The Secret Hours

by Santa Montefiore

  She pulled away and looked up at him miserably. ‘Nothing can be put right now, Rupert. Papa has said things to me that he can never take back, and I have seen his prejudice, which I can never unsee. I don’t belong here anymore.’

  ‘The fact that Jonas has a wife does not mean he doesn’t love you,’ said Rupert kindly. ‘Perhaps if he had loved his wife you would not have got into trouble.’ Arethusa shrugged, defeated by so many odds against her. ‘There was never any chance for you both. You must have known that, Tussy.’

  ‘I knew it and I gave myself to him all the same because I believed he loved me. Because I loved him,’ she replied flatly.

  ‘The wife is irrelevant, as so many wives are,’ said Rupert, trying to cajole her out of her misery with a smile.

  ‘What does it matter now? I will never love anyone else. Jonas will always have the key to my heart and there is only one key.’ She put a hand on her belly then looked up at Rupert with the determined gaze of a woman who always finds the silver lining, however grey the cloud. ‘But he left a part of himself inside me and no one can ever take that away from me. No one.’

  Besides Hubert and Adeline, Rupert and Poppy, no one knew why Arethusa left suddenly for America. They knew there had been a row, the servants could talk of nothing else but raised voices and a furious-looking Mr Deverill, but the reasons behind her departure were nebulous. Adeline explained to Ronald, as kindly as she could, that Arethusa had changed her mind about marrying him and gone to stay with friends in America. Ronald was both devastated and furious, for he had been seriously humiliated. He was hurt that she hadn’t had the courage to tell him herself and declared that it would take him a lifetime to recover from the heartbreak. Hubert declared that he would never articulate Arethusa’s name again as long as he lived and the Deverills rallied around him, casting the blame at Arethusa’s feet and assuming that it was she who had turned her back on her family because she wanted a more exciting life in America. Only Poppy and Rupert knew the truth and they would never divulge it to anyone.

  Arethusa and Charlotte crossed the Atlantic aboard the Teutonic in the second week of November. The seas were rough, the winds high and yet Arethusa walked incessantly up and down the promenade deck, dragging poor Charlotte with her. The governess wrapped her coat tightly about her and tried not to complain about feeling seasick. The crossing was due to last ten days, and although arduous for steerage passengers, it was luxurious for first-class passengers like Arethusa and Charlotte, for whom Rupert had bought tickets at a cost of twenty-five pounds each.

  When Arethusa wasn’t pacing the promenade deck she was in the sitting room in their suite playing the banjo and singing for the child growing inside her who would never know its father. After a few days Charlotte’s nausea was such that she had to retreat to the bedroom and lie groaning in her bed. Arethusa, who didn’t suffer from either morning sickness or seasickness, grew impatient listening to Charlotte’s moaning and went to find company in the first-class lounge. Mostly occupied by women, the lounge was a wood-panelled sitting room with velvet-covered armchairs and sofas, a grand wooden fireplace where an electric fire gave out warmth as well as an inviting glow, and little tables and chairs arranged in small groups where passengers took tea, played cards, and idled away the hours in lazy conversation. It was there that she was invited to make up a four at the bridge table with a lady she had met the night before, when Charlotte had retired early to bed. The lady was a grand American in her early sixties, with lustrous brown hair pinned up with a glittering diamond brooch and large, empathetic eyes the colour of molasses. Her name was Gertrude Davenport and she was accompanied by her son, Cyrus, and a man in his thirties who was travelling alone called Edward Clayton.

  Gertrude and Cyrus were both good company, but Arethusa liked Edward especially, for he was a challenge. He was confident, assertive and handsome, with a proud, patrician face, light hazel eyes and fair hair, swept off his forehead and curling just above the collar. He was direct, which appealed to Arethusa because she, too, was unafraid to speak her mind. Gertrude Davenport told Arethusa that she was returning to America having been to Ireland to find her roots, for her family were originally from Galway. Cyrus, dutifully, had agreed to accompany her. ‘He’s a good son,’ she said with an indulgent smile. ‘I would not have been able to come had he not agreed to accompany me. You see, my husband passed away many years ago and Cyrus is all I have.’ She glanced then at Edward Clayton, who was talking to her son and out of earshot. ‘Mr Clayton has also been in Ireland for the same reason,’ she told Arethusa. ‘We Americans like to know where we come from. He lost his wife a few years back and has since thrown himself into his work. It has been a tonic for him to take the sea air and walk in the Irish hills.’

  Arethusa now searched for the shadow of grief in Edward’s eyes but found none. She wondered, as she partnered him at bridge, whether he had children. He looked a good many years older than Bertie. She wondered whether he had it in mind to marry again. Arethusa, regardless of the child growing inside her, which was still small enough to go unnoticed, decided to use her entire arsenal of charm and allure, because if she couldn’t have Jonas, she’d have to find someone else and Edward Clayton, as far as she could tell, was a man worth having.

  During their rubber of bridge, Arethusa explained that Charlotte, her chaperone, was taken ill and confined to their suite. ‘We’re on our way to New York to visit friends,’ she told them casually. ‘I’ve never been to New York and I’m very excited to see it. They say the buildings are as tall as giants!’

  ‘Taller,’ said Mrs Davenport with a laugh. ‘But we’re not from New York, we’re from Chicago. You must come and see Chicago. It’s a magnificent city. We’d be glad to entertain you.’ She turned her soft brown gaze onto Edward Clayton. ‘You’re from Boston, aren’t you, Mr Clayton?’

  ‘I am indeed, Mrs Davenport,’ he replied.

  ‘I have not been to Boston, but my husband used to travel there for business and I know it’s a very historic city, and pretty too.’

  ‘Indeed it is, the Common and the Public Garden are especially beautiful in summertime. Even more lovely than Central Park,’ said Edward. ‘But what is more beautiful is the Emerald Necklace, designed by the landscape architect, Frederick Law Olmsted, which is a series of interconnecting parks and waterways. Besides its beauty, Boston is, quite frankly, the centre of higher learning in the United States. We have Harvard, of course, but more recently Radcliffe and Wellesley, which are all-women colleges. A novel idea. I could go on, but I don’t want to bore you.’

  Arethusa looked at Edward and smiled. ‘You are clearly very proud of your city. I should like to see all those things,’ she declared. ‘Boston is a place I’d very much like to visit.’

  Over the course of the voyage, Edward and Arethusa spent a great deal of time together. It suited Arethusa that Charlotte was indisposed and that Mrs Davenport did not feel the need to step into her shoes; after all, Arethusa was not her responsibility and perhaps, Arethusa thought, young women were more at liberty in America. Whatever the case, Edward and Arethusa were able to walk up and down the promenade without the tedious company of a chaperone. The more time she spent with Edward Clayton the more she grew to like him. Love was never going to blossom again; it had already done so. Arethusa felt like one of those orchids that only flower once in their lifetime. But marriage had little to do with love. She knew that. It was about partnership, respect and security. It wasn’t long before Arethusa’s arsenal of charm and allure had achieved the desired result. Edward was in love with her, she was certain of it. She had seen that spark in the eyes of Dermot McLoughlin, Ronald Rowan-Hampton and Jonas Madison. It was as unmistakable as fire.

  As soon as Charlotte was feeling better, Arethusa introduced her to the Davenports and Edward Clayton. It took the governess only a few minutes to notice what was happening between Arethusa and Edward. The moment they were alone in their suite she rounded on her charge with exasperation.
‘What kind of game are you playing, Tussy?’ she exclaimed. ‘That young man is in love with you!’

  ‘I know!’ said Arethusa. ‘Isn’t it thrilling?’

  ‘You can’t do this to him. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Do what to him, Charlotte? I’m not doing anything.’

  ‘You’re toying with his heart. Surely you of all people should know how cruel that is.’

  ‘I’m not toying with his heart. I like him too.’

  Charlotte stared at Arethusa as if she had morphed into someone very different from the broken-hearted girl who had begged her to accompany her to America. ‘Well, you do have a fickle heart!’ she exclaimed disapprovingly.

  ‘I don’t love him, Charlotte. I like him.’

  ‘But what about the baby?’

  Arethusa’s smile vanished and she bit her lip. ‘I know, it’s a problem.’ She began to pace the floor, hands on hips.

  ‘It’s more than a problem, Tussy. It’s an obstacle you simply cannot overcome.’

  Arethusa stopped pacing. ‘I’m going to tell him,’ she declared.

  Charlotte was appalled. ‘You can’t tell him.’

  ‘It’s a gamble, I agree.’

  ‘Think again, Tussy. If you tell him, you will never see him again. No man, however in love he may be, will accept another man’s child. Perhaps if you were a widow, but even then . . .’ She shook her head and sucked the air through her teeth. ‘You can’t risk it.’

  ‘I will write him a letter once we dock and explain myself.’

  ‘I wouldn’t waste your ink.’

  ‘I have a feeling Edward Clayton is not like other men.’

  ‘He’s exactly like other men, Tussy. You’re not like other women!’

  Arethusa went to the dressing table and sat down before it. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. ‘The only way to get out of this mess, Charlotte, is to marry. Rupert said I never will. You don’t think I will either. Mama and Papa consider me as driftwood washed up on the beach, “soiled goods”. But I’m going to prove you all wrong. Not everyone is old-fashioned and conventional like Papa. I predict that Edward is going to ask me to marry him, and that when I tell him about my child he will marry me regardless. He has a look in his eye. I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘Where have you seen it before?’ asked Charlotte wearily.

  Arethusa leaned closer to the mirror. ‘Here,’ she replied. ‘In mine.’

  On the final evening of the voyage, Arethusa and Edward walked up the promenade. The moon was high, the stars twinkled above them and the sea was calm, like a silk gown spread out before them, studded with diamonds. The beauty made Arethusa think of Jonas and her heart bled a little from the tear in it that would never heal. ‘I should like to marry you, Miss Deverill,’ said Edward, drawing her swiftly out of her thoughts. Arethusa had not expected him to propose so soon. She stopped walking and frowned up at him, lost for words. Registering her surprise, he added with an awkwardness that was foreign to his nature, ‘I am not a sentimental man, Miss Deverill, so please forgive me. I find you both beautiful and fascinating, but I think you know that.’ He smiled down at her and Arethusa saw a tenderness in it that startled her. She put a hand on her stomach. ‘You’re sure of yourself, Miss Deverill, and I like that,’ he continued. ‘I admire a woman who knows her mind and isn’t afraid to speak it. You remind me of myself.’ Arethusa put her hands on the railings and cast her gaze across the ocean. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she liked him. ‘I hope that you will consider my proposal and will forgive me for being so forward. I’m aware that you barely know me, but I can offer you a comfortable and interesting life in the heart of politics and Society. I think you will grow to love me. We will grow to love each other.’ He took her hand off the railing and sandwiched it between his own. ‘What I admire in you most, Arethusa, if I may be so bold, is that you are a woman equal to me in spirit. There are few women in my world to whom I can give that compliment.’

  Arethusa put her other hand on top of his and looked at him sadly. His expression turned at once to disappointment, anticipating rejection. ‘Edward, I’m flattered by your proposal,’ she said, realizing that the only way forward was with honesty. ‘It is both unexpected and welcome. However, you don’t know anything about me and, as you are a man who respects directness, and I am a woman who is both direct and candid, I have to tell you about my circumstances so that you may consider whether you want to marry me.’

  Now it was Edward’s turn to look surprised. Arethusa let go of his hand and put hers once more on the railings. ‘I am on my way to New York because I have been disowned by my father for falling pregnant out of wedlock. The man I loved is unsuitable.’ She sighed heavily, knowing now as she articulated the story that Charlotte was right. Edward would never marry her. ‘He already has a wife,’ she added flatly. She did not reveal that he was black; she didn’t have to. She could tell by the air that changed between them that he was already lost to her.

  There was a long silence. Arethusa stared out to sea, Edward stood stiffly beside her, his profile inscrutable. Neither spoke for what felt like a very long time. The ship sliced through the waves, which were black and cold and timeless, and neither noticed the stars strewn over them by a bright and buoyant moon. Arethusa thought of the child inside her and her heart warmed at the thought of the part of Jonas she was able to keep for herself. What did it matter if she never married again? She’d have her baby. She’d never be alone. They’d muddle along somehow. And once again, Arethusa pushed away the future, as was her great talent, and focused on the present moment.

  Edward withdrew from the railings. He looked at her with a sad and troubled expression and bowed. ‘Goodnight, Miss Deverill,’ he said in a voice that was drenched with disappointment.

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Clayton,’ she replied. She gave him an acquiescent smile, then watched him walk through the door into the lounge.

  She remained a while with the cold air on her face. As she inhaled, her breath caught in her chest and she was overcome by a sudden swell of self-pity. It took her by surprise, like a creature leaping out of the darkness and landing on her chest, claws bared, and left her reeling with confusion. In spite of her bravado the truth was that she needed a man and Edward would have been her salvation. Alone on the deck where no one could witness her lack of restraint, she cried into the wind.

  Charlotte was not surprised when Arethusa told her. ‘You were right, Charlotte,’ she said in a small voice when she returned to their suite. ‘No one will want to marry me with another man’s child in my belly. I will have to wait until the baby is born and pretend that I am a widow.’

  ‘I hate to be right,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I only want your happiness, Tussy.’

  Arethusa looked at her with shiny eyes. ‘Why do you stay by my side, Charlotte? Why do you put up with me? I have been a fool. An utter fool. I’ve been self-indulgent and selfish. I don’t listen to advice. I always think I know better, which I don’t. I clearly don’t. As Papa would say, I’m soiled goods. Yet, here you are. You could be anywhere, but you’re here . . .’ Her shoulders began to shake. ‘If I didn’t have you, Charlotte, I don’t know what would become of me.’

  The governess’s heart inflated with tenderness. ‘I’m with you, my darling Tussy, because you’re very dear to me,’ she said, drawing the young woman who would always be a child to her into her arms. ‘You’re very dear to me indeed.’

  Arethusa did not sleep. For the first time in her life she felt a real sense of hopelessness. Every time she closed her eyes she felt as if she were falling into a big black hole from which she would never find her way out. The most distressing thing was the acknowledgement of the part she had played in her destiny. The pain she was suffering now was completely self-inflicted; she could not blame anyone but herself.

  The following morning while they prepared to disembark there came a knock on the door of their suite. Charlotte went to open it. Arethusa heard a deep voice, whic
h she recognized at once as belonging to Edward Clayton. ‘Please come in,’ said Charlotte, stepping aside.

  Edward entered, looking grim. It did not appear that he had slept much either. Arethusa was startled. She had not expected to see him again. ‘Hello, Mr Clayton,’ she said, folding her hands in front of her.

  Charlotte disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  ‘I have done nothing all night but think of you,’ he said, his face as sombre as a grave.

  ‘Oh,’ murmured Arethusa. ‘I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘No, it is I who must apologize for leaving you on the deck yesterday evening. It was very rude of me.’

  ‘I quite understood,’ she said, reading regret in his expression and feeling a small flicker of hope ignite in her heart.

  ‘The fact is I have fallen in love with you, Arethusa.’

  The flicker at once grew into a flame.

  ‘I have fallen in love with you and I cannot leave this ship knowing that I will never see you again.’ He looked at her with uncertainty. ‘I must be candid and direct with you too, as you have been with me,’ he continued. ‘I was married to Geraldine for nine years before she died and, in spite of our desire to have children, we were not blessed. Perhaps I will never be blessed with children of my own. I have a sense that you are as bold as I am.’ He hesitated and looked at her steadily and there was a steely quality to his gaze that reminded Arethusa of his sang froid at the bridge table. ‘What I’m trying to say is, I would like to marry you in haste and pass off the child as my own. Would that be acceptable to you?’

  Arethusa was astonished. ‘You really are audacious!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘We are both audacious, I suppose,’ he replied, a smile creeping onto his face, mirroring hers. ‘So, Miss Deverill, how might you answer me now?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said happily. ‘It would be an honour to be your wife.’