‘And if Thomas comes back?’ said Eric.
Robert looked at him gravely. ‘Do you think it likely? And if he did, he could not claim his inheritance without a lawsuit. Meanwhile, we must deal with things as they are. I can at least correct the injustice as far as Jane is concerned.’
‘It … could be a good idea.’ Lisa looked at her daughter. ‘We must consider it. But I hope your father isn’t seriously ill, Robert.’
‘He proposes to take a sea voyage soon,’ said Robert. ‘He says he knows a captain who will hire himself and his boat to George for a week or two of sailing up and down the south coast. He hopes the sea air will make his cough better. We may pray that it does. But whatever happens, meanwhile, marriage to me would make Jane secure. I know my father has promised her a dowry, but I frankly doubt if it would be a generous one. My offer could be better.’
Jane looked bemused. Lisa raised a hand to her brow and rubbed her palm across her forehead as though trying to clear her mind. Robert looked from one to the other.
‘Jane would come back to France with me,’ he said. ‘But I hold a good position in my master’s household. I have rooms in his house, which Jane could share. My master has a wife and a daughter of about her age; his younger brother also lives there and he has a wife as well. Jane would not be a servant, but simply one of the women of the house, engaged on ordinary homely duties just as I have no doubt she is here. Or, Lisa, if you and she would prefer it, she can go on living here, and I will visit her from time to time. By the way, do you speak French, Jane?’
‘Not … not very well,’ Jane stammered.
‘If you chose to come to France, you would soon polish it,’ said Robert. ‘But as I said, you need not leave Firtrees yet unless you wish it and your mother agrees. You are still very young. Well, you both need time to think my proposal over. I realize that.’
‘You’ve taken us very much by surprise,’ said Lisa. ‘We certainly do need time!’
Robert rose to his feet. ‘There is no need to decide today. You must indeed think, and consider.’ He smiled at them, molars and all. ‘Meanwhile, there is my offer.’
It was too late by then to get home the same day. Lisa said that anyone who wanted to stay overnight would be welcome and Robert said that after all, he would stay, though he must leave early in the morning. I was weary but before retiring, I went out into the garden, which I hadn’t seen before. The place was warm and scented in slanting evening light. The miserable and useless search in the wood, and the atmosphere of grief in the house, had left me with an abraded feeling, as though my very spirit had been harshly scraped. In the garden, in solitude, I might find a kind of healing.
The parlour had a door opening on to a terrace at the back of the house. There were three shallow steps down to a square stretch of scythed lawn, and beyond that were some parterre flowerbeds in crescent and diamond shapes, and a small shrubbery. I wandered about for some time, before returning to the terrace, where I paused. A footfall made me turn my head and I saw that Robert Harrison had stepped out to join me.
‘It’s a beautiful evening,’ he said. ‘May I walk with you for a while? You permit?’
I could see no reason to refuse him, though I didn’t want his company and couldn’t really see why he should want mine. Stiffly, I said: ‘By all means, Master Harrison.’
‘There is something I wanted to say to you,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘If all this had not happened …’ He fell in beside me and we began to stroll slowly along the terrace. He made an impatient gesture. ‘I have to do what I can for my cousin Jane. I feel I must. A wrong has been done to her and since it is in my power to put it right, to some extent at least, then I must do so. I have just had a few further words with Lisa and Jane, and I think they will accept my proposal. I shall marry Jane quite soon, and I intend to be a good husband to her. I hope to make her happy, in time, when her grief has had time to heal. I must return to France for a while, to do my duty at the grape harvest, but after that, I shall come back and the wedding can take place. Jane will have had a little time to get used to her loss, and accustom herself to the idea of marriage. But I wanted you to know …’
‘Yes, Master Harrison?
‘I met you for the first time at my mother’s house, the day of the storm. But I had already heard of you and as I think I said on that occasion, what I had heard impressed me. When I first saw you, I was even more impressed. Mistress Stannard, I want you to know that if this disaster had not overtaken my cousin, then – well, it is high time I was married – I would be making my proposal to you.’
I stopped short and looked at him. ‘Really, Master Harrison …’
‘I know. I shouldn’t be speaking to you like this, not now that I am betrothed elsewhere. But I wanted you to know.’
‘Thank you!’ I swallowed and then strove to say the correct things. ‘I have no doubt that this is a compliment for which I should indeed be grateful but I think you should know that even if you had proposed to me, I would have refused you.’
He looked taken aback. ‘Would you really? But why? You must be in need of a husband. I know you have two houses and their land to look after. You must often feel burdened by your responsibilities and …’
‘I feel nothing of the sort.’ I tried to say it in a neutral tone of voice, but it came out snappishly. ‘I take pleasure in caring for my son’s inheritance and have no intention of letting anyone else take that task over – which a husband probably would do. Since Master Stannard’s death, I have refused several offers and am prepared to refuse any further ones. Please don’t concern yourself with me. I think you are doing an admirable thing in marrying Jane and I wish you every happiness with her.’
I could only hope that Jane would have every happiness with Robert Harrison, though in view of this present distasteful conversation, I had doubts about that. ‘Good night,’ I said, and then I walked away from him, and in at the door to the parlour. After that, I broke into a run, fleeing through the parlour and out of it to the vestibule beyond, and the staircase to the room I had been given. I had an illogical fear that he would follow me. Fortunately, he did not.
THIRTEEN
Streaks On A Wall
When Eric Lake went to look at his new property in Cornwall, I went too, and indirectly, Robert Harrison was responsible.
That embarrassing conversation on Lisa Harrison’s terrace haunted me afterwards. Tired though I was, it was long before I slept that night. I kept thinking of the various proposals I had refused. I didn’t recall these with regret, but with irritation, wondering how many more were to come and knowing that almost all of them, past or potential, had been, would be, inspired by the fact that I was a widow of means and still a possible source of children.
Only one had been different, and that was the offer from Christopher Spelton. But even he had not been in love with me, just concerned about me and feeling that I ought to be looked after. I had refused him just as I had refused the others, but in his case, I had later thought better of it. Only by then he had fallen into a state of hopeless love for Kate Lake and I had missed my chance.
But I had since realized that I didn’t mind. Christopher would not have tried to interfere with the way I cared for Hawkswood and my Sussex house, Withysham, but even so, the law would have allowed him such a right, if he had chosen to use it. No, I was doing the right thing by myself, by my son Harry, by the houses and land, by keeping control in my hands. The stud of trotting horses that I had started was now proving profitable. The first foals had matured and been broken in, with help from Brockley, who was gifted at such work, and had been sold for healthy prices. I intended in due course to invest in a stallion, and that would bring in stud fees. I knew what I was about and I would never allow my authority to be endangered. Besides, I was tired of emotion, of love and grief and the risks of childbirth.
I still missed Hugh so much …
Next day, Robert took his leave, saying that he
must finish helping his father with Edmund’s affairs and complete the visits to his employer’s English clients, before returning to France to pick grapes. I decided to go home and did so, accompanied by Eric Lake and Brockley. Eric went on home; I hugged Harry, asked after various household affairs, and retired to my room as to a sanctuary.
In privacy, I then gave way to the emotions that had been brewing up in me ever since I fled from Lisa’s terrace and Robert Harrison. I lay down on my bed and buried my face in my pillow, and although it was over eight years since Hugh had died, I cried for him as desperately as though it were yesterday.
He had died with his hand in mine. I had sat with him all through those last hours when he groaned with the pain in his chest, and his eyes grew huge and dark as he struggled for air. He had fallen unconscious at last, and I had stayed there, listening to his grating breaths as they grew more and more shallow and further and further apart. There came a moment when it seemed that there would not be another, and I thought: I am alone. He’s gone. Then he gasped again and for just one more moment, I was not alone after all; he still lived and I was still his wife.
But no other breath followed. That was truly his last. Between one moment and the next, I had become his widow.
And I still mourned him. Dale found me. She tried to raise and comfort me but I only cried harder and said: ‘I want Hugh. Oh, God, I miss him so. Oh, Hugh, my love, my darling, come back to me!’ Dale called Sybil and then Gladys. Gladys, predictably, fetched a soothing potion for me. I took it in wine and finally, I fell asleep.
I woke to be told that during my absence, a messenger had delivered a letter for me. Sybil brought it to me. ‘It’s addressed to Mistress Ursula Faldene,’ she said, puzzled. ‘That was your birth name, of course, but I wonder …’
‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’ll be receiving letters like this from time to time – it’s something I’m doing for Walsingham. I shall have to give it to a Royal Messenger, and someone will no doubt call soon to see if I have one.’
It was, of course, the first letter from Janus. As it chanced, Christopher Spelton, riding into Kent once more, arrived the following day, enquired if Janus had sent me anything, and took charge of the missive.
And that letter, somehow, was the finishing touch to my unhappy and exasperated mood. I was tired, tired out with being forever called upon to help people, to do something about impossible situations. Aunt Tabitha. Marjorie. The queen. Lisa. Walsingham and his wretched letters from Janus. I had had enough of being needed, in fact, I had for the time being had more than enough of responsibility. Perversely, Robert Harrison was right about that. I did sometimes find the task of looking after my properties a heavy weight. It did mean hard work and much thinking. Once in a while, I needed a rest from it, wanted to think about something new that would interest but not burden me. I wanted to see new places, new faces, without anxiety, without being on duty.
And that was why, when Christopher left, remarking that he meant to call on Cousin Eric before riding back to court, I went with him, to ask Eric if he would allow me and a few companions to travel with him when he went to Cornwall. I was fairly sure that it would be quite soon.
Kate liked the idea. It was better, safer, she said, on a journey, to be one of many. Eric, amused, asked why.
‘Footpads!’ said Kate. ‘And accidents.’
‘Sweetheart, I can look after myself. You have too much imagination,’ Eric protested.
‘You haven’t any!’ Kate retorted, but she was laughing as she said it. ‘And Mistress Stannard really wants to go with you,’ she added.
‘Yes, I do,’ I said.
‘Well, I’d enjoy company,’ Eric admitted.
In fact, he seemed pleased with the idea and when we set out, we were almost a cavalcade. This time, as well as the Brockleys, I took Sybil with me, and also Tessie and Harry. They all travelled in my four-horse coach, with Tessie’s new husband Joseph to drive it, while Brockley and Eric and I rode alongside. Brockley rode Mealy, I had Jewel, and Eric too had his own horse, a handsome dark-chestnut gelding.
It had taken a week to prepare. On reaching West Leys, Christopher found that Eric had already sent into Kent to ask Kate’s married brother and his wife to come to West Leys to be with Kate during his absence, but it took time for them to arrive. They were needed because Eric expected to be away for some weeks. Rosmorwen was about three hundred miles away and he didn’t know how long he would need to stay there. Due to her condition, Kate did not want to come with us, nor would it have been wise. Even coach travel can be jolting.
Before leaving Hawkswood, I left instructions that if any letters arrived addressed to me by my maiden name, they were to be handed over to any Royal Messenger who arrived and enquired for such letters. Having thus disposed of Janus for the time being, I set out feeling so thankful to be getting away from all my responsibilities that I was hardly even inquisitive about our destination. However, that mood wore off eventually and one evening, when we were well on our way and putting up at a somewhat scruffy inn under the shadow of some bleak, wild hills apparently called Dartmoor, I asked Eric how much he knew about the Cornish property.
‘I understand that it’s called Rosmorwen,’ I said. ‘And it’s said to be not very productive and it isn’t rented out. But that’s all I know.’
‘I’ve never seen it myself,’ Eric said. ‘Mistress Lisa has told me that there’s a married pair who live there as steward and housekeeper. Not John Merrow, the steward that my sister-in-law had her foolish love affair with; this is another one, with his wife. A family from the little village nearby – Black Rock – come most days to help out. They’re a middle-aged couple, apparently, with a grown son and daughter. The womenfolk help in the house and the dairy; the father and son work the farm.’
‘What sort of farm is it?’ I asked.
‘I understand that the land is rocky so the soil is thin and windswept and no use for wheat. Edmund told me once that it could grow oats and beans and there are some cows and there’s poultry, of course. The place is about four miles from the port of Penzance, this side of it, but inland.’
We reached Cornwall the next day, by which I mean that we crossed a river called the Tamar, which formed the boundary between Devonshire and Cornwall. I thought that since we were now in the right county, we must be near our destination but we weren’t. Cornwall occupies a long peninsula and Rosmorwen was near the far end. We were another day and a half on the road. This ran along the spine of the peninsula, passing through wild moorland, and it was badly rutted, which slowed us down. In places, we could see the sea both to left and right, which I found interesting but Sybil, who detested barren landscapes, would hardly look out of the coach windows at it.
The land round Rosmorwen, however, was more friendly, since there was cultivation to be seen and a few trees, though they were somewhat stunted. But the house wasn’t very welcoming. We reached it in the afternoon of the second day. It was a grey stone building facing south-east and crouched just under the brow of a hill. It was badly proportioned. It had three gables in front which should have been attractive but were not, because they were crowded together and were too narrow and too sharp for beauty. They had a bristly look. In fact, Rosmorwen reminded me of nothing so much as a hedgehog taking shelter from the weather.
The slope below it was scrub, with grass and some gorse bushes. The fields, all smallish, were on the flat land below, with a stream across the corner of one of them. There were some black cattle, also smallish, and beans and oats were being grown.
One field, just at the foot of the hill, seemed to be empty meadow but though there were no crops or animals, there still appeared to be some activity.
‘What’s going on over there?’ Eric said, rising in his stirrups. ‘It looks as though someone’s digging into the hillside.’
‘The steward will know,’ I said. I was tired and I knew that inside the coach, Harry and the other women were tired as well, not to mention the team
in the traces. Eric looked ready to divert us all to the mysterious goings-on in the field, but I didn’t agree. ‘Better go to the house first,’ I said. ‘Whatever’s happening over there won’t run away.’
We had sent no word in advance and we were not expected. We passed under a gate arch into a small courtyard with a stable block to one side and the steward and his wife, who had presumably seen us coming, emerged to greet us, looking bewildered. Eric, as the new owner, presented us all. They evidently recognized his name and were aware that he was now their employer, but the arrival of such a large party obviously flustered them. They were both dark of hair and short of stature, with slate coloured eyes and anxious faces, and their names, they said, were Walter and Kerenza Meddick.
‘Kerenza?’ I said, not sure if I had heard aright. They both had strong Cornish accents.
‘An old Cornish name,’ said its owner, bobbing a placatory curtsey. ‘Born here in Cornwall, we both were.’
‘Kerenza,’ said her husband, ‘get Marge out of the dairy and get some food ready and rooms made up. If you’ll all come this way …’
We sorted ourselves out. Joseph and Brockley saw to the horses while the rest of us followed Walter Meddick into a bleak parlour which looked unused. The plank floor was bare and there was no scent of polish, no wall decorations, no cushions on the wooden settles. Tessie sat down on one of the latter, with Harry beside her and remarked frankly that she hoped some food and drink would be forthcoming soon.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Harry.
‘We all are,’ said Dale, as candid as my son.
Eric, however, detained Meddick when the man was on the point of leaving us to fetch the required sustenance. ‘We saw some digging going on in one of the fields at the foot of the hill. What’s happening there?’
A Deadly Betrothal Page 11
