The Clouded Hills

by Brenda Jagger

  I sat then, for a long time, alone in the study watching the daybreak, the door slightly ajar, so that when returned I could see him before Hannah, yet when – he finally came, I had fallen deep asleep and woke with a mighty jolt, his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘It’s five o’clock, he said, dropping heavily into a chair. I should be on my way to the mill.’

  ‘You surely won’t go this morning?’

  ‘I surely will. I’ll lose a day’s business on the day I die, I reckon, but not before. So – since I can hardly flatter myself that you waited up to see me safe home – you’ll be wanting to know about our brother-in-law Aycliffe.’

  And it amazed me that after all I had said he could speak to me so naturally, that he could speak to me at all.

  ‘Yes – will he take her back?’

  ‘Oh, I think something may be arranged. He was very much mortified and felt obliged to speak at length about the wrong done him, and about the sins of the flesh in general. And one can only allow his position to be devilish awkward, for he has lost both his wife and his business – manager, and I think, in the long term, he will feel Dan Adair’s loss the keenest.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, aware of his shrewd eyes on my face, knowing that although he had spoken lightly his keen brain was probing mine, assessing me, making its calculations. ‘Well, poor Mr Aycliffe, for his notions of propriety will never allow him to reinstate Mr Adair, whatever he plans for Elinor.’

  ‘Quite so. However, he means to solve the issue for the moment by returning immediately to London, although if a general election comes, he will have to make up his mind to face her.’

  ‘And Elinor?’

  ‘May stay with us until his further instructions, although he will not contribute one penny to her upkeep while she remains from under his roof, nor may she take anything from his house but the barest personal essentials his housekeeper will put together for her. And she is on no account to see her children.’

  ‘And how are we to explain her presence here?’

  ‘Illness, and the need to be cared for in his absence.’

  ‘What illness?’

  ‘Good God, how am I to tell? Women are always ailing, and you and Hannah between you can think of something.’

  But he did know, had agreed to it, even though he did not like it, and, recognizing the flaring of his temper as a cover for his unease, I said quite coldly, ‘There is only one illness which would suffice. A malady of the nerves, like the first Mrs Aycliffe, so that if she persists in refusing to live with him he can give out that she is mad. Joel, how could you agree to that?’

  ‘I agreed to nothing,’ he said irritably, flicking open his heavy, silver cigar box and then, changing his mind, going to the door and calling into the silent hall for tea, knowing someone would hear.

  ‘Listen, Verity – and there’s no reason why I should even explain this to you, no reason at all why I should put up with your damned insolence. I got her the best deal could. He would have been well within his rights demand her immediate return, and if he had and she’d bolted again, and gone on bolting – well – nobody is going to blame a man for locking up a wife like that. But I’m giving her time to compose herself, which is what you asked of me, so that when she does go back she can do it right. Get your feet on the ground, girl, for there’s a lot of money at stake. He must be sixty now, or more, and feeble, and when he’s gone I want Elinor to have the enjoyment of his money, not see it tied up in those girls’ dowries to be handed over to strangers. She’s had ten years of him. She’s earned her fair share, and she wouldn’t thank you, in the long run, if you talked her out of it. She’s my sister, after all, as you’ve pointed out to me more than once tonight.’

  The door opened to admit the tea tray, borne by a girl who, not having yet been chastised by Hannah, still showed her curiosity. And when she had gone and he had drunk one cup straight down and poured another, he to me with elaborate nonchalance, ‘By the way, he asks that Hannah shall supervise his household while he is away.’

  ‘Should that surprise me?’

  ‘Verity, if you think I forced Elinor’s marriage on her, then you have a short memory. She was more than glad to take him.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. She talked a great deal about strawberries and champagne. I remember that very well indeed.’

  ‘Well then – I know as well as you do that he should have married Hannah. I imagine he must know it himself. But how could I have told him so at the time?’

  ‘You couldn’t. And if you had not consented he would still not have married Hannah. I know. And if what I said to Hannah tonight offended you, then I am sorry, but she was very rough with me and I saw no reason to take it meekly. I am not sure what I have done to earn her dislike in fact, I don’t think I knew, before, how very heartily she does dislike me.’

  ‘You are mistress of Lawcroft, that is all,’ he said, going stand by the fireplace again, fatigue showing now in the droop of his shoulders. ‘It is a position she expected to fill herself – would have filled – and she has always thought herself far better suited to it than you. Just as she has always considered herself a far more suitable Mrs Aycliffe than Elinor.’

  ‘She may be right – on both counts.’

  ‘Perhaps. Verity—?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. By God, I don’t know why I should talk to you at all. You said a hard thing of me tonight, Verity. No, no, I don’t dispute it. I am not a sound man with women, never have been – nor was my father. My mother did not take it well, and I had forgotten that she sometimes fought her troubles to your mother, and that you may have overheard.’

  ‘Yes, that is how little girls learn about life, by poking, prying, since no one will actually tell us anything knew all about it too, but Hannah denied it – denied that her father was incapable of such bad behaviour and that her mother was worried simply about the war and the state of trade.’

  He smiled, very briefly, his face for just a moment almost kind.

  ‘Yes, Hannah would say that. But, at least, one knew what my mother’s feelings were. They were distressing and something of a nuisance at times, but one recognized them, whereas with you, I have never been certain – was not certain until tonight, when you admitted it, that you even knew at all. And I have still no idea – not the faintest idea – what it means to you – if indeed it means anything, And I want to know, Verity – I’m damned if I know why, since I shall continue to suit myself in any case – but I insist that you tell me.’

  ‘My word,’ I said, getting up too, feeling very light, as if by a simple effort of will – this wonderful will I had discovered hiding inside me – I could transform myself into air and elude him, elude anyone who sought to hold me down.

  ‘What is this, Joel? You have got everything in the world, you have ever wanted. Are you running short of things to want?’

  ‘And what the devil do you mean by that?’ he said, his face scowling again, his fist clenching nervously against the mantelpiece.

  ‘I mean, having stirred the emotions of so many other, women, do you want mine too? Do you want my jealousy? Think carefully, Joel, for it would be a great inconvenience to you. As you say, you would go on just as you are, matter how many scenes I made. And I cannot think my hysterics would amuse you for long.’

  Once again he turned his back, as he had done several times during the long night, unwilling, it seemed, to expose more of his own feelings than he had to; and when he spoke, after a silence I bore with astonishing calm, it was to the empty hearth, the fire screen, the cold, uncomplicated marble.

  ‘You were a child when we married, Verity. I was a man with my appetites already formed. And you grew up slowly. For a long time I was…’

  ‘Bored with me?’

  ‘Careful, I should have said – careful with you.’

  ‘And I was most grateful. Will you not at least change your coat before you go down to the mill, for you have had a long drive?’

  ‘Damna
tion,’ he said, a mere whisper addressed once – again to the mantelpiece. ‘They should have named you Isabella, for your mother. You are not going to tell me, are you, whether I have wounded you or disgusted you or simply made you laugh – whether you hate me or you couldn’t give a damn.’

  ‘Oh, Joel, what an idea – hate and disgust. My word, such strong language—’

  ‘Be careful,’ he hissed. ‘I warn you – take care – for I am not squeamish with women either, and I could find it in me to hurt you.’

  But the door had opened again and Hannah looked in, dressed and with her hair done, but seeing me, she disappeared at once, taking his violence and whatever lay beneath it with her.

  ‘It’s late, Joel. The servants are all up.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll take a rasher or two of bacon, I think, before I go out again. Is there likely to be any new bread?’

  ‘I’ll find out.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, turning round, showing me his everyday face, the shadows under his eyes no deeper than when he had spent the night in town. ‘And by the way, I thought I’d have a word with Dan Adair while I was about it.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Oh no, because I couldn’t find the fellow anywhere. I went to his lodgings, and one or two other places, and there wasn’t a trace. His landlady wouldn’t talk because she’d been paid not to, and being Irish, she’d rather take his money than mine, but it looks to me as if somebody at Aycliffe’s got word to him and he’s blown – halfway across the Irish Sea by now, I reckon.’

  And while I wondered how I would find the words to tell Elinor, he calmly selected a cigar, lit it, and, narrowing his tired eyes against the smoke, said, ‘And if you haven’t realized what a damn nuisance that is, I’ll tell you, for without Adair there’s no guarantee we’ll have Tarn Edge ready in time. And I don’t like it – not one little bit – when people let me down.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Hannah set off that morning with Joel, bidding him leave her in Blenheim Lane so that she could see for herself the direction of Morgan Aycliffe’s mind; and, returning some four hours later in the Aycliffe carriage, she was by no means pleased to find Elinor’s door bolted against her.

  ‘You will hardly deny me the right of access to my own sister,’ she told me, her eyes hard, her tone as cold as December river water, and when I answered that it was not I but Elinor who denied her, she did not choose to believe me.

  ‘You may think me meddlesome,’ she said, holding herself as if her very spirit was stiffly corseted, ‘but your view is not shared by my brother-in-law, Mr Aycliffe, who has seen fit not only to confide in me but to request my services as a go-between. There are certain matters which must be communicated to my sister, and, if she really cannot face me, than I trust there will be no objection if I slip a note under her door?’

  But neither Hannah nor Morgan Aycliffe himself had any real meaning for Elinor that morning as she sat at the window of my best spare bedroom, docile and drowsy as an invalid, her hands patiently folded, her nature folded too, half asleep, until Daniel Adair should come to claim her. She was waiting, in fact, for a faithless man to prove his fidelity; for a self-indulgent man to put her interests above his own – waiting, I thought, for a miracle.

  But, since miracles could certainly occur and no one had expressly forbidden her to write to him, I provided pen and paper and, quite openly, ordered her short, possibly heartrending letter to be taken round to his address. And while we waited for a reply, which I, for one – and possibly Elinor too – did not expect, I marvelled at her calm.

  ‘He will be very angry with me on the surface,’ she said, ‘and very frightened underneath. He was so poor, you see, as a child – poor in a way we can’t begin to understand – and so a house in Blenheim Lane, and all that goes with it, seems like paradise to him, instead of a prison. And now I have taken his paradise away. Yes, he will be very cross, and very worried about how to make a living, and about what my husband could do to him – for he has always taken Morgan for a vindictive man, but as soon as I speak to him, explain to him, then I shall make everything right. I have not always been rich myself, which he fails to take into account. I managed for years to do up my own buttons and laces, and my own hair. And you surely remember the skill I had with my needle?’

  And when she had repeated it all to me for the third time I understood she did not believe a word of it.

  Emma-Jane Hobhouse called that morning, having heard a whisper from her parlourmaid, who had a sister in Morgan Aycliffe’s service, but Hannah reached the drawing room before me and by the time I arrived Emma-Jane was in full possession of the facts as Hannah had chosen to display them – not lies, since Hannah never lied, but a simple distortion of the truth, for everybody’s good.

  ‘Naturally I would not say this to everyone,’ she was telling an eagle-eyed Emma-Jane as I entered the room, but we have known you all our lives and I imagine you have always thought her highly strung – one minute up in the air, the next wallowing in the mire – our mother was much the same, excitable and delicate; it was always either laughter or tears with nothing in between, and such natures, while delightful, are often fragile. And, as you know, she recovered very slowly, if at all, from the birth of her last child. Not all women are blessed with your amazing resilience, Emma-Jane – those beautiful healthy boys, one, after the other, my word. But you will remember how much sister became – well – rather odd, very nearly a total invalid, after Cecilia was born? Yes, yes, of course you do, for you often remarked it, and I have even heard you wonder if it was her failure to give her husband a son which made her so morose. And you may well have been right, Emma-Jane – you may well have been remarkably astute – for these things prey on the mind and depress the spirits, giving rise to swings of mood and temper which must, eventually, result in a certain fraying of the nerves. Well, my sister’s nerves are very frayed. I am at liberty to say no more than that. You may think it sudden, Emma-Jane, but we have long seen it coming, and if you think carefully you will realize the many occasions lately on which she had not been herself. Yes? I felt sure of it. No, no, we did not think our local doctors competent to prescribe in such a case. Mr Aycliffe has returned to London for the express purpose of consulting a specialist. Yes, indeed, it is a tragedy; the poor man has lost one wife, has been obliged to disown his only son, and now finds himself with three daughters to provide for, and a wife who is just a shadow – a mere shadow of herself. And on top of that there has been some trouble with the business. Yes, I don’t properly understand it, but on his return from London I believe Mr Aycliffe found his affairs in a terrible state – oh my goodness, I couldn’t begin to comprehend the details, and no one has mentioned the word ‘embezzlement’ in my hearing. I only know he has discharged his manager, or, at least, it may even be the man has run off in the night, which sounds unlikely – and would certainly be an admission of something or other. But that is what I have heard.’

  When Emma-Jane had gone away, happy to spread the word and even happier to contemplate Elinor in a state of mental decay, Hannah turned to me and said very coldly, ‘Do not imagine that I accuse Mr Adair falsely of theft, since he has stolen another man’s peace of mind, nor my sister of insanity, since that is the only charitable view I can take of her present behaviour.’

  Joel came home at noon and, calling me into his study, put Elinor’s letter to Daniel Adair into my hands.

  ‘You knew she had written this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Splendid. Absolutely first-rate, Verity. Tell me, are you part of a conspiracy to ruin my sister, or is it merely that you too have lost your wits?’

  ‘I saw no harm to it since I knew he would be gone. You said yourself he would have bolted.’

  ‘Yes, and so you allowed her to send this pathetic nonsense to his lodgings, to that landlady of his who was plainly sired by a vulture, and who has just extracted a hundred pounds from me for its return.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Oh no.�
��

  And then, looking at him keenly, I said, ‘No, Joel. I don’t believe you.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘Because you would not have paid. You would have found something to threaten her with in return – and how much could it take to frighten a lodging-house keeper? I believe I could do it myself.’

  ‘Aye, I don’t doubt it. But Aycliffe would have paid and Elinor would have paid – a year from now when she is safely back where she belongs – and gone on paying to safeguard her good name. Because a year from now she’ll value her place in the world, and she’ll be terrified of anything that could remind her husband of the past. She’ll have to earn her keep in Blenheim Lane after this – haven’t you the sense to see it? – and love letters, my girl, are an indulgence quite beyond her means. Are there any more, do you think? Adair said not. But then, what else would I you expect Adair to say.’

  ‘Mr Adair? You saw him, then? He has not gone away after all?’

  ‘Ah no,’ he said, his mouth curving with a grim, altogether malicious humour. Opening his cigar box with a leisurely hand, he lit a cigar and inhaled deeply, enjoying his body’s response to the tobacco and to the pleasure of making me wait.

  ‘Oh, he bolted all right,’ he said at last through the fragrant smoke. ‘About as far as Leeds, I reckon, before he got to thinking what a pleasant little thing she is, my sister and that if she’d had the good sense to bring her jewellery away with her, he might as well come back and dry her tears.’

  ‘He does care for her, then?’

  ‘So it would seem – moderately, at any rate, although five hundred pounds in his pocket and certain promises soon cured him of it.’

  ‘I sat down, oppressed not by fatigue but by an immense grey vapour of sadness, wreathing itself around me like the tobacco smoke encircling Joel’s self-confident head, his complete certainty that every man could be bought, every, woman sold, if the price was right.

  ‘That was handsome of you,’ I told him. ‘But what if he takes your money and your sister as well?’