Louisa Elliott

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  She wanted to scream at him, say it wasn’t true, but everything inside her—instinct, suspicion, foreknowledge — said it was.

  ‘I’ve suspected it for a long time,’ Gerald went on, more quietly now, ‘but I didn’t know for sure, didn’t want to know, if truth be known. I love her you see, the bad little bitch – God knows why, but I do. She thinks I married her for the estate, but that’s not true. The trouble is, she doesn’t believe me, and I can’t convince her. I keep trying with the business – really just to prove I don’t need her money — and she thinks that’s boring, thinks because I don’t spend every minute of the day with her, I don’t love her, don’t want her. But I do, and the more I try, the less I succeed...’

  His voice tailed away on a pathetic, pleading note, and Louisa wanted to kill him, to squash that submissive, almost criminal weakness out of existence. He was begging for sympathy, but she had none; had he been stronger, wiser, less inclined to paw other women, she might have found it in her heart to pity him. But he was weak; and his weakness left Amelia Loy open to other temptations.

  ‘I’ve given her everything,’ he said, ‘denied her nothing, and now...’

  ‘And now she doesn’t want you,’ Louisa cut in, her voice like steel knives, ‘and I can’t say it surprises me. So kindly spare me your bleeding heart and tell me what makes you think Robert is involved.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t suspect, I know. Amelia told me.’

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘Why, that she wants a divorce.’

  ‘A divorce?’ On a sudden gasp of incredulous laughter, Louisa shook her head. ‘What for? To marry Robert?’ She laughed again, almost hysterically. ‘Is she raving mad? He’s the most irrevocably married man I know, Gerald. What does she hope to gain by a divorce, for heaven’s sake? She cannot marry him!’

  ‘She wants her freedom, she says she’s in love with him, that he’s the only man who’s ever…’ After a momentary pause, he finished lamely, ‘made her happy.’

  Louisa felt physically sick. ‘And what does Robert say?’ she asked. ‘Has anyone tried asking him what he thinks of this wonderful idea?’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to see him yet...’

  ‘Then why did you come to me?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘What do you hope to gain by telling me the sordid details?’

  ‘I thought perhaps you might…’ He hesitated, uncertain of his ground, slightly afraid of her. ‘Might persuade him to give her up.’

  ‘What? Me?’ For some time she stared at him and through him, making Gerald Loy drop his gaze uncomfortably. ‘I very much doubt my ability to make your cousin do anything,’ she said at last, ‘and quite frankly, I don’t see why I should even try. As far as I can see, they’re very well matched. I wish him well of her, Gerald, and her of him.’

  ‘You don’t mean that!’

  ‘Oh, but I do,’ Louisa declared, giving a sharp tug at the bell-pull. ‘And furthermore, I have no intention of doing your dirty work for you. See Robert yourself, challenge him to a duel, or something, make headlines in the newspapers, I really don’t care.’

  With the arrival of the butler, Louisa bade a curt good afternoon and swept past them both on an angry rustle of petticoats.

  Sixteen

  As though the past half-hour had been no more than an ordinary interruption, Louisa went back to the dining room and continued wrapping presents. The task occupied a very tiny portion of her conscious mind, as did Gerald, and Robert, and Amelia Loy. The main part of her mind was not thinking at all; it was quite blank with shock.

  She was aware, as she worked, of feeling quite calm; and was dispassionately surprised by it. Surprised, also, by the feeling that something was missing. At first, she did not know what it was. Then, tying the last bow, stacking the last box, it dawned on her that she was no longer confused, because everything was crystal clear. No longer under tension, because the mainstay had finally snapped. And in that strong prevailing wind there was only one direction in which to go. The rocky shore was quite forgotten.

  While she was upstairs, Letty and Georgina returned. The little girl immediately bounded up to the nursery, and when Louisa was not there, came knocking at her bedroom door, full of secrets and excitement over the shopping expedition. Seeing her, Louisa’s resolve faltered. The preserve of shock sustained a small but painful blow as she saw that in leaving Robert she would also have to leave his daughter. And his sister, her dearest friend.

  She was trembling as she went down to join Letty for tea in the drawing room. With heavy curtains drawn against the early dusk, lamps lit and the fire burning brightly, it seemed a different room from that in which she had received Gerald Loy. On a silver tray the tea-things gleamed, and a plate of muffins stood by the fire, keeping warm. With a bright smile, Letty launched immediately into an account of her afternoon, the crush in Grafton Street, the ridiculous price of things, the difficulty of persuading Georgina towards gifts within her pocket’s limitations.

  Handing Louisa a cup of tea, however, she noticed the trembling hands, the ashen face, and was quickly contrite. ‘My dear, you look dreadful. What on earth’s happened?’

  ‘Letty, would you mind terribly if I were to go home?’

  ‘Yes, of course I should mind,’ she said at once. ‘I’d miss you dreadfully, you know that. But if you thought it was for the best — well, you know I wouldn’t try to stop you.’ After a pause for thought, she said, ‘We’ve talked about this before, but something has happened, hasn’t it? Won’t you tell me?’

  ‘Gerald Loy called this afternoon.’ It was a bald statement, unrevealing as it stood, but for a while Louisa could say no more. She sipped her tea, holding the cup between both hands, needing the warmth in fingers which were still icy with shock.

  Showing a patience she did not feel, the older woman waited for the rest of it, and as it came, piecemeal, she moved to the sofa where Louisa sat, enfolding her close, like a child. Less shocked, but far more surprised, Letty gave vent to exclamations and curses, frustrated by her brother’s folly.

  But as her first rage subsided, Letty’s good sense began to reassert itself. ‘The thing is,’ she said angrily, ‘we only have Gerald’s word for all this, and he only has Amelia’s. I’d not put it past her to be making the whole thing up.’

  ‘Gerald said he’d suspected it for a long time,’ Louisa whispered, ‘and to tell the truth, in the summer, so did I. But Robert denied it, and I believed him!’

  ‘He may have been telling the truth, you know, so don’t judge him too quickly. Amelia could just, conceivably, be making trouble for Gerald. We should give Robert the benefit of the doubt, for the time being, and ask him, direct.’

  ‘There’s no doubt at all in my mind.’ On a heavy, weary sigh, she said: ‘I’ve had enough, Letty. I can’t deal with this. There’s been – too much…’

  ‘Oh, come now, Louisa. It’s not like you to give in without a fight.’

  The smallest vestige of a smile touched her lips. ‘No? As I see it, Letty, there’s nothing left worth fighting for.’

  ‘You won’t give Robert a chance to defend himself?’

  ‘He lied to me, Letty. If he can do that once, he can do it again. I don’t even want to see him.’

  Before dinner, while Louisa went upstairs with the intention of packing, Letty sent a telegram to her brother, telling him to return at once, by the very next train, if possible; Gerald Loy had called, and Louisa was leaving for York.

  In the Mess, two hours later, Robert frowned as he took the envelope. Reading the message, he felt the blood drain from his extremities; for a second, light-headed, he gripped the arm of his chair. Someone asked whether it was bad news, and he nodded, said he would have to return to Dublin immediately. With two large brandies under his belt he felt better, arranged to swap duties for the succeeding two days, saw the Adjutant briefly, and set off for the station.

  From Amiens Street he took a cab, arriving home just before midnight. Letty was waiting up,
watching from his study window; she let him in quietly and poured him a drink. Within seconds his front of innocent dismay was seen through, and seconds later, demolished. With a plummeting heart Robert saw how thoroughly he was caught, and by what devious means.

  ‘A woman scorned,’ he said at last, pouring another drink. ‘Strange how the old saws are always the wisest. Should have taken more note of that, Letty, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘You’re a fool, Robert, you should never have become involved with her in the first place.’

  ‘You’re quite right,’ he said humbly. ‘I should have had more sense. Still, it happened — there’s no point denying it now — and Madame Loy is hell-bent on revenge, methinks. I don’t for one minute believe that Gerald will divorce her, nor will he give her grounds to divorce him. He’d be an idiot if he did.’

  ‘It would seem he came here to plead with Louisa, to persuade her to persuade you to give Amelia up.’

  ‘Well, good for him,’ Robert said sarcastically. ‘He’s got what he wanted, had what he wanted — months ago. Well, weeks,’ he amended with a shamefaced grin, ‘if we’re being technical about it. If only the stupid idiot had come to me first. We could have avoided all this.’

  With a little humph of derision, Letty lit another cigarette. ‘But that was never Gerald’s way, was it? A bit of a sneak, our Gerald, if I recall correctly: no guts, at least not where it mattered.’

  Buoyed up by the brandy, Robert laughed. ‘Letty dear, you really are so devastatingly shrewd!’

  ‘Aren’t I though? And let me tell you now, Robert, you’d better get yourself up those stairs with a damn good explanation, otherwise Louisa will be gone tomorrow, and the children too.’

  Draining his glass, he went to the door. There, momentarily, he paused. ‘Tell me, would you forgive me? If you were Louisa, that is?’

  ‘Well now, there you have me,’ she said sadly. ‘I really don’t know.’

  He expected her to be in bed; if not asleep, then surely awake and tearful, stricken by the afternoon’s events. He envisaged himself comforting her, telling her all that had happened and why, begging her forgiveness, promising a new, clean start; anything, in order to put things straight between them.

  The first thing that met his eye, however, was an open trunk, almost full with children’s clothes and toys. It stood inside the doorway of her room. In nightdress and robe, Louisa was searching through a cupboard; several drawers stood open, the chosen contents neatly folded across a chair.

  Although she must have heard him enter, she did not turn round; nor, when he stated hesitantly that Letty had sent for him, did she reply.

  He closed the door behind him. For a minute or two, unsure of himself, Robert simply stood quietly and watched her. He spoke again: there was no response. He accused her of being childish, but still she ignored him. Afraid that his temper was mounting, he sat down, determined to say his piece whether she wanted to listen or not.

  With honesty the only policy left open to him, Robert began with the evening at Dalkey, telling her the reason for his lie. He said he had seen Amelia perhaps a dozen times in all, a fact he regretted, even before Louisa asked that fateful question. He went through it all, including that unexpected visit of Amelia’s to Dundalk.

  ‘I told her it was over, and I told her why. And to reinforce the argument, to my eternal regret I said we must not meet again in case Gerald heard of it — he might divorce her. That point was discussed at some length.

  ‘I’m sure,’ he added, ‘it was that conversation which planted the idea in her mind. She tried to engineer another meeting after that, but I was quite firm and refused point-blank to see her. I had another letter last week. Again I wrote, quite strongly, and said she must not contact me again.

  ‘I can only assume that she’s arranged this little plot as a means of revenge, to spoil things between you and me. On the principle that if she cannot have me, then nor will you.

  ‘If you leave, Louisa,’ he said to her resolute back, ‘you’ll be ensuring her victory. It’s what she wants. But it’s all bluff: she won’t divorce Gerald, or, should I say, he won’t divorce her.’

  Wearily, Louisa turned to face him. ‘I really don’t care, Robert. Whatever she does is quite immaterial to me. I have my passage booked and tomorrow all this will be behind me. I’m going home to York, to a sane and sensible way of life. And I’m never coming back.’

  ‘You mean you’ll let Amelia Loy win her little victory, just like that?’

  ‘It has little to do with Amelia Loy. You talked about honesty, Robert — and you lied in the same breath.’

  ‘I didn’t want to hurt you!’

  ‘But you managed it, nevertheless. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. Will you go now, and let me get on.’

  ‘No, I damn well won’t!’ Breathing heavily, he fought to regain control of himself. He wanted to tell her he loved her and no one else, wanted to say how important she was to him, too important to let go without a struggle.

  ‘Look, you can’t do this, Louisa. You can’t just go, without listening to me, without talking it over. I need you, Louisa.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed,’ she said flatly, folding a plain grey dress and taking it to the open trunk.

  ‘Does what we’ve shared mean nothing to you?’ he demanded, grasping her arm as she brushed past. ‘The children? Our life here? Letty and Georgina?’

  ‘I might well ask you,’ she said hotly, meeting his eyes for the first time, ‘the same question!’ Shaking off his restraining hand, she returned to the wardrobe. He saw she was trembling, and that he had shaken that cold implacability.

  Pursuing that small advantage, Robert caught her by the shoulders as she turned. ‘I love you,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘and I won’t let you go like this.’ But as his lips grazed hers, Louisa pushed out with angry force; catching him off-balance, she sent him staggering back. Coming up against the edge of the bed, he fell awkwardly across it, jarring his shoulder against its carved wooden foot.

  Inflamed by the sight of her wiping her mouth, he leapt to his feet and struck her hard with the flat of his hand.

  That resounding crack shocked him: it seemed to go on forever, as she slid senseless to the floor. White marks became red even as he watched, while his fingers stung with the force of the blow.

  In bitter remorse he bent and gathered her into his arms, cursing himself, his temper, his strength; even the brandy consumed so thoughtlessly. She moaned and it was a blessed relief, struggled feebly as he lifted her into bed. A moment later, as he shed his clothes and lay down beside her, she was crying and shivering with shock, but he warmed her with his body and kissed the tears away, silencing her protests with broken, begging pleas. He was aware only of how much, how very much, he wanted her; and in the belief that passion could rekindle love and need and all the things they had shared and somehow lost along the way, he forced himself into her, roused beyond thought or care by that tight, closed, struggling rejection. He was harshly demanding, forcing her mouth even as he opened that more secret place, arousing a response at last simply because he knew every inch, every trigger of that lovely, passionate body beneath him.

  Thrusting blindly to a shattering, mind-consuming climax, he was aware of nothing but success. Even afterwards, before sleep took reason away, with their bodies relaxed and slippery with sweat, he was sure she was his completely.

  Book Four

  1898–1899

  So thoroughly and long

  Have you now known me,

  So real in faith and strong

  Have I now shown me,

  That nothing needs disguise,

  Futher in any wise,

  Or asks or justifies

  A guarded tongue.

  Face unto face, then, say,

  Eyes my own meeting,

  Is your heart far away,

  Or with mine beating?

  From ‘Between Us Now’

  By Thomas Hardy.

  One

/>   High grey walls and taller trees; massive gates of cast-iron which seemed set to remain closed against the world. From the carriage window Robert stared at them, the fingers of his free hand drumming absently against his thigh.

  Anxious to have the visit over, to be away from this place with its disturbed and disturbing residents, Robert found himself thinking of White Leigh, whose gates were rarely shut and never locked. He knew he would have to go there soon, if only to pay dutiful respects to William and Anne.

  Almost two years since he had made his last hasty visit, and that at William’s insistence, not even to say goodbye. On a bitter January day, in the throes of uniform fittings, interviews and travel arrangements, Robert had dropped everything in answer to that peremptory summons. Whether tactical or simply coincidental, the moment had certainly been well-chosen; he had neither the time nor the inclination then for protracted arguments, and face to face with Charlotte for the first time in years, Robert had simply given in.

  An arthritic old man, draped in oilskins far too large, struggled to open the gates. As his carriage went through, Robert tossed a coin, which was caught with amazing agility. Amused, he leaned carefully back, wincing as his injured shoulder made contact with hard upholstery.

  It was perhaps half a mile to the house through open parkland, a drive which on a dry day might have been pleasant, but the lingering glow of autumn was barely a glimmer through the mist, its last embers almost extinguished by mud and rain. The carriage ground to a halt before a surprisingly well-kept mansion. Impressed, Robert gathered his cloak around him, and, declining his coachman’s offer of help, managed to alight and climb the steps with painful independence. The knives which seemed to stab at his shoulder with each and every movement were an irritating reminder that he was supposed to be convalescent.

  The door was opened eventually by a girl whose bright eyes and flushed cheeks suggested a hurried journey from distant quarters. Meeting Robert’s gaze, she quickly looked down, and once the door was closed behind him, carefully folded her hands out of sight. Apologizing for keeping him waiting, she said Sister Cuthbert was expecting him, and would he please to come this way?