Then Michael began to realize, and pushed Mrs. Cliffe blindly away, because he knew only one thing could have broken through her decorum and allowed her to treat him with such tenderness. If he pushed her away, it might not be true. He might not have to see the future before him blown up, leaving a gaping shell, a hole, devastation.
The doctor cleared his throat. “I am so sorry, sir. I am afraid they are dead—both dead.”
Somerton
“I distinctly heard there was to be no wedding!” Lady Ellingborough announced, her voice carrying through from the drawing room all the way into Lord Westlake’s study over the excited chattering of the guests.
Lord Westlake looked around at his family. “We must make an announcement,” he said.
“But what on earth can we say?” The countess had gone quite white.
“The truth. There will be no wedding today.”
“But what about the creditors?”
Her husband shook his head and shrugged. “Ada cannot be forced to marry against her will—and I would not attempt to force her, not in these circumstances. We shall have to find some other way of holding back the storm.”
Rose followed her father out into the corridor. He spoke casually, but she knew that matters were serious.
“My dear friends,” Lord Westlake began, clearing his throat as he went into the drawing room. “You are so good to have come here today. But I have a sad announcement to make.…”
Rose could wait no longer. She stepped aside, into the shadows of the hall. Half hidden by a display of ferns and potted palms, she tore open the envelope and opened the folded slip of paper. She read the note hastily.
It was not from Ada, though it was addressed to her. It was from Ravi, addressed to Ada, and dated the previous month:
My dearest Ada,
I wonder with what feelings you will read this. I hope they have not changed. I still think of you as I ever did, only with more pain. Business will bring me to London this summer. It is a rush and I will find it difficult to get away. But I hoped we could meet. I won’t compromise you by asking you to reply to this. On the 21st August at noon I will be underneath the great clock at Paddington Station, where we parted from each other. If you can, be there too. If you cannot, I will understand. I will never forget you, but I will understand.
Yours forever,
Ravi
The twenty-first of August—today! Rose thought. Ada had told half the truth—she had gone to London. But, Rose realized, a smile breaking across her face, she had gone to meet Ravi. There was no doubt of it. Rose’s heart beat faster. She felt a surge of triumph on Ada’s behalf.
A strong hand caught Rose’s arm. She looked round, startled. It was Alexander.
“Rose—I must speak to you,” he began with desperate speed.
Rose was breathless with confusion. She automatically tried to struggle away, but he drew her to one side. “Please, it won’t take a moment. Where does this door go?” He pulled open the closest door and bundled her inside. Rose found herself overwhelmed with the smell of polish.
“The boot cupboard,” she said with a strangled laugh.
“Oh good lord.” He looked around at the tiny wood-paneled room, with Lord Westlake’s well-worn hunting boots lined up in rows. “I’d hoped for something more romantic. Well, this will have to do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Rose, I’m sorry. I was an arrogant fool yesterday. I don’t know how you didn’t slap me.”
Rose couldn’t find words to reply. He has come back, was all she could think. He has come back.
“I—I brought you something,” he said, fumbling with the package he held. “Something better than a ring.” He held it awkwardly out to her. Rose took it. It was not heavy; she could feel a frame. She tore open the paper. Inside, she saw a canvas, a painting.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
It was the sketch he had begun at Mont Pleasance. Now it was developed. She saw herself, but, more than the simple lines of her face and figure at the piano, she saw the whirls and tides and giddying swirls of music. He had caught the power of her imagination in color and movement, and as she looked at the canvas, she wasn’t sure that it wasn’t moving before her eyes, rocking like the sea swaying against the shore at Mont Pleasance, like the two of them dancing together that first night, when he had said, Alexander Ross…I flatter myself you could get to like him.
He was speaking to her, his voice low and sincere. Rose pulled herself back from the spell of the painting.
“I want you to know that it isn’t true, that you are wrong. I don’t want to marry you to hurt my father. I want to marry you because you make me feel like that.” He pointed to the painting.
She gasped out a half laugh, half sob.
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just say you’ll marry me.”
“I will, I will—but Alexander, this…this is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me.” She struggled to compose herself, but it was no good. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. Alexander moved in closer, and hesitantly cupped her face in his hands, brushing away her tears.
Alexander looked at the painting as if he hadn’t seen it before. “Yes,” he said, sounding surprised. “It is good, isn’t it?”
“Even better than the pieces at Mont Pleasance.” She looked at the painting again, and she was more sure than ever as she said, “It’s stronger. It has more purpose. It seems to know what it is, what it wants to be.”
“You’re right,” he said. He took her hand. “That’s because you inspire me. And Rose, I flatter myself that I inspire you too. See how we bring out the beauty in one another? We ought to be together—and that’s what I should have said yesterday, when I made such a mess of things. Rose, an artist needs light to paint by and you are my light. That’s what I should have said. Rose, will you marry me? Can you say yes with a smile this time? I don’t think it counts if you’re crying.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling at him through her happy tears. “Yes, I will.”
A second later, she was in his arms, his lips pressed to hers, and she relaxed into his embrace, as strong and gentle as the sea’s rocking waves. Rose, dizzy with happiness, rested her head on his shoulder. This is forever, she thought, and she knew she was smiling, happier than she had ever been in her life.
“Mont Pleasance needs you to make it my home,” he murmured into her ear. “We’ll make a music room, shall we? Just for you.”
“I can’t wait,” she murmured back. “With a view over the sea?”
“Yes, and I’ll teach you to swim. If you think the sea is beautiful from a distance, wait until you’re in it on a summer’s day!” His eyes gleamed, and he grinned at her.
Rose laughed. Then she started as she heard angry voices in the corridor.
“What was that?” Alexander said, startled. “I thought the guests had all left.”
“Yes. It sounded like…” She hesitated as footsteps raced past. “Michael. But I thought he was at Eton.…”
The next moment she heard a scream of fear echoing down the corridor. It was Georgiana’s voice.
Alexander darted past her to the door and opened it, shielding her with his body. Rose looked around him. The oak door to the library was open, and for a shocked moment he thought she could see Michael and Sebastian fighting. A second later, as she raced after Alexander toward them, she realized that they were not fighting; Sebastian was trying to restrain Michael. Michael’s real target stood cowering in the corner by the massive stone fireplace, his drink-reddened face blazing with fear and anger. Georgiana, looking pale against the oak paneling, pressed her hands to her mouth, while Lady Edith appeared to have slipped into a faint. The countess, her face white, had collapsed onto the sofa next to her.
“What has happened?” Rose exclaimed. She went to Georgiana at once, and put her arms around her.
“He killed her!” Michael roared again. He did not sound like himself; his voice wa
s ragged and hoarse, and when Rose turned to him she was shocked by the shadows under his eyes. He struggled to pull himself loose from Sebastian’s grip.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” William blustered.
“She’s dead,” Georgiana said, sobbing, collapsing into Rose’s arms. “Priya’s dead—and so is the baby.”
“What!” Rose exclaimed in horror. She turned to Alexander, who looked as troubled and confused as she felt. “I don’t understand. What has happened?”
“It’s very simple.” Michael seemed to have gained some control over himself. He shook Sebastian off and stood, swaying slightly, his gaze fixed on William. “He took advantage of Priya, he got her with child, and in fear she ran away. Now they are both dead—and he is guilty.” He pointed at William.
“I don’t know what you are talking about!” William shouted back. “Lies, lies all of it. She probably had some lover in the village.”
“She told me it was you,” Michael replied.
“And you believe her?” William sneered. He stepped back hastily as Michael lunged toward him, hands out as if to throttle him. Sebastian and Alexander both hastily grabbed Michael’s arms. This time Alexander reached Michael first and held him back.
“Is this true?” Lord Westlake spoke for the first time. His voice was ominous. “William, do you deny it?”
“I do,” William said furiously.
Rose, not knowing what to think, looked from William to Michael and back. William could not meet her gaze.
“Because if it were true, no matter what the cost, I would disinherit you,” Lord Westlake said.
He spoke calmly, but Rose could see in his clenched fists that he was under great pressure. Frightened, she glanced at Alexander, but he was using all his strength to stop Michael from attacking William.
“It is true, it is!” Georgiana sobbed. “Priya would never lie!”
“All servants lie,” said William contemptuously.
“Watch your mouth, or I’ll let him kill you,” Alexander said quietly. His eyes glinted with fury. William backed away nervously, straight into the fire tongs, sending them clattering to the floor. He jumped and glanced at the door as if planning escape. Rose followed his gaze, and saw that Annie stood in the doorway. She held a tray of tea, and stood as if frozen with fear.
“Annie!” she exclaimed. “No one wants the tea now, thank you—please, please leave us.” She could not imagine the damage to the family if this scene was reported below stairs.
But Annie did not move. The teacups on the tray rattled as she trembled, but she took a step forward bravely. “If you please, my lady—my lords—” she began, her voice tiny as a scared mouse, “I think what Master Michael says is true.”
“Who the hell cares what you say?” William began furiously.
“Silence,” roared Lord Westlake. Rose jumped, and Annie whimpered. Lord Westlake strode forward.
“Annie, you have always given excellent service. I care about what you have to say,” he said to her quietly. “I want the truth, no matter how painful it is to hear.”
“P-p-p-” Annie sputtered, trembling. She licked her lips and began again. “Priya told me that Sir William was trying…trying to take liberties with her. She was afraid. She asked me what to do about it. I’m so s-s-s-sorry that I didn’t listen to her.” She began to cry, and all the teacups and the teapot on the tray she held echoed her rattling sobs as if in sympathy.
Rose swiftly crossed to her, took the tray away, and put her arms around the girl, soothing her. With her face turned away, Rose only heard what happened next.
Her father spoke in a dead silence, clearly directing his words to William. “I have endured your gambling, I have endured your reckless spending and your drinking because I believe that an estate of this age and distinction should remain in family hands and you, sadly, were my only heir. But this is the last straw. I would rather allow Somerton to go to strangers than have people say the Earls of Westlake were bad stewards.”
“You cannot take a housemaid’s word above mine!” William said furiously.
“I would trust a good servant above a bad master any day. That is what you do not realize, William, what you do not understand. We are all family here. We owe those who serve us protection, and if we fail in that duty we are not fit to be masters.”
“Damn it!” William exploded. “The girl was a tease, always—” He broke off, and without another word he ran for the door, pushing violently past Michael and Alexander as he went.
“Let him go!” Lord Westlake said as Sebastian moved to follow him. “I will write to my lawyer at once.”
“But,” said the countess, speaking for the first time, her face still white as paper, “what will you do about Ada? William’s debts still remain.” She put her head in her hands. “I will never be able to show my face in society again.”
“I do not know. I know only that Ada cannot marry a cad, and that I will not leave Somerton to a bad master.”
“I don’t quite understand,” said Alexander. “Excuse me, but are you saying the estate is bankrupt?”
The countess turned as if seeing him for the first time. There was silence. Rose knew that no one was willing to admit the family’s debts before a stranger. But he was not a stranger to her.
“It’s true, I’m afraid,” she said quietly. “Ada’s marriage was the one thing that could have saved it.”
“Oh nonsense. Don’t worry about money, sir,” Alexander said, addressing Lord Westlake. “I’ll sell a couple of Rubenses. We need the space anyway.”
Sebastian let out a strangled laugh. The others looked blankly at each other. Only the countess began to smile as if understanding.
“That is very kind of you, but I could not accept—” Lord Westlake began formally.
“Not from a stranger, no, but since I intend to marry Rose, I’ll be family. Oh—sorry—one usually asks permission, doesn’t one, but I must say I don’t care a fig for your permission. I have Rose’s, and that’s enough for me.”
He smiled around at the astonished faces. Rose couldn’t help laughing out loud at the expressions they all wore. She stepped up to Alexander and kissed him on his cheek. It was going to be the greatest fun to spend the future with him.
London
Ada looked out of the window as the train drew into London. Fields gave way to a sea of roofs, the towering cliffs of tenements, the glint of the river between them. In just a few moments, they would be face to face. And then…?
The train carried her into a tunnel. She gazed at the reflection of her own face in the window, pale and calm. She had expected to be nervous, to be frightened. After all, she had done something shocking. She had thrown over Laurence and with him all the expectations of society. She had perhaps lost her chance at Oxford forever. And yet she felt perfectly serene and calm, as if she were rushing joyfully forward while remaining perfectly still at her center, perfectly steady in her heart. She had never felt so certain that what she was doing was right.
The station opened around her, and the train drew slowly and noisily to a halt. Ada followed the guard to the doors. He opened them to her and tipped his hat as she got down. For an instant she stood completely alone in the busy rushing tide of people. Then she began to walk toward the clock. She could see it hanging like a great moon above the humming, busy station. It was five minutes to twelve. Her train had arrived just in time.
What would happen when she met Ravi? She did not even know. Perhaps she was chasing a dream, but her heart was open, ready, waiting. It had been many months since they had seen each other. Both of them had changed. Would it be the end…or a new beginning?
People crossed her path, hurrying to appointments, love or work, destiny or fate. Their journeys were not hers; she could not follow their paths. She had only her own path to follow, her own life to shape, as if she were casting before her in the dark. The clock only told her there was little time to live, little time to decide, and the hands o
f time went only one way.
She tried to see between the rushing figures, men and women, hats and coats and the trolleys full of luggage crossing the space between her and her goal. For a moment she thought he was not there, that she had come all this way for a mirage. And then she saw him. She saw him, saw the light in his tiger eyes, and she knew he saw her. Her heart began to thunder in her chest.
No. Not yet over.
She began to run.
London
The shop on Hope Street advertised itself only by the small brass plaque at the door, on which was inscribed L’atelier. No one had to ask whose atelier it was; not since the last ball of the season, when the new Duchess of Huntleigh had made her now legendary entrance. Céline had a small clientele, but it was worth it to maintain exclusivity. One wall of the town house had been knocked through so that the fashionable women who found their way there could see into the well-lit workroom beyond, where twenty or so dressmakers were assiduously stitching the beautiful, modern gowns that had made Céline the most sought-after couturier of 1914.
There was no saleswoman. Céline prided herself on serving each customer personally. She only handed them over to her assistant, Mme. Bercy—currently kneeling at the feet of the Countess of Carnarvon, adjusting the hem of a blue velvet evening coat worked with abstract lilies in gilt-metal thread—when she was satisfied they had chosen exactly the outfit that would make them look spectacular. It was a matter of pride to her that she never allowed a customer to walk away with a dress that did not suit them, no matter how much they wanted to buy it. Some considered her impertinent—after all, she was a mere tradeswoman!—but most were glad to take advantage of her professional judgment. They never regretted it.
Her eye was caught by a slight imperfection in the line of one of her favorite new designs, the “Sphinx.” She beckoned the model over, and spent a few moments adjusting the kimono-like folds of sable and dull gold that formed its complex geometry.
Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton) Page 27
