He saw her close her eyes.
‘I’m sorry. Does he still mean that much to you?’
‘How can you ask? Did you not listen to what I told you? Without George Bascombe, I would be dead. It’s all very fine for you, Lord Ryde – you are a powerful man – you could probably give a very good account of yourself under any circumstances, but I was helpless. George was half his size and he never hesitated – not for one moment. You have no idea – I still remember the feel of those cold tiles under my cheek, while he tried to kick the truth out of me in his rage. Ask Porlock who lay unconscious beside me. Ask Tilly whose arm will never work properly again. Ask them what sort of man my husband was and then ask them to tell you what George Bascombe did for me that night.’
She stopped, trembling uncontrollably, panting for breath while tears of anger and grief ran down her cheeks. With a huge effort, she drew a shuddering breath.
‘I’m sorry, but I only know what I know. I’ve been told what he did that night at Ryde House, but I don’t know. I wasn’t there. But I was at Westfield and I do know what he did for me there. Therefore, that is what I believe. I believe what I know. You, my lord, were neither at Westfield, nor at Ryde House. You don’t know anything. Only what you’ve been told. Because you weren’t there.’
In one second, all his guilt and grief crystallised into a blinding, searing rage. That this woman who didn’t even know him, could so unerringly put her finger on …
Unheeding, he seized her arm. ‘Are you saying this is my fault?’ thus putting into words the terrible thought that had haunted him all these years. ‘Are you saying that if I had been here then this – none of this – would have happened?’
She held his gaze, tears still on her cheeks.
‘No, my lord. You are saying it.’
He dropped her arm at once. She felt he had temporarily lost his place in the present and was looking back down the years.
It was her turn to sit motionless and wait.
Eventually, he said, ‘This was not what I intended at all.’
‘What did you intend?’
‘I thought we could just discuss what happened, calmly and sensibly, and perhaps something new might come to light.’ He stopped. ‘I never thought we would rip up at each other like this. We both have had our old wounds re-opened and to no good at all. I’m sorry.’ He made a sad effort at a smile. ‘Your words flicked me on the raw.’ He stopped again.
She said, very quietly, ‘You need not answer if you choose not to, but do you really think it was your fault. Because you weren’t there?’
‘Of course. How could it be otherwise? If I had been here … If I had been here more, then George Bascombe might have been here less.’
‘True,’ she said. ‘But when the events of that night occurred, he would still probably have fled here. It’s closer than Sir William’s house. And even if you lived here, you might not have been in that night – you might have been, but probably you would have been out, drinking, gaming, young women – you know the sort of thing.’
‘I do,’ he said grimly and with emphasis. ‘But I am surprised – and appalled, ma’am – to hear that you do too.’
‘Oh,’ she said, innocently. ‘They were my husband’s chief occupations. I just assumed they were yours too.’
‘Ma’am, I have many faults. I have done many things of which I am not proud. I expect, during the course of my useless life, to do many more, but please, do not compare me with your worthless husband, whose name, I notice, you can never bring yourself to say.’
She was silent for a while.
‘No,’ she said, eventually. ‘You are nothing like him. Not at all.’
‘I am very glad to hear that.’
‘May I remind you, my lord, you were not here that night because your father himself sent you away and over the years he had plenty of opportunities to recall you and he did not avail himself of any of them. You were not here that night, but that was his fault, not yours.’
‘I know. I know that, but sometimes, I think – could I have done more? Could I have made an effort to have been what he wanted me to be?’
‘What did he want you to be?’
‘Oh, sober, responsible, industrious, respectable, married … The list just goes on and on.’
‘Another copy of himself?’
‘Yes, if you like.’
‘Oh no. He wouldn’t have liked that at all. People never do, you know. They say, “Oh, you must meet Mr So and so. He’s exactly like you and you have so much in common”, and you end up hating them. I have frequently thought I would dislike myself very much if I ever met me.’
He couldn’t help smiling to himself, but said, ‘He wanted to be proud of me, I think.’
‘Trust me, if he wasn’t proud of his tall, handsome, clever, popular, and charmingly irresponsible son, who appears to me to epitomise everything anyone could want in an offspring – he certainly wasn’t going to admire a sober, obedient, deadly dull, paler copy of himself. You would have irritated each other to death.’
He found himself unaccountably moved and to cover his emotion, turned to her. ‘Handsome? Clever? Charming?’
‘And tall. You forgot tall.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Well, that’s what you are now, so it’s hard to imagine that in your youth you were short, dumpy, stupid, and obnoxious.’
He laughed. For the first time in a very long while, it seemed.
‘I wish I had known you years ago.’
‘No, I suspect we would have disliked each other. I always believe there are paths to tread and lives to be lived before two people can be right for each other. Do not you?’
‘Are we right for each other?’
‘Oh, dear me,’ she said, laughing in her turn. ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all. But I do notice you have not denied being short and stupid in your youth.’
‘Well, I’ve never been short, but stupid …? Yes, I’ve managed that on an impressive number of occasions. I still do. Fortunately, I have Charles these days, and he has rescued me from the consequences of my stupidity on more than one occasion.’
‘Yes,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘Mr Martin. You don’t really think he was the real target, do you?’
‘No, of course not. I’m afraid we must accept, Mrs Bascombe, it’s either you or me.’
‘I think it’s you,’ said Mrs Bascombe.
‘So do I,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Shall we walk a little more?’
He offered her his arm and they set off down another overgrown path. Mrs Bascombe’s skirt, brushing the greenery, released spring scents into the warm air.
‘Does that happen often?’
Deep in his own thoughts, he started. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I asked, “Does that happen often?”’
Still baffled, he said, ‘Does what happen often?’
‘Having to be rescued from your own stupidity.’
‘Rather more often than is appropriate for a – person – of my advanced years.’
She could not see his face, but she could, again, hear a note of bitterness in his voice. She stopped, turned, and slapped his arm.
‘Ow!’ he said, in astonishment, stepping back. ‘May I ask what I have done to deserve –?’
‘More stupidity.’ She cut across him. ‘You were going to say “a gentleman” and changed it to “a person” because you don’t feel you deserve the title. I don’t know what you’ve done in the past, sir, but I do know that your behaviour to me (apart from the unfortunate episode when you threw yourself under my horse) has always been exemplary. You covered me when Archer appeared with his cart, for which I was exceedingly grateful. I know you held me while Dr Jacobs removed the bullet and that on another occasion, you were in my room making me drink something revolting and at no time have you ever spoken of it or made me feel uncomfortable in any way. You have borne the invasion of your house with fortitude and near silence, and as far as your limited
resources allow, you have made us all as comfortable as you can. These, sir, are the marks of a true gentleman, not fine clothes or speeches, but consideration and an unobtrusive kindness, which you, my lord, possess in abundance, like it or not.’
He was too astonished to comment,
‘And,’ she swept on, ‘do not speak to me of advanced years. Age has nothing to do with years. I know people – and you do too, I’m sure – who were born middle-aged. Who were old long before their time. Age is a state of mind and if you can only pull yourself from this – this Slough of Despond – into which you have, for some reason, plunged yourself, you, my lord, will be young until the day you die.’
If he had been astonished before, he was now completely bereft of speech.
Unfortunately, so was Mrs Bascombe. The silence lengthened.
Only too aware that not one, but probably half a dozen pairs of eyes were watching them from the house, his lordship again drew her arm through his and they resumed their walk.
‘I shall say again, ma’am, that I only wish I had met you years ago.’
She was still to stricken to speak.
‘You would have boxed my ears, Mrs Bascombe, and very likely those of my father as well, told us both not to be so damned silly and …’
He became aware she was crying.
Fortunately, another seat was to hand.
‘My dear madam – Elinor – please don’t cry. Does your shoulder hurt you? Shall I fetch Miss Fairburn?’
She shook her head. ‘No, no. I’m very sorry, my lord. I don’t know why I am crying. I can assure you it was nothing you said or did. It just – happened.’
‘And a very good thing, too. I suspect it is the combination of delayed shock and a difficult conversation. Please do not feel ashamed. I am actually quite relieved to see some tears. In my newly established character as a gentleman, please allow me to offer you a handkerchief.’
She took it and mopped her cheeks.
‘I think,’ he said, quietly, ‘we should talk of other things. Let me change the subject. Tell me, ma’am, am I mistaken in thinking that Charles and Miss Fairburn are experiencing a definite – what’s the word I want – attraction?’
She nodded, appreciating his efforts.
‘I believe so,’ she said, huskily. ‘I cannot speak for Mr Martin, of course, but even though Laura is usually very undemonstrative, I can see quite clearly that she seems to hold him in high regard. Should I be concerned? He seems a very pleasant young man.’
‘He is. Intelligent and resourceful. He really deserves a higher position than I can offer him. It occurs to me that as well as ruining my own future, by taking him away from England all this time, I have also ruined his.’
‘Please don’t make me hit you again.’
‘I would be obliged if you did not. It does my dubious prestige no good at all for my household to see me being thrashed by a chit of a girl.’
‘A girl?’ she said, laughing.
‘I believe my exact words were “a chit of a girl”. You are not the only one in this garden who can deliver a few home truths, you know. You remind me of that princess who sits in the tower, waiting to be rescued.’
‘What a ninny! Why doesn’t she climb out of the window?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said in amusement, ‘but the point I am labouring to make is that as a princess, she too is forever young.’
‘I am very nearly as old as you, sir.’
‘No, you are very nearly as young as I, ma’am.’
She snorted.
‘That’s better. Shall we continue our walk again? At this rate it will take us all afternoon to get around what is, actually, quite a small garden. Where were we?’
‘Mr Martin and Miss Fairburn.’
‘Yes, of course. I know nothing of Miss Fairburn. Charles, as we established last night, is the son – sorry, third son – of an impoverished cleric in Gloucestershire. I know nothing of Miss Fairburn’s circumstances.’
‘She is the oldest daughter in a large family. Her younger sisters are all married. One brother is in the army. The other is in the church. She is a loyal friend and I don’t know what I would have done without her all these years. I’m afraid though, that although she has many excellent qualities, like Mr Martin, no one in her family is in a position to assist them. And …’ she broke off.
‘You would miss her,’ he finished for her.
‘Well, I would. She came to me shortly after – shortly after my husband died – and apart from an occasional visit to her family, has hardly left my side. Selfishly, I would miss her enormously.’
‘Being in a similar position,’ he said, ‘I understand completely.’
‘Yes, you do, don’t you? And it would be so much worse for you. You have been together for so long. Would you continue your travels alone? Would you not miss your friend?’
He no longer felt any surprise that she was able to home in on his problems with such inevitable accuracy, and sighed.
‘Like you, I would miss him enormously,’ he said, surprised he could make this admission aloud. He had half-jokingly called her a witch, but was beginning to think he had been right, after all. ‘And if they had even the smallest prospect of financial stability, I would not hesitate to promote the match, if that was what he wanted. It would be nice for at least one of us to have a reasonably normal life, but since there are no prospects for either of them, I wonder if it would not be kinder for me to invent some business and send him away before it becomes too serious.’
‘I think that might be unwise. Mr Martin is not a green young man. Presumably he is not so blinded by love that he cannot see the problems ahead and if not, I know I have the greatest faith in Laura’s good sense. Perhaps it will die a natural death and no harm done. I do not think you should risk alienating Mr Martin’s allegiance by taking what might be unnecessary action.’
‘I agree,’ he said. ‘That was my thought also, although I confess my disinclination to interfere sprang from moral cowardice.’
‘And what about you, my lord? With or without Mr Martin, what are your plans?’
There was no reply.
‘Lord Ryde?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, eventually. ‘My original plan was to collect my rents, sell what I could, take the money, and depart. I had not decided where to. Now there is this business with Charles, to say nothing of an apparent madman letting off shots whenever you are in the vicinity and my house is full of women.’
‘Well, there is nothing to stop you placing your affairs in the hands of your agent and riding off to London to wait there until things are completed. Laura and I will be gone in a day or two and you can pretend none of this ever happened.’
‘I could do so, yes.’
‘So will you?’
‘No.’
She let that lie for a moment.
‘And where is your next port of call, sir? There cannot be much of Europe you have not seen. Will you venture further east this time?’
Now for it. He took a deep breath. ‘On the contrary, ma’am, I have actually been thinking of America.’
If she had been stricken before, she was truly paralysed now. Fortunately, he seemed not to notice her silence.
‘Charles and I have talked of it, once or twice. The land of opportunity, you know.’
‘What would you do there?’
‘I’m not sure. Pursue whatever opportunities come my way, I suppose.’
‘Forgive me, sir, but I have to ask. Are you running to? Or are you running from?’
He stopped dead.
‘What?’
‘It’s a simple question. Are you running towards something or are you running from something?’
‘I hardly see that it makes a difference.’
‘On the contrary. Running towards something – a new start in a new land, for instance, is very different to running from something – Ryde House, your past, yourself even. If you are running from yourself, it hardly matters where
you go, or even whether you go at all, does it? In the end, there is only one sure escape from oneself.’
And finally, she had insinuated herself right into his very deepest, darkest secret. What could he possibly say to her when he had no idea what to say to himself?
He turned on his heel and strode away. She heard the click of the gate and then she was alone in the garden.
Chapter Nine
Arriving back at the house, Mrs Bascombe was greeted by the news that his lordship had called for his horse, and gone out. Unable to meet Mr Martin’s mildly enquiring look, she selected a book more or less at random from the library, and spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room, with the book open on her lap and not seeing a word.
Tiller took one look and forbore even to mention the sunbonnet, let alone ascertain its whereabouts. There was no sign of Miss Fairburn. Elinor came to the conclusion that her friend was old enough to know what she was doing and to stand back. Her friend might need her when Mr Martin departed.
By pretending to be asleep, she was able to avoid afternoon tea, but to refuse dinner would, she knew, cause more concern than was warranted, so she allowed Tiller to redress her hair and changed her light gown into something more appropriate. Taking her book with her as a shield against the world, she left her entrance into the library until very late and was thus able to avoid any private conversation with Lord Ryde, whom, she saw, had not bothered to change for dinner.
Responding to enquiries as to her afternoon, she was able to say, with only a tiny twinge of conscience, that she had enjoyed a very pleasant walk, thank you very much.
It would seem that Lord Ryde had also enjoyed a very pleasant walk and apart from a deepening of the lines around his mouth, and a disinclination to talk, he seemed very much as usual. Fortunately, Mr Martin and Miss Fairburn had plenty to say about their walk around the lake, and the fish they had spotted therein. This drew in Sir William, a keen fisherman, and by default, Lady Elliott also. Mrs Bascombe responded to any remark addressed to her, but initiated no conversation.
A Bachelor Establishment Page 11
