With a sensation of something like superstitious awe, Jessica suddenly recalled Mary’s offer of the previous evening.
“It’s as though it were in preparation for this horrible discovery,” thought Jessica dazedly. And presently she sat down on the grass, to try to work out the situation calmly.
At first, her mind instinctively rejected any solution of the problem which involved her giving up Ford. But, almost immediately, she forced herself to admit that she had no right to try to keep him, if the girl he really wanted was now free.
“It’s I who must step down,” she told herself determinedly. “All the more so because it was on a generous and quixotic impulse that he saddled himself with the responsibility of the twins and myself. At least, I suppose it was.”
She buried her face in her hands, and tried to recall exactly how he had looked and sounded when he asked her to marry him. But the effort brought him so clearly before her, with such a painful realisation of all she was losing, that she hastily abandoned the attempt, and tried to think instead of Mary’s offer.
That had been made, of course, with the original intention of saving her from a marriage which Mary and David thought she did not want. Well, she didn’t want it, unless it would mean happiness for Ford as well as herself.
If the future happiness of the twins could be secured by their remaining at The Mead with Mary, then there was no reason at all why she should not take a job and earn her own living, leaving Ford free to marry Paula.
It was the decent and simple way out of the tangle.
“But I don’t want to lose him,” Jessica said aloud. “I don’t want to lose him. Why didn’t I understand before that I was supremely lucky and happy in having him? Though, of course, this means that I never really did have him,” she reminded herself sadly—without, however, entirely convincing herself of the fact.
Anyway, what did it matter now? She would have to let him go. After what she had just seen, she could never hold him to his bond and be happy. The best thing would be to go and see Mary right away and tell her that her offer was going to be accepted.
Reluctantly, Jessica dragged herself to her feet and started off towards the Skeltons’ house.
Several times on the way she hesitated, as though half-deciding not to commit herself quite so far on the impulse of the moment. And yet, if she did not do it now, she was not sure that she would be able to do it at all.
When she came in sight of Mary’s house, she saw, to her relief, that her friend was in the garden alone. So at least she would not have to make the effort of knocking on the door and enquiring for her, and probably become involved in conversation with Mr. Skelton.
Mary looked up at the sound of the gate-latch, and came towards her immediately.
“Hell, Jess. I’m so glad you came over. I’m feeling rather flat because Daddy and David have gone over to Keswick on some sort of business and haven’t come back yet.”
Jessica murmured something noncommittal, and took the garden chair which Mary pushed forward.
“Well, what’s the news?”
Mary was smiling, with the happy expectancy of the person who is so pleased with life that she cannot anticipate anything but good news.
Jessica didn’t answer at once. She was groping for some sort of phrase which might lead up to what she wanted to say, and not make the whole thing sound so bald and crude. But her mind refused to supply her with the words she wanted, and after a few minutes she said in a low voice:
“The news is that I want to accept the offer which you made last night.”
Mary caught her breath, and the smile faded from her face.
She was not entirely surprised to receive this statement. Only, somehow, she had not expected it to be accompanied by the indefinable suggestion of tragedy. After all, if Jess wished to accept the offer, it must mean that she saw in it a means of escape from something she dreaded, and that was surely a cause for relief, rather than dismay.
“I’m—glad,” she said doubtfully at last. “At least, I mean I’m glad that you feel willing to trust the twins to David and me. And I’m glad if our offer enables you to—to escape from a marriage which you don’t feel would have turned out well.”
“No,” Jessica said slowly. “I don’t think Ford and I should be happy—married to each other.”
Mary was silent. She felt sure there was something here which she did not understand, but hesitated to enquire further. Finally, she said rather diffidently:
“Does Ford—know yet?”
“No.”
Mary wished Jessica would not look so pale and harassed. It made her wonder if she were afraid to tell Ford of her decision.
“He wouldn’t want to hold you to the engagement if he knew you didn’t really want it.”
“No. Oh, no—he won’t want to hold me to the engagement,” Jessica agreed, with a queer little laugh which had no amusement in it.
Mary glanced at her sharply.
“Why do you say it like that, Jess?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Jessica pushed back her hair from her forehead, as though she found it too heavy. Then she met Mary’s worried glance, and, with an effort, she pulled herself together and smiled. “It’s all right, Mary. I don’t much like the idea of having to tell him, and—and it’s upsetting to have to take a decision like this and rearrange everything.”
This sounded plausible enough. But Mary seemed curiously unconvinced. She looked at her friend for a moment with slightly widened eyes. Then, as though the words surprised even herself, she said:
“Look here, Jess. I suppose you’re quite sure you don’t want to marry him?”
Jessica looked away. She thought of the girl she had seen in Ford’s arms, and how she really belonged to his world and his life, how she had known him for years, and obviously had been in no doubt about expressing her feelings for him. And, after a pause which Mary found long enough to be disturbing, she said:
“Quite sure.”
Mary bit her lip.
“Then there’s no more to be said, dear. Except that of course David and I will be delighted to have the twins at The Mead quite indefinitely. You don’t have to worry about them at all. When your—your luck changes and you find you can have them with you again, you only have to say so. Until then, their home is with us.”
Jessica made a little gesture, expressive of her gratitude, and Mary caught her outstretched hand and held it. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Then Jessica stood up and said, in a small but determined voice:
“I’ll go and tell Ford now.”
Mary knew that too much expressed sympathy would probably be unnerving, rather than consoling, at this moment. So she just went with Jessica to the gate and waved to her.
She didn’t like to comment on the fact that Jessica started off in the direction of her home, and not towards Oaklands at all.
But Jessica was not too dazed not to know what she was doing. And one thing she was determined upon—that she would not set foot in Oaklands again. Ford would be sure to come to The Mead some time that evening—unless he were too much agitated by the scene with Paula—and she would do her explaining then.
As a matter of fact, she had not even so long to wait as that. He overtook her—driving in the lovely little new car which was to have been hers—before she reached the gate of The Mead.
“Hallo, Jess!”
He drew to a standstill beside her, and greeted her with a smiling gaiety which she found rather grimly courageous of him, in the circumstances. Evidently he meant to go through with his bargain, with a good grace.
“Hallo.”
She gave him the best smile she could manage, in her turn.
“Jump in. I was just driving your car up to the house.”
Jessica felt her throat tighten. She could not possibly let him drive the car up to The Mead, have the twins receive it with rapturous enthusiasm, and then explain that, in the circumstances, he must take it back again.
H
e must have seen the hesitation on her face, because he smiled, as he leant forward to open the door for her, and said:
“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust my driving yet?”
“Yes, of course. It—it’s not that.”
She got in beside him. Then, just as he was about to start the car again, she said:
“Don’t drive straight to The Mead, Ford. I—let’s drive around a bit. I want to talk to you.”
“Just as you like. Where shall we go?” He started the car.
“Anywhere. It—doesn’t matter.”
He glanced at her.
“Well, it’s your car,” he said, lightly. “You ought to decide where it should go.”
“No. At least—that’s just it, Ford. It isn’t my car. I mean—I can’t accept it.”
“Good lord, why ever not?”
“Well, you see”—she gripped her hands together— “Ford, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to marry you after all.”
For a moment after she had said that she dared not look at him. There was no immediate and dramatic response. No exclamations or protestations, no abrupt slackening or increasing of the car’s speed. Then, after a short silence, he said:
“When did you come to this decision?”
Jessica made some rapid calculations, in view of the fact that she would have to give some plausible story.
“I—I’ve been thinking about it for some time. I finally decided last night.”
“Last night! But I thought—” He stopped, and then said, “Never mind. What are your plans for the future then, Jess? For you—and the twins, I mean?”
She did glance at him then, and saw that, though he was perfectly calm, he was a little pale and his eyes glittered rather curiously. She wondered how much frantic relief and hope that set expression hid.
He must be wondering how much he dared to believe his luck, and whether he ought to make some sort of protest, for decency’s sake.
But she didn’t want to hear him make meaningless protests. She didn’t want him to be forced into pretending dismay, in order to save her face. And she knew in that moment that she must take on herself the full onus of breaking the engagement.
“It’s because the twins’ future has been assured that I—that I can take this decision,” she explained, a little breathlessly. “You know that Mary is going to marry David Forrest?”
He nodded briefly.
“Well, they want to start their married life at The Mead, and they—they’re perfectly willing to give the twins a home there with them.”
“But I was perfectly willing to give the twins a home with us at Oaklands,” he said rather harshly.
“I know, I know. You’ve been wonderfully generous, but—”
“For heaven’s sake don’t call me generous again,” he said almost savagely. And she bit her lip and was silent, understanding very well that he must hate to have his generosity stressed, and the role of injured party thrust upon him, when what she was saying must be the best news he had heard for a long time.
He seemed to realise, after a moment, how violently he had spoken, because he said, in a much quieter tone:
“I’m sorry. Please go on. About Mary and David Forrest wanting to take the twins, I mean.”
“Well, that—that’s all.”
“You mean that you thankfully jumped at the offer?”
She felt herself go pale.
“Ford”—she spoke with an effort—”you said once before that you—you realised that for me the most important thing in the world was to provide for the future happiness of Judy and Tom. I didn’t quite admit it at the time, but I didn’t deny it. And, of course, it—it was true.”
“You mean that was the only real hold I had on you?”
She was silent, thinking dismayedly of the terrible, unconfessed hold he had on her, and always would have now.
He waited, presumably expecting her to speak. Then, when the lengthened silence had answered for her, he said quietly:
“Then the fact is that, free of the necessity of providing a home for the twins, you definitely don’t want to marry me. Is that it?”
This was the moment, of course, when she must put her decision into a categorical statement.
Jessica had thought she was prepared for it, and was proof against the misery of the actual moment of renunciation. But she would never have believed that pronouncing a few words could hurt so much. To her surprise, she found that her heart literally ached with the effort.
But the effort had to be made. All the rest was pointless unless she could achieve this final victory over herself. And, in a small, but perfectly firm voice, she said:
“Yes, that’s it. I—I definitely don’t want to marry you.”
In her determination to be plain, she was afraid she had achieved a degree of ungraciousness too. And that seemed to be more or less his view. Because his tone was curt as he said:
“Then there’s no more to say about it. Shall I drive you home now?”
“Yes, please,” Jessica said, and wished she were dead.
They drove back in silence—Jessica too exhausted to say anything more, and Ford presumably finding silence the best refuge from the problem of balancing inward relief against the necessity for an outward appearance of chagrin.
Only as they neared the gate of The Mead did Jessica rouse herself to say:
“Ford, I don’t want you to think I was only concerned with making a convenience of you because of the twins.”
“I don’t think that.” He smiled grimly, but didn’t look at her.
“I—I do tremendously appreciate all the kindness and thought, you know. It’s just—”
“All right. I understand.”
“And I’m sorry I ran you into all that extra expense for the car.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he told her. And she wondered if he were thinking that it would do for Paula instead.
The thought was so unpalatable that she thrust it from her. And, as he drew up outside the gate, she took her engagement ring off her finger, with what seemed to her a physical wrench.
“You—you’d better have this.” She held it out to him.
For a moment he looked at it as though he hardly recognised it. Then, with a quick movement, he closed her outstretched hand on the ring again.
“No, no. You keep that.” He sounded as nearly agitated as she had ever heard him.
“But I can’t, Ford. One—one always gives back the ring at the end of a—of a broken engagement.”
“I don’t care what ‘one’ always does. Please keep your ring. I want you to.”
And, taking her hand, he put the ring back on her finger.
Jessica stared down at her hand, wondering if he realised that, in his agitation, he had thrust the ring back on her “engagement” finger. She supposed she ought to say that at any rate she would have to wear it on another finger. But instead she only murmured distressedly:
“Why do you want me to keep it?”
“Because I’d like you to have something of mine,” he said curtly.
And she thought then that perhaps he felt less in her debt that way. As though the ring were a silent thank-offering for having been painlessly released from his engagement.
“Very well.” Jessica said slowly. “I’ll keep it. Thank you, Ford.”
And then she got out of the car and said good night to him.
It was impossible to kiss him, of course, and it seemed equally impossible to shake hands with the man one loved. So she just stood there with her hands behind her back as she said good night.
Neither of them actually said goodbye. But, as he drove away, in the little car that was to have been hers, she knew that he was driving out of her life.
As she walked slowly through the garden to the house, she recalled, with unbearable poignancy, her rapturous discovery of the previous evening.
Was it really only yesterday that she had known so certainly and so finally that she loved Ford and that she
was to marry him and be so happy?
Everything had seemed so secure and inevitable then. For a few brief hours she had actually known the fairytale sweetness of the “happy ever after” feeling.
And now all that was over.
She had released him of her own free will. For that was the quaint term one used to describe the agonising kind of renunciation which she had just staged. Of her own free will, she had left him free to marry Paula, instead of herself. Paula, who, if she were at all like her friend Angela, would simply think her a perfect fool to have made such a gesture.
For a moment, Jessica wondered, in a sort of sick panic, why she had made the gesture. Why, without careful thought and consideration, she had sacrificed the thing she wanted most in the world.
It was a quixotic impulse, of course. Like the quixotic impulse which had moved him to ask her to marry him, because he liked her and was sorry for her desperate plight.
Perhaps, thought Jessica, with a faint smile, it was poetic justice that he should have entangled himself in an engagement for a generous impulse, and been released on the strength of another.
But there was not much to make Jessica smile that evening, and, as she went into the house, she felt her heart sink almost literally at the thought of the terrible change in her hopes and plans which had taken place since she went out.
“Jess! Je-ess, is that you?” called Judy from upstairs.
“Good gracious, aren’t you in bed yet?” Jessica responded mechanically.
“Oh, yes. I’m in bed. But I want you to come up and speak to me.”
With what, Jessica supposed, Angela would have considered “indulgence,” she went upstairs and into Judy’s room. Her little sister popped up from under the bed-clothes in some excitement.
“Was that the sound of the car bringing you home? I thought I heard it stop at the gate?”
“Yes. Ford drove me home.”
“In the new car?”
“Y-yes. In the new car.”
“But it drove away again, Jess. I thought Ford was going to leave it here.” Judy was palpably disappointed.
The Brave In Heart Page 18
