‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Firm hands pushed her back. ‘You’ll catch your death, the state you’re in!’
‘You don’t understand, Lucy – I have to see him. At once!’
Lucy shook her head. Slow she might be, but her mind once made up was not easily unmade. ‘Over my dead body you’ll go out there! Ha’ you seen that weather?’ The afternoon was bleak and threatening. The wind gusted still, rattling the windowpanes. ‘The very idea!’
Jessica, truly distressed, sucked her lip and fought against childish tears. The thought of clear-headed, dependable Robert had come like a ray of light in a dark world. She had to talk to him. She could not endure the long hours of another night solitary with her grim discovery. She had to talk to someone. ‘Lucy – please! I can’t explain, but it really is important. I have to see Robert.’ In her agitation she had caught the older girl’s hand. ‘If I send a note, will you make sure he gets it?’
Lucy patted the hand that clasped hers. ‘You know well I will. I’ll fetch paper, and a pen.’ At the door she stopped, and turned. ‘My head’s like a sieve! I forgot to say – Mr Giles sent to ask after you and to ask if you’d be joining them at dinner this evening?’
Jessica actually felt the blood drain from her face. Panic rose, choking her. The mere thought of facing those two – of ever having to face them again – brought a lift of physical. ‘No!’ she said, and then again, ‘No! I don’t want anything!’
Lucy nodded placidly. ‘I’ll let them know in the kitchen. They’ll send up a tray.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Jessica laid back on her pillows. Robert. She needed Robert. ‘Bring the paper and pen, Lucy. And – please – hurry?’
It was early evening when he came. A tray had been sent up, and sent back untouched. Von Kotzebue’s little book, usually a solace for all ills, lay upon Jessica’s lap, fallen open at the pages that she usually perused so eagerly. She had insisted on dressing and had resolutely refused Lucy’s offer of another sleeping draught. Remembering the desperation of the note she had sent she swung between certainty that Robert would come this evening and equal certainty that he would, very sensibly, decide not to brave the darkness and the bad weather but come in the morning. Guiltily she remembered that he had not been well. Supposing he came, and in coming made himself sick again? Frowning, she nibbled her thumb and glowered into the fire.
Lucy drew the curtains and lit more lamps to dispel the darkness. Usually Jessica loved the atmosphere of this little sitting room with its small windows and sloping ceiling, but tonight she found it oppressive. She wished she had gone to Old Hall. Perhaps she might have persuaded the FitzBoltons to let her stay there? Perhaps she might never have come back? She knew the thought was childish, but that was what she wanted – the need that was growing: to get away. For ever. She shifted in her chair, staring into the flames, her mouth a set and unhappy line.
‘You’ve not eaten a thing all day—’ Grumbling good-naturedly Lucy moved about the room, plumping pillows, straightening curtains, fussing with the fire. ‘—you’ll not get better if you don’t eat, Miss Jess, I’m tellin’ you that. A chill’s what you’ve got, I reckon – feed a chill, starve a fever, that’s what they say—’
Jessica did not reply; indeed she barely heard the words. Somewhere in a small corner of her mind the first germ of an idea had stirred. An outrageous idea. But yet—
Abruptly she stood up and peered into the mirror that hung above the mantle. A small pale face looked back, freckled faintly still despite all Lucy’s efforts with lemon juice and pastes. Her eyes weren’t bad. Her hair was awful. Exasperatedly she poked at it with a finger. It resolutely refused to curl smoothly and so the fashionable short styles – that of course suited Caroline as if specifically designed for her – were completely out of the question. The only way to keep it under control at all was to scrape it into a bun at the nape of her neck – and even then it flew like mousey wire about her head the moment she moved.
Lucy had stopped her fussing and was watching her in surprise. Jessica bit her lips as she had seen Caroline do, to redden them. ‘Lucy? Am I very ugly?’
Lucy laughed outright. ‘Why bless you, no—!’ She stopped as a shadow moved in the doorway. Jessica jumped, and sudden colour rose in her cheeks.
‘Robert! You – startled me!’ She turned and held out her hands. ‘I’m sorry to have brought you out on such a night. But I had to see you – and Lucy wouldn’t let me out! Thank you so much for coming!’
He advanced into the light. ‘How could I not? I never read such a desperate plea! What’s happened? Have the French after all landed on the Suffolk coast?’ The walk across the park had brought colour to his cheeks and the wind had ruffled his neat hair. She had never been so thankful to see anyone. He took her proffered hands and, whimsically, carried them to his lips.
She smiled a little, and blushed again. Lucy was watching her narrowly.
‘Lucy – take Mr Robert’s coat. And bring something – Robert, what would you like? Something to warm you?’
He shrugged lightly, slipped neatly from his greatcoat. ‘A glass of wine would be more than acceptable.’
‘A glass – a bottle – of wine.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ Lucy hovered by the door.
Jessica looked at her sharply. ‘Off you go, Lucy.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ She left, leaving the door ajar.
Robert chuckled a little. ‘Your mother hen doesn’t trust me.’
Jessica turned away from him to hide the deep colour that she knew had risen again in her face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, lightly. She settled herself, straight-backed in one of the small armchairs, waved him to the other.
He sat forward, elbows on knees, face suddenly intent. ‘Well, now – what is all this? What’s so desperate as to bring me through wind and rain to a distressed damsel’s side?’
She shook her head. ‘It isn’t funny, Robert. Truly it isn’t. It’s awful.’ She paused. ‘I had to talk to someone. Had to talk to you. I’ve got something terrible to tell you. And something – something very important to ask you.’
He leaned back, his eyes concerned and questioning despite the lightness of his manner. ‘Well here I am.’
She indicated the still-open door. ‘Wait. Wait till Lucy’s gone.’
He lifted a hand and nodded agreement. They sat in silence as Lucy reappeared, bearing a tray upon which stood a bottle of wine and two glasses. She was puffing a little from the stairs. She put the tray down with a clatter. ‘There’ll be murder done between me and that Frenchie one of these days, just mark my words. I nearly had to fight him for it, that I did!’
Jessica smiled. ‘Thank you, Lucy.’
Lucy hovered.
‘You can go and see to Patrick now.’
‘But—’
‘Lucy!’ There was exasperation in the word. ‘If I need you I’ll call. I want to talk to Robert privately.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ Grudgingly she left, closing the door behind her.
Robert poured the wine and handed Jessica a glass. She held it, not tasting it. To her surprise he drank his thirstily and poured another. She waited for him to sit down. Faced with the moment words had suddenly deserted her.
‘Now then,’ he sat down, watching her, ‘tell Uncle Robert all about it.’
She told him, carefully and with restraint, not looking at him, watching instead the dance of the firelight in the depths of the glass she held in her shaking hands. Once or twice her voice almost failed her, and she struggled to control tears. As faithfully as she could she repeated word for word the conversation she had overheard, tried to describe the scene as she remembered it. After a first, small shocked movement he remained very still and quiet, not interrupting, saying nothing to ease the fraught silences when once or twice she choked to speechlessness. By the time she finished she could not despite her best efforts control her tears.
‘God in heaven,’ Robert said, simply. Then, practically, ‘Drink your wine. Jus
t a little.’
Trembling uncontrollably she tried to obey, but the wine slopped over the side of the glass and spilled onto the fine wool of her gown like blood. Gently he reached and took the glass from her.
‘What am I to do?’ she asked, desolately. ‘Oh, Robert – what am I to do?’
He knelt beside her, supporting her, an arm about her shoulders. ‘Poor little thing,’ he said, softly. ‘Poor little Jess.’
She was sobbing now. He held her gently until the crying eased. Eventually she pulled away from him, dashing a hand across her eyes. ‘I’m – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.’
He sat back on his heels, his face sombre. ‘Who can blame you? What a pickle, eh?’
She nodded. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘No.’
She looked at him, her tear-streaked face woebegone. ‘I can’t stay here! I can’t! I can’t face them – can’t bear to see them—’
‘Will you tell anyone? Anyone else, I mean?’
She shook her head in desperation. ‘I don’t know! Oh, Robert – you can see that I can’t tell Mama? It would kill her! And anyway—’ she stopped.
‘They’d deny it,’ he finished.
‘Yes. I haven’t any proof, have I? And – what could Giles actually be accused of? He didn’t save Edward. Well, we all knew that, didn’t we? What we didn’t know was that he acted deliberately. That would surely be impossible to prove?’
He nodded.
‘There’s just one thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Patrick. If there’s any justice in this world then that marriage will be proved. If there’s any doubt – any doubt at all – that Giles will accept it then I’ll tell him.’
‘Tell him what you heard?’
‘Yes.’ Her face was set in stubborn lines. ‘I may not have proof, and he may be able to deny it. But it would make life very unpleasant for him if I told what I heard, wouldn’t it?’
‘There’s little doubt of that.’ Robert’s voice was dry.
‘If I told Mama, she’d move heaven and earth to disinherit Giles, and he must know it.’
Robert nodded.
‘So at least if I have to I can use it as a weapon. For Patrick.’ She hesitated. ‘For Edward.’
He nodded. He was watching her with a small glint of surprised admiration in his eyes.
She rose and walked to the fireplace where she stood looking into the flames, her arms folded across her breasts. Then she took a long, slow breath and turned. ‘I’ll have that wine now.’ Her smile was weak, but it brought an answering one from him. He handed her the glass. Steadily she took it, and as steadily drank. ‘Thank you for listening.’
He smiled and shrugged the thanks away, gracefully. Then he looked at her. ‘You said you had a question?’
Abruptly she turned from him.
He smiled. ‘Well? Fire away.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’ Her voice was faint, all her calm again deserting her.
He surveyed her back, puzzled. ‘Why ever not?’
She shook her head again.
He stood, and taking her by the shoulders turned her to face him. She ducked her head. Her face was fiery. She would not look at him. He laughed, perplexed. ‘Jessie? What is it?’
‘An – idea I had.’ She struggled with the words. ‘A stupid idea.’
‘Try me.’
She shook her head.
‘Jessie, please – what is this?’ Faint exasperation was in his voice.
She lifted her head, an odd mixture of determination and desperate uncertainty on her face. ‘Do you think I’m ugly?’
‘What?’ Almost he burst into laughter, but the serious look on her face deterred him.
‘Do you?’
‘No! Of course not! What an idiotic thing to say! Is that your question?’
She ducked her head again. ‘Not – not exactly.’
‘Then what?’
She hesitated a moment longer, then bravely lifted her head to meet his laughing eyes. ‘Would you marry me?’
The laughter fled his face. The hands that had held her shoulders dropped to his side. Before he turned from her she saw the look in his eyes, and flinched from it. Humiliation flooded her. She clasped her hands tightly before her to still their shaking. ‘I said it was a stupid idea.’ The trembling of her voice betrayed her.
He shook his head, helplessly. ‘Oh, my God!’
‘It doesn’t matter. Truly it doesn’t. I just thought – we’ve been friends for so long – and – and I told you – it was a stupid idea. Stupid.’ She could not stop her tongue. She could hear the hysterical lift in her voice. She clamped her mouth shut.
In the silence a wild gust of wind battered the small panes of the window.
Robert was standing, head bowed, leaning against the armchair. In the quiet she could hear his breathing. ‘Please, Robert, don’t be upset,’ she said at last her voice childishly small in the silence. ‘I – I don’t mind. I don’t blame you—’
He shook his head, slowly. ‘Stop it, Jessica. You don’t understand.’
‘I do – yes, I do. And I’m sorry—’
He spun to face her, caught her hand. ‘No! I tell you, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. It isn’t you. It’s me. I – Jessica, if I intended to marry anyone – if I thought I could marry anyone – it would be you. I promise you that. But—’ he stopped.
‘What?’ She was truly puzzled.
That he was fighting a battle with himself was nakedly clear upon his face. At last, painfully, he said, ‘Sit down, Jessica. Let me try to explain. As best as I can, at any rate. You deserve that at least.’
A little shakily she sat. He remained standing, half turned from her. There was a long and difficult silence.
‘Robert, please—’ she ventured at last, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
He lifted his head. ‘First of all,’ he said, his voice low and clear, ‘I have to tell you that I lied to you. About the reason why I shan’t be going back to Oxford. It isn’t by choice. I’ve been sent down.’
Shock held her silent for a moment. Then, ‘But – Robert! Whatever for? Whatever did you do?’ She could not for a moment imagine Robert involved in any kind of wrongdoing.
His head lifted, sharply and somehow proudly. His face was grim. ‘Nothing!’ he said, ‘I swear to you, Jessie – nothing! It was a misunderstanding! A – a horrible misinterpretation – by people who – who simply won’t – or can’t – see that we are not all the same. That we don’t all conform to their narrow-minded idea of what we should be. They dirty everything they touch!’ The words were bitter.
She said nothing for a moment. She sensed in him a pain, and a sudden violent anger that confused and just a little frightened her. This was not the Robert she knew. She reached and pulled a chair forward, closer to the fire. ‘Come. Sit down and tell me about it. Everything. Please, Robert.’ She added as he hesitated, ‘You have to tell me now. You can’t stop.’
He moved slowly to the chair, perched tensely on the edge of the seat. For the space of several breaths he stared into the fire, collecting himself. When he spoke his voice was quiet and strained, and he stumbled over the words. ‘I think you know that – that I’ve never made friends easily? I don’t – I’m afraid that on the whole I really don’t like people very much. I find most of them coarse – uncaring – insensitive—’ He fell to silence for a moment. ‘I can’t stand it,’ he said at last, quietly. ‘I think – I think there must be something wrong with me. I’d rather be totally alone than forced into the company of – of people who trivialize – brutalize – the most beautiful things in life. But then – sometimes – maybe just a few times in a lifetime – you do meet someone different. Someone who feels as you do. Someone who understands. And – when you meet someone like that the bond you form is very special. It is – an association of souls. A refuge against a horrible world. It’s love, in the true sense of the word.’ He stopped talking for a moment,
sunk in thought. Then he sighed deeply. ‘Paul Aloway was a friend like that. At least – I thought he was. I don’t know how I would have survived my schooldays without him. But – he changed. He said that our friendship was childish, and must be put away with other childish things. I think in the end it – it embarrassed him, even.’ His voice was bleak. His hands were clasped before him, the right thumb rubbing nervously upon the left. Jessica, oddly, found herself watching the compulsive movement, unable to look away.
‘At Oxford—’ Robert continued after a moment, ‘I at last found another friend. Another – special friend. We were closer even than Paul and I had been. Sebastian was—’ He lifted his head and, shocked, Jessica saw the glitter of tears in his dark eyes, ‘—he was the most wonderful person I have ever known. Intelligent. Sensitive. Understanding. But – they couldn’t leave us alone, of course. People – were jealous of our friendship. They – said things about us—’ A deep flush of colour was rising in his face. He could not hold her puzzled eyes. He looked down at his clasped hands. ‘They said we – were more than friends—’ he stopped.
For a moment, nothing registered. Then, very slowly, the words made a horrible sense. Sheltered she had been, but her reading had been extensive and even in her innocence she had picked up a smattering of information, mostly more confusing than otherwise, about certain unnatural sexual practices. She looked away from him, chewing her lip.
‘It wasn’t true!’ His voice was suddenly passionate, ‘Jessie, I swear it wasn’t true! Sebastian was my friend – my true friend. We were brothers of the soul. We cared for each other. We shared things. We thought alike. Our friendship was the most wonderful – the most sacred thing I have ever possessed. I don’t understand how people can be so – destructive! So horribly filthy-minded!’ He ducked his head abruptly, knuckling his forehead.
She waited a moment. Then, ‘Didn’t you tell them?’ she asked.
He lifted his head. ‘Of course we did. They didn’t believe us. They preferred to believe the filthy lies that people told about us.’ He laughed, suddenly and harshly. ‘Which just shows how little they knew of us. If they had only known—’ He pulled himself up.
The Hawthorne Heritage Page 21
