The Lives and Times of Bernardo Brown by Geoffrey Household Read Free Book Online Page B

between themselves and the peasants should remain impassable.
    Perico’s invective did not extend to Kovacs, whom he admired. Kovacs, he said, was half horse and worthy of any grandee’s carriage. It was a vivid sketch of the old boy’s massive, springy bearing, grey forelock falling over his forehead and yellow teeth in a long face. The Master of the Horse stood no nonsense from Nepamuk, shooing him off when he insisted on attending lessons. The steward need not have worried, for Bernardo never rode outside the park. He still had in his ears Pozharski’s question: are they going to be sensible? The Kalmody palace was exasperating, but a lot better than Bilbao gaol.
    He was of course widely known to exist, but Pozharski was right in telling him that a guest of Kalmody had no official being so far as the police were concerned. Nepamuk must have offered them some explanation. Whatever it was—too ardent admiration of Zita or a suspected case of leprosy—it had been accepted. Bernardo’s own story to Perico was that Kalmody had snatched him out of Spain when he was in trouble with the law and had good reason for it. Perico showed no curiosity. Everyone had friends tangled up with politics or the law. One did not discuss the matter till help was required.
    Refreshed by open air and the society of the stable block, Bernardo began to hope that the tradition of hospitality which governed the visits of royalty might be extended to his own bedroom as well. The steward was impervious to hints, nor had any Edwardian bit of stuff appeared—apart from a couple of chambermaids whose mischievous eyes and ripe-apricot complexions made him curious as to what the technique should be in dealing with so many voluminous petticoats.
    Perico was sympathetic but had no suggestions. The few wives and daughters in the stable cottages were highly respectable, and he himself had had no success at all. There wasa satisfactory whore in the nearest town and a couple of semiprofessionals in a Kalmody village. He was ready to take the risk of fetching one of them over to the hay barn if Bernardo was really desperate and would finance the transaction until his friend was in the money again.
    Money was the tactful chain which prevented any break for more liberty. Bernardo had the best of food and wine, horses to ride and every comfort of a rich recluse, but not one penny in his pocket. When he complained to Nepamuk that he ought to be able to hand out some tips, especially to Perico and his valet, the steward replied that he had only to say the word and it would be done. The Kalmodys themselves never had any money when they were at home; they couldn’t be bothered with the stuff.
    An exaggeration to keep him quiet, though there might be some truth in it. The steward was their private banker. He kept the cash and issued it against receipt as and when needed.
    ‘But, Mr. Nepamuk, suppose one of them suddenly brought a girl home and hadn’t any money, what would he do?’ Bernardo asked frankly.
    ‘Not ’ere, Mr. Brown. Never! One of them summer ’ouses.’
    ‘Well, wherever it was, he’d want to give her a present. Or would the valet do it?’
    ‘If ’e was in attendance, Mr. Brown.’
    The picture delighted Bernardo. The respectful retainer presumably tucked you up in bed and you left the rest to some form of irrevocable Kalmody credit card.
    ‘You may ’ave complete confidence in the Count,’ Nepamuk added. ‘’E knows what ’e’s abaht.’
    That was vaguely hopeful. Bernardo would have given a lot to see the telegrams and correspondence passing between the Count and Nepamuk. Possibly they were waiting to see how discreet he was before providing further domestic comforts.
    One evening after thunder had rolled across from Romania washing the sky a paler blue and the dusted trees a darkergreen he rode back to the house with the Master of the Horse. Like a couple of friendly animals they were on the best of terms with no need for any