Terence
A Plan Thwarted
By the time Terence entered the dining room, his mother, father and sister were already seated. ‘Sorry, I was delayed at the stables.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, my boy. Glad to see you doing something and enjoying it. Frobisher, will you serve now, please?’
‘Yes, m’Lord.’
Amidst the gentle clatter of cloches being removed from serving dishes, his mother asked, ‘So, what are you doing exactly, dear?’
‘A variety of jobs and, I must say, now I’m getting to know Jack Fellam, I’m finding him to be a jolly good sort. Never had time for the fellow before . . . Well, not that I knew him, but I felt a bit on the jealous side, what with his history, and how well he came out of it all. It—’
‘Terence, we won’t talk about that in front of the servants, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sorry, Pater. Just saying: he’s a decent chap, and very knowledgeable about the horses and the farming game. I’ve been helping out there, too. Learning a lot. Which brings me to something I want to discuss – maybe over brandy after dinner, Pater?’
‘Of course. Now, Daphne, my dear, what is it that you are worrying yourself about? Is it something you want to talk over with us all, while we dine?’
‘Not in terms of finding a solution, Charles. Well, not at this moment, but I am increasingly concerned about the number of staff receiving notice of their imminent call-up.’
‘Yes, I know. It’s the same with the farm manager and labourers. They are exempt, of course, but one by one they are saying they want to go anyway. Admirable, but it does pose problems that we need to address.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t been called up, Terence. It would bloody well do you good.’
‘Oh, shut up, Theresa. If you haven’t anything useful to say, just keep out of it. Anyway, I have—’
‘No! You can’t! I mean—’
‘It’s all right, Mater, old thing. I doubt it will come to anything. I still don’t believe any of it. It is as everyone is saying: a phoney war. Obviously we have to prepare, and that is all that is happening. The government has set the ball rolling in getting those of fighting age medically tested and trained. It will all be over soon, you’ll see.’
‘Exactly.’ The look his father gave Terence as he said this told him this wasn’t his real feeling, as indeed it wasn’t Terence’s own, but it was better to perpetuate the pretence for a while to allay his mother’s fears. She had never really got over her sister’s death and remained vulnerable to breakdowns. For a long time after Aunt Laura’s demise Mater’s mental health had given them all extreme concern, and she had seemed very frail since the first mention of war.
As Terence entered the drawing room to await the chat with his father, he saw that a fire roared up the chimney, warming every corner of this elegant room. He remembered this being his favourite room as a child. He’d loved the pale greens and silvers, and still did. The soft blend of colours lent a calm and beauty that were complemented by the highly polished oak of the occasional tables and display cabinets.
His Aunt Laura had once told him that her mother-in-law had chosen the room’s colours; although Laura had never met her, the tales she’d heard of her being a frumpy misfit of a wife for her father-in-law, but a wonderful person and adoring mother, had made her keep the room as it was.
Mater had never wanted to change it, either. In fact, if it was left to her, everything about the house would have remained the same as the day they’d taken it over, and they’d be living in shabby surroundings as the house deteriorated around them. But Father had prevailed, and most of the place had been refurbished. Terence was glad that it hadn’t included this room. At least not in changing it; it had simply been given a good freshen-up.
He swirled the brandy in his glass, then a satisfying and smooth yet sharp tang tinged his throat at his first sip. He relaxed in the high-backed wing chair, took a ready-cut cigar and accepted the light that the butler offered. ‘Thank you, Frobisher. Pater will be in in a few moments, if you would wait for him.’
‘Of course, Master Terence.’
This form of address would have annoyed him if it had come from any of the other servants, but Frobisher had known him since infancy, and although he and Theresa often had a joke about him, they held him in high regard.
‘How are you, Frobisher? Are you still coping? We don’t put too much on your shoulders, do we?’
‘I’m very well, thank you, Master Terence, though I do share your mother’s concerns. Life downstairs is getting harder by the day. Two of the footmen have gone already, and the groom and chauffeur have both had medical call-ups.’ Frobisher’s shaky old voice held a hint of fear.
‘I’ll speak to Pater about it. He does take it all very seriously, you know. But poor Mater . . . well, it is a lot for her to cope with.’
‘I understand. And I would be grateful if you could discuss the situation, thank you, Master Terence.’
‘We’ll sort it. I’m sure there are a lot of women in the town who would love to take up the positions the men are vacating.’
The look of utter disgust on Frobisher’s face was a picture! The thought of a woman doing a footman’s job seemed abhorrent to him. The opening of the door and Lord Crompton’s arrival couldn’t have happened at a more opportune moment. It stopped the laugh that was bubbling up in Terence, which he knew would have seriously offended Frobisher, and he’d never willingly do that. It would, however, be a source of entertainment when he spoke to Theresa later . . .
‘Now, Terence.’ His father paused while Frobisher finished ministering to him. At one time the butler had caused no disturbance, as he gracefully glided around them, carrying out his duties. Now he shuffled. The glasses that he had once filled with just the satisfying tinkle of syrupy liquid now clinked alarmingly, and his once indiscernible closing of the door had become a noisy operation as he let it bang behind him, no longer able to hold his tray in one hand while he closed the door with the other.
Terence waited, watching his father and allowing him to gather his thoughts in his own time and open the conversation again.
Looking every inch the lord, his father held the title well. Of average height, and trim of figure, Charles Crompton had a quiet elegance about him, and a dignity in everything he did and in all his dealings with people. Taking a sip of his brandy and following that with a deep inhaling of his cigar, he sounded troubled as he exhaled, and weary. ‘There is a lot to talk over, Terence. Not least you having had word from the War Office and, on top of that, the expectation that our whole way of life will be disrupted.’
Thick smoke curled in the air between them, filling the room with the distinct aroma of good Havana tobacco. Nerves fluttered in Terence’s stomach. He couldn’t tell if his father would be averse to him thinking of getting out of going to war or not. He decided to remain silent and listen.
A moment went by before Lord Crompton spoke again. ‘Well, we’d better start with your position. I am concerned for your mother, if it should happen that you go to war.’
‘I must say, I’m not without my own worries on that score, and it is what I wanted to speak to you—’
‘Let me finish.’ The stern tone surprised Terence. His father seemed almost angry or . . . Did he discern a note of . . . well, slight disgust?
‘I’m not going to dress this up, Terence, but you are not exactly officer material.’
Despite feeling piqued at this, Terence was aware of another emotion overcoming him: that of shame. He hadn’t made a success of anything, or even tried to prove his worth, so he shouldn’t be surprised at his father’s disdain, but it still felt uncomfortable to have this man he loved and admired spelling it out.
‘Therefore,’ his father continued, ‘you can only look towards having to fight amongst the ranks, even taking orders from the working class! Your mother is very worried. To the extent that she could have a relapse, and I can’t let that happen.’
‘Not to mention the possibility of your son being killed!’
‘Sorry, no – of course I didn’t mean it to come across like that. It isn’t easy . . . I mean, I am sure you want to go to war, and if it was possible I would buy you a commission, but I suspect, as things are in today’s world, money isn’t enough to secure your safety.’
Although he was uncertain whether his father was simply paying lip service to these sentiments, Terence didn’t really care. The fact was that he had no intention of fighting for King and country, and it looked like Pater was of the same persuasion.
Picking up on this, Terence jumped in. ‘Naturally I want to do what I can, Pater, but I don’t think the country – or anyone else – is best served by me making a hash of things and getting in everyone’s way, so I was wondering about you appointing me manager of our farming estate? That would exempt me and, I can assure you, I would take that exemption, if only for Mother’s sake.’
This last he added to give weight to his suggestion, but to give it further credence he added, ‘You need someone, Pater. I spoke to Earnshaw earlier, when I came back from Fellam’s, and he is adamant that he and all of the younger ones are going to war. Hensal Grange Army, he called them. It appears that he sees himself as the sergeant and the farm hands as his troops, and he has already been drilling them as they carry out their work.’
‘Yes, I know. Admirable. I’m very proud of them, though sorry at the same time. They have become like a sort of lower family, and it is distressing to think of them going. Anyway, I had thought of asking Fellam to oversee things, but it will be too much, now that he has to farm his own land, and with the horses as well.’
‘Not that I am saying you should ask him, but hasn’t he told you he has to give up the stables? There is already a rumbling that leisure pursuits will be the first thing to be curtailed – can’t have the privileged enjoying themselves, what!’
‘Don’t be flippant, Terence. What exactly did Jack say?’
‘That he would have to sell. Demand is already waning for his stud horses, and besides, he needs machinery to farm the land, and seeds and labour, though he accepts – like me – that we will probably have to rely on Land Girls. Makes sense, I think, him concentrating all his efforts on arable and dairy farming, with all that fertile land he has, and it being the flattest around here. It’s—’
‘But I haven’t heard anything of this. It’s ridiculous. I must speak with him. Yes, he will have to take things to a lower level, but he should keep his breeding programme. He has some of the best stock going, and when the war is over . . . well, it could make him a lot of money. I can’t believe he hasn’t talked this over with me first.’
‘You mean you’d be willing to fund him to keep going?’ The trickle of apprehension that Terence had experienced earlier revisited him. He’d thought it was over, this rivalry. He’d thought he had only to get to the end of the war and he’d be able to achieve his dream, and then there would be no objection from his father, with Fellam already out of business. After all, Fellam would be fine: he’d have his farm established by then, and his wife would be well set up.
‘Of course. The future prospects are tremendous. Think of it: at the end of all this, racing will resume and all the main players will want good stock. If Jack has that, well . . .’
‘But what about me? You know my ambitions. This could have been my chance.’
‘Your chance? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Terence—’
‘No, Pater.’ He could no longer sit; frustration was agitating his entire body. Pacing the room, he felt very angry. ‘This is so unfair.’
‘Just stop there a moment, Terence. Am I to believe that you hoped you could step into the breach and take over what the war might take away from Jack? That’s preposterous.’
‘Why is it? I didn’t start the bloody war. There are always winners and losers. And besides, Fellam will have his farm well established by then. The stable should be mine. Aunt Laura always wanted it to be here. She even started up once, and everything is in place. All I need is the funds.’
‘And the downfall of the man who least deserves it.’
‘Least deserves it! God, have you forgotten what he did, in having an affair with Aunt Laura and then thwarting her? The shame he brought down on this family, and what it all did to Mater?’
‘You know nothing, Terence. And I didn’t plan on having an argument with you. Let’s just deal with what we are facing, shall we? And for goodness’ sake, drop this notion that you might even be capable of running a stud farm, let alone owning one!’
With his father in this mood, Terence supposed he had no option, but it did feel as if all his hopes had been dashed. Granted, he’d probably been saved from the rotten job of going to war, but . . . No, he’d not give up. There was always his other plan. It wasn’t one he wanted to put into action, particularly now that he knew Fellam better, but what other choice had his father left him?