Chapter Thirteen #2
‘Oh, we had our occasions to shine,’ said Lady Cater modestly. ‘Of course, Kimbolton society, such as it was, was dominated by our cousins, the Montagues. Alas, they have fallen upon hard times.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘Such a pity. I attended a few soirées at Kimbolton Castle when I was younger.’
‘I thought your face looked familiar,’ said Lady Cater. ‘What was your name back then?’
‘Brewster. I hadn’t been presented yet, so was relegated to the ranks of the other adolescents, but we had our fun.’
‘I’m certain you did,’ said Lady Cater. ‘Perhaps you encountered my son, Bruce, when you were there.’
‘I do remember him. He was kind enough to dance with me, even though I was such an awkward gangly thing back then.’
‘I highly doubt that,’ said Lady Cater. ‘So you work now?’
There was a faint hint of distaste in her pronunciation of the verb.
‘Yes, isn’t it exciting?’ burbled Mrs Bainbridge.
‘They say television is the wave of the future, and I was quite lucky to get in on the ground floor. I’ve never had a full-time job before.
My poor husband gave his life for King and country several years ago, and I’ve been very much at loose ends since our son went away to school.
Mummy pulled some strings and I just started a few days ago. This is my first assignment, in fact!’
‘I’m afraid that television hasn’t reached us yet,’ said Lady Cater, ‘but I suppose the invasion is inevitable. I’m not sure I like the idea.
I have made my peace with the radio, but it does dictate one’s choices, doesn’t it?
But at least when it’s on one isn’t bound to a single location and may wander about the room doing other things.
Television, on the other hand, confines you to a single seat for the duration of the experience.
I don’t relish being held slave to an armchair. ’
‘You still have the choice as to whether or not you’ll watch it,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I’ve found that it has brought many aspects of the world to my attention that I might not have been aware of before. I’m hoping to do the same for others now.’
‘You make your work sound positively altruistic,’ said Lady Cater. ‘What is this project that you’ve come to see me about?’
‘We’re putting together a programme about the civil war in Spain,’ said Mrs Bainbridge, pulling out her notebook and pencil.
‘We believe that enough time has passed to give us some perspective on it, especially now that we’ve had a chance to see General Franco in action for a decade, so we want to revisit and reassess the war as a precursor to the greater war that followed. ’
‘How does my late son factor into this?’
‘We are interested in the different types of Englishmen who volunteered to fight in Spain on either side, as well as the circumstances and family backgrounds which led them to join. Was there anything in particular about Bruce’s life here that you believe inspired him to go to Spain?’
‘There was nothing about his upbringing that precipitated that,’ said Lady Cater.
‘Then you wouldn’t say that he developed socialistic tendencies from living here?’
‘Look around you,’ said Lady Cater. ‘Does anything you see, does anything about this place smack of socialism?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘But one needs to ask, then, if you believe that perhaps he joined the International Brigade as a reaction to his upbringing?’
‘Not at all. The very idea is appalling. Bruce embraced every aspect of the Cater traditions, as well as the Cater wealth, wholeheartedly. We gave him every advantage, and he took advantage of everything we gave him.’
‘Interesting,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘Do you think the transformation occurred because of his time at Cambridge?’
‘I don’t think that he ever turned away from who he was or where he came from,’ said Lady Cater. ‘Despite falling among some questionable companions while he was there.’
‘Who, for example? Did he join the socialists? Or the communists?’
‘He did not,’ she replied hotly. ‘He never would have shamed the family like that. He took his degree and eventually would have taken his rightful place on that wall with his father and his father’s father.’
‘Yet he joined the anti-fascist side,’ persisted Mrs Bainbridge. ‘What do you think prompted a decision like that?’
‘Some reckless impulse of his, I suppose,’ she said. ‘We never knew the reason, and never will.’
She’s lying, thought Gwen.
‘Our understanding is that he may have gone in part because of an incident at Cambridge,’ she said.
‘Where did you hear that?’ snapped Lady Cater.
‘Mr Danielli, my associate, heard something about it from his time there.’
‘Oh? You were at Cambridge?’ asked Lady Cater.
‘I was,’ said Danielli. ‘A year behind Bruce.’
‘I was unaware that they let people like you in there,’ said Lady Cater.
‘Tall people?’ replied Danielli. ‘There is an unofficial quota. They hand you a helpful guide to the shorter doorways so you can avoid concussion.’
‘So you knew my son.’
‘I didn’t know him well, but I knew him, as well as some of his friends. I remember he was in a little satirical singing group with Kevin Pickard and— oh, who was the third one?’
‘Anthony Danforth,’ she replied, hesitating slightly on the name.
‘Tony, of course,’ he said.
‘Anthony Danforth?’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I saw his name on a list of Cambridge men who went to Spain. Did he and Bruce join together?’
‘We think Danforth may have put the idea in Bruce’s head,’ said Lady Cater.
‘Really? You wouldn’t by any chance have any way of reaching him, would you?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I’d love to get his account of what happened.’
‘No, I do not,’ said Lady Cater. ‘I have no intention of ever speaking to that … that … I’m sorry, there are no polite words.’
‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘It does sound like you blame him for what happened.’
‘What happened to our son can neither be changed or rectified,’ said Lady Cater huffily.
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘So it wasn’t the incident at Cambridge that propelled him into Spain.’
‘There was no incident,’ said Lady Cater in exasperation.
‘What about your younger children? Did they go on to Cambridge as well? I understand it’s a family tradition.’
‘We thought after Bruce died that the school would hold painful associations for the other two children, and we were quite unhappy with how it was becoming overrun by leftists,’ said Lady Cater.
‘Nathaniel, my second, went to Oxford instead. As for Charlotte, well, she wanted to go to Cambridge in spite of everything. She idolised her brother and wanted to do everything he did, but we put our foot down.’
‘Where did she end up going?’
‘We sent her to Manchester to stay with some relatives and go to university. She loved it there, fortunately. You should hear her talk about it. She can do the funniest impressions of the locals. She did them at Christmas parties here, and her accent was spot on.’
‘She sounds quite entertaining,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘Would it be possible—’
From outside the doors, a man’s voice was heard, speaking gruffly to someone.
They heard the maid’s voice in reply. A second later, a man burst through the door, the maid quivering behind him.
He was in his sixties but robust and energetic, his grey hair slicked back with pomade, his moustache full and immaculately shaped.
It wasn’t hard to recognise him as the subject of the last portrait on the wall of Caters.
‘Francesca, what the devil do you think you’re doing?’ he said to his wife, ignoring the others.
‘Arnold, this is Mrs Gwendolyn Bainbridge and Mr Salvatore Danielli from the BBC,’ she said, flinching slightly. ‘They’re interested in Bruce’s story.’
‘Are they?’ he said, finally deigning to look at them. ‘Are they indeed?’
He walked towards Danielli, who rose to meet him. Lord Cater looked up at him, examining his face, unintimidated by his height.
‘Danielli,’ he said. ‘You’re an Eyetie, aren’t you?’
‘English,’ said Danielli. ‘Born and raised here.’
‘Not English in my book,’ said Cater. ‘We just fought a war against your people.’
‘I know,’ said Danielli. ‘I was part of it.’
‘For which side?’ asked Cater.
‘As I said, English,’ replied Danielli calmly. ‘Royal Army.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Supplies,’ said Danielli.
‘Oh, very brave, very brave,’ sneered Cater.
‘Necessary,’ said Danielli. ‘I did my part.’
‘While better men than you died on the front lines.’
‘No doubt,’ said Danielli. ‘I honour their valour and their loss.’
‘Hmph,’ said Cater. He turned to Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I will be brief. There is to be no mention of my son in any broadcast or story. You may leave. Now.’
‘But Lord Cater,’ she began.
He turned and walked away. His wife looked after him mournfully.
‘I’m afraid he took Bruce’s death rather badly,’ she said. ‘The first son and heir, you see. They were quite close. I apologise for his behaviour, but I’m afraid I have no choice in the matter now.’
‘No apology necessary,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘We’re sorry to have caused any upset. May I use the loo before we leave? It’s a long drive back.’
‘Certainly. I will have my maid show you.’
Mrs Bainbridge followed the maid down a hallway to a door. She went through, hiding her frustration.
She was close, she thought. Only she had no more time to learn anything.
Lord Cater’s anger, combined with his immediate lowering of the family portcullis, made him a prime candidate for further investigation.
She wondered if she could manage to break into the Cater house later and search for something informative, the problem there being the massive size of the place.
She washed her hands, then opened the door.
‘Mrs Bainbridge, a word with you. In private.’
She turned, startled, to see Lord Cater standing by a door down the hall. He turned without saying anything else and disappeared into a room.
Is this going to be an apology? she wondered.
Somehow, she doubted it.