Ladygrove. John Burke
dreamed up our own curse?’
‘I’m saying that if successive generations have a fatalistic conviction that events will happen in rough parallel to events which have happened before, or are supposed to have happened before, then they may well be forced into happening, We may explain it by saying that even by the law of averages there must be a number of families in this country who suffer runs of bad luck and get more than their fair share of disaster. But there may be something more positive behind it all. What I’m warning you of is the danger of drifting into acceptance of such a sequence.’
‘I won’t, I promise you.’
‘And help Judith. Let her know that—’
‘I love her,’ said David simply. ‘And that she knows.’ He pushed his empty glass away from him. ‘On which note, I think for her sake and Bronwen’s we’d better join the ladies and rescue them from mother.’
* * * *
‘I thought you were never going to give up drinking and gossiping,’ Lady Brobury greeted them. ‘I hope David hasn’t been boring you with too many of his business problems, Dr. Caspian? If only he could get out of the habit of running to and from London, he might not have so many problems, eh?’
She sat slumped in an armchair covered in flowered chintz, with a cushion stuffed into her back so that she was hunched forward. Beside her right elbow was a cabinet behind whose glass doors were arrayed a couple of dozen pottery and porcelain pigs, snouts all pointing towards her chair. Judith was wriggling uncomfortably into another position on the chaise longue. Bronwen raised her eyes to her husband’s: wide green eyes, glowing a welcome below the glow of her coiled auburn hair.
‘My back,’ said Lady Brobury. ‘Sitting up so late. My back. And what about Judith? David, you have no consideration. I’m sure we’d all have liked to go to bed early. Though I did hope there might have been time for Dr. Caspian to perform for us.’
Caspian stared. ‘I’m afraid I—’
‘After what your wife has been telling us, I thought you might entertain us with a few card tricks.’
‘I’m no longer as skilled in that sort of thing as I was.’ He managed a mock reproachful glare at Bronwen. ‘It’s ages since I practised.’
‘Or some mind-reading,’ said Lady Brobury petulantly. ‘I’m given to understand that is a very popular diversion in the best salons nowadays.’
‘There, too, I’m out of practice.’
‘Then what do you do, doctor?’
Again he exchanged glances with his wife. Tired after the journey, she stifled a yawn and then wrinkled her nose at him in apology. Their minds brushed drowsily together. What did he do, indeed; what did the two of them do? If they had demonstrated their true talent for mind-reading, Lady Brobury would undoubtedly have been horrified. From the time of their first encounter in the distant Fens, through marriage and work in London, they had shared and developed the ability to commune in silent, secret conversation—and to probe into the consciousness of others. It was a rare gift; and one to be treated delicately. They used it as sparingly as possible: the psychic drain was physically exhausting, and even the most loving relationship could not have survived the naked reality of undisguised mental revelations. There had to be secrets, mysteries, reservations between a man and woman; and others should be free from telepathic trespass save in the direst emergency.
But as bodies grow sleepier, so minds relax their grip and float, drifting towards one another, bumping and grazing, sometimes caressing, and sometimes jolting away from a sudden unexpected contact.
Caspian felt Bronwen very close to him. Lazily she accepted the touch of his hand on her arm, although there was a wide stretch of carpet between them. Her skin lovingly warmed his fingertips. Her mouth puckered into a secret little smile.
Lost in the abstract pleasure of it, Caspian had failed to answer Lady Brobury’s question. Now she pushed herself up from her chair.
‘If you’ll be so good as to fetch me a lantern, David, I’ll see myself home.’
‘Mother, you know I always walk to the lodge with you.’
‘There’s no need for you to put yourself out. Not for me. Goodness knows, I ought to know the way well enough by now.’
Caspian and Bronwen felt the rise and fall of other minds; felt Judith, too, wanting to yawn and saw her turn her head away to conceal if, felt David’s wry irritation at his mother, and, out of the blur of Lady Brobury’s own random thoughts, her sharp stab of pleasure at knowing she had irritated him.
For no apparent reason Lady Brobury said: ‘Children. Such messy little things—and precious little help when they grow older. You’ll see, my dear.’ Vaguely she nodded at Judith. ‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. When I think what I went through with Margaret and David, and now.…’ She clutched at herself. ‘My back’s never been so bad as it is tonight. Never. I shan’t get a wink of sleep.’
‘Mother.’ David stood beside her. She pretended not to notice. ‘I’ll wager that when he arrives you’ll be the first and worst at spoiling your grandson.’
‘Or granddaughter,’ said Judith mildly.
Before another word could be spoken, Bronwen and Caspian were shaken by a screech of words through their minds, as harsh and startling as a railway engine letting off steam on a quiet country siding.
No, it has to be a boy. Has to be, this time. Born in this house.
As if momentarily aware of their reaction, Lady Brobury blinked from one to the other. Then she muttered something about her wrap and how she must say goodnight and how unnecessary it was for David to accompany her.
At the door she paused. Fumbling through memory for some remark which must have been made by somebody else and was only now becoming clear, she said:
‘But of course it will be a boy. You’ll see.’
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