The Odd Compulsions of Colonel da Visitação
BY CA GIBSON
Monday 13th July 1930
The Holidays begin! It’s been frightful at St Tom’s this half – the masters were such bores (except old Beak) and the other chaps get on one’s goat by the end of term. But that’s all done with now: soon I will be back at Collingwood and every day will be filled with swims in the sea, rounders with Mamma in the sunken garden (she doesn’t understand cricket, poor love) and gorging on stolen treats in the Priest’s hole downstairs. Best of all, no more Latin, prayers or cold baths until next term – and then I’ll be a second-year, not a lowly commoner. Beak warned me not to get too excited, but I can’t help it – it’s going to be wizard! That’s the motor – will finish later!
Later…
Beak was right – what a bally disappointment! Collingwood isn’t half as jolly as I remember it. Even the Trevellyan crest on the gates looked a little sad in the mouth.
To start with, only Mrs Parker was there to greet me, and she looked like she was chewing a mouthful of wasps. I dashed off to the nursery to see Emily and, I’m not too proud to admit, the train set. But Nanny stood guard, fiery sword in hand. Nursery is no place for young gentleman said she – besides Miss Emily’s not well. Poor show!
Ran Papa to ground in his study. I could tell he wasn’t best pleased but if I am too old for the nursery, then I must be grown up enough to go into his study, especially now that I’m a ‘gentleman of St Thomas’s’. I wouldn’t have gone in at all, but I couldn’t find Mamma anywhere! Turns out she is away for a few days, visiting the McWhirters.
The McWhirters! Didn’t she know her beamish boy was due back? What a homecoming! At least Cookie was glad to see me – she made me a big tray of cinder toffee, just like when I was little.
Tuesday 14th
Got up early so I could swim in peace, perfect peace. I crept along the Gallery in case Emily woke and insisted we played. Love her dearly, the pet but the first swim of summer is so special, almost sacred and I couldn’t have it spoiled by babysitting (so much easier to sneak out when the nursery was upstairs). Once down the stairs and out the French windows I could really let rip – I bolted across the lawn, down into the sunken garden and took the steps three at a time on the old wooden walkway down to the beach. If only I could be as fast when we do cross country at Games.
Stripped off and dove into the water – it was heavenly! Like the seawater washed away all the dirt and frustrations of last term. Once I was done, I lay on the beach to dry off in the sun, although it was quite early. Ah, my own private beach – there’s not a chap at St Tom’s that could boast as much. Maybe the holidays won’t be so bad after all.
Wednesday 15th
Still no sign of Mamma. Asked Papa again when she was coming home. Without looking up from the Times he said she would telegraph but it’d be some time yet as Mrs McWhirter was very poorly. I thought the old biddy had kicked the bucket years ago.
I wish she’d come home – things have gone to pot here. Maids waiting at table and Mrs Parker answering the front door. And I don’t know what a chap needs to do to get a clean vest about this place! If it wasn’t for my beach…
Thursday 16th
After getting my humour back with a secret swim, Papa dropped another bombshell – for a former ambassador he’s not very diplomatic. A guest was going to be staying with us next week and I was to be on my best behaviour. What rot! It is an unwritten rule at Collingwood that there are no outsiders during the first weeks of the hols! A chap’s hols are sacrosanct! Now I will have to wear best bib and tucker on and act like little Lord Fauntleroy. Mamma wouldn’t have allowed it!
Rained all afternoon and with Nanny barring my return to the playroom, I had to read one of Mrs P’s trashy mystery novels, a yucky Uriel Camaels! Beak would have a fit! But with no Mamma, no Emily, no train sets what else is there to do! The hols are going to be dull, dull dull! And to top it all some rotten interloper! I might as well have stayed at St Tom’s.
Friday 17th
Not sure if it’s the Inspector Camael making me suspicious, but I think something rum has happened while I’ve been away. Collingwood used to be a busy place but now the maids scuttle about like beetles and you can hear the proverbial pin. Papa is unusually taciturn, even by his standards and keeps his own company, taking long solitary walks, whatever the weather.
I suspect it is all to do with this wretched visitor. Papa is cagey whenever I ask about him. Perhaps Mamma did not want to receive him and went off in a huff to Scotland? That would explain the stinking atmosphere.
The staff must know but there’s no point asking – the young ones are all wet, Cookie thinks I’m a baby and I’m a little afraid of Mrs P and Nanny. If only there was a footman, and we could have a sensible man-to-man chat. Afraid I’m going to have to resort to the Priest’s hole…
I know, I know it would be abusing the privilege of the servant’s hall and it’s not very gallant behaviour for gentleman of St Tom’s, never mind a Trevallyan, but a chap deserves to know what is going on in his own house! I might even find out what’s happening to my underclothes.
Sunday 20th
Emily’s birthday today – she felt well enough to come down but looked very pale and they had cut her long hair. I wonder if Mamma knows – she was so proud of Emily’s black curls, so unlike her own mousey hair. I think Emily liked my present, but it is hard to tell. Cookie made a delicious cake and we got to play with the train set – even Papa seemed to relax. If only Mamma were here…
Monday 21st
I got my first sight of him when I came out of the water after my swim – my first since the beastly rain stopped. He must have got the milk train as it was dashed early. Just stood there on the cliff edge staring out at the beach. A pretty top-notch view but I thought once he saw I was there and deshabille (wish I could show Mamma how my French has come on), he might have buzzed off. However, he kept on staring out to sea! Thought I’d better introduce myself so got my togs on as quickly as possible but by the time I had climbed the steps, I couldn’t find hide nor hair of him. What an odd bird!
Later…
Turns out he is a foreigner, which explains everything. A South American called da Visitação – a colonel I should say by his stripes. Hails from the Republic of Paraiso-Perdido, wherever that is. Papa often had foreigners staying here but there’s something about this one. He is the strangest colonel I’ve ever seen – youngish but impossible to tell for sure with the beard. I’m sure he dyes his hair. But why is he here – Papa left the diplomatic corps a long time ago and there’s no love lost between them. They were practically silent all through dinner. Perhaps pas devant les enfant as Mamma would say.
No sign of Emily – hope she didn’t overdo it yesterday. The foreigner had better be away before my birthday.
Tuesday 22nd
Another glorious swim – marred again by the Colonel’s presence. Hope he is not an early riser too and makes a habit of these cliff-top promenades. I’m no prude but a chap values his privacy, particularly after a term at St Tom’s with fellows poking their noses into your business.
Speaking of snooping, my first attempt at ‘eavesdropping’ was not an unqualified success but it’s obvious that the servants do not know about the Priest’s hole so they will speak quite freely. It’s also plain to think the Colonel is a queer fish. The maids are shocked by his appearance – the bushy beard that doesn’t quite cover the scar down his cheek, the eyes that stab right through you – hardly the matinee idol! Mrs P said they were all to avoid him…
Wednesday 23rd
Used the old loaf and looked up Paraiso-Perdido in the encyclopaedias.
There was a military coup there in 1908 and guess who was made the President of the Provisional Government? None other than the ‘good’ Colonel himself. Rather woolly about what happened next – the government collapsed, and the Colonel deposed. All rather vague, which usually means it was very salacious – like the bits of Catullus we aren’t allowed to read in Classics! Strange, he looks too young to have been in charge back then…
I’m sure Papa and Mamma were in South American when the Old Republic was re-established. Perhaps they smuggled out Spanish (or Portuguese?) gold out of Paraiso-Perdido for the Colonel? Or helped unseat the old boy – but then why would he visit Papa? Yet if they are friends, why did Mamma flee to Scotland?
Later…
Reading back my last, that sounds a bit far-fetched – I blame Mrs P’s trashy books. Beak is right, sensationalism will rot my brain!
Thursday 24th
More underclothes missing. Don’t want to be a sneak but if I don’t say anything, I shall have nothing left. Dashed awkward to speak to Papa about it – especially as Colonel da Visitação doesn’t leave his side these days. The only time they spend apart is when they go to bed and first thing in the morning when the Colonel takes his walk along the cliffs. Don’t see how he can get up so early – his room, the Periwinkle, is directly above mine and he’s up half the night, thumping around. Could he be a secret flamenco dancer?
Saturday 26th
Dreadful hullabaloo when I came back from my morning swim.
I had lost track of time – the water was so soothing. Usually I’m dried, dressed and back before I’m missed. Well, when I got back Papa was half-frantic, and the maids were running about like headless chickens. Where had I been? What was I doing? I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about – I did it all the time, last summer.
Papa pulled himself together and requested I let someone know where I’m going. I get more privacy in the dorms! Later on, when they thought I was out, I distinctly heard Cookie say to Papa, ‘Is it quite safe?’ Well, really – Mamma would never have let a servant speak to her like that! And besides, I am hardly a child- I am nearly 15. I was about to butt in and say it was ‘quite safe, as the Colonel is always there but something made me bite my tongue.
Sunday 27th
Church today – very dull but at least it was respite from the Colonel. Blighter kept me up all last night – a chap needs his sleep! Luckily, I could catch forty winks during the sermon.
Afterwards, Papa wanted to speak to me in his study. Thought he had caught me snoozing and was going to give me what for but instead he asked me if I would be happy going back to St Tom’s early. I was rather hurt. Papa has been off with me ever since that trouble at school last year.
Had a heart-to-heart with Cookie – my only true friend in Mamma’s absence. ‘He’s only trying to keep you safe, Master Henry.’ I pressed her but she would say no more and tried to distract me with talk of my birthday cake. But it made me wonder…
Tuesday 28th
I was right! The Colonel is dangerous. Emily is to be kept away from him – Mrs P was most particular. Must be a thoroughly bad egg – luckily Emily has that bulldog Nanny to protect her – and me now. Doesn’t he know the Trevallyan’s are all fighters? We were in the Crusades! People do not mess with us. It takes more than a Latin with dyed hair to scare me!
Friday 31st
Took my swim in the afternoon and since it was so warm, I swam out to a little rock and sunbathed. Don’t know how long I was there – must have dozed off as the ‘dancing’ kept me up again. When I woke, I peeked round to the shore and there he was on the beach. I ducked down so I would watch him unawares. And you will never guess what he did? He went to my neat pile of clothes, fished out my underwear and ran off like the devil chased him. At least that is one mystery solved but it only raises more questions! Whatever can he want with my underwear?
Saturday 2nd August 1930
O frabjous day! The junior servants were allowed to go to the Fair, which meant Mrs Parker would invite Cookie into her parlour for tea. The sound travels quite well from her parlour to the Priest’s hole, and I think finally the mystery surrounding the Colonel is beginning to lift.
They were already on their third cup by the time I was in situ, but they were talking about Papa. Mrs P. said, ‘There was a dreadful scandal at his school. He was exonerated from all blame. The boy who… well nobody is sure what happened to him…’ Cookie said something I couldn’t make out, but it must have been a question because Mrs P became quite exasperated and said, ‘But don’t you see Cook – the boy was Latin.’
So, Colonel da Visitação was at school with Papa and they weren’t too chummy. Must have been a shock for Papa to see in him South America all those years later. There are some creeps at St Tom’s I can’t wait to see the back of… Perhaps the Colonel has some sort of hold over Papa? Blackmail? That would explain why the braggard is abusing his hospitality. But why send Mamma away and not Emily? And what does he want with my underclothes? If only I could get some sleep, I’m sure I could work it out, like Uriel Camael…
Wednesday 6th
Took a good hard look at the Colonel today. So cold, so like a statue but for his eyes – like a living man, a mad man covered in bronze, his wild eyes darting about. He was staring at the nursery window, just as he stares at me on the beach. Best to keep an eye on him. I had heard Mrs P tell Cookie earlier that, ‘He’ll be after Miss Emily – that sort never gives up. It’s in their blood.’ Whatever that means, it is not good. I will protect my family, my family’s honour even if Papa won’t.
Friday 8th
At last, I know the truth and it makes me sick – sick, sick, sick to my stomach. I would never have known if a new maid hadn’t started. I was listening from my hiding place and Mrs P said cold as ice, ‘Mrs Trevallyan is dead but under no circumstances is Master Henry to be told.’ But worse was to come. The girl asked how Mamma died, and that witch Parker said ‘It was the shame of it all. She couldn’t live with what he had done.’
I have been such a child. The visits to South America… the dark-haired child… the shame… The Colonel had interfered with my dear sweet Mamma, the dirty, dirty dog and filled her with his disgusting seed. Filthy, filthy. And Mamma couldn’t face it, couldn’t face him – I knew instinctively she had drowned herself in the sea, my clear blue sea. I am covered in blood, her blood, like that day at St Tom’s – the dirty devil came to claim his own bantling.
This won’t stand. The Trevallyan honour shall not be defiled. Da Visitação will have his spawn – in death. It cannot wait – I will go to the Periwinkle Room while he sleeps tonight and then the nursery to deal with his black-haired bastard…
Later…
He was waiting for me… all my underwear was there, torn to shreds… he just stared at me like a statue as I stood, motionless in the doorway… he was in his birthday suit…I couldn’t move, he wouldn’t move… we just stared into each other’s eyes… and why did he move the mirror there?…
***
August 12th 1930
My Dear Trevallyan,
Henry is settled back with us at St Thomas’s – the recent upset has set him back, so we have had no other choice but to move him back to Ward C for the time being. I would advise you do not visit for his birthday – rest assured we will celebrate Henry’s turning thirty.
I am sorry the return to Collingwood was not a success, but we must not become disheartened. Relapses are to be expected. He had made such strides in the last year and I am confident he will again. However, perhaps it would be worthwhile if we are to try further trips home if your daughter and her nurse were to take a short holiday?
It may help me in my future work with Henry if you can think of the possible origin of his obsession with South America. This may help shed light on why he links it so closely with the trauma he experienced when he was 14 and may help identify a course of treatment.
Yours Sincerely,
Dr Beakman.
