“I think you are going to find it rather hard to convince me.”
“Nevertheless, before this day is out you are going to change your opinion of me. I know you are very fond of me… in a special way. It is just that I offend certain codes which you have been brought up to observe. Believe me, it is merely a matter of how one interprets the rules.”
“Surely there must be only one interpretation of right and wrong.”
“That is the superficial view, dear Claudine. There are shades of right and shades of wrong, and it depends entirely on the angle from which you study these matters.”
“You have a talent for talking round a subject, trying to hypnotise your listeners so that after a while they begin to wonder whether black is really black and white white.”
“Is that so? Then it is yet another of my talents. Isn’t this fun… you and I here together, talking, actually talking! For so long you would scarcely speak to me.”
“We said we would not refer to that time.”
“It is you who insist on veering towards it.”
“Tell me then, how often do you come out here… in the course of your duty?”
He considered. “Once a month, shall we say?”
“And the obliging Matty and Thomas keep a check on their customers. They listen to their conversations and report what they think might be of interest.”
“Now we are getting into deep waters.”
“Secret matters. I wish I knew what you were involved in.”
“Do you worry about me?”
“I try not to think of you.”
“That is rather unkind.”
“It’s very wise really.”
He looked at me steadily, his eyes a burning blue. “I understand. In your view it would be unwise to think of me.”
“I want to forget,” I said. “And why are we talking like this?”
“You have brought us back to it again. It must be very much in your mind.”
I stood up and walked round the room, examining the brasses.
“Thomas has some very fine stables,” he said. “This is a typical coaching inn. I’ll show you round after we’ve eaten.”
There were some old hunting prints on the walls; he walked round explaining what they represented and while he was doing this Matty came in with the soup.
“There,” she said, “that will warm you before you get down to the cold. I’ve always got a cauldron of soup. People ask for it again and again.”
The pease soup was delicious and so was the roast beef, garnished with herbs, served with hot crusty bread and a fruit pie to follow.
I sat back, drowsily content. Jonathan watched me closely.
“You agree that I have brought you to a worthy inn?”
“It was a very good meal.”
“Imagine what Matty would have done if she had known we were coming!”
“It could not have been better.”
“Oh, you don’t know Matty.”
We complimented her while she cleared away and Jonathan said we would rest awhile before resuming our journey.
I felt very happy. I knew I shouldn’t be, but Jonathan had that certain effect on me. It was a kind of bewitchment. There were warning voices in my mind, reminding me what could easily happen again. It must not be.
I kept telling myself that my being here was not of my contriving. Excuses come glibly when one has need of them.
I just knew that I wanted this to go on. I had never felt the same with anyone else. Never with anyone had I felt the desire to catch at time and hold it, making moments last for ever.
He talked about London, how he would be there more and more, for his father was gradually relinquishing the London business to him.
“It was a good thing,” he said, “that there were two of us… and so different. David the countryman; myself the townsman.”
“I think your father arranged it.”
“Would even he be clever enough for that?”
“He always seemed to get what he wanted.”
“A trait I sincerely hope he has passed on to his son.”
“I think there is no doubt that you have inherited a little of that spirit.”
“A little? I was hoping it was a great deal.”
“Well, you are young yet. I don’t suppose that when he was your age everything fell quite so neatly into Dickon’s hands. For one thing, he wanted my mother and he didn’t get her, did he, until later.”
“But in the end he did.”
“Only after years…”
“And thank Heaven it worked out that way or where should you and I be today, somewhere in the region of the unborn… if there is such a place.” He stood up. “Let’s go. We’ll ride along by the river. There are some pretty spots. That is what is so delightful about London. It is teeming with life… yet in a short time you can be out in the heart of the country.”
What a perfect afternoon that was! We said our goodbyes to Matty and Thomas, complimenting them on the excellent meal, inspected the stables, mounted our refreshed horses and set out.
About a mile from the inn we came to a grassy bank and Jonathan suggested that we tether the horses to a nearby bush and sit down to watch the river. A few craft passed… one or two returning home after having been in the city for the celebrations.
Contentment… forgetting all evil… sitting on the grass idly watching the ripples in the water… looking up as the occasional vessel floated by.
Suddenly Jonathan said: “We should have married, Claudine, you and I.”
I was silent and he went on: “It would have been ideal. You know it, don’t you? You and I… loving… really loving.”
“I would want a faithful husband, and you would never be that.”
“I might. Who knows?”
“No,” I said. “It is not in your nature.”
“Look at my father. He had adventures far and wide. Now there is not a more faithful husband in the country.”
“He has matured and grown wise. You are young yet.”
“My dear Claudine, are you wishing that we were old?”
“I wish—”
“Come tell me what you wish. You wish that you had not hastily married my brother. You know that I am the one for you. You long for the kind of life you could have shared with me… exciting, adventurous.”
“Your wife would not be very happy.”
“Oh, she would. There would be the reunions after my absences. It would be like starting all over again… the honeymoon, the perpetual honeymoon.”
“No,” I said firmly. “I am happier as I am.”
“You merely accept life, Claudine.”
“You seem to have forgotten that you will soon be a husband yourself.”
“It has not escaped my memory.”
“Oh, Jonathan, do you feel no shame at all! You would deceive Millicent, and what we did, you and I… you don’t regret that…”
“How could I regret the most exciting experience of my life?”
“Save such talk for your gullible victims.”
“On this occasion I speak the truth. I love you, Claudine. I did, right from the first moment I saw you. You remember… a little girl who spoke such quaint English. I thought, She’s mine. From the moment I saw you I thought that.”
“We did a terrible thing, Jonathan.”
“Is it so terrible to love?”
“In the circumstances, yes. I deceived my husband. You deceived your brother. Surely you see how despicable that is. I cannot understand why you do not feel shame. You don’t, do you?”
“No,” he replied coolly.
“You think we did no wrong?”
“We shall only have done wrong if we are discovered.” He laughed at me. “You are shocked. Listen, Claudine, this is the way I see it.” He picked up a stone and threw it in the river. “Sin… wickedness is hurting others. If others are not hurt by what one has done, then one has done no wrong.”
“But we know that we d
id.”
“We do indeed… and I shall never forget. Constantly I long to be with you… as we were in that room. I shall never forget it. I can’t regret… As long as David does not know, what harm have we done?”
“You are amoral… as well as immoral.”
“Perhaps you are right. We were happy, you and I, and happiness is a rare and wonderful gift. Could it be a sin not to take it when it is offered to you?”
“When it is a sin against one’s marriage vows and duty towards one’s brother?”
“I repeat that if no one is hurt there is no need to regret. The trouble with you, Claudine, is that you have been brought up to observe a set of conventions. You believe they are unalterable. They are the Right and the Wrong, and to offend against them is to incur the wrath of God… or at least the wrath of your relations. That is too simple. It is not as easy as that. The rules are flexible. Take my simple one: Do not hurt anyone. Keep people happy. That is as good a doctrine as any.”
“But don’t you see how bitterly you and I have sinned against David?”
“Only if David discovers. Then we shall have hurt him. If he does not know, what harm is there? I can tell you I have rarely seen David as happy as he is now.”
“It is impossible to make you see reason.”
“Your reason, Claudine. I am trying to make you see mine.”
“Yours is trimmed to suit yourself.”
“Perhaps yours is too.”
“And,” I said, “there is something else I have to say to you. Someone knows about us.”
“What? Who?”
“I don’t know. You laughed at my voices. They were not fantasy. Jeanne discovered some sort of speaking tube, which extends from that room to the kitchens. So… someone was in the Enderby kitchens when we were there. It was that person’s voice I heard.”
“Is that really so?”
“It is. It surprises you, doesn’t it? You see, if someone knows, we could find your theories thrust aside. If that someone told David, what then?”
“Who can it be?” he said.
“I don’t know. I suspect Mrs. Trent.”
“That wicked old woman!”
“She has not said anything to me, but she did try to blackmail me… well, that’s hardly the word… persuade me to help Evie along with Harry Farringdon. She said that her son Richard was Dickon’s son.”
“I know there was a suspicion of that. My father has helped her quite a bit. Grasslands was doing very badly and he put money into it. Richard Mather was a gambler and he drank too much. He almost ruined the family. My father has helped them out of various difficulties.”
“So you think she is right about Richard’s being your father’s son.”
“I daresay. There were always women with him, and what happened between them must have been when he was very young. It would give her a feeling that she had certain rights, I suppose… or at least Richard’s daughter had.”
“Yes, that was what she implied. She didn’t threaten or anything like that, but during the conversation there were one or two innuendos which might have suggested she knew something about me.”
“We’ll have no nonsense from her.”
“I did what I could for Evie… but that was because I was sorry for her and I did not know how my mother would feel about old scandals being raked over.”
He leaned towards me and took my hand.
“If she attempts to make any trouble, don’t try to handle it yourself. Let me know. I’ll soon settle her.”
I felt a relief sweeping over me. I had been more anxious than I cared to admit since Jeanne had shown me the speaking tube at Enderby.
“Thank you,” I said.
“After all,” he went on, smiling at me, “it’s our secret matter, isn’t it… yours and mine?”
“I shall never take your view of that sort of thing.”
“You might… in time. It’s the wise view.”
“I shall never forget. Every time I look at Amaryllis…”
“She’s mine, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know. I never shall.”
“I shall think of her always as mine and David will think of her as his.”
“David adores her,” I said. “I believe you hardly ever give her a thought.”
“You know so little about me, Claudine. It could take a lifetime to learn all the intricacies of my nature and to explore its hidden places.”
“I shall have to leave it to Millicent to make that voyage of discovery.”
“She will not make the attempt. Millicent accepts in the same way as you do. Our marriage will be an ideal one from her family’s point of view and from my family’s too. Important families are obsessed by what they think of as linking up. They’ve been doing it for centuries. It is the rock on which many of our noble houses have been founded. Little families become larger families, larger families become big ones. They grow in wealth and importance. Their watchword is Wealth and Power through Union.”
“It is all so cynical.”
“And all very wise.”
“And what of the people who are used to make these great edifices? Are they of no importance?”
“Of the utmost importance. They are the bricks and stones which one by one build up the tower of strength. It is their united cooperation which makes us what we are.”
“My mother brought nothing. It is true she would have been extremely wealthy…”
“And that would have delighted Dickon. However, he is so much in love with her that he took her penniless… as I should have taken you.”
“But your father had done his duty once in marrying your mother. I gather she contributed in great measure to the Eversleigh fortunes.”
“Ah yes, indeed. She brought in much of the London side. The banking… and all the interests that entailed. My father did his duty to the family admirably and therefore he earned the right to marry for love.”
“You are the most cynical man I ever met.”
“Because I look facts straight in the face, because I do not pander to sentimentality?”
“You don’t love Millicent.”
“I like Millicent. She amuses me. There will be battles between us, for Millicent is a very strong lady who likes to command. So is her mother, who has had a fair success with old Pettigrew. Look at Lady Pettigrew and there you see Millicent thirty years hence.”
“And the thought does not terrify you?”
“Indeed no. I admire Lady Pettigrew. I would not care for a mild simpering wife. Battle will be more stimulating than cloying reproaches.”
“Perhaps there will be reproaches.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“You do not present yourself in a very favourable light.”
“Yet I have a notion that you have some regard for me, Claudine. Have you?”
“I suppose you are what is called a rather fascinating man.”
“I am flattered.”
“I have seen you with people, with Millicent—the way the women servants look at you—and Matty today. It’s a sort of challenge to sex, I suppose.”
He laughed. “I like women. They are so pleasant to look at, and when they are clever, so interesting to talk to. I like battles… battles of words.”
“You like the sparring kind of flirtation at which you excel.”
“You do, too, Claudine.”
“I can’t think why you should imagine that.”
“Because you do it so well. People always like what they do well.”
He turned to look at me and I saw the blazing blue of his eyes and I thought: No, no. Not again. It must never happen again.
“Claudine,” he said seriously, “I love you. It will always be you, you know.”
He had drawn me to him and for a blissful moment I allowed myself to lie against him. I wanted to be with him; I wanted to be in that little room again. He had caught me in his spell and something told me he would never let me go.
I said: “I think we should
go back.”
“It’s early yet. There’ll be crowds in the streets. All the Court ceremonies won’t be over for a while yet. The servants and apprentices will be out in their thousands. You couldn’t keep them in on a day like this. We could go somewhere… be quite alone… together.”
For a moment I actually considered it. Then I was filled with shame.
“No,” I said firmly. “Never again. Sometimes I wake in the night. I have been dreaming…”
“Of me… of us,” he said.
“Of you and myself, and I awake hating myself. Your standards are not mine. You are soon to be married. We are actually preparing for your wedding. And I am married to David, your own brother. He is such a good man.”
“Yes, David is a good man.”
“He is at Clavering now, working hard as he always does, thinking perhaps that we shall soon be together. You have tried to explain yourself to me… your philosophy of life. It is so cynical, Jonathan. You think so little of matters which are of the utmost seriousness to me.”
“We won’t hurt David. He shall never know.”
“How can you be sure? I’d rather die than that he should know.”
“He won’t suspect. He would never doubt you. He is completely straight himself and he thinks others are the same, particularly you. He has lived his life along lines laid down for him. I know him well. We were in the nursery together; we shared tutors. I was the devious one. I made adventure. I used to spy for my old nurse when she became quite mad, and was so upset by my mother’s death that she watched my father, hoping to catch him in some villainy. Every woman who interested him she wanted to know about. I actually enjoyed that. Once I followed him and your mother into Enderby. That old house, how it crops up! It seems to be a place for secret assignations. David is simple… I don’t mean mentally. He is very clever, intellectually, far more than I ever was, but he is ignorant of life… my sort of life. He lives conventionally, thinks conventionally, and he is inclined to bestow on everyone else the same qualities which he possesses. Therefore he would never suspect.”
“If this terrible wrong I have done him…”
“I have told you it is only a wrong if it is found out.”
“I don’t accept your cynical deductions. But if this terrible wrong I have done him can be kept from him, I shall never, never do anything that can hurt him again.”
Voices in a Haunted Room Page 25
