Chapter 7 #4
“And through that, securing her own advancement in the social ranks.” The lady who spoke was the Caro who had been referred to earlier.
She nodded at Penelope. “I’ve met the Camberlys several times, and there’s no doubt that Camberly is pushy, but I would also say he’s careful and intelligent enough not to overreach.
He’s building a solid reputation but is greedy for every little crumb of kudos and status he can legitimately garner to bolster his name.
I expect he thinks to push for an undersecretary’s post after the next election. ”
“What are they like as people?” Penelope asked.
Caro wrinkled her nose, took a sip of her tea, then, lowering the cup, said, “Not the sort of people you wish to claim as friends. Camberly is ruthless. Behind his easy smile and polished-to-a-gloss manners, he is utterly fixed on his goal, and one senses he would have no qualms over doing whatever he must to achieve it. His wife is equally ruthless, but in addition there’s an element of pettiness and spite there .
. .” Caro paused, then concluded, “I can’t quite put my finger on what it actually is, but it’s very much a case of her viewing everything through the prism of what it might mean for her.
I’ve come across the son only once, and, as often happens with overbearing parents, he’s something of a cypher and fades into the background. ”
Penelope looked hopeful. “And the Halsteads?”
Caro pulled a face. “I’ve only met them once, and that in passing at a major function, but I have heard whispers about them from others—the sort of gossipy comments that are always floating about within government departments.
I can’t vouch for their veracity, but if it will help, and I suspect you have other sources to check what mine have related, then .
. .” Caro drew breath and went on, “I’ve heard that Mortimer, and Constance, too, are also ambitious, but with less reason, and far less likelihood of it coming to anything.
Mortimer Halstead is known as something of a mediocre man—a pedant who is not intelligent enough to respond to new or unexpected situations.
He’s considered sound in the general sense, but everyone, except presumably he and his wife, believe that he’s reached his level of competence and did so long ago, and is unlikely to move further up the Home Office tree. ”
Shifting her gaze to Lady Osbaldestone, Caro said, “I have heard some wonder why he didn’t follow in his father’s footsteps into the Foreign Office, where the name would have counted for more, but it seems that Mortimer has absolutely no wish to ever leave these shores.”
“Actually,” Penelope said, setting her teacup on her saucer, “from the descriptions Barnaby and Stokes, and also Barnaby’s father, have given us of the Halsteads and the Camberlys, which mesh with everything you’ve said, I hypothesized that for all four Halstead children, their characters and dispositions might be the result of overblown competitiveness between Mortimer and Cynthia, who are older and close in age, stemming perhaps from their childhood, and the consequent effects that might have had on Maurice, forcing him to take the position of black sheep to gain attention, which in turn made William—the youngest brother—step outside society altogether. ”
Lady Osbaldestone viewed Penelope with something approaching pride.
“How very astute of you, my dear—for I’ve just remembered the only criticism I ever heard leveled at the Halsteads, mère and père, and that was, in fact, that their offspring had been allowed by the Halsteads to develop as a group in a quite unhealthy way.
The specific criticism was that the potential of the Halsteads, the fruit of their union as it were, had been allowed to disintegrate, to decay and come to nothing, through lack of attention, indeed, put even more bluntly, through parental neglect.
“You see”—Lady Osbaldestone fixed her black gaze on Penelope’s face—“while the Halsteads spent their productive years abroad, they left their children in England, in the care of nannies, governesses, and tutors at their country house, often for years at a time. For Sir Hugo, of course, had ambition, too, and his was all for his work, and Agatha supported him in that.”
Arching her brows, Lady Osbaldestone glanced at the other ladies.
“It should hardly surprise anyone that, under such circumstances, with no parental hand to guide them and what is most likely an inherited ambitious streak, then, as Penelope suggested, rather than bonding together, the two older children vied for attention, for dominance, forcing the younger two to find other ways to make their mark, to stake their claim.”
Many heads nodded in agreement. “That sounds very right,” Caro said.
“That would account for exactly the impressions I’ve received from both Cynthia Camberly and Mortimer Halstead.
” Caro narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never met them together—as far as I know, I’ve never seen them in the same room—but I sensed in both of them that there was some deep drive to their desire to get ahead, that it was a need more than a wish. ”
Again there was a round of murmured agreement.
Penelope glanced at Griselda and arched her brows. “I’m so glad we came.”
Griselda smiled, nodded, and finished her tea.
Soon after, Penelope rose, and she and Griselda took their leave.
Gaining the pavement, Penelope linked her arm in Griselda’s and they set off strolling slowly along the street; turning right into Grafton Street, and then right into Albemarle Street was the fastest route to Penelope’s house.
The afternoon was cool, soft gray clouds slowly drifting across the autumn sky, the sun already hidden by the buildings to the west. A light breeze threaded between the houses, flirting with the ribbons of Penelope’s bonnet and teasing strands of Griselda’s black hair free from her restrained topknot.
“Hmm,” Penelope murmured as they slowly paced. “I truly want—even need—to involve myself in investigations again, to give myself that additional purpose, but, at the same time, I have absolutely no intention of neglecting Oliver and any other children we might be blessed with.”
Griselda wasn’t surprised to hear her friend’s thoughts echo her own, yet her lips twisted in a wry smile as she admitted, “I was thinking the same, but, more, that it isn’t just a matter of us taking time away from them to do our investigating but also that, when it comes to the situations those investigations lead us into, it’s incumbent on us, our responsibility, as it were, to ensure we, ourselves, are never at risk.
” She glanced at Penelope and met her dark eyes. “Our children can’t afford to lose us.”
Penelope nodded, one of her curt, definite, forceful nods. “No, indeed. I agree, and that’s the challenge—well, one aspect of the challenge—of us finding our way back into investigating and defining our roles with regard to the future. That’s something we need to work on.”
“And not just us,” Griselda murmured.
Penelope laughed, then, sobering, tilted her head.
“In fact, if we extrapolate from what Lady Osbaldestone said—and what has happened with the Halsteads should, indeed, stand as a salutary lesson—then it’s not just us, you and me, who need to ensure that investigating doesn’t pull us away from our darlings for too long.
The time we need to devote to our children may be greater than what Barnaby and Stokes need to give them, but they do need to give them some part of their time. ”
“Some part of their life,” Griselda said.
“Exactly.” Penelope fell silent until they turned into Albemarle Street.
Setting eyes on the door of her home, she said, “That’s the responsibility one must accept in bringing a child into the world—that we, both parents, need to give that child a defined, and real, and uncontestable place in our lives. ”
Griselda echoed, “A defined, real, and uncontestable piece of our lives.”