“I didn’t! All I said was—”
“He took it as an accusation, didn’t he?”
“Well...”
“You really should be careful, dear,” said Alice. “You really should. Let sleeping dogs lie. They decided Rodric killed your father, so leave it at that. Resurrecting old grudges and angers can only be dangerous to us, and if you offend George again—”
“He was having an affair with Mama, I swear it. I know when she looks at a man as she looked at him last year ... Supposing Papa found out, threatened—”
“You really should let it be, dear. Just because your mother may have wished to have George as a lover, you’ve no proof that he did as she wanted, and you’ve no proof that he killed your father, nor will you ever have. Let it be, dearest! If you start resurrecting the past, who knows what might happen? Supposing someone found out that you came back earlier to Haraldsdyke that afternoon than you said you did? You told me you went straight to our room and lay down for a while as you weren’t well, but I never saw you, did I, dear, and no one else saw you either. Supposing someone saw you slip into the house before your father was killed that afternoon and supposing they spoke up and said so if you went accusing George of murder—”
“Who could have seen me?” He was nervous; the wine spilled from his glass and stained the carpet. “No one saw me!”
“Mary might have done.”
“She would have said so before now.”
“Perhaps.”
“Besides,” he laughed uneasily “I had no reason for killing Papa.”
“No, dear? People might think you did, though. He knew it was you, you know, and not Rodric who was involved with the Frenchies in the smuggling.”
The glass jerked right out of Vere’s hand and smashed to a hundred pieces. Vere’s face went from a dull white to the color of ashes.
“He never knew that!”
“Rodric told him. Your father discovered the contraband hidden in the Thirty-Acre barn—”
“I know that, but he suspected Rodric! He never suspected me! He thought it was another of Rodric’s escapades—he never suspected that his meanness over money had driven me to smuggling to help raise money for my plans.”
“Yes, dear,” said Alice, “he suspected Rodric, but Rodric denied it, why else do you suppose they had such a violent quarrel? In the end your father half-believed him, but not entirely. He shouted out: ‘Neither of you will inherit anything under my new will! I’m finished with both of you!’ he shouts. ‘To hell with you,’ said Rodric, shouting back, ‘alter your will as you like—I no longer care!’ But of course he didn’t know that your father had already altered the will and made a new one the day before, leaving everything to George. I suppose he’d had his suspicions ever since he discovered the contraband two days earlier in the barn.”
“But my God!” cried Vere, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me before that you knew this?”
“I didn’t want to worry you, dear. I saw no point in worrying you. And the less it was talked of the better. I didn’t want anyone getting ideas and suspecting you of Lord knows what terrible things when it’s quite plain Rodric was guilty.”
“You really believe he was guilty?”
“He must have been, dear. He had the cause and he was there with your father in the library and both of them in towering rages.”
“I suppose so. Lord knows I had no love for Rodric, but I hardly thought he’d be fool enough to kill the source of all his income.”
“He didn’t know your father had already altered his will to leave everything to George. He thought he would inherit money.”
“True ... But supposing George knew the will had been changed in his favor? He was the only one of us who really benefited from Papa’s death.”
“You benefited too, dear. If he had lived he would have told the Watch at Rye that you were in league with the Frenchies.”
“But my God—”
“Let it be, dear. Do as I say and let it be. Whatever happened in the past doesn’t alter the present situation—it doesn’t change the fact that we live here on George’s charity only and if we offend George we’ll find ourselves with no roof over our heads.”
“Oh Alice, Alice...’’He turned to her in despair and I saw her broad arms gather him to her as if he were a little child and stroke his hair as he buried his face against her breast.
“There, there, dear,” she said, much as she had spoken to her own children in the nursery that day. “There, there, my love...”
“I feel so helpless, so inadequate.”
“Hush, don’t say such things...”
They were silent, he clinging to her, she still clasping him in the comfort of her embrace, but presently he lifted his face to hers and kissed her on the lips. The atmosphere changed; there was passion in their embrace now, and such fervor in their gestures as I had never seen before between husband and wife. I glanced away, feeling that I was trespassing, and at the same time I was conscious of desolation as I saw the emptiness of my own marriage in a sickening moment of revelation. I was just wishing with all my heart that I could escape when Vere said suddenly: “I can’t bear the insecurity of my position! What’s to happen to our children? Even if we stay here, you nothing but an unpaid housekeeper and I nothing but a mere bailiff, there’s no future for the children. George’s children will inherit Haraldsdyke.”
“If George has children,” said Alice. “If he doesn’t, our children will inherit.”
“Why shouldn’t George have children? He’s fit and vigorous and the girl is young and healthy. She may already be pregnant, for all we know.”
“I think not,” said Alice. “Not at present.”
“She will be before long.” He buried his face in his hands again. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice muffled, and then he raised his head in anger. “Why did George have to take up his inheritance? He had money in Vienna—and property too! What interest has he ever shown in Haraldsdyke? If he hadn’t troubled to fulfill the conditions of the will by marrying an English girl within the year, the estate would have passed straight to Stephen, and I would have been trustee in my son’s name till he came of age.”
“It’s no use saying that now, dear, not now that George has successfully claimed his inheritance and fulfilled the conditions of the will.”
“And if the girl gets pregnant, it’s the end of all our hopes! The devil take George Brandson! I wish—”
“Don’t despair so, dear! You despair so easily. Why, a multitude of things may happen yet. Even if she does get pregnant, the child may be sickly and die. Or she may have a miscarriage. Or she may be barren. Or she may herself die.”
A chill seemed to strike through that warm room. My blood seemed to run to ice and my mouth was dry.
“You’re always so calm,” Vere was saying, and to me at that moment it seemed as if he were speaking from a long way away, “so sensible ... I don’t know what I would ever do without you, Alice. Truthfully, I don’t know what I would ever do if I didn’t have you beside me at times such as these...”
They kissed. There was silence for a while. I glanced out of the window and saw my reflection in the glass pane, my eyes wide and dark in my white face.
“Come upstairs, my love,” said Alice. “Come to bed. Don’t sit here any more.”
He rose obediently. The light caught his face and made him look haggard and drawn, and then he turned aside into the shadows and I could only see the gleam of his bright hair as he walked with Alice to the door.
They were gone; I was alone at last.
I was so stiff with tension, so unnerved by all I had overheard that I had to sit down and drink some of the wine from the decanter. Even after that I had difficulty in controlling my trembling limbs. However, finally I felt sufficiently recovered to return upstairs, and moving cautiously I stole outside and across the hall to the staircase.
The corridor above was in darkness and I stumbled unsteadily
towards our rooms. When I reached the door of our sitting room at last I was so relieved I nearly fell across the threshold, but as I opened the door, I froze immediately in my tracks. For Ester was with Axel before the fireplace and it was obvious even to me in my confused state that she was very angry.
“... chit of a girl,” Esther was saying as I opened the door and halted abruptly on the threshold.
They both swung around to face me.
We all looked at one another in silence. Then:
“So there you are, my dear,” said Axel, moving towards me. “I was wondering what had happened to you. “ And he drew me across the threshold and kissed me lightly on the forehead.
Over his shoulder I saw Esther bite her lip. “I must go,” she said sharply. “Pray excuse me. Goodnight to you both.”
“Goodnight, Esther,” Axel said courteously and held the door open for her.
I said goodnight faintly as she swept past us out into the corridor without another word.
Axel closed the door again and we were alone together.
“Are you all right?” he said at once, and no doubt he was wondering why I had chosen to go wandering about the house in a robe with my hair trailing loose upon my shoulders. “You look a little pale.”
“I—couldn’t sleep.” I went past him into the bedroom. “In the end I went downstairs for a glass of wine in the hope that it would make me sleepy.”
“Did you find the wine?”
“There was a decanter in the dining room.”
“Ah yes, of course, so there is. There’s also a decanter kept in the saloon in case you should ever need it. The saloon is nearer than the dining room.” He followed me into the bedroom. “I’m glad you arrived back when you did. I was having a rather difficult time with Esther.”
I could not look at him for fear I might betray my knowledge of his past relationship with her. Taking off my robe and laying it aside, I slipped into bed once more and closed my eyes.
“What did she want?” I managed to say.
“She seemed to have some idea that she was no longer wanted here and would prefer to take a house in Rye. Naturally I had to assure her that she was mistaken.”
I knew instinctively that he was lying. I thought I knew all too well why Esther had chosen to come to his apartments to talk to him and why she had left immediately I had arrived on the scene. If she was angry, it was not because she felt she was now unwanted at Haraldsdyke; she was angry because she felt she was now unwanted in his bedroom. Only a fool would have chosen such a time to fan the flames of an old love affair, and certainly whatever else he might be, Axel was no fool.
“I think she’s bored with country life,” he was saying. “Vere has entertained very little during the past year, and Esther lived for her dinner parties and social occasions. To be honest, I think she wishes to take a house in Rye less because she feels unwanted here than because she is anxious to escape from this way of life now that she’s free to do so.”
“Why should she feel unwanted here?” I watched him through my lashes. He was undressing slowly, examining the fine linen of his shirt for any soiled marks.
“She was the mistress here for more than twenty-five years. Some women under such circumstances are reluctant to give way to a younger woman.”
It was a clever excuse. It explained Esther’s anger and her withdrawal as soon as I appeared.
“But why did she come to our apartments? She knew I had retired to bed.”
“I had found you weren’t in bed and as I went to the landing to look for you she came out of the drawing room and I asked her where you were. She said she had something to discuss with me in private and I suggested she come here.” He took off his shirt and went into his adjoining dressing room.
I lay very still, my eyes half-closed, my limbs slowly becoming tense and aching again. I was appalled how smoothly he could invent plausible lies.
At length he came out of the dressing room, snuffed the candles and slid into bed beside me. His limbs brushed mine.
“How cold you are,” he said, drawing me closer to the warmth of his body. “I hope you haven’t caught a chill.”
“No ...” I longed to press myself even closer to him and feel secure, but I was only conscious of nervousness and panic. “Axel—”
“Yes,” he said. “Your state of health is delicate just now. I remember.”
He did not sound altogether pleased. I sensed rather than felt his withdrawal from me.
“I—I’m sorry,” I was stammering, feeling a mere ineffectual child cowed by a maze of subtle nightmares which surrounded me on all sides. “I’m so sorry, Axel—”
“Why should you be sorry?” he said. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Goodnight, my dear, and I hope you sleep well.”
“Thank you,” I whispered wretchedly. “Goodnight.”
But sleep was impossible. I lay in that great bed, my limbs chilled and my feet feeling as ice, but my mind was not as numbed as my body and the longer I lay quietly in the darkness the more vivid my thoughts became. I began to toss and turn and when I finally crept closer to Axel for warmth, he turned abruptly, startling me for I thought he had been asleep.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m a little cold.”
“Cold! You’re frozen! Come here.”
I felt better lying in his arms. I even managed to drift off to sleep but awoke soon in panic after Vere, Alice and Esther had all turned to me in a dream and said: “You’ll really have to die, you know.”
“My dear child,” said Axel astonished as I sat up gasping in fright. “What on earth’s possessed you tonight?” And he fired a match, lit the candle and drew me to him in consternation.
Such was my state of nerves that I could endure my silence no longer. “I—I overheard a conversation between Vere and Alice when I was downstairs,” I whispered desperately. “They don’t want me to become pregnant—they want you to die childless so that their children can inherit— they want me to die...”
“Wait, wait, wait! I’ve never heard such a confused tale! My dear, Vere and Alice may, understandably, wish their children to inherit Haraldsdyke, but I can assure you that your death wouldn’t help them at all, since there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t marry again—and again, if need be, though God forbid it ... if they feel murderously inclined, which, I doubt, then I’m the one they should dispose of, since I’m the only one who stands in their way at present.”
He sounded so sane and balanced that I felt ashamed of my ridiculous panic.
“But they don’t want me to have children, Axel—”
“No,” he said, “I don’t suppose they do. Neither would I, if I were in their situation. However, if you become pregnant there’s nothing whatsoever they could do about it apart from cursing their misfortune anew.”
“But—”
“Yes? What’s troubling you now?”
“Perhaps—would it be possible ... I mean, is it necessary that I have children now? Can I not wait a little and have them later?”
There was a silence. I saw the tolerant amusement die from his face and the old opaque expression descend like a veil over his eyes. At length he said dryly: “And how would you propose to arrange that, may I ask?”
“I—” My face was hot with embarrassment. “Surely—there are ways—”
“For whores,” he said. “Not for ladies in your position.”
I was without words. I could only lie there in a paralysis of shame and wish I had never spoken.
“You’re not seriously alarmed by these chance remarks you overheard, are you?”
I shook my head in misery.
“Then why are you unanxious for children at present? I would of course see that you had the best medical care and attention throughout your confinement.”
Speech was impossible. I could only stare at the sheet.
“I am most anxious for children,” he said, “and not merely in order to establish myself at Haraldsdyke.”
>
Hot tears scalded my eyes. It needed all my will-power and concentration to hold them in check. At last I managed to say in a very cold formal voice: “Please forgive me. I suddenly felt inadequate and too young for such a thing, but now I see I was being childish and stupid. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it to you.”
“Far from being inadequate and too young, I would say just the opposite. You will soon be eighteen, you’re intelligent, capable and surprisingly mature in many ways. I’m sure you would be an excellent mother, and besides I think motherhood would probably be the best thing for you. You must have felt very alone in the world these last few weeks, and a child would alleviate your loneliness to some degree.”
I was silent.
He kissed me lightly. “So no more talk about inadequacies and youth.” I did not reply.
He snuffed the candle so that we were in darkness once more and attempted to take me in his arms again, but presently I turned away from him and he made no attempt to stop me. My last conscious thought before I fell asleep was that if I asked Dame Joan the witch for a potion she would be sure to tell her daughter later, and then Alice and Vere would know with certainty that there was no threat to their children’s inheritance for a while.
And once they knew that, I should be safe.
Five
I had planned to steal away into the village some time during the next day, but this proved to be impossible. I had forgotten that Axel had invited the Shermans to dinner and my morning was in fact spent with Alice preparing the menu, talking to the cook and supervising the dusting of the furniture and the cleaning of the silver. The strain of conducting the tasks was considerable even though Alice was at my elbow to advise and instruct me; I retired to my room soon after noon feeling exhausted and glad to be alone for a while before it was time to dress for dinner.
The guests were punctual; I was introduced to Mr. James Sherman, the Brandsons’ lawyer, who was a portly gentleman in his forties, to his wife, Mrs. James, and to their two daughters, Evelina and Annabella, both of whom looked at me with frank jealousy, presumably because I had married the master of Haraldsdyke and they had not. On meeting them I was not surprised that Axel had looked elsewhere, and I turned with relief to greet Mr. Charles Sherman, Mr. James’ younger brother, who was about the same age as Axel himself. Vere and Alice soon appeared upon the scene, Vere making an effort to appear relaxed and at ease, Alice seeming quietly self-effacing. Mary sat in a corner and fidgeted, unnoticed. Ned slunk in silently in the hope that no one would see him and presently vanished as unobtrusively as he had arrived. It was left to Esther to make the grand entrance, and she did so superbly, gliding into the room in a swirl of black lace and diamonds, and moving forward to greet each of the guests effusively.
The Shrouded Walls Page 12
