‘That is why you said you could not have a woman in the abbey,’ said Hilary, at last understanding his strange words when she had arrived.
He nodded. ‘It is dangerous, for even though Mrs Lund cares for her in the cottage she is cunning and sometimes manages to escape. But now I must get her back there. Her behaviour is unpredictable and she could become violent again at any time.’
He stood up, still holding Esmerelda by the hand.
‘Come, Esmerelda, let’s go and find Lundy.’ He turned to Hilary. ‘Open the door for me.’
She was about to do as he said, when she heard the sound of footsteps on the other side.
‘Someone to play with!’ said Esmerelda, struggling to get free.
‘Hell’s teeth!’ said Marcus. He glanced at the fireplace. ‘Over there,’ he said. ‘The wall sconce by the fireplace. Pull it down.’
Hilary was unsurprised at the strange command. She had seen from the plans in the library that the abbey contained a number of secret passages, and she guessed that this was how the one in the drawing-room was accessed. Hurrying over to the fireplace, she took a firm grip on the wall sconce and pulled it downwards. A concealed door at the side of the fireplace swung open.
Holding the struggling, spitting Esmerelda tightly, Marcus manoeuvred her into the secret passage, then closed the door behind him by way of a lever in the passage. The wall sconce, complete with candle, resumed its proper place. And not a moment too soon. The drawing-room door opened, and Mrs and Miss Palmer entered.
Miss Palmer stopped dead. She looked displeased to see Hilary. Recovering herself somewhat, she said suspiciously, ‘I thought I heard voices.’
Hilary replied calmly. ‘As you can see, I am alone.’
‘And up to no good, I imagine,’ said Miss Palmer maliciously.
‘Indeed,’ said her mother. ‘Skulking here in the drawing-room by the best fire when you have work to do. Lord Carisbrooke appointed you to organize his library, girl, not to make yourself at home in the drawing-room. I suggest you get on with it, before I tell him what you are about.’
‘With pleasure,’ said Hilary.
‘Really!’ said Mrs Palmer, as Hilary left the room. ‘What impertinence!’
‘I shall tell Lord Carisbrooke to give her her notice,’ said Miss Palmer.
‘Gentlemen! They know nothing of household matters. Imagine appointing a chit of a girl to a post as a librarian, when a presentable young gentleman would have been so much better.’
Hilary closed the door behind her, glad to be out of their presence.
She went to the library, which she knew would be a haven of peace and quiet. She looked around at the unsorted shelves, and at the books on the table that she had started to sort on the previous day. She ought to continue. The familiar work would soothe her nerves. But she felt disinclined to continue. She went over to the window and stood looking out over the grey gardens. Now she understood Lord Carisbrooke’s surly nature and the cause of his pain. She also understood his contradictory attitude towards her. He was attracted to her, both to her personality and her person. But he could not follow his inclinations, because he was married.
What torments he must have suffered, thought Hilary, as she gazed unseeing over the abbey grounds. What terrible pain. To be married to a wife who was beautiful and clearly dear to him, but who was insane.
She felt an overwhelming sympathy for him, as she thought of what he had had to bear. And he had borne it uncomplainingly. He was a man of great strength of character, but even so, his secret had tried him to his limits. And yet he had kept it, rather than burden her with the truth.
She wandered over to the fire. Caesar lay there with his head on his paws. As she approached, he got up and stood beside her, knocking her hand with his head.
Interpreting the gesture correctly, she stroked his soft fur. The feel of it brought her some comfort. Here, at least, was something uncomplicated. The simple action was soothing and gradually she began to feel calmer.
At last she let her eyes roam round the library. She still felt disinclined to work and yet she must do something to rouse herself from the melancholy that threatened to overtake her. Her eye came to rest on one of the books which she had dusted the previous day. It was very old and contained a number of plans of the abbey. It was in this book that she had seen the secret passages.
She went over to the bookshelves and took it out, carrying it over to the fire. Sitting herself down in a wing chair she opened it and examined the plans. There were a number of secret passages marked. She found the one in the drawing-room and traced it with her finger. Before it reached its other end, she had already guessed where it would come out: in the room behind the tapestry.
And there Marcus was now, if she did not miss her guess, caring for Esmerelda.
This new development caused Hilary pain. Her feelings were deep and sincere, but they were not the sort of feelings she should allow herself to entertain towards a married man. And yet it was difficult for her to hide from them. Lord Carisbrooke was the most compelling man she had ever met. She respected and admired him for carrying his burden uncomplainingly, and for looking after his poor, damaged wife in the abbey instead of sending her to an asylum where she would be beaten and chained. And she felt a profound friendship for him.
If her feelings had gone no further, then she would have been comfortable. Respect, admiration and friendship were perfectly permissible in relation to a married man.
But her other feelings were not so comfortable. She must not encourage the warm and tender feelings she had for him, which led her to want to take him in her arms and comfort him, not only with soothing words but with caresses. Nor must she allow herself to think of the other feelings she had for him, the feelings that rejoiced whenever he took her into his arms. His kisses had been breathtaking; wonderful.
But she must never feel them again. They were dishonourable. They demeaned him. They demeaned her. And they demeaned poor, damaged Esmerelda.
She tried hard to banish them. But whilst it was one thing for her head to decide that she should not feel these things, it was another for her heart to manage it.
She closed the book.
She should get up, busy herself, go about her work, but she could not move. She could only think of Marcus, and her feelings for him. They had been gradually growing, until now she was no longer in any doubt about their nature.
She was in love with him.
She had never thought love would be like this. She had thought it would be like a childhood birthday, exciting and pleasurable but ultimately superficial.
But it was not. Her love for Marcus was as deep as the ocean. It was as strong as the earth. It encompassed every emotion and every passion, filling every corner of her life. It was composed of esteem, friendship, approbation and comfort, all being intuitively given and received. It was desire and passion, longing and yearning. And it was a calling of the spirit, his to hers, and hers to his.
But it could never be fulfilled.
Not for her.
Not for Marcus.
Because Esmerelda was his wife.
With a heavy heart, Hilary forced herself to stand. She made her legs carry her over to the bookcase. And she began to work.
She did so slowly to begin with, but gradually with more decision as the activity gave her an outlet for her feelings. She carried and dusted, sorted and organized, attacking the shelves with vigour. By and by the sorted shelves grew in number, and the unsorted shelves shrank.
She had almost finished the second bookcase when all her good intentions to forget about Marcus were blown away, because he walked into the library.
He was looking pale and his face was drawn. There was a tired set to his head, and his shoulders drooped.
She longed to comfort him. She wanted to pull out a chair and push him gently into it, to stroke his grizzled hair and soothe him with soft words and gentle caresses.
But she could not do it.
&n
bsp; To make sure that she did not forget her good resolution she remained behind the table, where the solid oak and the pile of books formed a barrier between them, and spoke determinedly of Esmerelda.
‘How is she?’ she asked.
As if sensing her need for a barrier, he did not draw any closer. Instead, he stood just within the room.
‘She’s calm,’ he said. His eyes turned to hers. ‘I owe you an explanation.’
‘You owe me nothing,’ she returned gently.
His voice was hollow. ‘I should have told you the truth when I knew you would have to remain here for some days. It was not safe for me to withhold it.’
‘I should have done as you bid me,’ she countered, refusing to let him take the blame. ‘If I had stayed in the abbey I would not have been at risk. Esmerelda would not have seen me in the grounds, and if she had not known of my existence she would not have tried to kill me. But she seemed so normal. I never suspected. And I have done other reprehensible things.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have encouraged —’
‘Never encouraged,’ he interrupted softly.
‘Allowed you to kiss me,’ she continued. ‘But I never dreamed you had a wife.’
‘A wife?’
‘I saw the wedding band on her finger,’ Hilary explained.
He let out a deep sigh. ‘I see.’
He took a step forward and Hilary braced herself against the table.
Then a light man’s voice from the hall interrupted them.
‘Have you seen Miss Wentworth, Lund?’ it asked.
‘Laurence!’ cursed Marcus. ‘Are we never to get any peace? This is what comes of having guests in the abbey. Meet me in the folly,’ he growled, glancing out of the window and seeing that the weather was fine. ‘I must speak to you, but I cannot do it here with the fear of interruptions. I want you to myself. Come as quickly as you can.’
She nodded. There was time for nothing more. The door was already opening and Laurence, beautifully attired in cream breeches, a blue tailcoat, white shirt and expertly-arranged cravat, with highly-polished Hessians adorning his small feet, was walking into the room.
‘Ah! Miss —’ he began with a smile, as his eyes fell on Hilary. Then he saw his cousin. ‘Marcus,’ he said stiffly.
‘Laurence. I was just leaving.’
Laurence bowed.
Marcus left the room.
‘Miss Wentworth. I am pleased to have found you.’ A slight frown wrinkled his brow. ‘Though I am not pleased to have found you at work. That, I hope, will soon be a thing of the past. I have come to ask you if you have had time to consider my proposal.’
Hilary gave an inward sigh. She really did not want to speak to Mr Ulverstone now, but it could not be avoided. Besides, she owed him a polite and final rejection of his hand. ‘I have. I am very flattered by your offer, and sensible of the great honour you do me by making it, but I am sorry, I cannot marry you. My answer must still be "no".’
His brow darkened. ‘I don’t like to think of you at the Hampsons,’ he said. ‘They are ignorant people, and you will have no one to indulge your love of good conversation. Neither Mr nor Mrs Hampson play chess or cards, and I cannot see anything for you there but stagnation. Is my offer really so abhorrent to you that you would prefer a life of servitude?’
‘Your offer is a very attractive one, but I have to refuse it because I do not love you,’ she said gently. ‘I know some people marry without love, and even that they go on to lead happy lives, but that is not for me. I could not marry a man I did not love, no matter how appealing my life might be afterwards.’
‘I see.’
‘I hope you do,’ she said softly.
‘Ah, well.’ His brow cleared. ‘I cannot force you to marry me, nor indeed would I want to. I hope you will be - I was going to say happy; I do not believe that is possible; but at least not unhappy - with the Hampsons.’
‘As to that, I don’t believe I will be with them for very long. Lord Carisbrooke has kindly offered to exert his influence and find me a position in Bath.’
‘Good.’ He looked relieved. ‘That is better than you remaining here. But even so, I will give you my direction. If you change your mind, a letter will bring me to you at any time.’
‘You are very good.’
‘I fear not,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘Selfishness is my motivation, and not goodness.’
He took out a card and handed it to her.
‘I wish you well, Miss Wentworth, whatever your future holds,’ he said.
‘And I you.’
‘Then we part as friends,’ he said with a smile.
‘Indeed we do.’
He made her a bow and left the room.
Hilary glanced at the card, which contained his name and address, and saw that he lived in Upper Brook Street. It was a fashionable and expensive part of London. If she had been able to accept his hand she would have been going there this afternoon, instead of to a local farmer’s house. But she did not regret her decision.
She waited only for his footsteps to recede before she slipped upstairs, dropped the card on the dressing-table, threw on her pelisse, and headed for the folly.
She should not be doing it, said her head. She should be avoiding Marcus. No good could come of meeting him. But her feet took her onwards, speeding across the lawns and threading her way through the shrubbery until at last she emerged in sight of the folly.
She stopped.
She was suddenly afraid.
If she went any further she would be alone with Marcus and there would be no chance of interruption. If their passions should get the better of them ....She lifted her chin. She must make sure they did not.
She went forward again, more slowly now, approaching the ruined temple. It was exactly as she remembered it. Its devastated walls looked ghostly in the November light.
At first she thought Marcus had not come. But then she saw him emerging from the ruin. Every line of him was dear to her: his shaggy hair, his deep-set eyes, his strong features and his bear-like frame. She felt a tug towards him as if she was being drawn towards a lodestone and fought it with all her might. If she went to him now she would fly into his arms. And so she resisted the pull, looking at him across the clearing, drinking him in.
He was the first to break the silence that stretched between them.
‘You came.’
She nodded. She did not trust herself to speak..
His hand raised. ‘I want you so much ... ’
She could tell he needed to touch her. And she needed him to. She needed to feel him running his hand over her face, and she needed to turn her cheek against it, luxuriating in his caress.
But it could not be.
He let his hand fall. ‘I can never have you,’ he said.
She could tell how desperately he wanted to close the distance between them. She could see him trembling with tension as he willed himself to stay where he was.
She must help him; remind him why they must remain apart.
‘But you are married,’ she whispered.
‘No.’
She barely heard the word, for he had stepped towards her. He had abandoned the fight and given in to the attraction between them.
He raised his hand again and this time he was close enough to stroke her cheek.
She felt her mouth go dry.
She should shake him off. But it felt so wonderful that she did not have the will to do it.
‘I am not married,’ he said.
This time, his words reached her. He must be married. She had seen Esmerelda’s ring.
‘Esmerelda —’ she said.
‘— is not my wife.’
‘Not ... ?’
Hilary stared. She thought he had said Esmerelda was not his wife. But she must have misheard him. Her senses, clouded by his touch, were not to be trusted.
‘Esmerelda is my sister,’ he said softly.
‘Your sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘But the ring —’
‘Was my mother’s. She left it to Esmerelda when she died.’
Hilary felt the first stirrings of hope growing inside her.
‘Then ....’
‘Then we are free to marry?’ He finished the sentence for her. ‘No, my love, we are not.’
Her spirits sank. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘In a way, I wish Esmerelda was my wife. Then, at least in the future, we might have a chance of happiness, you and I.’
Hilary’s confusion was written across her face.
‘This has all been very sudden,’ he said. ‘You have not yet had a chance to understand what it means.’
He took her arm and led her inside the ruined temple. Large stones, arranged with apparent negligence, formed a perfect seat.
She sank down onto the mossy stone.
He sat beside her.
He took her hands and looked into her eyes.
‘My father was mad. My sister is mad. And one day I, too, will be mad. And that is why I can never marry you.’
She gave a deep sigh. So this was the terrible secret that haunted the abbey. At last she understood.
But it did not change her feelings for him.
‘It is a terrible misfortune,’ she said, ‘but it does not make any difference to my feelings for you. I love you, Marcus. I love you sane, and I will love you insane. Did you really believe it would be otherwise?’
He gave a bleak smile. ‘No. I knew it would not.’
‘I will look after you, care for you —’
‘My love, I could never allow it. I know what agonies you would suffer. I saw my mother suffer them as my father went mad. I saw her fear. I saw her anguish. I saw her pity.’
‘It is true I might come to fear you, and I might also pity you, but you are forgetting that I would also love you.’
He took her hands in his.
‘God bless you for that. But even so, it can never be. You do not know what will happen. My behaviour will become unpredictable, and in the end it will become violent. I might attack you, or even kill you.’
‘But this is all in the future,’ she protested. ‘We would have some time together first. Weeks, months, perhaps even years.’
Carisbrooke Abbey Page 13
