Bramton Wick

by Elizabeth Fair

  Poor Toby, too, must be suffering from a genuine cold. Feeling quite sorry for him, Laura also allowed herself to feel thankful that if he had to have a cold he should have it now.

  At exactly the same moment Mrs. Cole was thinking how sad it was that Toby could not be there; on such a glorious afternoon he and Laura could plausibly have been sent out to look at the alterations in the garden, while she and Lady Masters sunned themselves in the bay window. Sighing deeply, she said they would have coffee in the other room.

  Lady Masters was in no hurry to leave. With Mrs. Cole’s concurrence she had quite assumed the position of an old and valued friend. She even offered to help with the washing-up, assuring them that though neither Cook nor old Emily would let her lift a finger at Endbury she was always delighted to help her less fortunate friends. But Mrs. Cole and Laura would not hear of it; the washing-up, they said, could be done later. Both of them thought privately that to have her with them in the kitchen would be more a hindrance than a help.

  “It is really a sin to sit indoors on such a lovely day,” Lady Masters declared. “We ought all to go out for a long tramp. I always tell people there is nothing like a long tramp to chase away the cobwebs. I am sure you agree with me, Laura. You are so fond of walking.”

  “I never seem to have time, though. The house and the cooking, and then shopping in Bramworthy—”

  “Ah, yes, you are like me—a slave to other people,” Lady Masters said affably. Conscious that it was an honour to be like Lady Masters, Laura made a suitably humble reply.

  “But this afternoon we are both free, are we not?” Lady Masters continued, as if the thought had just struck her. “And I have an errand to perform—an errand I had meant to do tomorrow, but it can just as well be done today. There is nothing like taking time by the forelock.”

  Laura’s instinctive antipathy to the idea of going for a long tramp with Lady Masters was lessened when she found out that it was only to take them to Bank Cottage, a matter of ten minutes each way. Besides, there was no good reason for refusing, and Mrs. Cole was already saying how nice it would be for her. Mrs. Cole had no intention of going herself, and waved farewell to them with a beaming smile which reflected her secret relief at being rid of Lady Masters.

  The drive to Woodside was steep and narrow, and Lady Masters had left her car at the gate. She paused there and suggested that perhaps it would be better if they went for a drive.

  “Oh, but it’s only just down the lane,” said Laura, puzzled and suddenly apprehensive.

  “Dear child,” Lady Masters said, opening the door of the car, “get in. We can talk as we go.”

  Laura got in, feeling it would be rash to argue. A moment ago she had been certain that Lady Masters knew nothing of Toby’s proposal; now she was no longer certain, but she could not believe that Lady Masters knew everything. Perhaps she suspected, or perhaps this was to be a discussion of Toby’s future with veiled hints of what would be good for him. Alarmed, but hoping for the best, she looked straight in front of her and prepared to be wilfully obtuse.

  When they came to the river Lady Masters commented on its beauty. With a splendid indifference to the claims of other wayfarers she stopped the car on the bridge.

  “Our own river,” she said, “is not nearly so picturesque.”

  Laura forbore to point out that it was just a different stretch of the same river. She felt that it was not for her to give topographical instruction to her companion.

  “Our own river is too straight,” Lady Masters continued. “Straight and uninteresting. No better than a canal.”

  Laura said that the old canal beyond Bramworthy was quite pretty in places.

  Without warning, Lady Masters abandoned the subject of rivers and turned towards her. “Dear Laura,” she said, “you have made me very happy.” She laid her hand on Laura’s arm, just as Toby had done on the day of the picnic. “I have to tell you this,” she continued, “because I understand so well your doubts and hesitations. It is because of that—because I wanted to reassure you—that I have come here today as Toby’s ambassador.”

  Laura gazed at her in a stupor of horror which Lady Masters appeared to take for excessive timidity.

  “My dear child, there is nothing to be afraid of. When Toby told me that you had refused him—just like that—I was upset. I admit it now. But then, when we talked it over, I began to understand. When I heard all the circumstances I realized that it had come as a surprise to you.”

  “But—”

  “As I said to him, a refusal like that means nothing. But indeed,” and she looked at Laura with an arch smile, “I think he had already guessed that for himself.”

  “But I refused him.”

  “I understand young people, Laura. I know how you feel about Toby. I know your character, too; you have always been shy and reserved and—shall we say—diffident. Good faults, Laura,” Lady Masters said kindly. “I am not surprised that you asked for more time. It was the natural answer—exactly what I should have expected from you.”

  “He misunderstood me—” Laura began. But her companion swept happily on.

  “You told him to say no more about it—then. But now, my dear—now that we have had this little talk—I am sure you will be able to give him a very different answer!”

  The bright sunlight had made the interior of the car quite hot; Laura had the sensation of being shut up in a little box—or prison—without doors or windows, of being condemned to sit side by side with Lady Masters for all eternity. Shaking herself free of this nightmare, she said in a loud voice:

  “Stop, please stop! It’s all a mistake. I can’t marry Toby. I don’t want to.”

  Lady Masters stiffened into a dreadful rigidity, as if she had suddenly been turned to stone. The understanding smile became a fixed grimace. She slowly withdrew the hand that had been holding Laura’s and clasped it in her lap.

  “A mistake?” she echoed vaguely, as if she had never heard the word before. For a moment she seemed incapable of further speech. Then she pulled herself together, visibly reorganizing her feelings.

  “A very strange mistake, Laura,” she said coldly. “You have treated my poor Toby very badly.”

  “But I refused him. And I never meant him to think—”

  Lady Masters gave a high-pitched, angry sound that might have been a laugh or a snort of contempt. “I heard all about it from Toby,” she said, “and it was quite plain what you meant him to think. You have behaved abominably.”

  Though she had hitherto been abjectly remorseful and embarrassed, Laura now found herself growing angry too, angry with Lady Masters and angrier still with Toby.

  “He had no business to tell you about it,” she said.

  “My dear Laura,” Lady Masters replied in a voice of ice, “please remember what is your business and what is not.”

  “It’s your fault if he thinks I’m going to change my mind. You suggested it to him.”

  “You have deceived me,” Lady Masters said. “I have been terribly mistaken in you. I am thankful—yes, really thankful—that this has happened. But for this mistake—as you call it—” and here she gave Laura a look so charged with scorn that it was as dazzling as a high-powered electric torch—“but for this, I might not have known until it was too late.”

  Feeling that if she did not get away from Lady Masters soon she would begin to scream, Laura fumbled for the door of the car.

  “Yes, you had better go. We have nothing more to say to one another. You have been stupid, as well as heartless.”

  Slightly cheered by the thought that Laura would live to regret her folly, Lady Masters braced herself to make a statement which should rank as Famous Last Words.

  “I have never understood you at all,” she began majestically. It was a sentence of excommunication, but its effect was rather marred by the blaring of a car’s horn immediately behind them. Even the right to occupy the bridge for as long as it pleased her was denied to Lady Masters, whose anger was tempo
rarily diverted to the source of the interruption. While she was starting the car, Laura opened the door. She half sprang, half tumbled out, slamming the door behind her as the car moved away. The bridge was narrow and she had to flatten herself against the parapet, thinking as she did so how very awkward it would be to be run into by Lady Masters at that moment. She gazed wretchedly after the retreating car until it turned the corner and disappeared down the lane.

  Only then did it occur to her that her behaviour must seem very odd to the people in the car behind. She looked round, striving to appear completely at her ease in case it was someone she knew.

  There was only one person in the car behind, and he, far from being impressed by Laura’s nonchalance, leaned out and besought her to stop crying.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Watching Miles as he walked towards her, Laura thought he looked almost as angry as Lady Masters. But when he came nearer she saw that he was less angry than alarmed—and indeed anyone who had witnessed her precipitate exit from the car might well have found it an alarming sight.

  Miles’s presence at this moment was the last thing she would have wished for, and yet, now that he was here, she felt strangely comforted. But she still tried to behave as though nothing unusual had happened.

  “I’m not crying,” she assured him.

  “But you were,” he said. “What’s happened—are you hurt?”

  “I didn’t fall out,” Laura said. “I got out.”

  “The difference wasn’t very obvious.”

  “Well, I fell out, perhaps. But I was getting out anyway.” She spoke calmly, but even to her own ears it sounded faintly absurd. She had a vision of herself stumbling out of the car and clinging to the side of the bridge, looking both distraught and ridiculous. That was what Miles must have seen, and it was hardly possible to go on pretending that she had been behaving normally.

  “I don’t want to interfere,” he said gently. “It’s nothing to do with me. But—Well, was that a serious quarrel?”

  Laura abandoned the pretence. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, “it wasn’t a quarrel at all—it was being disapproved of, and despised, and cast into outer darkness. It was horrible! And all my fault, really.”

  “Nonsense! Please, Laura, don’t think of it like that. He’s not nearly good enough for you.”

  Laura looked at him in bewilderment. Then she realized that he had only seen the back of the Endbury car. It was, she supposed, a natural mistake, but why should he be so quick to assume that she was quarrelling with Toby?

  “It wasn’t Toby,” she said. “I wasn’t—at least, I suppose I have quarrelled with him now, but I didn’t mean to. Poor Toby—but it was his fault too. He shouldn’t have told her.”

  Her companion seemed to be working this out for himself. There was a long pause before he said slowly: “So that’s it.” He spoke as if he had hoped for something else.

  “He shouldn’t have told her,” Laura repeated crossly. Now that she had time to think of it, Toby’s conduct appeared even more distressing than it had done at first. She had quite forgotten that this was exactly what she had expected him to do. It seemed now like a double betrayal, because he had discussed his mother with her and had then turned round and discussed her with Lady Masters.

  “But he had to tell her sometime,” Miles said. “Not that I’m making excuses for him,” he added grimly.

  This remark only increased her confusion. It did not make sense—for why should Lady Masters have to be told?—but it implied that Miles knew about Toby’s proposal. She was assailed by a horrid fear that the whole of Bramton Wick must know about it. She said sadly:

  “I wish it had never happened. She was so angry, and now, if people talk about it, it will be worse.”

  “Do you mean that she objected to it?” he exclaimed. “That woman—! Well, I won’t say what I think of her.”

  Laura could not help feeling that it would console her to know what he thought of Lady Masters. But she also felt that the whole conversation was taking place in a dream, in which she and Miles exchanged remarks that sounded lucid and rational, but meant nothing. The alternative to the dream theory was that everything she said was doomed to be misunderstood and that Miles was sympathizing with her for quite the wrong reasons.

  “She couldn’t help it. You see . . .”

  Miles waited, but Laura said no more. It was difficult to know where to begin.

  “Very well,” he said, “I won’t abuse her. But what are you going to do now?”

  “I shall never feel sorry for anyone again!” she cried impetuously. “At least, I shall never feel sorry for Toby. I ought to, but somehow I can’t, because really, Miles, he made everything so much worse. What do you mean by saying he had to tell her sometime? If only he had kept it to himself we might have got over it quite easily.”

  This speech was not as enlightening as she had intended. Miles looked oddly unsure of himself, as if he had begun to share the feeling that it was all a dream. Realizing that something more was needed, she added hastily:

  “You see, if he only hadn’t talked it over with her no one need ever have known.”

  Miles drew a deep breath and said: “Laura, are you or are you not engaged to Toby Masters?”

  “I’m not,” said Laura. “I mean, I never was.”

  Trying hard not to blush as the implications of this question grew plain, she only succeeded in blushing more deeply. After a prolonged silence Miles said he must have got hold of the wrong idea. Laura, still blushing, said it was all her fault, and he reminded her that she had just said it was Toby’s fault.

  “It was my fault in the beginning.”

  “It’s a very confusing story,” he said, smiling. “And you may as well know that everyone in the neighbourhood has been telling me for a long time that you were secretly engaged.”

  Laura looked away. She looked at the little river, swollen and muddy after a week’s rain. She heard its gentle murmur as it flowed under the bridge, a soft deceptive sound like Pussy’s voice and all the other voices, muted but confident.

  “You could have asked me,” she said, “instead of listening to everyone in the neighbourhood.”

  “At first, I didn’t believe it. Afterwards . . . and anyway, how could I ask you?”

  Laura said she supposed not.

  “Quite apart from the fact that I never saw you alone. Every time I came to Woodside—and Heaven knows I found enough excuses for coming—’’ He broke off, and then said in quite a different voice: “Do you know what I’m asking you now?”

  “Oh, Miles!” said Laura, forgetting the rules—if indeed she had ever known them—for dealing with a proposal of marriage which you meant to accept as opposed to the proposal which had to be declined in advance.

  “My dear Laura,” he said, “I’m not nearly good enough for you either. But will you marry me?”

  Afterwards Laura, whose memory of this momentous occasion was regrettably confused, thought she must have mixed up the rules and applied the wrong one, for it seemed to her that she had accepted in advance. But at the time neither of them noticed anything unusual. The happiness of being able to acknowledge openly what each had long acknowledged in secret, the relief, for Laura, of finding that all her worries had become completely unimportant, and the sincere pleasure Miles took in denouncing his past stupidity—this occupied them to the exclusion of all else, and time flowed by unheeded while they traced the course of their affection.

  Laura dated her love for Miles from the day when he had stood in the sunlight and looked up at the Cleeve Monument in Bramton, and she had suddenly seen him for the first time. She had not realized then what was happening to her, nor even that it was peculiar to be seeing for the first time someone you had known all your life. Miles said he had loved her long before that; he had fallen in love when she came back to Woodside at the end of the war, but since he was at that time on the edge of bankruptcy he had not felt justified in asking her to marry him.

 
“Not that I’ve much to offer you now,” he said. “Still, I’m solvent.”

  Laura laughed and said that Pussy must be getting quite out of date, as she had only just got round to the news of Miles’s bankruptcy. He agreed that Pussy was losing her grip, and insisted on being told just what she had said; and then he explained that his father—whose generosity was rather greater than his good sense—had died heavily in debt, and that at one time he had thought he would have to sell Marly.

  “Though how she heard of it—!”

  “Poor Pussy,” Laura said cheerfully. “I wonder how soon she’ll hear of this.”

  Happily unaware of the part she had already played in alarming Mrs. Cole, they agreed that Pussy deserved to be told. Why she deserved it was not clear; it was part of their amiable benevolence towards the rest of the world, so much less fortunate than themselves.

  “And, talking of telling people,” Miles said, “do you think your mother will be pleased?”

  “Well, of course it will be a surprise for her,” Laura answered quickly. “She’ll have to get accustomed to it. You know how surprises fluster her.”

  “My darling Laura, it’s nice of you to spare my feelings. But I know more than that.”

  “You are too observant.”

  “I know she wants you to marry Toby Masters.”

  “Was it so obvious?”

  “Fairly obvious,” he said tolerantly. The long talks with Mrs. Cole in the garden at Woodside, in which questions about retaining walls and the draining of the boggy bit had been mingled with favourable allusions to Endbury and dear Toby, had made it painfully clear to him where her sympathies lay. It was Mrs. Cole’s behaviour, more than anything else, that had led him to believe the rumours about Laura’s engagement. But he bore her no malice for it now.

  “It’s because of Endbury, you see. That’s the only reason—because we lived there and she still thinks it ought to belong to us.”

  Miles nodded, forgiving Mrs. Cole for her deception and then forgetting all about her. The mention of Endbury had reminded him of something else.