The Brave In Heart

by Mary Burchell

  He merely picked Jessica up again with that rather startling ease, and carried her upstairs to her bedroom. And this time she made no protest. It was nice, she thought, not to have to make any more effort. She seemed to have been making so many, ever since Judy had arrived that afternoon.

  Only when he had set her down again did she realise that, as the happy fiancée, she ought to manage to say something about future plans. But all she could manage was—

  “Are you—are you going to have a talk with Uncle Hector now?”

  “About marriage settlements and future prospects, you mean? Yes, I expect so.”

  She had not meant anything of the sort, so she flushed deeply and said,

  “No. I wasn’t thinking of—of anything mercenary, like that. I just meant—well, whatever Uncle Hector meant when he spoke of having a talk with you.”

  “That was what Uncle Hector did mean,” Ford informed her amusedly. “And quite rightly, too. That and, I suppose, some sort of reassurance about my being a perfectly respectable person for his niece to accept as a husband. He’s a shrewd old boy, your Uncle Hector. I find I rather like him, after all.”

  Jessica smiled faintly.

  “Then you don’t mind his heavy parental talk to you?”

  “Good heavens, no!”

  “And—after that?” She wondered if he would expect to see her again.

  But apparently not, because he said:

  “After that? Well. I expect I shall go home after that and break the news to Angela.”

  Another disquieting aspect of the situation presented itself then.

  “Oh—she won’t be very pleased, will she?” Jessica spoke with candour because she was too tired for polite pretence.

  “At having to hand over the reins of government, you mean?”

  “Partly that. And partly”—Jessica thought of the overheard conversation in the car—”partly that she just doesn’t like me.”

  “She hardly knows you, Jessica. Or you, her.”

  “No. That’s true. But what she knows of me she doesn’t like.”

  He laughed—amused rather than put out.

  “Angela would not have welcomed any wife of mine with open arms,” he said, with a candour that matched Jessica’s. “But she is quite intelligent enough to adapt herself gracefully to changed circumstances.

  “Yes, of course. I—I don’t want to make too much of the point. I don’t even know why I raised it,” Jessica said quickly. “I’ll do my best, too, you know.”

  “Of course. Don’t worry,” he told her with that air of careless certainty which indicated so clearly that he was used to shaping things the way he liked them.

  Then he kissed her and went away—leaving Jessica with the impression that, for the first time since she had taken over the management of her father’s house, her future was no longer in her own hands.

  During the next few days, it seemed to Jessica that everything circulated round the central fact of her marriage to Ford.

  It was not only that he himself came daily, as of right, to The Mead, usually with gifts—including a magnificent diamond ring which hung a little loosely on her thin hand. It was not only that Aunt Miriam, having once accepted the fact of the marriage, now luxuriated in all the details of arrangement.

  It was that everyone—Tom, Judy, Mary, her aunt and uncle, and even Linda—all seemed to see her as a slightly different person. Someone who was no longer quite Jessica Edom, but was on the way to being Jessica Onderley—a person who would stand in a different relationship to them. Sometimes Jessica wondered how such a few words from herself could have set so much change in motion.

  Less than a week after her engagement, the Forrests came to see her once more, and she greeted them like figures from a familiar past, for which she was already beginning to have a nostalgic affection. They at least knew nothing yet of her unexpected engagement, and were full of their own affairs.

  “We have really come to say goodbye, dear,” Evelyn Forrest explained. “At least, it’s only au revoir, because we do intend to return, as I told you, in a month or two. But we must go back to London for the moment, because there is so much to settle up.”

  Her expression became vague and contented, and David good-naturedly amplified the explanation:

  “We shall let our London house for the autumn and winter, and move up here. As you can see from her expression, my mamma simply adores what she calls ‘settling up.’ It usually involves the letting or selling of a house, the storing of a great deal of furniture, and, of course, the buying of an entire new outfit. The process wears her to a shadow, to use her own expressive phrase, but so greatly satisfies some inexplicable urge in her that I never have the heart to restrain her.”

  “Or the power,” added his mother with decision. “I should like to see you ‘restrain’ me, as you call it, when I want to do something!”

  “So should I,” David told her with amusement. “It’s something I should very much like to see, dear. But neither of us ever will. However, over this I am in complete agreement. I like the idea of moving here for the autumn and winter.”

  “I like it too.” Jessica smiled at him, reassured and, somehow, oddly comforted by the thought that David would not be going out of her—out of their lives. He was such a good friend to have around.

  “And you will still be here when we come back, won’t you?” Mrs. Forrest said to Jessica.

  “Of course she will.” David’s tone said that he simply refused to accept any other possibility, which slightly annoyed his mother because, on principle, she considered it bad for any man to suppose things would be arranged to please him.

  “Well, my dear, the arrangements for Jessica’s future are unfortunately no longer in her own hands, poor child. I suppose the decision really rests with your uncle and aunt?” Evelyn Forrest regarded Jessica pityingly.

  “Well, no. As—as a matter of fact, the arrangements for my future rest with Ford Onderley now,” Jessica admitted with a slightly embarrassed smile.

  “Good heavens! Does he always have to crop up?” enquired David with good-humoured impatience. “The all-pervading landlord still!” And, though he leant negligently against the side of the window and looked out into the garden with a careless smile which softened the words, Jessica sensed that he was not pleased.

  “It isn’t—quite that—David.” She found herself explaining to him, rather than to his mother. “The position has altered rather. I’m—I’m engaged to Ford.”

  “You’re not!”

  David straightened up suddenly, with nothing negligent or careless about him now, and looked straight across at Jessica.

  “Well—yes, David.” She hardly knew what to make of his cry of protest or his obvious anger. “Why not?”

  “No reason why not at all, my dear.” That was Mrs. Forrest, most skilfully conveying congratulations to Jessica and reproof to David at one and the same time. “It’s a most admirable match, Jessica. My very best congratulations. He must be quite the richest man in the neighbourhood, and very distinguished-looking. Be sure you insist on that sister of his living elsewhere, and don’t let him start by playing the domestic tyrant, dear, and I’m sure you’ll be wonderfully happy. Bless you, child!”

  And Mrs. Forrest kissed Jessica with real heartiness. Partly because she really liked her, partly because she always enjoyed a wedding, and partly because she had been just the least bit anxious in case David had begun to have some foolishly romantic leanings towards this very pretty child. Now those were satisfactorily disposed of and there was no further need to worry. No wonder Mrs. Forrest felt in a mood for kisses and blessings.

  David, however, it seemed, was in no such mood.

  He had recovered himself sufficiently to disguise his first anger and dismay behind a rather expressionless exterior, while his mother babbled cheerfully through her congratulations and comments. But, once those were ended, he simply said abruptly,

  “Are you happy about this, Jess? Really ha
ppy, I mean?”

  “Why—of course, David.” She bit her lip. “What makes you think otherwise?”

  “I only wondered—if you’re not happy about—if it’s only an arrangement—”

  “Really, David, I don’t know what’s come over you!” His mother spoke with unwonted sharpness. “Don’t you think you’d better give Jessica your good wishes, instead of trying to put odd ideas into her head about something which is entirely her own business?”

  “I’m sorry.” David ran his hand through his hair in sudden perplexity, as though he had just realised how odd his words must sound. “She has my best—my very best—wishes for her happiness. I only wanted to make sure that this was for her happiness.”

  And because, if she were to do the thing at all, she must do it properly, Jessica said steadily,

  “Thank you, David. This is for my happiness.”

  “Then I’m very glad,” said David, looking as little glad as it was possible to be.

  And after that he contributed very little to the conversation, leaving several ragged gaps for his mother to fill, an office for which she was, fortunately, extremely well suited.

  When they had gone, Jessica tried not to think of the conversation as in any way peculiar. David had just been expressing natural surprise at the suddenness of the engagement and, good friend that he was, he had asked—naturally, if a little tactlessly—for reassurance that the match was indeed likely to make Jessica happy.

  But, in her heart, Jessica knew that this did not entirely explain his attitude. And she wished that the Forrests had not been going back to London just now. Or that she and David could have had a frank talk together. Or that, in some way, things had turned out differently.

  On the contrary, however, things went on being very much the same. All tending to build up the situation towards her marriage with Ford, that is to say, and leaving her very little chance for thought on any other lines.

  “There isn’t any need for a long engagement,” Ford pointed out. “In fact, to have you and the twins settled at Oaklands as soon as possible will smooth out a lot of minor difficulties.”

  But Jessica refused to be hurried quite so much, and in this she received unexpected support from Uncle Hector and Aunt Miriam.

  “There is no need to rush into this marriage,” Aunt Miriam told her. “We don’t want to give the impression that you married Ford Onderley in order to keep a roof over the heads of yourself and the twins. Your uncle is quite prepared to be financially responsible for you all until you start your new life at Oaklands. And, in the changed circumstances, of course it is more reasonable and convenient that you should all remain here, rather than split up for so short a time.”

  It was a reprieve which Jessica thankfully, and even a little wonderingly, accepted.

  Life was to revert, in some curious way, to the pleasant normality which had existed before her father died, and there was to be at least six months’ engagement. during which she would live at The Mead with the twins, while she gradually got used to the idea that presently they would all transfer to Oaklands and—she could not escape the phrase—become the property of Ford Onderley.

  “It’ll be just like old times,” declared Judy with a blissful lack of tact when the situation was explained to her. “I mean, it’ll be awfully nice going to Oaklands later on, but I’m glad we’re going to have the rest of the summer and autumn together at home first.”

  “I’m glad, too,” Jessica said.

  “And won’t even Uncle Hector and Aunt Miriam be here?” enquired Judy hopefully.

  “No. Now that I’m so much better, they feel they simply must go back to their own home and see to their own affairs.” Jessica explained, keeping a restraining hand on Judy, who showed a tendency to leap with ungrateful joy.

  “Linda and I will do everything, so that you needn’t exert yourself a bit,” Judy promised ecstatically.

  “I’m sure you will.” Jessica kissed her and laughed. “But I’m quite able to do some things now, and certainly able to attend to the general running of the place.”

  Even the cautious Aunt Miriam admitted this finally. And, with a mutual relief—which both sides strove manfully to conceal—she and Uncle Hector parted at last from their nieces and nephew, and took their way, with a considerable degree of staid joy, back to their own home.

  “It’s funny how lovely it is to see the last of nice people sometimes.” remarked Judy with artless inoffensiveness when they had gone.

  “Let’s hope they’re feeling the same way about us,” Jessica said, with a smile.

  And Judy said that, yes, of course there was their point of view too.

  Then she and Tom went off to tea with a school crony, and Jessica was left to the luxury of having The Mead on her own, except for the invaluable Linda.

  She sat in the drawing-room, with its long windows framing a breath-taking view of the valley and the hills beyond, and mended the household linen, and thought how lovely it was to feel well again. Future problems and worries might exist. Indeed, did they not in the most fortunate and well-regulated of lives? But, for the moment, she was tranquil and she was happy.

  Presently she heard the door-bell ring, and Linda’s rather heavy footsteps cross the hall. And a few moments later, Angela—in an exquisite feather-weight green tweed suit and daringly absurd green hat which suited her to perfection—was ushered in by an obviously impressed Linda.

  It was the first time she had come near Jessica since the engagement, and, though Jessica had tried hard not to see this as a deliberate affront, it was difficult not to remember it as she greeted Angela now.

  However, Angela had her excuse ready—even if it was delivered in an extremely casual tone.

  “You really must forgive my not coming to see you before,” she told Jessica, more as an instruction than a request. “But just after Ford told me about the engagement, I went away on a visit, and I really haven’t been back very long.”

  Jessica, saying nothing about the amenities provided by the Post Office and the telephone service, assured Angela that “it was all right.”

  “It’s nice to see you now, though, and I’m so glad you came,” she said, managing somehow to infuse cordiality into her tone. “You’re the one person who can give me the best advice about how Ford likes things and—”

  “He likes them managed with deadly efficiency and no fuss,” cut in Angela in a tone calculated to make the most courageous quail before the task. “But Mrs. Curtis, the housekeeper, is very experienced and will keep you right. And, as for managing Ford himself, you seem to have done that very well already.”

  It took Jessica a moment to control her anger sufficiently to ignore the obvious implication. But she was determined that Angela should not provoke her into a display of nervous temper.

  “I know it sounds trite to say it, but I can’t help hoping, Angela, that you and I will be good friends when we get to know each other better,” she said quietly.

  “It’s not very likely.” Angela ran a cool, speculative glance over her. “We are not at all the same type. But, of course, we shall contrive to be reasonably agreeable to each other. And, anyway, I shan’t be very much at Oaklands.”

  “Won’t you?” Jessica said, and controlled her relief and pleasure with difficulty.

  “No. I never intended to make my home there, once Ford married.”

  “I see.”

  Jessica hesitated, then, deciding that plain speaking might suit this cool, unfriendly girl best, she said:

  “You’re not very pleased about Ford’s marriage, are you, Angela?”

  Angela shrugged.

  “In Ford’s place, I should have chosen differently,” she said. “But that’s his business, not mine. And I suppose, in many ways, it suits you both very well. It certainly provides a comfortable and luxurious home for you and those two children. And. on his side—I suppose you know Ford was desperately in love with someone else who turned him down?”

  “No,�
� Jessica said coldly. “I didn’t. And I don’t think you had any right to tell me anything so intimate about your brother, since he had not chosen to tell me himself.”

  “But men are so odd in their confidences and their reticences. After all, you had a right to know. It puts you in a false position if you suppose yourself to be the object of some wild devotion which doesn’t exist.” Angela pointed out a little maliciously. “It’s just as well for you to know that Ford expended all that on someone else and so. I suppose, felt free to indulge in some quixotic gesture over a make-do marriage.”

  “You certainly have a talent for putting things as unpleasantly as possible, Angela.” Jessica spoke with a coolness which matched her visitor’s, though she was pale and her eyes looked dark because the pupils had grown so large.

  Angela laughed slightly.

  “Oh, no. I believe in looking facts in the face myself. If not, they are inclined to look you in the face, which is much more unpleasant. I imagine you are enough of a realist to know that for yourself.”

  “I hope so,” Jessica said curtly.

  “And, anyway, what is there so unpleasant about what I have said? The basis for this marriage is not such a bad one, if you’re both truthful with each other, and accept the fact that there’s not much romance on either side. You’re marrying, quite frankly, for money, and he is marrying because—well, because most men want to marry, and he knows he can’t have the woman he does want, so—”

  “What makes you so confident of the fact that I’m marrying for money?” inquired Jessica icily, while she gripped her cold hands together.

  “Oh, my dear”—Angela laughed, as she stood up and drew on her gloves, presumably to indicate that the call was at an end—”if not, why didn’t you marry that nice artist, David Forrest? He was mad about you, and could have made you reasonably comfortable, I suppose. Only, of course, he’s only about a quarter as rich as my brother. No doubt you chose very well, all things considered.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JESSICA remained quite still, watching Angela deliberately smooth each finger of her gloves as she put them on, taking as much time as possible over the task.