The Daughters of Eden Trilogy

by Michelle Paver

  The car in the carriageway was an expensive one, a Daimler or a Bentley; she couldn’t tell which from this angle. So not the Ruthvens, she thought with a vague sense of unease.

  She opened the door and went out onto the landing. Voices in the drawing room. Slowly she went downstairs, and paused with her hand on the door handle.

  ‘I wish you’d let me know you were coming,’ she heard Adam say curtly.

  ‘I didn’t know I was until yesterday,’ the other man replied.

  Belle’s hand tightened on the door handle. It can’t be, she thought.

  ‘. . . but it seemed the natural thing to do, to stop by and see my grandson,’ said Cornelius Traherne.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘I’m afraid that Max is from home,’ said Adam.

  Why did you let him in? thought Belle, shifting uneasily on the sofa. Why can’t you just tell him to get out?

  With every second that Traherne stayed, her sense of danger grew. Couldn’t Adam feel it too? How could he stand there, calmly talking to this man? How could he not see through the avuncular façade to what he really was?

  ‘What a pity,’ said Traherne, leaning back in his chair and studying Adam with amusement.

  Belle could see him noting Adam’s red-rimmed eyes and unshaven cheeks, just as he’d taken in her own hastily brushed hair and lack of make-up. No doubt he was adding two and two together and making five. No doubt he would make use of it if he could.

  ‘If you’d be so kind,’ he said to Adam, ‘as to tell me where I can find the little fellow, I should so much like to see how he goes on.’

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ muttered Belle.

  Traherne ignored her.

  Adam threw her a glance. ‘Since you’re in the area for a while,’ he said, turning back to Traherne, ‘perhaps something can be arranged, but not yet. Max isn’t well.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Traherne with every appearance of concern. ‘Not this dreadful influenza, I hope?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ said Adam. ‘He got into a scrape on the beach, and needs to rest for a couple of days.’

  Why did you have to tell him that? thought Belle.

  ‘Mr Traherne,’ said Adam, ‘forgive me for being blunt, but you are aware of the terms of your daughter’s will?’

  Traherne sighed. ‘Poor dear Sibella. All that energy, wasted in needless antipathy. But really – and do call me Cornelius – there’s nothing in the will to prevent my simply calling on my grandson. Now is there?’

  ‘Not as such,’ Adam conceded, ‘but—’

  ‘Well, then.’ Traherne smiled. ‘And now, Palairet, you must forgive me for being blunt in my turn, but I feel it my duty as a grandfather to register my concern. I arrive in London only to be told by my daughter’s solicitors that my grandson has been whisked away to some remote and not altogether healthy Scottish outpost. I take the first available train, as any grandfather would, only to be told that the little chap is “from home”, whatever that means, having been laid up after a “scrape” while in his new guardian’s care—’

  ‘Adam was the one who rescued him,’ Belle cut in.

  ‘He needed to be “rescued”? Dear me, how very unfortunate. Although perhaps it’s as well that he is from home, given that arrangements here at Cairngowrie Hall seem so extraordinarily . . . well, informal.’

  Belle felt her cheeks growing hot.

  Adam’s face went stiff. ‘Now look here, Traherne—’

  ‘But I shall say nothing of that,’ said Traherne imperturbably, ‘for I’m well aware that times have changed, and it is only old fogeys such as I who still have any regard for the proprieties . . .’

  Belle’s jaw dropped.

  ‘. . . although as a friend of the family’s,’ he went on with a fatherly glance at her, ‘it occurs to me to wonder, Belle dear, what your papa and mamma would say if they knew what you were up to. By the way, they were both well when I saw them last, as were the twins. Your mamma’s efforts at quarantine appear to be keeping them clear of the influenza, at least for the present.’

  Belle gripped the edge of the sofa. ‘But – there isn’t any ’flu in Jamaica.’

  Traherne opened his eyes wide. ‘My dear girl, where have you been? It’s been ravaging the island for weeks. Tens of thousands have died.’

  ‘Miss Lawe has been ill herself,’ said Adam. ‘She’s only just regained her strength.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said Traherne. ‘And my apologies, Belle, if you misconstrued what I—’

  ‘I don’t want your apologies,’ snapped Belle. ‘I want you to leave.’

  ‘Belle,’ said Adam, ‘there’s no need to—’

  ‘Why don’t you tell him to leave?’ she cried. ‘We all know he wouldn’t even be here if Max wasn’t rich.’

  ‘Oh, I say,’ murmured Traherne, ‘now that simply won’t do.’ He caught her gaze and held it, and as she stared into the fathomless pupils she knew that she was being warned to back down.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ said Adam.

  Traherne released Belle from his gaze and rose to his feet. ‘I don’t very much care for your tone,’ he told Adam. ‘It reflects badly on you, Palairet. Very badly indeed.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Adam insincerely. ‘Now let me show you out.’

  For a moment they stood facing one another. Traherne was a head shorter than Adam, and clearly did not relish the difference. ‘Well,’ he said, running a liver-spotted hand down the front of his waistcoat. ‘I shall be in Galloway for a fortnight. I shall return when it suits.’

  In silence, Adam opened the drawing-room doors.

  Belle ran to the window and watched as they waited on the steps for the chauffeur to bring the motor. She felt angry and sick, but more than that, she felt afraid. All these weeks at Cairngowrie, and the thought of Traherne had hardly crossed her mind. She’d been safe here. Safe with Adam. But now, she realized with a sensation of falling, they had been found out. Nowhere was safe. How could it be, when Traherne was Max’s grandfather, and Adam was Max’s guardian? They would never be free of him.

  The Daimler slid away. Adam came in and closed the drawing-room doors behind him, and leaned against them.

  Belle turned to him. ‘You shouldn’t have let him in.’

  He studied her in silence. ‘What was I to do?’ he said quietly. ‘Turn him away from my door, like some Victorian patriarch?’

  ‘Can’t you see that he was sneering at you? He thinks you’re weak. Can’t you see that?’

  ‘I don’t care what he thinks. My only aim is to protect Max.’

  Cold with shock, she paced the room.

  ‘Belle,’ he said. ‘Let’s not quarrel about this. It isn’t—’

  ‘Why must you be so considerate?’ she cried. ‘Can’t you see what he is? People like him take advantage. That’s what they do.’

  ‘People like him?’ He put his hands in his pockets and went to the fire, and stood looking down at it. ‘You seem to know him rather well.’

  She caught her breath. ‘He’s a friend of my father’s. Well, not a friend so much as a fellow planter. I’ve known him all my life.’

  ‘You’re telling me too much,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Still with his hands in his pockets, he turned to face her. He appeared perfectly calm, but there was a stillness about his face which frightened her. ‘You’re giving me too much information,’ he said. ‘It’s what people do when they’re hiding something. Were you his mistress?’

  The suddenness of it took her breath away. ‘His – mistress?’ She tried to laugh. ‘What an old-fashioned word to use.’

  ‘Don’t take refuge in semantics. Did you sleep together?’

  Once again, she felt as if she were falling from a great height.

  ‘Did you sleep together?’ he said again.

  She licked her lips. ‘Yes.’

  He took it without flinching. Almost,
she thought, as if he’d guessed it all along. ‘So this morning,’ he said slowly, ‘you were lying to me.’

  ‘. . . Yes. But Adam—’

  ‘Why? Why did you lie?’

  She did not reply.

  She watched him go to the sofa and sit with his elbows on his knees, staring down at the rug. His face was too calm. She could see him retreating into himself. ‘Were you in love with him?’ he said, still without looking at her.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then why?’

  Her throat had closed. Panic constricted her chest. And yet she knew that this was her chance. All she had to do was tell him the truth. Right now. Just tell him. It’s not what you think. I was a child. I was a child . . .

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. If he knew the truth, he would know that she wasn’t who he thought she was, but someone else altogether. Not a lady, but a ‘female’ – the kind of female who lets a man like Traherne put his hand on her breast . . . She would be found out. And then he wouldn’t love her any more.

  ‘Tell me why,’ Adam said again.

  ‘I – I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? It can’t be that hard. After all, there can only be a number of reasons why a beautiful young woman would sleep with a repellent old man.’

  As she watched him sitting there, struggling to take it in, she knew that it was impossible between them. Traherne would haunt them for ever. There would always be this threat hanging over them. This ghost at the feast.

  The sense of loss took her breath away. She had woken that morning feeling fragile and tired, but also full of hope. Adam had told her they would be all right, and she had believed him. But it wasn’t all right. It would never be all right.

  ‘Why?’ Adam said again. ‘Just tell me why.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said.

  He shut his eyes in pain.

  She wanted to go to him, but she knew that it wouldn’t do any good. Instead she clasped her arms about her waist and walked past him, out of the drawing room and up the stairs, and into her room.

  He did not come after her.

  Dear Maud,

  You asked me once not to hurt Adam, and I said that I wouldn’t. I’m afraid I have to go back on that. I’m leaving, and it’s going to hurt him; but not nearly as much as if I were to stay. I can’t explain, but there are reasons why being together would be impossible. I managed to ignore them for a while, because I was at Cairngowrie, and I had Adam and you and Max to think about and to care for. But I can’t ignore the reasons any more, so I’m leaving. If this makes you hate me, I’ll understand. But please believe that I’m doing this for Adam’s sake, not my own. I’ll write to you when I know where I’ll be.

  Your friend,

  Belle Lawe.

  P.S. Please would you give the enclosed note to Max. I’m sorry I couldn’t see him to say goodbye, but it’s best for everyone if I go quickly.

  It had been ridiculously easy to get away.

  While Adam was down at the House warning Maud about Traherne, she’d sent the groom to Stranraer for Ritchie’s cart. By four o’clock she was at the railway station, sitting numbly on a bench and watching the rain streaming down the window panes, while the elderly gentleman who was the only other occupant of the First Class waiting room covertly assessed her potential as weekend entertainment.

  He was a dapper little attorney with a small, domed stomach, and white hair brushed carefully over his bald spot in a manner which his wife probably told him looked distinguished. As he seated himself at the other end of Belle’s bench and offered her his newspaper, she pretended not to notice when he slipped off his wedding ring and tucked it into his watch pocket.

  He probably thinks he’s a man of the world, she thought as she answered his opening gambits. What is it about me that attracts such men? Is it something they can sniff out, as a dog scents a bitch in season?

  She felt too hollow and exhausted to care. What did it matter? What did any of it matter? If only the train would come, she could get this over, and start the rest of her life without Adam.

  ‘But my dear young lady,’ exclaimed the little attorney, ‘what a delightful coincidence! I too have just missed the London train, and am waiting for the four-thirty to Newton Stewart. Such a nuisance, these restricted services! Newton Stewart hardly seems worth it, only what, twenty-five miles distant? Were it not for the fast train in the morning, one would scarcely bother.’ He paused, then added with what he clearly thought was a mischievous twinkle, ‘We shall have to put up for the night at the Station Hotel. Such a nuisance.’

  ‘Goodness me,’ she murmured.

  ‘Oh, it’s quite decent for a small town,’ he added hastily, as if he feared he’d gone too far. ‘And highly respectable.’

  She let the silence grow.

  Eventually the little attorney said, ‘Such a bore, this rain, don’t you agree? They say that we’re set for the most dismal November.’

  ‘What a bore,’ she echoed.

  ‘However, permit me to say,’ he added with leaden gallantry, ‘that in such company, no-one could notice the clouds for long.’

  She inclined her head in acknowledgement and thought, what fools men are. How readily they deceive themselves that a woman finds them attractive. What does he actually see when he looks at himself in the glass? What does he think I see?

  And what shall we do about him? she wondered. Shall we send him off with a flea in his ear? Or shall we give him a dirty little secret to take home and finger when he’s sitting with his wife?

  At last the train for Newton Stewart pulled into the station. Porters ran to place steps at the doors. People alighted and hurried off beneath umbrellas. The little attorney had just patted his plump thighs and announced that he would run and ensure that the porter found them a congenial carriage – when a shadow cut across him.

  ‘I need to speak to the lady alone,’ said Adam.

  The little attorney gave a start.

  Belle clenched her hands in her lap.

  Adam was hatless, his greatcoat streaked dark with rain. He was making no attempt at civility, and the little attorney bristled. ‘Alone,’ Adam repeated in a tone that Belle had never heard him use before.

  The little attorney went very red. Gathering his things, he hurried from the waiting room without a backward glance.

  Adam watched him go, then took his place at the end of the bench. From inside his coat he took a small square package, and placed it on the bench beside her. ‘This arrived from Berkeley Square after you left. Letters from Jamaica. I thought you should have them.’

  She took the package and clasped it on her lap.

  ‘I got your note,’ he said.

  She nodded.

  ‘It didn’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Only that I’m leaving.’

  ‘Yes. Only that.’

  ‘That’s all there is to say.’

  His face was wet with rain. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘That man just now. He seemed to think he was onto a good thing.’

  She flushed. ‘We were going to share a carriage to Newton Stewart.’

  ‘And then? What then?’

  She did not reply.

  ‘Would you have slept with him, too? Is that what you meant in East Street, when you said that you belonged in the slums?’

  ‘. . . Perhaps.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Then why did you ask?’

  On the platform, train doors were being slammed shut. The porter glanced in Belle’s direction and indicated her carriage.

  She stood up. ‘The truth is, Adam, you don’t really know me.’

  ‘Yes I do. I do know you.’

  She moved to the door, but he stepped in front. ‘What you told me about Traherne,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Of course it does.’

  ‘No. No. I can forget about it.’

  ‘Well, I can’t.’

 
; He drew a deep breath, and she saw what this was costing him. To watch him in such pain was unbearable. She pushed past him and ran out onto the platform. She saw the porter holding open the door of her carriage, and made for it as if for a refuge. To her relief, the little attorney was not inside. Presumably Adam had frightened him off for good.

  She tried to shut the door, but Adam held it open. He shot a look at the porter and the man withdrew.

  ‘You’re getting wet,’ said Belle. ‘Please don’t—’

  ‘When Celia asked for a divorce,’ he cut in, ‘I said yes straight away. It never occurred to me to ask her to stay. What would be the point in humiliating myself—’

  ‘Adam—’

  ‘Belle. Please. I’m asking you. I’m asking you to stay.’

  ‘Don’t do this. I tried to explain—’

  ‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said. ‘I can’t—’ His voice broke. ‘I can’t lose you.’

  She took his hand and put it from the door. ‘Please. Adam.’

  The train began to move. The rain was running down his face. ‘Belle, don’t—’

  ‘Goodbye, Adam,’ she said. ‘Don’t try to find me. There isn’t any point.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Station Hotel at Newton Stewart must once have been a cosy little place, but four years of war had taken their toll. Coal rationing, lighting restrictions, food shortages, and a staff decimated by influenza meant that it could only provide Belle with a chilly little chamber furnished in stained velveteen, and a cold supper of herring in oatmeal.

  The waiter clearly disapproved of young women travelling alone, and gave her a draughty table by the kitchen. She was directly in sight of the little attorney from Stranraer, who was also dining alone, but to her relief he buried himself in his newspaper, and pretended not to see her.

  For company, she’d brought along the package of letters from home, but she found that she still couldn’t bring herself to open them. She wouldn’t be able to cope with homesickness on top of everything else. Pushing aside her unfinished herring, she rose and went up to her room.

  The next morning she came down early to pay her bill, but was beaten to it by a noisy party of commercial travellers. The harried clerk asked her to wait in the lounge, and she acceded without a word, and found herself a chair.