“But Walter is worse off than we are, brother. You have your inheritance already, so it hardly matters to you, and I… I am the third son. I was always destined to make my own way in the world. Maybe now Father will listen to me. But Walter—”
“Walter, Walter, Walter! He still has Bea Franklyn and her forty thousand pounds, Father has promised him a house… his allowance… everything. That is some consolation, is it not? Whereas we have yet to find brides, and how much more difficult is that now that we are bastards?”
Kent was silent. He had not even begun to think about marriage for himself, for he was only two and twenty, but clearly Eustace, five years older, was already considering that path.
Eustace hurled himself into a chair beside Kent, one leg cast carelessly over the arm, idly reaching for a piece of cheese. “Ugh! This is dreadful stuff. How long has it been here? Almost two weeks, I suppose. I shall restock before the next arrival.”
“Brother,” Kent said tentatively, “do you ever feel… well, that it may be time to give up the game?”
“Give it up? Whatever for? You are not afraid, are you, little brother?”
“Of course not, but… well, it seems wrong. Itiswrong.”
“Nonsense! Who is harmed by it? And it is an adventure, is it not? You used to find it the most tremendous fun, quite apart from bringing in a little extra money for everyone. We younger sons have to be gainfully employed, after all.”
“You do not — you have a tidy income from Welwood, and I could do something more useful.”
Eustace only laughed. “What could be more useful than this? Everyone enjoys the benefit.”
“I mean something useful to society at large, not just our own people. I am tired of it, brother. Tired of the creeping about at night, the secrecy, the pretence. Tired of being trapped here on the moors. There is an entire world out there to be explored, full of new ideas and men of energy and ambition, while I am confined to this narrow corner of Yorkshire.”
His brother shifted both feet to the floor and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “Now, what kind of talk is that? We Athertons stick together, always. Have we not always agreed to that? The girls may marry and go away if they please, but we brothers stay close to home. This is our place and our duty, and nothing that has happened can change that. Understand?”
Kent nodded, but the restlessness inside him was not assuaged. He rode home in a thoughtful mood to find his father in a towering rage, pacing up and down his small study like a caged beast. Walter was not, it transpired, to have the consolation of Bea Franklyn and her forty thousand pounds after all.
“It is outrageous!” spluttered the earl, waving his arms so hard that he almost slopped brandy out of the glass he held. “All she ever wanted was the title, so Walter is thrown over while she sets her cap at Bertram, poor fellow! Well, she will catch cold at that. He will never look at her unless she speaks to him in Latin.”
“I am so sorry, brother,” Kent said at once to Walter, who nursed his own brandy. “What a dreadful thing for you, on top of everything else.”
Walter gave a small shrug. “Better to find out her true nature now rather than after the wedding, eh? But what I am to do with myself now I cannot imagine.”
“Yes, we shall both have to find employment,” Kent said.
“Nonsense,” their father said. “I can still support my own sons, I hope. You cannot imagine you would be turned out on your ear.”
“Father, I ought to have a career,” Kent said. “Younger sons have to earn their keep.”
“Pft,” the earl said, taking a long drink of brandy. “The church, the army, the law… what would you do?”
“None of those,” Kent said quickly.
“Then what?” his father said. “What can you possibly be, if not a gentleman?”
“An engineer,” he blurted. “I have always been fascinated by machinery, so… an engineer. That is what I should like to be.”
They both laughed at him.
3: An Evening At Highwood Place
Kentwaitedafewdays before raising the subject again. The family was in turmoil and he had no wish to add to it, but surely now, when everything had changed, was the time for him to set his feet on the path that drew him?
It was not an auspicious time. His mother had left the castle, insisting that his father should marry a younger woman who could give him legitimate heirs, Walter had gone off to London in search of employment and even Tess Nicholson had vanished. Aunt Alice still kept to her room, and Captain Edgerton and his Hartlepool crew seemed to be everywhere.
But if not now, then when? Walter had seemingly accepted the need for a career, and how much more should that apply to Kent, the third son? He had no inheritance to drop on his head, as had happened to Eustace, and he was not handsome enough or wealthy enough to attract the attention of a marriageable heiress, so a career it had to be.
He found his father in his study, his desk spread with papers, but he was standing by the window, a glass of brandy in his hand, and since it was barely noon, it was not a good sign.
“Ah, Kent, there you are,” the earl said, running a hand distractedly through his greying hair. “I hardly know whether I am coming or going, with everyone taking off like this. Your mother gone… what am I to do without her, eh? And Walter off to town. Eustace is never here, and even Nicholson… not that he was a particular friend, but family, you know. Ah, but let us not speak of that. At least I still have you and Olivia. You will still bear me company, my two youngest.”
