Good Behaviour by Maggie O'Farrell, Molly Keane Read Free Book Online Page A

getting a bit, er, well …first reading poetry when he ought to be getting his pony ready for the Bath and County next Thursday, then lying to his mother
     – took his beating in a very, well, cowardly way, then, am I right? howling on your, in your,
in the schoolroom
,’ the Captain finished desperately.
    ‘Oh, Captain Massingham, the child was so upset. I don’t usually cuddle him. Never, in fact.’
    ‘Don’t let’s discuss it. I’m sure it won’t happen again.’
    ‘Oh, no.’
    ‘And another thing I must tell you, Mrs Brock – we’ve decided that the boys are to start at Entwhistle’s this autumn, so I’m
     afraid we shan’t be needing you, much as we’re going to miss you.’
    ‘Raymond?’ she questioned desperately. The chill of reality circling her, curdling the rich air of the gunroom.
    ‘I suppose Raymond’s Nannie’s boy for a year or so, don’t you think? Only five, after all.’
    ‘I see.’ Mrs Brock looked round the room. Foxes’ masks (neatly labelled: FOUND —— KILLED —— THE POINT —— THE DATE —— ) were grouped, memories of glorious moments, on the walls. Some stood out sharply on their wooden shields, small pricked
     ears and deathly snarls; others hung down on faked leather couples, ears back, tongues lolling and curling. All the pictures
     were of foxhunting, foxhounds, or masters of foxhounds. The living terriers, snoozing in their baskets, had their backs turned
     to her. Everything in the room belonged to a different and more glorious race from Mrs Brock. ‘It’s hard to believe,’ she
     said. ‘I’ve been so happy—’
    ‘So glad. So glad,’ the Captain shut her up at once. ‘And another thing, we’d like you to have a cheque for this term’s salary,
     and next, and a little present in token, if that’s theword, sounds funny, of our, h’m … ’ He pushed a thick blue envelope across the writing table. She took it up, overcome by
     twin floods of regret and gratitude.
    ‘We’ve put in an excellent what you call a reference, I believe, too.’ The Captain’s voice was easing into a more usual tone
     now that the back of the situation was, as it were, broken.
    Mrs Brock was stupefied by so much kindness: ‘It’s not the end of the term for six weeks, Captain Massingham.’
    ‘I know. But we’ve rather decided to let you go immediately. Seems the best idea.’
    ‘I don’t understand—’
    ‘Neither do I, damnit.’ The Captain got to his feet, longing to end the whole horrible business. ‘Anyway, I’m afraid now I
     must say goodbye, Mrs Brock, and the very best of luck to you. Have to get the seven-forty-five up to town, and by Jove, I’ll
     hardly make it.’ He laughed heavily, as he had after Richard’s thrashing. Then he held the door open for her before he went
     charging across the hall, in the opposite direction from the schoolroom, nursery, and servants’ wing, whistling to the dogs
     and making an enormous racket.
    Mrs Brock did not delay. She was in a panic which hurried her through the hall, her heels chattering and muttering alternately
     as she stepped from whitened flags to spread tiger-skins. How the dogs loved to pee on the latters’ heads; generations of
     dogs, beaten and fed and cloistered in this family; it was just a thought which came to her before she opened and passed through
     the door dividing the hall and its staircase from the other side of the house.
    Mrs Brock went straight to the schoolroom lavatory, where she was overtaken by a violent diarrhoea. When she got offthe mahogany seat to lift the D-shaped hand-fitting which swirled out the blue-flowered basin, she sat down again at once
     ‘in case,’ that tiny euphemism that covered so much so usefully. The exhaustion of physical necessity calmed her. She washed
     her hands and blew her nose and decided to follow her usual habit – a cheery goodnight to the boys before Walter brought up
     her supper.
    But at their bedroom door she was met by a brisk