The Shadowcutter

by Harriet Smart

  He dodged through the little orchard and then stopped, suddenly afraid to approach and disturb her. He had no wish to cause her pain, and that was what often seemed to happen when he talked with her now. Perhaps it was better to stand and watch and start to learn the resignation that she had told him, often enough, was their only option.

  But then she turned to reach for a berry on a high branch and saw him. She smiled and held out a basket to him.

  “You can make yourself useful. There is a great clump there that I cannot reach.”

  “It still feels too early for raspberries, to me,” said Felix, going over to her side. “It’s not even August – where? Oh I see...” He reached for a berry and ate it. It was warm and sweet, like a kiss.

  How was Market Craven?” she said, moving away a little and starting to pick again.

  “Just about as I predicted,” he said.

  “Did you see her?”

  “No, thank goodness.”

  “And is she going to sue the Major?”

  “It seems so. Wretched woman.” He ate another raspberry. “These are good.”

  “Yes, Mr Macgillray was impressed. He will be stealing cuttings for Holbroke. Oh, and he wants to know what your thoughts were about the West Wall. He has plans, you see, for better apricots, and it will have to be a foot or two higher, apparently.”

  Macgillray was the head gardener at Holbroke whom Lord Rothborough had sent over to consider what improvements might be made.

  “I would rather he did not touch a thing,” Felix said. “It is perfect as it is.”

  “That is what your mother said. She thought he was going to be extravagant and asked him for a full list of the costs.”

  “Thank goodness you and she know what you are doing.”

  “She does,” Sukey said. “It was nothing to do with me. I did not say a word. Why should I?”

  He felt the rebuff in her words and frowned.

  “Please –” he began, but she put her hand, to silence him.

  “And I have another bit of news for you. I had a letter from my brother in Manchester this morning,” she said.

  “And?” Felix said, not wishing at all to ask what the contents of the letter were.

  “He has got sight of a post for me. It sounds like a good one. A country house in Cheshire. A silk-manufacturer with a young family. The house not too large, and liberal terms.”

  “I wish you had not asked him to look for you.”

  “I told you I would.”

  “But –”

  “There isn’t any point going over this again. I have to go, sooner or later.”

  “No you don’t,” he said. “And I don’t suppose you have raised this with Major Vernon yet, have you?”

  “No, but it is not his decision.”

  “I think he might be a little offended –”

  “Major Vernon and I will come to our own terms,” she said. “You are just using him to muddy the waters again, which is neither fair nor honourable. You know as well as I do –” She broke off and turned away, putting down the basket and wrapping her arms about herself. He saw that she was trembling. It was as if he had hit her. “You know –” she began again, but the words were choking her.

  He put down his own basket and stepped tentatively closer to her, wanting desperately to comfort her, and knowing at the same time his comfort could only add to her torment, as it added to his own. About a foot’s length divided them and he could not resist reaching out and laying his hand gently on her shoulder.

  Then she reached up and laid her hand over his and he turned her gently to face him, as if they were executing a figure in a dance. They stood there, hand in hand, in silence for some long moments.

  “I want to be weak,” she said, after a long moment. “That is the trouble. I want to give in. I am so sick of holding back.”

  He moved a little closer and pressed his forehead to hers, grabbing her other hand and squeezing it.

  “Then give in. Say yes. Say you will marry me.”

  He felt her fingertips brush his cheek, with such gentleness that he could not prevent himself closing his eyes and shuddering with pleasure at it.

  “Yes?” he said again.

  And then, so softly he was not sure he had heard right, her answer came.

  “Yes.”

  -0-

  Mr Carswell was perhaps not the ideal walking companion. His pace was steady enough for Giles in his present enfeebled state, but there a mystical, spiritual tinge to all his conversation, and a sense of moral correctness that made Giles uncomfortable. The pastoral staff was much in evidence, and for all that it was extremely well-intentioned, only done out of loving kindness for a soul in distress, he could only bear to hear so much about God’s mysterious plans. It began to stir up the smouldering fire of anger that was inside him. At present, his illness had kept it dampened down, but as his strength returned it was growing. No amount of well-meant words or sincere prayers could extinguish it. He wanted more than justice. He wanted terrible things. Carswell’s report from Market Craven that morning began to prey on his mind as the homily continued.

  Fortunately they had turned now, and were coming back down the lime walk. It was as much as Giles could manage, both physically and mentally. The sun was now at its highest and he was looking forward to retreating inside into the cool great parlour with its stone flagged floor.

  Just as they quit the shade of the trees, they saw a smart little gig, pulled by an elegant grey, coming through the gates and draw up by the front door.

  It contained two ladies in broad brimmed hats, one of whom was driving, and a boy in the Rothborough livery, perched behind.

  “Lady Charlotte and Lady Maria,” Giles said to Mr Carswell.

  “We are to leave tomorrow, for Sussex,” said Lady Maria, when she had been handed down from the gig. “But we could not go without paying a call.”

  She said it with a blush. It was possible, Giles thought, that neither of their parents knew about this excursion.

  “I am glad to see you up and about, Major Vernon,” said Lady Charlotte, who was flushed also. “Very glad indeed.”

  “Let us go and find Mrs Carswell,” said Giles. “She will be pleased to see you.”

  “I have brought her some flowers,” said Lady Maria, who was clutching a bouquet of stupendous blooms, such as only could be found at Holbroke.

  They went inside and found Mrs Carswell in the little sitting room off the great parlour. Tea was brought in and the normal civilities exchanged.

  “I wonder where Felix is,” said Mrs Carswell to her husband.

  “I shall go and see if I can find him,” Giles said, getting up.

  “I think you had better stay in your chair, sir,” said Mrs Carswell. “You have had your exercise for the day. You look a little pale.”

  “I am quite well, ma’am, I promise you,” said Giles and left the room.

  He found that Lady Charlotte had followed him into the great parlour.

  “I know we should not have interrupted your convalescence –” she began, and then walked down the room. “But as my sister said, we felt we could not leave without knowing that you were improving.” Then she added, “Which you appear to be.”

  “Very much so, thank you. As you can see, I am in good hands.”

  “I’m glad to know it. I only wish I might have helped. I felt so useless, and I would have liked to be useful. You have had such a trial and – and not to even be able to go her burial – forgive me, perhaps I should not speak of that.”

  He did not know how to answer.

  “I wanted to go to the graveside,” she burst out, “but my mother – well it is against all custom, of course, but it is on my conscience. I ought to have gone, for your sake, Major Vernon. I felt, that since you could not be there, that someone should have been there who... who...”

  “Lord Rothborough and Mr Carswell were there.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “But –” She broke
off again and walked down the room and went at stood in the great oriel window, her face turned away from him. “You see I have felt this thing... this friendship, this connection between us, Major Vernon, I have felt it so deeply, and now I cannot think of anything else.”

  Giles felt overcome with exhaustion suddenly. He sat down rather heavily on a bench against the wall.

  “It is as if I have been wounded,” she went on. “Oh God help me, I should not have said any of this! But I felt I could not go away and say nothing.”

  He could not help sighing. The poor brave creature. Her words cut at him like the slash of sword blade. She dared to turn and look at him, but only for a moment. His weary demeanour as he sat slouched on the bench must have been eloquent. She covered her face with her hands.

  “No, I should not have said anything!” she exclaimed. “Oh, dear Lord!”

  She made for the door but he reached out and caught her hand. She struggled for a moment with false resistance and then yielded, all too eagerly.

  “Sit down,” he said, drawing her down onto the bench beside him. “And listen. I am not going to tell you anything you want to hear at this moment but I want you to listen. Yes?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “This is a path we all walk along, men and women. We feel things that nothing can be done about, and which torment us like devils, but it will pass. You can make it pass. You talked about being useful – well, make yourself useful – find an occupation! You are an unmarried woman, you will say, and your must observe the proprieties, of course, but you are in a position that other women can only dream off. You have the ear of an influential and powerful man – your father. Make it your business to know what he is doing in Parliament – he has an interest in a hundred worthy subjects and there I am sure you will find some cause that will engage you –”

  He stopped, realising he did not like the sermonising tone of his voice. Yes, work was a great cure, but it did not stop the ache of the heart, the pain of being lonely, nor the desire to love and be loved. He dared to glance at her. There was a tear rolling down her cheek and he felt a glass shard being pressed into his hand, her pain as well as his own. He wished he could end it, as he knew she wished he would.

  How easy it would be to take this easy, beneficent and noble comfort that she was so willing to offer him! How pleasant it would be to let himself thaw at her fireside over the coming months, to keep her as a secret salve for his bruised soul, to know that in time, he could have a wife again, and such a wife!

  No doubt she had spun out all that in her own fancy: that after eighteen months or so, it would be considered decent to come out of the shadows of mourning and look to their future. She would be four-and-twenty by then, and perhaps her parents would look more kindly on him as a suitor, despite his lack of position, fortune or title. She probably knew which of the family properties would be theirs to set up house in and which seat in the House of Commons he might stand for. He would win it, after an energetic campaign which Lady Charlotte Vernon had quietly and brilliantly organized, although the parliamentary agent would get all the ostensible credit. Yet she would not mind, because her mind would have turned to the business of the Vernon nursery.

  Children.

  Yes, that was the hardest thing of all to renounce, that possibility. All the worldly advantages she represented were nothing to that. That was the weak point in him, and he had to struggle hard to overcome it. She was so close to him on that bench – he could reach out and take her hand if he wished, and press it in both his, and that would have been enough to settle it.

  So he forced himself to his feet, feeling the weary ache in his bones that his illness had brought on. She gazed up at him with her watery eyes.

  He shook his head.

  “You are a great prize,” he said. “But not for me. It can’t be. You know that, I think.” She nodded and looked away. “There will be someone, someone better and younger and he will give you everything that you deserve and more.”

  “He will have to be in your pattern,” she said, getting up.

  “I hope not,” he said. “You have no idea how imperfect I am, how unworthy of you I am.”

  “I do not care!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I do not!”

  She stretched her finger tips towards him, as if she meant at any moment to throw her arms about him. He wanted to yield but he stepped away with another shake of his head.

  “Go back to Mrs Carswell and your sister,” he said. “I am going to look for Mr Carswell.”

  “I cannot go back yet,” she said, with a sob in her voice.

  “Then sit there and compose yourself.”

  She complied and he left her sitting there without another glance. He went upstairs to Carswell’s room, and passing over the gallery, looked through the latticed screen. She was still sitting there, her hands pressed to her face, her head bent. It was a wretched sight, and he gave up his search for Carswell and retreated to his room.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  They feasted on raspberries and kisses, and then lay for a little while in the deep shade of a pear tree.

  “I must get back to work, I will be missed. We have to be a little careful,” she said, tearing herself from him.

  He wanted to pull her back down into his arms, but he knew she was right.

  “We will be careful,” he said, propping himself on his elbows and watching her smooth down her skirts.

  “I must look a sight,” she said. “Is my hair all...?”

  “A little wild, yes,” he said. “But much better in my eyes.”

  “You should see it first thing in the morning. A haystack it is.”

  The thought of seeing her red-gold curls flowing down her back was almost too much to bear. He scrabbled to his feet and kissed her again.

  “I hope I shan’t have to wait too long for that.”

  “How shall we manage it?” she said, a touch plaintively.

  “We will find a way,” he said. “Now, you had better go,” he said, reaching for her hat that was hanging with his on a branch of the pear tree. He dropped it onto her head and tied the ribbons under her chin, before kissing her again on the lips.

  When she had gone, he wandered about the garden and out into the park beyond, in an ecstatic daze. He hoped he would not encounter anyone, feeling that if he did he would have to blurt out the astounding truth that Sukey was now his and that he was now as good as married. The trees and the birds made better companions for this sudden gift of joy. They asked no searching questions.

  He would have it done it all properly, he decided, with white satin, orange blossoms and bride cake, and Sukey honoured as she should be. He resolved to buy her a betrothal ring, even if she could not wear it publicly for the time being. But in the end it did not matter. What mattered was that she, like him, had been unable to face the future alone. They had found each other and now they were one, indivisible, a rock against disaster.

  He was idling through an area of rough pasture, set with clumps of trees, where four sweet-faced, decorative, brown-spotted cows were grazing. They had been sent from Holbroke so that Ardenthwaite should have fresh milk – and he knew this because Sukey had taken notice of it. She had been delighted by them and impressed by the quality of their milk. In his mother’s hearing she had said that it would make excellent butter and cheese. His mother had been in agreement and pleased by her knowledge of practical dairying. “Mrs Connolly is such a treasure,” she had said. Felix had at that moment, wanted to desperately to tell her exactly how much of a treasure she was, how she had transformed his life and become the source of all his happiness.

  He stood and gazed at the cows, happy that he understood their good points thanks to her, seeing in them all the comfortable possibilities of domestic life with her. Sweet butter for his bread, made in his own dairy, under Sukey’s diligent supervision, seemed only one of many engaging prospects. He determined then that it would not be long before they let their momentous news out
of its captivity. She must take her rightful place sooner rather than later. He would smooth the way and make everyone see that it was not something to which anyone could object. He would save her from all the pains and arguments she feared. He would not allow anyone to object. How could they? For when they saw it, they would know, as he did, the absolute rightness of the match. All opposition would crumble, he was sure of it.

  The sound of a carriage on the drive that crossed the park brought him back to the present moment. He turned and saw Lord Rothborough’s light travelling carriage, bowling along the avenue of great elms. He had only seen his Lordship a few hours ago in Market Craven and wondered what business could bring him there that afternoon.

  He had been noticed. The carriage stopped. Lord Rothborough got out and began to walk towards him while the carriage continued towards the house.

  “I am glad to get you alone,” Lord Rothborough said, as he approached. “I’ve just come from Stanegate. I’m a little... well, I don’t quite know, to be frank.” This was an unusual thing for Lord Rothborough to say, and Felix was, for a moment, silenced. Lord Rothborough squinted at the cows. “They look settled here. They will not want to come back.”

  “I should make you an offer for them, then,” Felix said. “Isn’t that what I am supposed to say? Though I don’t know how much they might be worth. I’m not a proper farmer yet.”

  Lord Rothborough reached out and squeezed Felix’s shoulder, as if grateful for this remark. “You also seem settled here,” he said, with some emotion in his voice. “Which is excellent.”

  “I like it,” Felix said, realising with a certain humility that he had Lord Rothborough to thank not just for the title deeds to Ardenthwaite, but Sukey’s surrender. The quiet magic of the place had brought them together, he was sure of it.

  “Good,” said Lord Rothborough. He rubbed his face and replaced his hat. “Let us walk back to the house, shall we?”