlie instead. He is a fine boy, one of the family, and the ladies like a lad to pet.” He scratched his thigh with a claw-like fingernail. “No, it would not answer. If Charlie dined with us, and not Edgar, Noak might not like it – he and Allan are mighty thick, and they all have that damned Yankee pride. Besides, one can never tell with children – an excess of animal spirits is always a possibility. In this case first thoughts are best. So I will expect you in the drawing room before we go in to dinner.”

When I joined the party in the drawing room later that day, Sir George and Mr Carswall were discussing the weather while around them conversations among the other members of the party flared and spurted like damp fireworks.

“I make no apologies, ma’am,” Mr Carswall said to Lady Ruispidge as he led her into the dining room. “I do not have fancy foreign dishes on my table.”

There is nothing like food and drink for filling up awkward silences. For the first course, we were served capons and boiled beef, a forequarter of lamb and a calf’s head, oysters and mushrooms. These were followed by a fillet of veal stuffed and roasted, stewed hare, partridges in a dish, marrow-pudding, squab pigeons, and asparagus. I looked in vain for venison.

Lady Ruispidge grew quite animated as the meal proceeded, and when she tasted the partridge she burst into speech. “This is a young bird, I fancy,” she said in a high, cracked voice. “You are aware, sir, of the characteristics of age as it relates to the partridge? One should examine the bill and the legs. If the bill be white and the legs have a bluish cast, the bird is old. But if the bill is black, and the legs yellow, it is young. One should also look at the vent. If it be fast, then the bird is new, if it is open and green, then depend on it the bird is stale.”

“I am glad it is to your liking, ma’am,” Carswall said. “May I help you to a little hare?”

She understood the gesture if she did not hear the words. “Is it leveret?” she inquired. “I prefer leveret to hare, the flavour is more delicate. To discover the true leveret, of course, you must feel near the foot on its foreleg, and if you find there a knob, or small bone, it is a leveret. But if destitute of this, it must be a hare.”

Carswall tried to rally, but the spirit had gone out of him. Lady Ruispidge had made up her mind that he was to share her interest in the preparation and consumption of food. Her deafness rendered futile his attempts to introduce other subjects of conversation. She swept them aside and told him instead of the best way to salt hams in the Yorkshire manner, and the criteria by which one should judge a turbot.

I was seated between Mrs Johnson and Mrs Lee. Neither gave me much opportunity for conversation. Mrs Lee ate steadily, as usual; she was a lady for whom food was important, and she did not care for conversation at table. When Mrs Johnson talked, she spoke chiefly to Mr Carswall, who was on her right. She looked very striking that evening in a gown of pale yellow silk, and the candlelight softened the harshness of her features and increased the lustre of her dark eyes.

Miss Carswall sat between Sir George and Mr Noak. In a lull in the general conversation, I heard Sir George say to her: “And will you be honouring us with your presence at the assembly next week, Miss Carswall?”

“There is a ball?” She spoke so artlessly that I instantly suspected that the information did not come as a surprise.

“Indeed there is. We have them once a month during the winter months, at the Bell in Gloucester. I’m sure tickets could be arranged.”

Miss Carswall turned towards her father. “Oh, may we go, Papa?”

The old man looked up from his plate. “Eh?”

“They are most respectable affairs, sir,” Captain Ruispidge said. “Ain’t they, George? We go to one or two of them every year, and sometimes the Vaudens, as well. But of course Mrs Frant –”

“Pray do not concern yourselves about me,” she said. “I would not prevent your enjoyment for the world.”

“But would it be quite proper for Papa and me to go to a public assembly?” Miss Carswall inquired of Sir George, with touching confidence in his judgement. “Mr Wavenhoe was Papa’s cousin, and he died not two months ago.”

He smiled at her. “You need not trouble your head on that score, Miss Carswall. It would be thought perfectly proper. After all, the connection was not close, and we would never see anyone in the country if we allowed half-mourning to stop us.”

“It is a considerable way for a winter drive,” said Mr Carswall slowly. “And at night – all the way back from Gloucester. And what if we have snow, hey? It seems to me very likely that we shall have snow.”

“Those who have far to come usually arrange to spend the night,” Sir George said.

“I daresay we should meet all sorts of interesting people,” Miss Carswall put in.

“Perhaps, perhaps.” Carswall nodded his heavy head. “It is most kind of you to suggest it, Sir George.”

“Shall you go, ma’am?” Miss Carswall asked Mrs Johnson.

“Yes,” she said, her voice harsh and hoarse as if she had been shouting. “Lady Ruispidge has kindly asked me to accompany her.”

“There may still be rooms you could engage at the Bell itself,” Captain Ruispidge said. “Not that I would recommend it. Nothing could be more convenient for the ball but the establishment will be in an uproar because of it.” He turned to Mrs Frant and said in a lower voice: “I regret that you would not be able to honour us with your presence.”

Mrs Frant inclined her head.

“Yes,” Mr Carswall said, waving his fork. “Perhaps we should go to the ball. A little diversion would do us all good.”

“Dancing is healthy exercise, sir,” the Captain added.

“And the boys shall come, too,” Mr Carswall cried, his enthusiasm for the project growing by the second.

“I am afraid Charlie must beg to be excused, sir,” said Mrs Frant. “For the same reason as I must.”

“Eh? Ah – yes, of course.”

“It is a pity,” said Captain Ruispidge. “I am convinced the boys would have enjoyed it immensely. These are country affairs – we don’t stand on ceremony.” He bowed to Mrs Frant. “Charlie will come another time, I trust. And his mama.”

“Boys?” Lady Ruispidge said loudly, cupping her hand into a makeshift trumpet for her right ear. “Boys? A sore trial, I agree.” She turned to Mr Noak, who was on her right. “Do you have boys, sir?”

He finished chewing his mouthful and swallowed it. “I had a son, ma’am,” he said calmly. “But he died.”

“Dined? He has already dined?”

“Died, Mama,” said Sir George. He raised his voice: “Died.”

“Ah,” she replied, “yes, as I said, a sore trial. One can never tell what they will do next.”

The ball provided material for the conversation until it was time for the ladies to withdraw. I held the door for them. Miss Carswall paused as she passed me.

“Pray encourage Papa not to linger,” she murmured. “We shall have cards – he does so enjoy cards.”

The cloth was withdrawn. Mr Carswall, who had drunk steadily throughout the meal, refilled his glass.

“Sir George,” he cried, “a glass of wine with you, sir.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Refill your glass first,” Carswall said. “I can see the air in it. Let us drink proper bumpers.”

Sir George dribbled a few more drops into his glass, and the two men drank.

“I hear your keepers caught a brace of poachers the other day,” Carswall said.

“Desperate fellows indeed,” replied Sir George. “We have increasing numbers coming up before us on the bench. Since the Peace, every Tom, Dick or Harry thinks he has the right to steal my game.”

“I tell my people to shoot on sight,” Carswall said. “Do you rely on other precautions, apart from your keepers’ vigilance?”

“Traps, do you mean? Or spring guns?”