At Lady Molly's - Anthony Powell [61]
He appeared a little disturbed by this perhaps over close attention on my own part to the detail of the history he provided. The girls giggled—Quiggin came to the rescue.
‘When did these kulaks begin their career of wholesale exploitation?’ he asked.
He sweetened the enquiry with some harsh laughter. Erridge laughed too, more at home with Quiggin in his political phraseology than in domestic raillery with his sisters.
‘Kulaks is the word,’ he said. ‘I think they first went up in the world when one of them was knighted by Edward IV. Then another was Esquire of the Body to Henry VIII, whatever that may have been, and lost his job under Bloody Mary. They’ve been an awfully undistinguished lot on the whole. They were Cavaliers in the Civil War and got a peerage under Queen Anne. John Toland, the deist, was no relation, so I’ve been told. I should rather like to have claimed him.’
We entered a long room hung with portraits. The younger Pitt’s hat stood within a glass case in one corner by the window. The furniture, as described by Lovell, was under dust-sheets.
‘I never use any of these rooms,’ said Erridge.
He pulled away the dust-sheets without ceremony; leaving in the centre of the room a heap of linen on the floor. The furniture was on the whole mediocre; although, as at the Jeavonses’, there was a good piece here and there. The pictures, too, apart from the Lawrence—the bravura of which gave it some charm—were wholly lacking in distinction. Erridge seemed aware of these deficiencies, referring more than once to the ‘rubbish’ his forbears had accumulated. Yet, at the same time, in his own peculiar way, he seemed deeply to enjoy this opportunity of displaying the house: a guilty enjoyment, though for that reason no less keen.
‘We really ought to have my Uncle Alfred here,’ said Erridge. ‘He regards himself as rather an authority on family history—and, I must say, is a very great bore on the subject. Nothing is worse than someone who takes that sort of thing up, and hasn’t had enough education to carry it through.’
I recalled Alfred Tolland’s own remarks about his nephew’s failure to erect a memorial window. Erridge, whose last words revealed a certain intellectual arrogance, until then dormant, probably found it convenient to diminish his own scrutiny of family matters where tedious negotiation was concerned. In any case, however much an oblique contemplation of his race might gratify him, there could be no doubt that he regarded any such weakness as morally wrong.
‘It makes a very nice museum to live in,’ said Quiggin.
We had completed the tour and returned to the room where we had dined. No trace seemed to remain of Quiggin’s earlier objections to the tour. His inconsistencies, more limited by circumstance than those of Erridge, were no less pronounced. Erridge himself, entirely at ease while displaying his possessions, now began once more to pace about the room nervously.
‘How are you and Isobel getting back, Susy?’ he asked.
He sounded apprehensive, as if he feared his sisters might have come with the idea of attempting to stay for several months: perhaps even hoping to take possession of the house entirely, and entertain at his expense on a huge scale.
‘Well, I’ve got Roddy’s car,’ said Susan, blushing again at mention of her future husband. ‘We thought if you could put us up for the night, we’d start early for London tomorrow morning.’
Erridge was not enthusiastic about this proposal. There was some discussion. However, he could not very well turn his sisters out of the house at that hour of the night, so that in the end he agreed; at the same time conveying a warning that the sheets might not be properly aired.
‘All right,’ said Isobel. ‘We’ll get rheumatic fever. We don’t mind. I can’t tell you how smart Roddy’s car is, by the way. If we get up reasonably early, we shall reach London in no time.’
‘It is rather a grand car,’ said Susan. ‘I don’t know whether anyone would like a lift in the morning.’
This seemed an opportunity not to be missed. I asked if I might accept the offer.
‘Yes, do come,’