Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh [36]
Sebastian had never spoken seriously of his father before.
I said: 'It must have upset you all when your father went a way.'
'All but Cordelia. She was too young. It upset me at the time. Mummy tried to explain it to the three eldest of us so that we wouldn't hate papa. I was the only one who didn't. I believe she wishes I did. I was always his favourite. I should be staying with him now, if it wasn't for this foot. I'm the only one who goes. Why don't you come too? You'd like him.'
A man with a megaphone was shouting the results of the last event in the field below; his voice came faintly to us.
'So you see we're a mixed family religiously. Brideshead and Cordelia are both fervent, Catholics; he's miserable, she's bird-happy; Julia and I are half-heathen; I am happy, I rather think Julia isn't; mummy is popularly believed to be a saint and papa is excommunicated—and I wouldn't know which of them was happy. Anyway, however you look at it, happiness doesn't seem to have much to do with it, and that's all I want I wish I liked Catholics more.'
'They seem just like other people.'
'My dear Charles, that's exactly what they're not particularly in this country, where they're so few. It's not just that they're a clique—as a matter of fact, they're at least four cliques all blackguarding each other half the time—but they've got an entirely different outlook on life; everything they think important is different from other people. They try and hide it as much as they can, but it comes out all the time. It's quite natural, really, that they should. But you see it's dffficult for semi-heathens like Julia and me.'
We were interrupted in this unusually grave conversation by loud, childish cries from beyond the chimneystacks, 'Sebastian, Sebastian.'
'Good heavens!' said Sebastian, reaching for a blanket. 'That sounds like my sister Cordelia. Cover yourself up.'
'Where are you?'
There came into view a robust child of ten or eleven; she had the unmistakable family characteristics, but had them ill-arranged in a frank and chubby plainness; two thick old fashioned pigtails hung down her back.
'Go away, Cordelia. We've got no clothes on.'
'Why? You're quite decent. I guessed you were here. You didn't know I was about, did you? I came down with Bridey and stopped to see Francis Xavier.' (To me) 'He's my pig. Then we had lunch with Colonel Fender and then the show. Francis Xavier got a special mention. That beast Randal got first with a mangy animal. Darling Sebastian, I am pleased to see you again. How's your poor foot?'
'Say how-d'you-do to Mr Ryder.
'Oh, sorry. How d'you do?' All the family charm was in her smile. 'They're all getting pretty boozy down there, so I came away. I say, who's been painting the office? I went in to look for a shooting-sick and saw it.'
'Be careful what you say. It's Mr Ryder.'
'But it's lovely. I say, did you really? You are clever. Why don't you both dress and come down? There's no one, about.'
'Bridey's sure to bring the judges in.
'But he won't. I heard making plans not to. He's very sour today. He didn't want me to have dinner with you, but I fixed that. Come on. I'll be in the nursery when you're fit to be seen.'
We were a sombre little party that evening. Only Cordelia was perfectly at ease, rejoicing in the food, the lateness of the hour, and her brothers' company. Brideshead was three years older than Sebastian and I, but he seemed of another generation. He had the physical tricks of his family, and his smile, when it rarely came, was as lovely as theirs; he spoke, in their voice, with a gravity and restraint which in my cousin jasper would have sounded pompous and false, but in him was plainly unassumed and unconscious.
'I am so sorry to miss so much of your visit,' he said to me. 'You are being looked after properly? I hope Sebastian is seeing to the wine. Wilcox is apt to be rather grudging when he is on his own.'
'He's treated us very liberally.'
'I am delighted to hear it. You are fond of wine?'
'Very.'
'I wish I were. It is such a bond with other men. At Magdalen I tried to get drunk more than once, but I did not enjoy it. Beer and whisky I find even less appetizing. Events like this afternoon's are a torment to me in consequence.'