A little while ago Robert would have come in without asking, sure of his welcome, but things had changed and he and Caroline were not comfortable with each other any more.
“Come in, by all means,” Caroline told him.
He followed her into the kitchen. “I haven’t seen you properly for weeks,” he said. “You always seem to be busy.”
“There’s more cooking to do — with James here, and Harriet — I like to do most of the cooking myself. Comfort is all right, but she needs a good deal of supervision.”
Caroline had thrown off her hat and coat and put on an apron. She was standing at the table measuring out the ingredients for her scones. She could feel that Robert was watching her and she felt uneasy and embarrassed.
“Caroline,” he said at last. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t go on like this, it’s getting me down. I feel cut off from you. Have I done anything to hurt you? Are you annoyed with me?”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed.
“I feel cut off,” he repeated. “I feel as if you had withdrawn your — your friendship from me. Do tell me what’s the matter.”
“It’s nothing — honestly — you’re imagining things.”
He walked to the window and looked out. “No,” he said. “I’m not imagining things. There’s something wrong between you and me, Caroline.”
“Robert, there isn’t —”
“I can’t bear it! If it mattered less I could let things drift and hope for them to come right of themselves. I thought at first that was the best way — not to bother you, just to go on waiting for things to come right — but, instead of coming right, things are getting worse; you’re drifting farther and farther away every day.”
Caroline had begun to mix the dough, but her hands were shaking so that she had to stop. “Don’t Robert,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t say any more.”
“But I must!” he exclaimed. “I must get to the bottom of it. Surely you can tell me what I’ve done to offend you! It isn’t fair to cast me off without telling me what I’ve done — without giving me a chance to explain.”
“You haven’t — offended me. How could you think so!”
He was silent for a few moments and then he sighed. “I suppose it’s hopeless,” he said. “I was afraid it was hopeless but I couldn’t go away without trying to put things right.”
“You’re going away!”
He nodded. “I can’t stay here. I must find something to do, some sort of work. I can’t stay in Ashbridge.”
“But, Robert — surely — I mean you aren’t going away now!” cried Caroline in horror-stricken tones.
“Don’t you want me to go?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then there is hope,” he said eagerly. “You don’t absolutely dislike me, Caroline? Oh, my dear, I love you so tenderly. I’ll wait and go on waiting if there’s the slightest hope.”
“Robert!” she cried in dismay.
“I thought at one time you were beginning to be fond of me,” he continued. “I didn’t want to rush you. I thought I would let you get to know me better. I thought I would go slowly.”
“Robert — no!”
“You knew I loved you?”
“No, this — this amazes me!” she cried. “You don’t mean it, Robert!”
“Of course I mean it. I thought you knew. I thought you understood what I felt.”
“No,” said Caroline. “No, I never thought —”
“But, Caroline, you must have known. How could you not know?” asked Robert in bewilderment. “I kept on coming here, trying to see you … surely you must have realised it was because I couldn’t stay away!”
She did not answer that.
“Well, you know now,” he told her. “It was because I couldn’t stay away, because I went on hoping to see you and talk to you as we used to talk when I first came to Ashbridge.”
“But, Robert, I thought —”
“You thought what?” he asked.
“I thought you came to see — the others,” she murmured.
“Well — of course,” he agreed. “I like all your family. James is a grand fellow and Harriet is one of the best … but there’s only one you. I want to marry you, Caroline.”
“I couldn’t think of it!” she exclaimed.
“Please think of it. We were such friends — we got on so well together. I know you liked me at one time. Some stupid little thing has come between us — I’d give anything to know what it was.” He looked at her appealingly, but she said nothing.
“I won’t ask for love,” he continued. “I love you dearly, but I can do without your love if you will give me your friendship — your companionship. We’re both rather lonely people, aren’t we? I know we could be happy together —”
“It’s impossible,” said Caroline in a low voice. “You’ve made a mistake — a frightful mistake.”
“You mean you don’t like me at all?”
“Of course I like you, Robert.”
“Then it isn’t absolutely hopeless.”
“Yes, it’s hopeless,” she declared. “I’ve made up my mind not to marry again. There’s so much to do … I have to think of the children …” She was floundering about, trying to find words; she was so amazed, so taken aback that she scarcely knew what she was saying. It all sounded foolish and unreal. “I like you immensely,” she repeated. “I’ve thought of you as my friend. I should like you as a brother, that’s how I’ve thought of you … I couldn’t … couldn’t change … I couldn’t think of it.”
“Then there’s no hope at all?” asked Robert sadly. He hesitated for a few moments, looking at her, but she did not reply; indeed she could not reply for there was a lump in her throat that almost choked her and her eyes were stinging with tears.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I won’t bother you any more.”
*
It was at this moment, when they were still standing there, that Harriet looked in at the window. “We’ve had a lovely walk,” she cried gaily. “Joss caught a rabbit — wasn’t it clever of him? We can have it for supper instead of cod. How I hate cod! Hallo, Robert, are you helping Caroline to make scones?”
“Hindering her, I’m afraid,” returned Robert, trying to speak naturally.
“You can come and help me,” she told him. “You can dry Joss — it’s a man’s job — he went into the bog after the rabbit. I think we should start by putting him through the mangle.”
Robert was glad of the excuse to leave the kitchen. He went out, and Caroline heard them talking together over their task. Her thoughts were in confusion, she felt quite dazed. She had been so sure that Robert and Harriet were fond of each other. She was still quite sure that Harriet was fond of Robert. What a frightful mess! thought Caroline. And there was no way out of it as far as she could see. She had turned deliberately from Robert, withdrawing inside herself and erecting a barrier so that nobody should see her heart … and it was all a terrible mistake. She had handed Robert to Harriet and had encouraged Harriet to think of him — not encouraged her openly, of course, but in all sorts of little ways — so how could she take him back? In any case she couldn’t, for she had refused him irrevocably.
What would happen now? Robert would go away and neither she nor Harriet would ever see him again. Harriet, thought Caroline in dismay. Harriet, who had refused a dozen offers and now had fallen in love! What ought I to do, wondered Caroline. Should I say something to Harriet? But what could I say?
She was still dazed by all that had happened when Harriet came in with Joss jumping round her.
“Robert wouldn’t stay to tea,” said Harriet. “We’ll have it cosily by ourselves. Are the scones ready?”
“No,” said Caroline. “I didn’t make them after all.”
“Of course you made them,” declared Harriet, laughing.
She walked across the kitchen and opened the oven door. “And here they are!” she added.
“I must have ma
de them without noticing,” said Caroline.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked Harriet in alarm.
“Yes — at least I’ve got a little headache, that’s all. We’ll have tea, shall we?”
“I’ll make it, darling. You go and sit down in the drawing-room. I’ll do everything,” declared Harriet, beginning to bustle about. “You’ve been doing too much, that’s what’s the matter. You must let me do more to help you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE EVENING seemed extraordinarily long. Caroline sat by the fire and turned over the pages of a book while the others played a game … she was aware that she was not living up to Harriet’s creed but she felt so shattered by what had happened that she could not disguise her suffering. Harriet and James and Bobbie were full of sympathy and kept on inquiring if her headache were any better, and finally they decided she must go to bed.
“If you aren’t better in the morning I shall ring up Dr. Smart,” said James firmly.
“Nonsense,” declared Caroline. “It’s a headache, that’s all. I shall be perfectly well in the morning, there’s no need to worry.”
Harriet was just as worried as James. She pursued Caroline to her room and dosed her with aspirin and tucked her up in bed … and these kind attentions made Caroline feel worse than ever, made her feel like a murderess.
“If you’re ill in the night you’ll come for me, won’t you?” said Harriet, looking at her patient anxiously.
“I’m very fond of you,” declared Caroline. “You know that, don’t you? I’d do anything for you, Harrie.”
“Yes, of course,” agreed her sister in some alarm. “Of course, darling, and so would I for you.”
“Remember that, won’t you? Sometimes one can’t do anything — and sometimes one tries to do something and it all goes wrong. I’m rather silly, I’m afraid, but I do love you, Harrie.”
“I think I’d better take your temperature!”
“No,” said Caroline, pulling herself together. “No, I’m not a bit feverish. Don’t worry about me, I shall be all right in the morning.”
Oddly enough, Caroline slept quite well, perhaps this was due to the aspirin or perhaps it was because she felt it was no good worrying. The situation was so complicated that it was utterly beyond her. I shall do nothing about it, she thought as she shut her eyes … and in a few moments she was asleep.
The morning was fine and sunny and the wind had gone down. Caroline felt much better, she came down to breakfast as usual and endeavoured to reassure her relations as to her health.
“I’m perfectly well,” she told them. “I don’t know what was the matter — perhaps something disagreed with me, or I may have got a little chill. I shall go out for a good walk this morning. That will complete the cure.”
“If you’re quite sure you’re fit for it,” said Harriet doubtfully.
Caroline was quite sure — there was nothing like a walk to clear the brain and blow the cobwebs away. So, after she had made a shepherd’s-pie (from the scanty remains of yesterday’s dinner), she put it in the oven and went to get her coat.
“Are you coming, Harriet?” she asked, looking in at the drawing-room door.
“No, I’ve got a letter to write,” replied Harriet. “Take Joss — and don’t go too far, will you?”
“Just up to the gravel-pit,” nodded Caroline.
Harriet watched her walk down the path to the gate and turn up the hill. She seemed all right this morning, but all the same Harriet was worried about her. What on earth had been the matter with Caroline last night! She had been quite confused — almost tearful at times — she had seemed almost delirious. Harriet had been so alarmed about her that she had gone in twice during the night, but had found her patient sleeping as peacefully as a child. All the same, it was most unlike Caroline to rave like that … I’d do anything for you, she had said. Remember that, won’t you. Sometimes when one tries to do something it all goes wrong. That’s what she had said — or words to that effect — but what on earth had she meant? Then she had added, I’m rather silly, I’m afraid, but I do love you, Harrie, and that was out of character too, for, although they were devoted to one another, Caroline and Harriet never mentioned the fact — it simply was not necessary.
Harriet had come to the conclusion that the whole thing was a mystery (and would remain a mystery unless Caroline explained it), when the telephone bell rang. Harriet answered it — she was sure it was Robert, and it was.
“Is that Harriet?” asked Robert. “Yes, I thought it was you. I just wondered if you would be in this morning. The fact is I want to see you — I want to ask you something.”
“Yes, I shall be here,” she replied.
“You aren’t going out? I could come this afternoon if that will suit you better.”
“I shall be in all morning,” Harriet assured him.
She smiled as she laid down the receiver … of course she would be in! She would be here, waiting for him. Robert need not be so diffident, surely he knew that. Meanwhile she must write that letter and it would not be an easy letter to write.
Harriet had received a long communication (it was more than a letter, really) from Marcus Rome on Saturday and she had not answered it yet. She had put off the task of answering it, not because there was any doubt in her mind as to what she was going to say, but because she did not know how to say it. The answer was in the negative, but she must write a nice, long, chatty letter to poor Marcus and try to soften the blow — it would be a bitter blow but she could not help that. Marcus would have to bear it.
Harriet sat down on the window-seat, from whence she could keep an eye on the gate, and took out Marcus’s letter. His writing was thick and well-marked, it looked as if it had been formed with a paint-brush … Harriet had often teased poor old Marcus about his writing; she knew he was rather proud of it. The letter ran as follows:
“Harriet darling, have you eaten enough grass? There must be cobwebs all over you by this time. Of course you wanted a rest — we all did after Eve’s decline and fall — but now you’ve had it and you simply must come back. Really, darling, you simply must. Now listen to me and I will a tale unfold. I saw Teddy Minden yesterday at the Ivy and the Great Man called me over to his table and asked me where you were — all mysterious like — he had been ringing up your flat until the wire was hot but had got no answer. I said why did he think I would know where you were and he said he had an idea we were buddies, so I said, well, perhaps I did know, but what did he want you for, and he said he just wanted to see you, and I said of course you were nice to look at, and he said he couldn’t agree more. So then after a good deal of humming and hawing he said there was no great secret about it but I wasn’t to mention it to a living soul — except you of course — and I said I promised faithfully not to divulge it to a dead haddock — except you of course — and then at long last he came to the point and spilt the beans good and proper. Did I think you’d be interested in an American Tour — Shakespeare, my dear! Not the big plays but one or two of the lighter and lesser known. He mentioned The Tempest (Did I say he wants me too? No, I didn’t, but he does!). My dear, it would be absolute heaven! You, as Miranda — ‘What is’t? A spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, it carries a brave form! — but ’tis a spirit … I might call him a thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.’ That’s what you say about me, darling, and I should swoon with delight to be so commended by you; ‘Admir’d Miranda! Indeed the top of admiration, Worth what’s dearest in the world!’ Yes, dear Harriet, of course I went straight home and read it — spent all night reading it if the truth be told! What marvellous theatre it is! What fine brave poetry it is! Better than slick dialogue about a rocking-horse. Harriet, why can’t people write like that nowadays? The rhythm is ringing in my ears like a bell ... and the clothes, my dear! We could let ourselves go — we could spread ourselves. Teddy does things well and he’s all agog over this, so no expense will be spared. He hasn’t fixed on a sec
ond play but spoke vaguely of The Winter’s Tale and said some students of Shakespeare considered it had never had a proper showing (you would have laughed at Teddy gone all high-brow) so if you have any ideas for or against playing Perdita you had better come and see Teddy before he gets his ideas firmly fixed. My dear, think of America! We’ve dreamed about an American Tour so often and wondered how it could be wangled … and here it is on a plate … and, talking of plates, think of the food. Do, please, think of the food, darling. Are you thinking about it? Tenderloin steaks, Maryland chicken, ice-cream made with real, live cream instead of paper-hanger’s paste … and if that doesn’t bring you to town helter-skelter, what will …
Nothing would, thought Harriet; she must write to Marcus and refuse the offer as kindly and tactfully as possible. Nothing would take her to London now, for she had made up her mind that if Robert Shepperton asked her to marry him she would say yes, and she was certain that he intended to ask her this very morning.
Harriet had thought at first (when she first came to Ashbridge) that Robert and Caroline … but then she had seen that there was nothing in that. Caroline didn’t even like Robert very much. Sometimes it seemed as if she actively disliked him, for she was cool and impersonal towards him; she was less than herself when Robert was there. So there was no need to worry about that, and it was just as well, for Harriet was in love. She had been in love before, several times, but never in love with a man she could respect and admire. People had said Harriet Fane was cold and hardhearted … but how glad she was that she had not wasted herself and frittered herself away on stupid little love affairs as so many of her friends had done and were doing all the time! She had kept herself to herself; she had been waiting for the right man and the right man was here. Harriet had a core of hard sense; she knew that love was all very well but it didn’t last unless there were other things behind it, unless you had the same values, unless you saw the same jokes and enjoyed doing the same kind of things. Robert was all she wanted and she loved him … and he had rung up to ask if she would be in this morning because he wanted to ask her something.
Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1) Page 22
