The Sun Is Often Out

Chapter Five

"I think I've figured it out. About Gertie, I mean."

Walter said this to her on their last evening at Redruth that summer, while they were sitting on the verandah. He had been sketching May for practice—"I'm better with animals," he'd said—but now the light was so low he set down his book and pencil. "But you mustn't tell Jessie. Promise."

With no further need to stay still, May turned her head towards him. "Why not?"

"She'd make a joke of it. You know what she's like."

  Yes, May knew very well. Despite her attempts to love Gertie there was a divide between them, one Jessie didn't have the ability to cross. All animosity came from her side alone, for Gertie treated everyone with kindness, even the servants. Perhaps that aspect of her personality was the one which grated against Jessie's most of all because it was the one she lacked.

"Alright," she said, and leaned in conspiratorially. "I promise."

"Well," he mumbled, his voice even softer than usual, as he averted his eyes to his boots. "She thinks something must be wrong. Being married so long, with nothing to show for it."

His euphemism gave May no inkling of what he meant. "I don't understand."

"No child," he hissed, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Oh!" May wasn't sure what to make of this. She shared his unease with the topic. "Lance told you—"

"No." He shook his head for emphasis. "He wouldn't talk about it. This is what I guessed. I might be wrong."

From the little she knew about marriage, it was a likely explanation. Once a month there was a chance and when it passed with no sign—even the estranged Helen had a baby, though only Aunt Mary had been allowed to visit when it was born last year. Uncle Jago had been firm on that point. "I think you're right. But why would it upset her so much?"

His eyes met hers across the table. "Primogeniture."

From eldest son to eldest son. May thought back to that day at Arabinia, when she had been overcome. How Walter had taken a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hand, and as she wiped her face with it said: "Then don't take it. Make your own way." She realised that he felt the same burden that she did, the expectations of their parents bearing down on them. In that moment he had been comforting himself as much as her. The difference between them was that he had all the freedom, and she, with her property, all the appearance of it. Her father's will had made that clear—his estate was to be administered by Uncle Jago until such time as she married when it would pass to her husband under common law, or until her uncle's death.

Her resolve had been not to think of it. So, in an attempt to change the subject, she reached for Walter's book. "Can I see my portrait?"

He snatched it away, out of her grasp. "Certainly not."

"Please," she begged, stretching herself over the table as he held it up and away from her. "You've shown me all your others."

  "They weren't awful."

She couldn't seem to shift his pensive mood, so May tried a different tack. "I guess I'm not a very good model. You should try drawing Jessie; she's much prettier than me. That might make it easier."

That elicited a low chuckle from him. "She'd have to sit still for longer than a minute. Unlikely." He gave her a hard look, his grey eyes serious. "You're not ugly, you know. I just can't draw people."

May nodded, though she didn't really believe him. "Yes, but it would be rather nice to be handsome. Even in books plain women have beautiful hair if nothing else. I mean, what colour would you call this?"