The Marlows

by Rosalind Laker

She became very still, registering, without really being aware of it, every detail of the strong hand that clasped her wrist, its touch cool, a gold signet ring on the little finger, the faint, dark hairs that ran down the broad back of it. Slowly she lifted her head to look up into his face.

  “Why did you lend him so much?” she asked brokenly.

  A glimmer of gentle amusement at her naiveté showed for a moment in the depths of his eyes. Still holding her wrist he reached out for the back of his chair, twirled it forward, and sat down to lean toward her. “That’s a relatively small sum among gaming men, although I realize you wouldn’t appreciate that. As a matter of fact, in this case it was the residue of a much larger amount, but that’s not for us to talk about. The purpose of my appointment with him at your home village, which you must forgive me for mentioning once again, was for him to settle what he could of his debt to me.”

  “He came back with very little in his pockets.”

  “I’m not surprised to hear it. The whole season had gone against him. He had hoped to recoup some of his losses out of the last flat races of the season, but it’s rare that a man’s luck will turn at that stage.”

  “Why on earth did he keep on throwing money away when he was losing all the time?” she exclaimed in despairing exasperation. “It would have been better if he’d left and come home until the spring again.”

  He gave a little shrug. “It’s an old saying that a good win will take ‘a man from the gaming tables, but heavy losses will keep him playing. The same adage applies to any kind of gambling.”

  “Would you say my father was an unlucky gambler?”

  “He wasn’t always the wisest of punters, but at times he had some curious flash of insight — not often enough, unfortunately — when he could win enormously by pulling off the most outside gamble. I believe he had it about Young Oberon.”

  She became aware that his thumb was lightly stroking her inner wrist, almost absently but caressingly, but even as she snatched her hand away she was convinced she understood the true meaning of his words.

  “So it was greed that made you refuse my father’s request to buy your share of the colt,” she exclaimed wrathfully, springing to her feet. “You couldn’t bear the thought of his reaping alone the harvest of his foresight if that gamble should come off.”

  He rose from his chair and answered her with a deliberate courtesy that deflated her and made her long to bite back the accusation she had uttered. “My father owned a stud before me, and I was bred to the racing world. There’s little I don’t know about it and the men who people it. I understood the pattern of Oliver Marlow’s ways. Had I agreed to sell he would have paid me with money borrowed from another source, and removed Young Oberon from Ainderly Hall, not wanting to risk getting deeper into debt at my stables where I might make some claim on the colt again. As I told you, he was like a man possessed over Young Oberon. Then the devil only knows where he might have placed him for training and under which trainer, all too many of them mediocre in my opinion. I believe I have one of the best, but Oliver and I didn’t always see eye to eye about this, partly because he was so besotted with the colt that he thought none good enough for him.”

  She interrupted, having an important question to ask. “Did you quarrel with my father?”

  He answered without hesitation. “There was ill will between us toward the end due to my refusal to sell, but I knew that it only needed another hard loss or two on the course or at the tables for the colt to be put up as stake or for sale. That would have been the end to Oliver’s dream and everything else. Most important of all Young Oberon could have lost the chance forever of becoming a great race horse.”

  She threw out her hands expressively. “This I can understand. My father lost possession of a good race horse once before in a similar manner. I spoke too hastily to you and I regret it. But I’m still in a quandary to grasp why you refuse to buy the half share from me for a fair amount that can offset at least a fraction of the money owing you.”

  He moved closer to her, looking down into her face from his superb height. “Young Oberon is an unknown quantity and so are you, Tansy. I’m set on discovery. If I release the rein of joint ownership you’ll fly from me. I can see it in your face.”

  She was speechless for a few seconds. Then hastily she gathered up her drawstring bag, thrusting her tea-sodden handkerchief into it, wanting only to get away from this contrary man and out of his house. “As far as I’m concerned you may do whatever you wish with the colt. He’s yours to train and race. In the meantime I promise that my father’s debts to you will be paid. It will take time, but I’ll not have them on my conscience and I’ll manage to settle them all somehow. I bid you good day, sir!”

  She swung away to make her departure as Roger arrived breathlessly in the doorway, his face radiant. “They let me help trace-clip Young Oberon and put a blanket on him afterward —”

  “Be silent!” Tansy ordered, astonishing him with her anger, and she caught him by the shoulder to whirl him about with her out into the hall. “Don’t speak the colt’s name to me ever again. We retain our half share, but on paper only. There’s an end to it. Say good day to Mr. Reade. We’re going home.”

  She swept out of the door and was seated in the wagonette when Roger emerged to shake hands with Dominic on the threshold. “Thank you again, Mr. Reade. I’ll not be late tomorrow morning. Mr. Harris showed me the hack I’m to ride.”

  “That’s good. Goodbye now.”

  Roger, casting sidelong glances at his sister, did not speak until they had left the grounds of Ainderly Hall and were some distance along the private road. “What happened?” he asked cautiously.

  She told him everything except Dominic’s extraordinary declaration in those last traumatic minutes in the drawing room, anger glowing white-hot within her. She seemed still to feel that cool, firm touch on her wrist. “So,” she concluded finally, “not only are we still legally bound to half-ownership of the colt, but I also have to find two thousand pounds to pay off Papa’s debts.”

  He responded with an incredulous half laugh at the frightening absurdity of such a prospect. “It might as well be a million pounds for all the chance you’ll have of raising that sort of money. Only at breakfast you said we must have a family conference this evening to include Amelia and decide how best to economize in every possible way to keep within our strictly limited means.”

  She dipped her head. “I know. I’ll break the news to them then. But I’ve thought of something. I’ll mortgage Rushmere.”

  They gathered in the dining room for the evening discussion. Tansy took the chair at the head of the table with past household account ledgers in front of her, both her sisters on the left side, and Roger at the end. Amelia, after fussing about pouring out glasses of homemade sherry wine, which she placed before each of them on individual little crocheted mats, finally took a seat opposite Judith, who gave her a shy smile which was eagerly returned. Judith did not have it in her nature to hold a grudge of any kind against anybody, and although she knew Amelia to be an adulteress — the very word conjuring up fire and brimstone — she read her Bible daily and would have been at Christ’s side to defend her foster father’s mistress against the stone-throwers. As to Oliver himself, who had broken the same commandment, she was sure all the good in him had been weighed against his sins and that he was in heaven and not in hell. Judith saw God in her own image. His wrath was mild annoyance and his love innocently boundless.

  Tansy opened the family meeting. “The two housemaids left this morning and Cook departed half an hour ago. The gardener, who also doubled as groom, has found another place already. Amelia gave them all excellent references. In future we’ll share out the household chores as we did at home to help Mama, and Judith, who makes better bread than anybody I know, will do the cooking whenever she feels able to; otherwise I’ll be in charge in the kitchen. The store cupboards are well stocked with preserves, pickles, ham, dried and salted foods, and all sorts o
f other good things. The cellar has racks of Amelia’s homemade wine, which she has told me is her specialty. We’re tasting a sample in this excellent sherry wine she has poured for us, and if the rest are half as good we are indeed fortunate. Also stored in the cellar are sackloads of potatoes, carrots, and turnips, strings of onions, and trays of apples — much like our winter cellar at home and enough to last us through until the spring. I shall see that we eke out everything as economically as possible. After this, evening wine will be kept for special occasions. Amelia is most anxious that hospitality to visitors should not be impaired and I’m sure we all understand her sensitivity on this point.”

  “We’re all used to playing our part,” Nina said pointedly, “but what is Amelia going to do? Playing hostess doesn’t get the kitchen floor scrubbed.”

  “I’ve given thought to it,” Amelia said swiftly. “I’ll continue to make wine and tend the flowerbeds. I have always enjoyed doing that. I have green fingers with flowers and plants —”

  “What about vegetables?” Tansy inquired practically.

  Amelia was taken aback. “I never touched the kitchen garden or any of the hard work. The gardener always did that and took out any of the tough weeds for me. In any case,” she ended flatly, “I couldn’t dig.”

  “Why ever not?” Nina asked, bristling. She was determined to have no outdoor chores herself, having had enough garden duties in the past. “You’re fit and strong. There’s nothing to it.”

  “My hands!” Amelia exclaimed weakly, displaying their soft palms. “And I wouldn’t have the strength.”

  “I’ll do the digging,” Tansy said to settle the argument, “and all of us except Judith can do work in the garden, but we’ll put Amelia in charge.” She looked down the table at her brother. “We’re not counting on you being here, Roger. During your visit to Mr. Reade’s stables tomorrow morning you can ask the advice of Mr. Harris about the best place to apply — other than Ainderly Hall.”

  Roger opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and nodded glumly. Judith turned to Tansy. “What’s wrong with Mr. Reade’s stables if he could get taken on as a jockey there?”

  “Everything!” Tansy declared promptly. “Oh, I don’t mean with conditions at the stud. It’s just that the less any of us has to do with Dominic Reade the better.”

  “He is a very nice gentleman,” Amelia protested, round-eyed, “and he gives the most entertaining parties and balls. I wouldn’t want to miss those.”

  “You must do whatever you wish,” Tansy answered her on a tired sigh. “The rest of us hold him responsible for Papa’s death.”

  “You do, you mean,” Roger exclaimed bitterly, putting two clenched fists on the table before him. “But it was you who left Father to die alone.”

  There was a terrible silence. Tansy went paper-white and looked toward her sisters. Both met her eyes without accusation, blaming neither her nor anybody else. She turned to Amelia and surprised a sad look of hopelessness before the soft lids lowered, but there had been no blame. Only Roger had spoken out the personal resentment he had been harbouring. She looked down the table at him again.

  “I had no idea how you felt,” she said in a strangled voice. “It is as well that it has come out into the open. As a family we have always been honest with each other.”

  He was scarlet with mortification. “I’m sorry. It was a cruel thing to say, and now I’ve said it I don’t feel it anymore.” The clenched fists had become restless hands clasping and unclasping each other. “It came out because of something else. I wish I’d never made that promise not to ask Mr. Reade to take me on at his stables.” His voice cracked on a note of utter despair. “Young Oberon is going to win the Derby one day and I’ll not be there to bring him to it.”

  “What is all this?” Nina demanded impatiently, looking from Tansy to Roger and back again.

  “Young Oberon is the name of Papa Oliver’s colt,” Judith volunteered, having been told all about him by Roger, who had always found hers to be a sympathetic ear.

  In a shaky voice Tansy gave them an account of her afternoon visit to Ainderly Hall, only keeping back again Dominic’s private words to her. Both her sisters gasped with dismay at hearing of the size of the debts that their father had incurred. Even Amelia was startled. She had never known Oliver without money. There had been times when he had been short of it and she’d had to wait for things she’d wanted, but he had always rewarded her patience with an additional trinket or two, and she had shown her appreciation in loving, erotic ways that had delighted his passionate, lustful nature. That he had been in and out of debt at those times had never occurred to her.

  “Tell everybody the solution you’ve thought of,” Roger encouraged Tansy, wanting — now the poison was out of his system — to make amends and heal the breach as quickly as possible. There was the chance, too, that she might relent and absolve him from that dreadful promise that he must have been mad to make. He couldn’t believe she would truly deny him the opportunity of a lifetime. Not now when he had poured out his heart’s longing to be with Young Oberon on the greatest day in a race horse’s life.

  Tansy made her announcement. “It’s quite simple. I’m going to raise a mortgage on Rushmere.”

  Amelia piped up. “But you can’t! It’s been done already. Oliver did that a year to two after he sold of the last piece of its spare land. He said it was necessary at the time and I didn’t question him about it. It was a private arrangement with Mr. Reade and still stands as far as I know.”

  Tansy leaned her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands. She was thwarted at every turn, either wittingly or unwittingly, by the one man she least wanted to associate with. There seemed no escape from him.

  “Then there’s no help for it,” she said, lifting her head again and letting her hands fall wearily. “We’ll have to turn Rushmere into a lodging house for racegoers at Epsom when the flat-racing season starts in the spring and accommodate others on their travels between one racecourse and another.”

  The pandemonium that broke out with cries of hysterical protest from Nina and Amelia ended the family meeting. Tansy, unable to endure any more that day, thrust herself up from the chair and dashed from the room. She fetched her cloak, threw it about her shoulders, and went out into the dark, quiet night, leaving the noisy hubbub still going on in the dining room.

  She walked. After starting off at a frantic pace she checked herself once she was outside the gates of Rushmere and changed to a brisk tread. Down through the village she went where the twinkling lights of the large houses showed through the trees and lamps glowed in the cottage windows. The grocery store was still open, and in the lighted butcher’s shop a tired boy in a stained apron was sweeping out the sawdust. The church stood dark against the night sky. By a bridge that spanned a narrow river she took a rest, going a little way down the bank to sit down on a flat stone and watch the shining water slipping by.

  She had much to think over. Roger had made her see how wrong she had been to let grief embitter her, and she realized all too clearly that she had made Dominic a scapegoat for a personal feeling of guilt about her father’s death that she had not dared to face up to. She was grateful to her brother for forcing her to get the whole matter into perspective. Her hostility toward Dominic on other points was fiercely unabated, there being too much conflict between them, but in all fairness she was compelled to wonder if she should give Roger the chance to withdraw his promise to her. Her quarrel with Dominic was not his. On her shoulders alone rested the burden of all the unpleasant involvement with the man who had cast a shadow across her life.

  She turned her thoughts to her father’s debts. Had he kept up the mortgage payments? Or was there more to be added to the amount she had to settle? Somewhere in Rushmere there must be a document and papers dealing with the mortgage, because there had been nothing of that kind in the strongbox opened by the lawyer. She would ask Amelia about the matter in the morning. Most sincerely she hoped that Nin
a and Amelia would have settled down by then and accustomed themselves to the idea of making Rushmere a hostelry.

  She herself had seen it as a flash of inspiration. That morning while Nina had been at Ainderly Hall she had made an inspection of the house with Amelia, going into all the rooms from basement to attic, and during that time Amelia had talked incessantly, obviously enjoying herself, a clear indication to Tansy that she had suffered hours of loneliness in Oliver’s absence. Among the information that Amelia had supplied, which had included gossip about the local gentry with whom she was genteelly proud to be associated, there was a description of what it was like in Epsom and the surrounding villages when the Derby and other important races were run. Not nearly enough accommodation was available for racegoers, who crammed themselves into every available room in hotel, inn, and cottage, or else were forced to sleep where they could in barns or tents or under trees in the open air. With the roads crowded with every kind of racegoing traffic, it was, she had declared, a nightmare for all but persons of quality able to stay with well-to-do friends or relatives in the big houses in the vicinity and take places during the day in the Grand Stand. The brawls and fights, the attacking and robbing of people on foot and in carriages had, according to Amelia, to be seen to be believed. She had flung up her dainty hands, and the wedding ring that she had no legal right to wear gleamed on her third finger.

  Tansy, breaking off a piece of tall grass and twirling it, recalled the moment of her arrival at Rushmere when, glimpsing the trace of smoke above one of the chimneys, she had jumped to the conclusion that her father had given an open invitation to his racing acquaintances that they should use the house whenever they were passing through the district. That was what she was going to do, but they would pay for the privilege and would receive the best food she could produce, cooked well as she knew she could cook it, and rest their travel-wearied limbs in Rushmere’s comfortable beds.

  Hearing a carriage coming along the road she paid no attention, and when it came to a halt by the bridge she glanced toward it, saw it to be a conveyance built for speed and driven by one man, who sat half-hidden by the raised hood, and her reaction was more exasperation at the intrusion on her solitude than curiosity as to why he should have stopped at that particular spot, but she knew she could not be seen from the road in the darkness and hoped he would soon drive on again. But he was waiting for someone and she saw him tense when a horse and rider approached from the opposite direction, the hooves clip-clopping over the bridge. She could see the new arrival’s silhouette above the parapet, black and compact, at ease in the saddle, and she followed him with her eyes until he came with a word of greeting to a halt by the carriage, the hood of it blocking him from her sight, and conversation began between the two men in low, urgent tones.