At Lady Molly's - Anthony Powell [35]
‘You have known Bertha and the General for a long time?’
‘Since I was a child.’
‘That was when you met Mildred?’
‘Yes.’
‘You probably know all the stories about their father, Lord Vowchurch?’
‘I’ve heard some of them.’
‘The remark he is said to have made to King Edward just after Bertha’s engagement had been announced?’
‘I don’t know that one.’
‘It was on the Squadron Lawn at Cowes. The King is supposed to have said: “Well, Vowchurch, I hear you are marrying your eldest daughter to one of my generals”, and Bertha’s father is said to have replied: “By Gad, I am, sir, and I trust he’ll teach the girl to lead out trumps, for they’ll have little enough to live on”. Edward VII was rather an erratic bridge-player, you know. Sir Thomas Lipton told me the story in broad Scotch, which made it sound funnier. Of course, the part that appealed to Sir Thomas Lipton was the fact that it took place on the Squadron Lawn.’
‘How did the King take it?’
‘I think he was probably rather cross. Of course it may not be true. But Lord Vowchurch certainly was always getting into trouble with the King. Lord Vowchurch was supposed to be referring to some special game of bridge when he had been dummy and things had gone badly wrong with King Edward’s play. You said you’d met my Uncle Alfred, didn’t you?’
‘A couple of times.’
‘And you know whom I mean by Brabazon?’
‘The Victorian dandy—“Bwab”?’
‘Yes, that one.’
‘Who said he couldn’t remember what regiment he had exchanged into—after leaving the Brigade of Guards because it was too expensive—but “they wore green facings and you got to them by Waterloo Station”?’
‘That’s him. How clever of you to know about him. Well, when Uncle Alfred was a young man, he was dining at Pratt’s, and Colonel Brabazon came in from the Marlborough Club, where he had been in the card-room when the game was being played. According to Uncle Alfred, Colonel Brabazon said: “Vowchurch expwessed weal wesentment while his Woyal Highness played the wottenest wubber of wecent seasons—nothing but we-deals and wevokes.”’
‘I had no idea your uncle had a fund of stories of that kind.’
‘He hasn’t. That is his only one. He is rather a shy man, you see, and nothing ever happens to him.’
This was all very lively; although there was at the same time always something a shade aloof about the manner in which these anecdotes were retailed. However, they carried us down the King’s Road in no time. There was, in addition, something reminiscent about the tone in which they were delivered, a faint reminder of Alfred Tolland’s own reserve and fear of intimacy. Amusing in themselves, the stories were at the same time plainly intended to establish a specific approach to life. Beneath their fluency, it was possible to detect in Frederica Budd herself, at least so far as personal rather than social life was concerned, a need for armour against strangers. Almost schooled out of existence by severe self-discipline, a faint trace of her uncle’s awkwardness still remained to be observed under the microscope. There could be no doubt that I had scored a point by knowing about ‘Bwab’.
‘I met your sister, Priscilla, at the Jeavonses the other night—only for a minute or two. Chips Lovell drove us both home.’
She did not seem much interested by that, hardly answering. I remembered, then, that she probably did not care for Lovell. However, her next words were entirely unexpected.
‘I am on my way to call on my sister, Norah, now,’ she said. ‘It seemed rather a long time since I had set eyes on her. I thought I would just look in to see that she is behaving herself. Why not come and meet her—and see Eleanor again.’
‘Just for a second. Then I shall have to move on.’
At the sound of this last statement I was aware of a faint but distinct disapproval, as if my reply had informed her quite clearly—indeed, almost grossly—that I was up to no good; yet made her at the same time realise that in a locality where so much human behaviour commanded disapprobation, minor derelictions—anyway, in a man—must, in the interest of the general picture, be disregarded. However, together with that sense of constraint that she conveyed, I was by then also aware of a second feeling: a notion that some sort of temporary alliance had been hurriedly constructed between us. I could not explain this impression to myself, though I was prepared to accept it.