Broken Threads
Page 21
Certainly it was because he had left her in the lurch that she’d made this absurd marriage with Armstrong. Armstrong ‒ so far as he could learn, the man hadn’t had a penny to his name. What a match for the great Miss Corvill of Gatesmuir and Waterside Mill! She must have been desperate to take such a nothing of a fellow.
Archie didn’t know how long Armstrong was likely to stay in Australia. But from all that he could hear, he wasn’t expected back soon. If he had written to say he was returning, word would have got around. And as it took between seventy and eighty days on the fastest clipper, that gave him probably three months at the very least ‒ and more if the man was busy on some scheme at the back of beyond.
He might need all the time he could get. Jenny was showing herself very unwilling to know him. The fact that it wasn’t going to be an easy conquest made it all the more stimulating. He would win in the end. He had very few failures in his history.
But September ended and October came. He still hadn’t had any further conversation with Jenny Armstrong. On two occasions they were at the same place at the same time, but there were others present, so she avoided him by simply staying inside a group where she could ignore him.
Hallowe’en came, and with it the traditional family parties with bobbing for apples and forfeits. There was to be a party at Gatesmuir, but Archie had not received an invitation. Still, Halloween was an occasion when you could get in almost anywhere by turning up with a turnip lantern and a seasonal gift.
Archie presented himself at the front door of Gatesmuir with the largest turnip lantern ever seen in the town ‒ a work of art made for him by his head gardener. When, as tradition demanded, the housemaid had let him in and carried the lantern ahead of him into the main room, Archie stepped from behind her with a gift basket of fruit direct from Edinburgh that morning.
Jenny had come forward in welcome. He saw how she froze when she saw who it was. He was shocked. What was more, to his own amazement he was hurt.
She couldn’t really dislike him that much?
‘Thank you for your lantern, Mr Brunton,’ she said, after a hesitation. ‘We’ll put it on the mantelpiece in the place of honour.’
‘I hope you’ll accept my gift, too, Mrs Armstrong, with wishes for the protection of this house on All Hallows Eve.’
She smiled thanks, found a place for him on a sofa with the Maitlands, and busied herself with supervising the children in their game with the apples in a tub. Heather was playing no part. But, on the other hand, she hadn’t withdrawn into a corner. She was sitting on a tabouret watching with amused interest.
It was a good party, held early so that the children wouldn’t have to go to bed too late, and full of merriment and foolish pranks. Only when everyone at last dispersed did Archie realise he had scarcely been able to exchange a word with his hostess and that, moreover, the hothouse fruit in his gift basket had been distributed among the home-going children.
Next day was 1 November, the opening of the foxhunting season. Archie hunted, although he wasn’t as devoted to the sport as some. On this particular opening day, however, he decided to attend, because the hunt was going to draw on Mossilee Hill to the southwest of the Corvill property.
Archie found no trouble in detaching himself and one or two others from the direct tracks of the hounds, so that to get back on the scent they had to make a detour along the edge of the wood that sheltered Gatesmuir from the easterly winds. Catching a glimpse of the rest of the field streaming away towards Clovenfords, his two companions dashed in pursuit.
Well content, Archie Brunton set his horse at a fence, jumped it well enough to come to no harm, and then deliberately came off so as to get his breeches and jacket well smeared with mud. His hat came off. He left it in the dirt. Then, leading his horse, he picked his way through the wood, came along the footpath that led to the back gate of Gatesmuir, and limped piteously to the stables.
Tam Dunlop, the coachman, was working on some harness. ‘Guid sakes, Mr Brunton, you’ve ta’en a tumble!’
‘I have. It comes of being abroad so long, Tam. Out of practice for the hard country.’
‘Set you down, set you down, and I’ll fetch you a dram.’
‘Thank you. And if I could stay here a while till the mud dries so that you could brush me down and make me respectable …’
‘No trouble at all, sir. And I’ll give your horse a bit of a rub and a blanket till he cools down. I’ll be back in a minute.’
He sent word to the house that Mr Brunton had had a tumble and would be the better of a dram of whisky. Likewise a bandage for his ankle, which he seemed to have wrenched, and a brush for his muddy clothes. In a few minutes the kitchen maid arrived with the requirements.
Archie drank the whisky, refused the bandage, sat for a little, then tidied himself up. Then he went to the front door and knocked.
‘Mr Brunton!’ said Thirley, when she opened to him.
‘Would you tell your mistress how grateful I am for her kindness?’
Thirley smiled and dipped a curtsey. ‘I will, sir, when she comes in.’
‘She’s not at home?’
‘She’s at the mill, sir, as usual.’
He’d forgotten that in his planning. He’d arranged to be at Gatesmuir on a pretext that would give him a good opportunity to speak to her direct when no one else was by. But the lady was literally not at home.
He glanced at the hall clock. A quarter to twelve. She probably came home soon after twelve.
He swayed realistically and grasped at a nearby chair. ‘I think I’ll sit down for a minute,’ he murmured. ‘I think I must have hit my head when I came off.’
‘Surely, sir, surely. But come into the drawing room. I’m sure the mistress wouldn’t wish you to sit out in the hall.’
He allowed himself to be persuaded into the drawing room. He sank down on a chair. Thirley fluttered round him. ‘Can I fetch you anything, sir?’
‘A hot drink, I think ‒ tea or coffee ‒ if Cook wouldn’t mind.’
‘Mind, sir! What an idea!’ Off she hurried, thrilled to have the handsome, rich Mr Brunton in need of her ministrations.
So when Jenny came in at twelve fifteen, it was to find Archie Brunton sitting in her drawing room with one foot on a footstool, drinking coffee and looking very much at home.
Thirley had explained his presence when she opened the front door to her mistress. ‘Hunting … a fall … a bit dizzy … thought it best …’
‘Quite right, Thirley,’ Jenny agreed. To her daughter she said, ‘Run upstairs, lambkin, and wash your hands for lunch.’
When she went into the drawing room Archie made a show of trying to get to his feet. Jenny surveyed him. He certainly looked as if he had had a fall. But on the other hand his voice sounded perfectly unshaken as he said, ‘Forgive the intrusion, Mrs Armstrong.’
‘How are you feeling?’ she inquired.
‘Not bad, not bad. Foolish business, eh? But I’m out of practice, as I was saying to your coachman. I’ve not been hunting in over a year.’
She nodded. She made no attempt to sit down, and in fact seemed on the verge of leaving the room. ‘I’ve blundered in upon your lunch hour,’ he said in apologetic tones. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He hoped she would say, ‘Stay and eat with us.’ But she merely smiled and replied, ‘It’s no matter. I can eat later ‒ the routine is quite elastic.’
‘You go back to the mill afterwards?’
She nodded.
‘I’m being a nuisance to you, then. Please don’t feel you have to stay and be polite ‒ I’ll just sit quietly until I recover enough to ride home.’
‘Do you feel you need a doctor?’ she inquired. ‘I can easily send for Dr Lauder.’
‘Oh, no, no ‒ I’m quite all right, just shaken up, that’s all.’ The devil with all this pretence, he thought. He got up, and went towards her. ‘I’m glad to have this opportunity to speak to you, Jenny. We never seem to exchange a word these days.’
‘I have something to say to you,’ he took it up. ‘I want to tell you that when I left so suddenly all those years ago, it was because my mother commanded me to go. It wasn’t by my own wish.’
‘I really don’t think there’s any point in going over the past, Mr Brunton.’
‘Mr Brunton! Surely old acquaintances should call each other by their Christian names.’
She shook her head, untouched by the wistful appeal he had put into his voice.
‘Jenny, what’s the matter? You don’t still have any anger towards me for the past?’
‘Which past are we speaking about?’ she asked. ‘The one you are trying to sketch in, or the real one?’
‘What?’
‘I wasn’t perturbed when you went away. I was very glad.’
He was so astounded that his mouth almost fell open. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s not discuss it. Please feel free to rest until you are well enough to leave, Mr Brunton.’
‘But Jenny ‒ what are you saying? You were glad when my mother sent me away?’
‘Yes.’
‘But I don’t understand! I never understood it then ‒ she never would explain why she suddenly decided to pack me off to the Colonies.’
Jenny shrugged. ‘She probably couldn’t bring herself to discuss it with you. And nor shall I.’
‘But look here ‒ I can’t have this ‒ you seem to be saying you know something about it.’
‘Yes.’
‘I demand to be told.’
‘You demand?’ She drew herself up. ‘What right have you to demand anything? You trick your way into my house by pretending to have hurt yourself out hunting, you try to inveigle yourself into my good graces at every chance ‒ what is it for? What do you think you’re going to achieve? Do you think I’m another Lucy?’
Archie flinched at the name. Then he went first red, then white. ‘Lucy?’ he muttered.
Jenny sighed. ‘I knew I should never have entered into conversation with you. But you wouldn’t be put off.’
‘Lucy! You knew about Lucy?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that’s impossible ‒’
‘You overestimate your own discretion. I saw you together.’
His mind was working overtime. ‘And … and you told my mother?’ He went stiff with anger. ‘That was a very mean thing to do, Mrs Armstrong!’
‘It was a very mean thing to do on your part ‒ the seduction of a silly, vain little girl. But I didn’t tell your mother about it willingly. She insisted on a reason for my not wishing to see you any more, and in the end I had to tell her. I may say,’ Jenny added, knowing it was cruel, ‘she wasn’t surprised. She was angered but not surprised.’
Archie felt for a chair and lowered himself into it. He looked as shaken as if he really had had a bad hunting fall.
‘She never said a word of it to me.’
‘I imagine she felt a distaste ‒’
‘She often used to lay down the law to me, but this time she simply ordered me to go on my travels.’
‘And you went, without asking any questions!’
‘Of course I went! Glad to go! Everybody in the neighbourhood was edging me into matrimony. People kept asking me if we’d named the day ‒ I didn’t want to be a married man! So when Mother said ‒’ He broke off abruptly.
Jenny made a little gesture of impatience. ‘You were desperately anxious to get away from me then. But now that I’m safely married to someone else, you want to get close to me. Do you think I’m a fool, Mr Brunton?’
‘I … I only want to be friends …’
‘You’re incapable of being friends with a woman, in my opinion ‒’
He started to his feet again, straightening his shoulders. ‘You’ve made your opinion quite plain, and now that you’ve told me the reason, I quite understand. Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Armstrong.’
She rang for the maid, gave him a slight bow, and stood aside as he went into the hall. Thirley was there with his hat, which had been found by the fence. His horse, refreshed, was waiting outside.
As he reached the doorway to the porch, Archie Brunton turned back for a moment. ‘Mrs Armstrong,’ he said, as if the words were forced out of him, ‘this has been the most extraordinary conversation I ever had in my life.’
His face, as he looked at her, was different. For the first time, she thought to herself, he looked fully adult ‒ the boyish charm had gone, and perhaps for good.
Chapter Fifteen
Eating lunch with Heather, Jenny gave only part of her attention to her little girl. She was chiding herself for losing her temper enough to mention Lucy. But perhaps it had needed that to drive off Archie Brunton.
If she thought he was driven off, she was mistaken. Their confrontation had taken place on a Friday. On Sunday morning a manservant arrived from The Mains Farm, bearing a burden wrapped in fine tissue paper. Thirley brought this into the drawing room, where Jenny and Heather were passing the time with a book before setting out for church.
Surprised, Jenny accepted the package. She untied the tape and folded back the tissue paper. Within was a porcelain plate on which were arranged glacé fruits in little sugar cases, protected by a sheet of waxed paper. The effect was colourful and attractive. Heather gave a little coo of pleasure.
Tied across the plate was a ribbon. Attached to the ribbon was a little envelope. Jenny opened it and drew out a folded card. On one side of the fold was engraved Archibald Brunton’s name. On the other a message was written.
‘Dear Mrs Armstrong, This is to convey my thanks for your hospitality on Friday. It is also to beg you to receive me this afternoon, if only for a quarter of an hour. I promise the interview will be entirely calm.’
Thirley was waiting inside the drawing room door, agog. ‘I was to ask for an answer, mistress.’
Jenny’s impulse was to say no. But she had an awful feeling that there would be a stream of such gifts and notes until she said yes. The man wanted to see her to justify himself, or to restore his own image of himself ‒ some such folly. So she might as well get it over with.
‘Tell the servant the answer is yes.’
‘Very good, mistress.’ Thirley went out all smiles. There was nothing she wanted more than a pretty flirtation between these two notable people, which she could relate to all her friends on her day off.
At church Jenny’s mind was not on the service. She was regretting that she had allowed Mr Brunton’s visit. But she felt to some extent secure ‒ other friends would be calling, she could easily end any tête-à-tête with this troublesome man.
The Corvills had originally been Huguenots, and her dead father had had strict views on how Sunday should be employed. But now that Jenny had only herself to consider, she had changed the routine a little. She went to the parish church for the morning service, she had a light lunch, and then in the afternoon she received visitors. The evening meal was the big meal of the day, to which guests were often invited, especially businessmen who travelled on Sunday so as to get an early start on mill visits on the Monday.
When Archie Brunton presented himself that afternoon, he was vexed to see other coats and hats over the settle in the hall. The maid let him in with a bright, welcoming smile. He was ushered into the drawing room, where he found Mr and Mrs Barkworth and their half-grown-up daughter showing off a collection of pressed flowers.
Jenny welcomed her visitor, showed him to a seat, inquired if he had recovered from his injuries. This immediately brought forth exclamations of anxiety from Cecilia Barkworth: had he hurt himself badly, where did it happen, had he seen a doctor?
Archie said, ‘I’m quite well, thank you, Miss Barkworth. It was just a tumble.’
‘Shall you be well enough for the St Andrew’s Day Ball?’
‘I’m well enough for it now.’
Mi
ss Barkworth held her breath. She wanted him to ask if she was going and if so, whether she would save him a dance. Archie did neither of these things. He was waiting anxiously for these pestiferous people to go.
When Jenny said she would ring for tea, the Barkworths arose. ‘Thank you, Mrs Armstrong, but we promised to take tea with Miss Menzies ‒ she is Cecilia’s godmother, you know. You won’t mind if we rush away? Delightful to see you. Sorry the little girl was asleep ‒ should have loved to see her. Goodbye, goodbye ‒’ And off they went in a flurry of capes and mufflers.
When the sound of their footsteps on the drive had died away, Jenny returned to her seat. Archie was about to begin the speech he had rehearsed, but she held up her hand. ‘The maid will be here with the tea in a moment.’
Feeling an utter fool, he shut his mouth. Thirley came in, set the tea-tray, lit the little spirit lamp under the kettle for extra hot water, eyed everything complacently, and went out.
‘Will you have some tea, Mr Brunton?’
‘Mrs Armstrong, I didn’t come here to drink tea!’
‘I suppose not.’ With well-acted composure Jenny poured tea for herself.
‘I came … I came …’ Everything he had rehearsed went out of his head. ‘I seem to remember being gey tactless on Friday. I said I was glad to get out of marrying you.’
‘Tactless, but also honest.’
‘Aye, that’s true. I’ve never fancied the married state. The fact that I got so near it with you is a … it’s a kind of backhanded compliment.’
Jenny smiled to herself. ‘Very gallant,’ she observed.
‘Oh, damnit ‒ I’m making an utter mess of this! I thought I’d be marvellously polite and apologetic and you’d understand …’
‘What is it you want me to understand? You were almost engaged to me, you took my sister-in-law to bed, you were found out, and the engagement was off. Those are the facts, aren’t they?’