‘I’m sorry to burden you with my problems but Mother is miles away and I can’t upset Marie when her health is so precarious. Steven has his own problems and—’
‘Has he asked you for money?’
She nodded. ‘And not for the first time. But forget about Steven. He must sort out his own problems. I have to know, Marcus, before I walk up the aisle, whether or not Bernard has put this other woman out of his life. If I knew that I could rest easy but until then . . . I shall be a bundle of nerves!’ She wiped away the first tears with the back of her hand and blinked furiously.
Marcus looked at her with growing compassion. ‘Suppose you write to him? Tell him how you—’
‘No, Marcus. If I put my fears into writing and then it turns out I’m right and he marries her . . . she might read my letter. I know you’ll think that pathetic but I’d hate her to know my desperation. She’ll gloat, Marcus. Don’t you see? I would be utterly humiliated. No.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I want you to go to the da Silvas and talk to him, man to man.’
A shiver of alarm ran through Marcus’s body at her words. Confrontation. He had never learned it and certainly never sought it. His whole being shrank from the idea but even as his mind formed a tactful refusal he knew he would have to agree. He had never seen his sister in such a pitiable state and he was shocked. Letitia was always so cold, calm and collected; always so ready to scoff at others for their weaknesses; so desperate to forget the unfortunate circumstances of her position in the family. He had never felt close to her but now that she was begging for help, he felt an unexpected spark of sympathy. She was human, after all, he thought with surprise.
She had covered her face with her hands but now glanced up at him, white-faced. ‘You’re going to say “No” I can tell. I knew you would but—’
‘I haven’t said “No”,’ he corrected her. ‘I’m . . . I’m simply trying to imagine how I would go about it. I can’t think . . . I would hardly know what to say. Certainly I’ll try but I’m not good with people. You know that. Suppose I make things worse!’
‘How could they be any worse?’ she cried passionately. ‘All you need to do, Marcus, is speak to him, pretending that I don’t know anything about it. Don’t tell him the real reason why you are there – or that I asked you to approach him. Pretend you are worried about me and wonder if he has noticed a change in me. Ask if maybe there is something wrong between us – and notice how he replies.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Whatever you do, don’t mention Carlotta because if you do he’ll know that I’ve told you about her. Forget Carlotta. Just see if you think he is . . . prevaricating.’
‘How will I know?’ Marcus regarded her unhappily, baffled by the complexities of the prospect ahead.
‘You just will!’ she told him. ‘You’re not stupid, Marcus. You may not be good with people but you are very intelligent. You can do it. Please.’
Marcus could see hope in her eyes and was torn between a feeling of pride that she believed he could help her, and a dread that he might wrongly interpret the ‘signs’ and make matters worse.
Cautiously he nodded. ‘But you have to promise that whatever comes from our encounter, you won’t blame me. I’m not going to accept responsibility for—’
‘Oh thank you, Marcus!’ Her expression changed. ‘Oh I knew I could rely on you! I won’t forget it, Marcus. If you ever need my help . . .’
Inwardly he prayed that he never would need it, but he returned the smile which now lit up her previously forlorn face. He thought that maybe he never would understand women. He had tried to help Rose and she had been furious. Now his sister was flinging her arms round him in a brief hug before rushing out of the room. That was certainly out of character, he thought. She made him feel like a hero and he rather liked it.
Left to himself he tried to return to his work but she was soon back.
‘I forgot to ask when you would go over there, Marcus. What about this evening? The waiting is more than I can bear!’
He sighed. Getting to his feet he drew the cloth over his sketches. The work would keep, he told himself. To Letitia he said simply, ‘I’ll walk round now.’
A maid opened the door and he asked to speak to Bernard.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘They have visitors.’
‘It’s rather important,’ he told her. ‘I’m Marcus Bennley. They know me. My sister is going to marry Bernard in a few weeks’ time.’
Her eyes opened as her interest quickened. ‘Oh! I’ll go and see, then. You’d better wait in the morning room.’
She left him there without inviting him to sit down and he looked around the room with interest but then he moved to the window and stared out over the gardens.
Minutes passed and Marcus tried to remember exactly what he had planned to say to Bernard. Most of it had flown from his mind and he tried to recall his sister’s instructions. Don’t say that she had been in tears. Don’t say that she was worried about Carlotta. Don’t even mention Carlotta. Just say that Letitia was unusually quiet, that she wasn’t eating properly and that she could not sleep. He was also going to say that he wondered whether Bernard knew of anything that might be troubling her.
When at last the door opened it was Mrs da Silva who entered. There was a smile on her face but it lacked warmth and Marcus felt the first prickle of unease. They shook hands and she said, ‘Do sit down. I hope this won’t take long as we have visitors and are almost ready to go into dinner.’
‘I appreciate that, Mrs da Silva, but I’m sure that you understand how . . . sensitive a young woman can be prior to her marriage. I simply want a few words with your son about er . . . certain matters. I’m sure Bernard would want to help if he can. One brother-in-law to another!’ He tried to make light of his visit.
She looked a little startled and he wondered if he was making too much of a mystery of it.
‘I do appreciate, Marcus, that your sister has no mother to confide in – at least she has, but she is not in the immediate family circle. I am very willing to talk to her if those certain matters . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished.
Marcus had the distinct impression that his mother had been slighted but hesitated to rush to her defence. Letitia would not want him to cause any further difficulties. Instead he said, ‘If I could speak to Bernard for ten minutes you can then resume your evening’s entertainment.’ It sounded rather stilted but it was the best he could do.
‘I’ll speak to him.’
Marcus took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face. He wondered if he had handled the conversation well and decided he probably could have done better. The mission had caused him a certain amount of stress and he suspected that his talk with Bernard would be equally difficult.
Bernard, however, hurried in with what seemed to be a genuine smile of welcome. ‘You need to speak with me,’ he began. ‘I hope nothing is wrong.’
They sat in adjoining chairs and Marcus envied Bernard the casual way he relaxed into the chair. He looked slightly flushed – possibly a few drinks had brought that about – and the smell of cigarette smoke lingered around him.
‘Not wrong, no,’ he said, ‘but I am a little concerned about my sister, though she doesn’t know I’m coming to see you. She mustn’t know.’ He leaned forward. ‘I wondered if you had noticed any change in her lately. To us she appears rather quiet, almost subdued, and she isn’t eating properly.’ He watched the other man’s expression closely and thought he saw a flicker of alarm. ‘I’ve tried to talk to her but she maintains there’s nothing wrong.’
‘Then I’m sure there isn’t. Letitia has a very sensible head on her shoulders—’
‘She hasn’t slept properly for several nights and I’ve been urging her to see our family doctor—’
‘See the doctor?’ He sat up a little straighter. ‘Surely there’s no need for that. I believe it’s quite usual for brides-to-be to be a little anxious.’
‘I’d like you to be frank with me, Bernard. If there is an
ything wrong between you I feel now is the time to—’
‘Nothing at all.’ Abruptly he got up and closed the door, then resumed his seat. ‘Look, Marcus, there was a young woman in my life before I met your sister but she now means nothing to me except . . . except that she cannot quite accept that. You know how women can be.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘I’ve never been in that situation.’
‘Well, lucky you!’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Carlotta came to see me and Letitia found out about it and . . . well, she may have read too much into the incident.’
‘So this other young woman—’
‘For heaven’s sake, man!’ His cool manner was suddenly evaporating. ‘The wedding is only weeks away! It’s much too late to change anything . . . even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. You can tell your sister that there will be no change to our plans.’ He gave Marcus a look of irritation. ‘Will that soothe her fears, do you think?’
A strained silence fell between them. Marcus felt a sudden chill. All was not right.
Bernard realized he had spoken too sharply. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound callous but my mother has been nagging me and now . . .’
Marcus’s thoughts swirled unhappily. He had been told not to make things worse. Was he doing that? He said, ‘Do you love her? Letitia, I mean?’
‘Of course I do.’ He ran his fingers through his smooth hair and rolled his eyes. ‘Women! They can be the very devil!’
‘This Carlotta . . . ?’
‘Forget her! She’s history!’ He sat up and leaned forward confidingly. ‘Look, Marcus, tomorrow I’ll send Letitia a bouquet of flowers . . .’
‘Don’t send them. Bring them. She needs to be reassured.’
Bernard sighed. ‘Very well, I’ll bring them and I’ll reassure her. How’s that?’
Marcus was feeling distinctly uneasy. Bernard didn’t sound like a man who was deeply in love and soon to be married. Feeling rather disloyal, he wondered if Letitia was more keen on the match than Bernard. He had denied that Carlotta was important to him, yet he didn’t appear to be that concerned for Letitia either.
Abruptly Bernard stood up. He forced a smile. ‘There. Nothing but a storm in a teacup. I’m so sorry you’ve been worried about your sister but we’ll soon put that right. Trust me, Marcus.’ He looked pointedly at Marcus who was still sitting down. ‘I’ll have to get back to our guests but I’m glad we’ve had this little talk.’ As Marcus rose to his feet Bernard reached out and they shook hands. ‘If we don’t meet again, I’ll see you on the big day! Give Letitia my love.’
‘I can’t do that. She doesn’t know I’ve come to see you.’
‘Oh! How stupid of me.’ He was leading the way out of the morning room and along to the front door. ‘Steady as you go!’ he joked as he opened it.
Marcus paused on the step, looking up into Bernard’s handsome face. He felt there was more he should say but words failed him. The truth was he was glad to be out of there and, nodding briefly, he turned and began to retrace his steps.
His doubts crystallized as he made his way home and he knew that he was no longer confident of Bernard’s feeling for Letitia. However, he could never tell her that . . . and maybe he was wrong. Had he read the signs correctly or jumped to the wrong conclusions? Somehow tonight he would reassure her and when Bernard came the next day they might well recover the feelings they had originally had for each other. He told himself he had done his best. The trouble was that he now doubted the wisdom of his visit. Instead of returning with confidence he was full of doubts which he felt unable to share.
‘Damn and double damn!’ As he let himself back into the house he promised himself that, sister or no sister, he would never again put himself into such an invidious position.
Six
Dressed in her best clothes, Rose sat in the seats at the side of the court and waited for her father’s name to be called out. A magistrate’s court was a new experience for her and she glanced round in awe at the panelled walls, large, high windows and stark wooden pews. It reminded her of church and that was appropriate, she thought, for important matters of good and evil were dealt with within the walls. She wondered if she offered up a prayer whether God might listen but probably he was busy in the various churches.
The magistrate looked very small behind his high desk but the gavel he used to good effect helped his air of authority as did his dark robes and stern expression. He had a white moustache and beard but very little white hair on his head yet still maintained a certain dignity due to his position. Rose was glad she was not going to face him.
On her left was a very fat woman who snorted with every wheezy breath and filled the surrounding air with the smell of onions. To Rose’s right a thin woman dressed in black sat with a rigid back, staring at the magistrate while he discussed the case of the young man who was her son.
The magistrate, peering through his spectacles, read from his notes. ‘You are accused of carelessly pushing a barrow loaded with logs which overturned in—’
‘Your honour, it wasn’t me being careless. It was—’
The court official interrupted him. ‘Do not address the bench while the charge is being read out.’
‘I only meant—’
‘That will do!’
The young man turned to stare helplessly at his mother who shook her head by way of a warning.
The magistrate continued. ‘The barrow overturned in the middle of the street and startled a baker’s horse which then reared up and came down on an elderly man who is now in hospital receiving treatment for his injuries . . .’
Rose’s mind wandered. She tried to imagine her father waiting somewhere below the court in some kind of dungeon, sitting with other ill-doers. Perhaps they sat in gloomy silence . . . or maybe they chatted to each other, discussing their alleged crimes and denying that they were guilty. How could her father deny anything? The stolen goods had been found in his premises and his partner in crime had also been arrested and had given her father’s name to the police.
The best solicitor in the world could not save him from whatever sentence the magistrate handed down. He was going to prison. She sighed. For herself, she was deeply ashamed of his behaviour and selfishly pleased that no one else knew what he had done. Except Marcus and he didn’t count because she had sworn him to secrecy and she trusted him. On reflection, she was now sorry that she had been cross with him at Andy’s Supper Room because she knew he meant well.
The magistrate’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘I see here that you do not hold the required trader’s licence. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, your honour but it’s not my fault because—’
‘It seems that nothing is your fault.’ He gave the defendant a withering look.
The sound of her father’s name jerked her back to what was happening around her. The young man was being led away and his mother was forcing her way out, her expression grim. Rose crossed her fingers, hoping that she might never be in that position.
Her father suddenly appeared at the top of the steps and he immediately searched the row of seats for her. When she gave him a discreet wave and smiled she expected him to show relief that she had turned up to support him but instead he looked embarrassed and made no effort to acknowledge her. Hurt by the rejection, she told herself that he was obviously ashamed and didn’t want her to watch his downfall.
‘You know him, do you?’ whispered the fat lady.
Too late to pretend otherwise, Rose thought, and nodded.
‘Your pa?’
The court official glared across at them. ‘Silence in court!’
The charge of receiving stolen goods was read out while her father stood, twisting his cap in his hand. Rose saw him suddenly, not as her father but as a stranger – a small, abject figure. She was all he had in the world, she realized. No money, no job, no home. Stricken by his plight she jumped to her feet. ‘Please may I speak in his defence? He’s my—’
Every face i
n the room turned in her direction. The court official roared, ‘Silence in court!’
But she plunged on while she had everyone’s attention. ‘He’s my father and he’s had a hard life and he’s not a bad man at heart. He’s weak but—’
The magistrate was banging his gavel and Rose found herself seized by the arm and dragged, with considerable difficulty, past the fat woman who grumbled ‘Oi! Watch it!’
‘He was led astray!’ she shouted, struggling to prevent herself being swept off her feet.
Despite her protests, she found herself in the corridor, panting with anger, facing a man in a uniform she didn’t recognize.
The man gave her a final shaking and then released her. He said, ‘Think yourself lucky, woman! You might have been done for contempt! I’ve done you a favour!’ He was a beefy looking man with a florid complexion.
Rose glared at him angrily. ‘Well, I don’t think myself lucky. You nearly pulled my arm out of its socket! And I wanted to help my father. He’s—’
‘I should reckon that little outburst has made it worse for him, poor wretch. You was in contempt of the court and the judge could have had you taken down into the cells. That would have been hard for him.’
Shaken by this assertion, she said, ‘Made it worse for him? Oh but that wouldn’t be fair. I was only—’
‘You were making a disturbance in court and it’s not allowed. Learn something from it. Now I have to get back.’
He left her standing irresolutely in the corridor. She felt foolish and lonely, largely ignored by the various people who hurried past. Slowly she made her way down the stairs and out into the sunlight.
At first she stood there feeling sorry for herself. She had made a mistake in the court and it had all been pointless because her father was going to be given a prison sentence.
But as the minutes passed, her own natural optimism gradually returned and she reminded herself that all was not bad. There were good things in her life, too. She was going to France at some time, with Marcus and Marie, and she had Letitia’s wedding to look forward to. Finally, as she set her face towards Connie’s house, she was smiling again.
Birthday Present Page 12
