Caught In the Light

by Robert Goddard

  I looked round to confront Barrington’s narrow-eyed gaze. A peacock would have envied him his waistcoat, though possibly not the tightness of its fit. ‘I do beg your pardon,’ I said. ‘My mind was quite elsewhere.’

  ‘Evidently. And where, may I ask, was it dwelling?’

  ‘I really am … not sure.’

  ‘Perhaps you are pining for dear Jos.’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ I responded, paying him back smile for smile.

  ‘He can be a neglectful fellow, he really can.’ Barrington stepped closer and lowered his voice. ‘I would not leave my wife to languish in my brother’s house. Of that you may be certain.’

  ‘But Jos has so many more demands upon his time than you.’ Seeing Barrington cock his eyebrow, I added, ‘So he tells me.’

  ‘I look upon you as my sister, Marian. It is only fair to tell you that Jos is not so busy as he sometimes claims.’

  ‘You must be mistaken, Barrington. If he were not, why would he so often have to exile himself from Gaunt’s Chase?’

  ‘I think you are intelligent enough to know why. Indeed, I think you are quite possibly the most intelligent woman I have ever met.’

  ‘I could almost believe you mean to flatter me.’

  ‘Not at all. I state the simple truth. For evidence, I need look no further than your experiments with the camera obscura.’

  I glanced away. ‘Jos does not wish those to be spoken of.’

  ‘But Jos is not here.’ Barrington paused and we both pretended to watch the dancing. Then he said, ‘And he has no jurisdiction over what I permit to be done under my own roof. I could obtain whatever equipment you need.’

  ‘Why might you do that?’

  ‘Because I am a more considerate fellow than you suppose.’ He took my arm, prompting me to look round at him. ‘And because I have an open mind where scientific enquiry is concerned. There are many, my brother among them, who believe women should confine their energies to childbirth, embroidery and the occasional quadrille.’

  ‘But you are of more enlightened stock?’

  ‘I am, since you ask. I see you for what you are and the world for what it is. You are a married woman, whom the world will ever discount on the strength of your husband’s unreasoning censure. But you need not allow your discoveries to wither because of it. There is a way to make them known through the agency of one whom the world will not discount.’

  ‘You are referring to …’

  ‘Myself.’ He beamed, as if bestowing upon me the grandest of favours. ‘Jos spoke of a portrait of Susannah and me. He described what only someone who was there at the time could describe. Yet he was not there. He spoke of witchcraft, thus revealing the anachronistic cast of his mind, whilst my own thoughts turned to something altogether more in keeping with the temper of the age.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Commercial opportunity. The profit that so often rewards the pioneer. In such a case as this, we could be speaking of as much as you need to purchase your freedom from what I judge to be a deeply uncongenial existence. There would, I feel sure, be more than enough for both of us. Look at the portraits around this wall. Consider the legion of artists and draughtsmen and silhouettists the fashionable world maintains. I know nothing of the science of what you have been about with your camera and your chemicals. I do not need to. That is your province.’

  ‘Whilst yours is …’

  ‘Presentation and exploitation. On your behalf. In your place, so to speak.’

  ‘Fame as well as fortune, in fact.’

  ‘Possibly. But I would be accepting the risk of your failure. A good deal of Jos’s wrath would be directed at me were he to learn that I was acting as your patron.’

  ‘You have thought this through, I do see.’

  ‘Oh yes. I speak only because the time is ripe.’ The dance had come to a close in the last few minutes. The ladies and gentlemen broke up into smaller groups. The orchestra fell silent. Susannah detached herself from her partner and bore down upon us, gown billowing like a galleon in full sail. ‘I sometimes think you married the wrong brother, Marian,’ Barrington continued musingly. ‘I really do.’

  ‘Susannah is enjoying herself. You should partner her in the next dance.’

  ‘I suppose I should.’

  ‘Whilst I give thought to your … interesting proposition.’

  ‘You do find it interesting, then?’

  ‘How could I not?’

  ‘Such an invigorating evening,’ declared Susannah as she joined us, flushed and breathless. ‘And so much more elegant than anything put on at the Assembly Rooms. Do you not agree, my dears?’

  ‘You are certainly an adornment to the proceedings, Susannah,’ I replied. ‘Your husband was only this minute sharing with me his resolve to take the floor with you for the next dance.’

  ‘Indeed,’ mumbled Barrington.

  ‘Provided it is not a waltz.’

  ‘There is no fear of that at Midford Grange.’ Susannah’s eyes danced in anticipation. ‘But why are you so idle, Marian? I can scarcely believe you are in less demand than me.’

  ‘I confess I am.’

  ‘You should smile more, my dear. You should practise a little gaiety. Am I not right, Barrington?’

  ‘Perhaps Marian’s gifts lie in another direction.’

  Susannah frowned, momentarily discomposed by the notion that her husband recognized me as possessing any gifts, in whatever direction. Then the orchestra struck up the next dance and she was wreathed in smiles once more. ‘Come, then, Barrington. Let us stretch those calves of yours.’

  A quiver of something close to distaste passed over Barrington’s face. Then he grinned, gave Susannah his arm and guided her out into the throng. I studied him as they went. A more percipient man than I had supposed, he no doubt thought time was his ally in the campaign to recruit me as his partner in commerce. Little did he know that the time was already past. I was about to leave his life for ever. He might be right that the world would look more reasonably upon my heliogenic discoveries if they were presented by a man. But that man would not be Barrington Esguard. I had no need of a patron when I was about to acquire a loving protector.

  The dancing had recommenced. Nobody’s attention was on me. I turned, moved slowly down the room to the door and slipped out into the hall, then walked steadily but unhurriedly across the marbled floor, past the grand staircase to the main entrance.

  ‘I believe I will take a breath of air,’ I remarked to the footman standing by the doors.

  ‘It’s a cold night, ma’am.’

  ‘Even so.’

  He nodded, opened the doors and stood back as I passed. I heard them close behind me as I descended the steps to the drive and felt the chill strike my face and bosom. The stars were out. The whinnying of horses and the chinking of harnesses carried clearly through the still air. Glancing to my left, I saw a phaeton standing near the angle of the house, facing away from me, its lamps lit. I walked towards it.

  ‘Good evening, ma’am,’ said Poulter as I drew alongside. He jumped down, wrapped a cloak round my shoulders and helped me up, then climbed back into his place and tightened the reins. ‘Shall we be on our way?’

  ‘We shall, Mr Poulter.’

  I did not look back as we headed down the curving drive and out through the gates. The ball would go on without me. Eventually, I would be missed. But by then …

  ‘Have we far to go, Mr Poulter?’

  ‘Half a mile or so, ma’am, no more. I’ll be leaving you there.’

  ‘Then let me thank you now for playing your part in this.’

  ‘There’s no call for thanks. I’m no more than hired help.’

  ‘Do I detect disapprobation in your voice?’

  ‘I should hope not. I do as I’m bidden. And I don’t pass judgement. Bid me turn back to the Grange and I’ll do it. Bid me go on and I will.’

  ‘Then let us go on.’

  ‘Very good, ma’am.’

  We c
ontinued in silence down a narrow, high-hedged lane that wound away into the countryside south-west of Midford. I took it to be a discreet if indirect route to the Bristol road. There was no highway in sight, however, when we stopped in the lee of a small wood. Poulter uttered a word of instruction to the horses and they stood where they were. Nothing moved. The night and everything in it held its breath.

  ‘Is Mr Byfield to meet us here?’ I asked at length.

  ‘This is the meeting place,’ Poulter replied.

  ‘Can he have been delayed?’

  ‘There’s no delay.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘He’s here, Marian,’ said a voice beside and below us. But it was not Lawrence’s voice. A darkly clad figure appeared out of the shadows at Poulter’s elbow, and I found myself looking down into Jos’s bloodshot eyes and smirking face.

  ‘You should have bidden me turn back, ma’am,’ murmured Poulter. Then he handed the reins to Jos, jumped down and vanished. Jos had climbed up into his place before I could even think of jumping down myself. His face was suddenly close to me. His free hand snaked round my shoulders, twitched back the hood of the cloak and clasped the nape of my neck as in a vice.

  ‘Good evening, Marian,’ he rasped, his tainted breath steaming in the air between us. ‘Mr Byfield is indisposed. I trust your husband is an acceptable substitute.’

  ‘Jos, I—’

  ‘Be silent, madam.’ His grip on my neck tightened painfully, then eased fractionally. ‘Listen to what I have to tell you. Listen very carefully. Your life may depend upon it. The play is at an end, Marian. Your leash has run to the collar. It is time for my oh-so-clever wife to understand the limits of her cleverness. You have been entertained by actors too long. Now the playwright takes the stage. Did you suppose I invited Mr Byfield to take his ease at Gaunt’s Chase out of solicitude for his health? No, no. Even then he was answering to my purposes.’

  ‘It cannot be.’

  ‘Did I not tell you to be silent?’ His hand tightened round my neck once more. ‘You have never obeyed me, Marian. You have defied me at every turn. And you have had the arrogance to suppose that you needed neither my love nor my mastery. What recourse did you leave me but to hurt you in the only way you can be hurt? I found you the lover you thought yourself too superior to need. I found him for you, and now I have taken him away. Fear not. He is well. As well as ever. And richer, thanks to what I have paid him to cuckold me. He has gone abroad, as he spoke of doing. But he has gone alone. Though doubtless he will not remain so. Byfield bestows his affections on womankind with an admirable lack of discrimination, as your own case amply demonstrates.’

  I tried to tell myself that he was lying. I tried to believe that Lawrence had been waylaid, betrayed perhaps by Poulter. But with every word from Jos my certainty faltered.

  ‘You are my chattel, Marian. Mine to do with as I will. Your independence of spirit is at an end. You may still hope for rescue or escape. But there will be neither. Byfield is gone. The future he held out to you will never be. It never could have been. All he did was help me break you. That was all he was required to do. You let him have his way with you. But it was my way. Well, now that you know the pleasures of love, I will make sure you never experience them again. Denial is the whip I will take to your back, when I do not take the whip itself.’

  He relaxed slightly, some of his venom already spent. ‘You have chosen this outcome, madam. I have not forced it upon you. I require a meek and obedient wife. Henceforth, that is what you will be. We will return to Midford Grange and you will dance with me. And you will smile and dote upon me and do whatever I tell you to do. That is how it will be. And that is how it will continue to be. So, speak a word, if you please. But take care to make it a compliant one. Shall we go, madam?’

  My mind raced to accept and address this sudden overturning of everything I had yearned for and believed attainable. I would have wept were it not for the depth of the hatred I bore Jos. It is a terrible thing to admit, but the power of that hatred sustained me in the instant of my shattered dreams and sundered hopes. I knew only one thing for certain. I could not, would not, accept Jos’s terms. He had broken me, it was true. I would never be whole again. But he could not bridle me. I would rather die than admit defeat at his hands.

  ‘Well?’ he snapped.

  ‘No,’ I answered, quietly but firmly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I refuse.’

  ‘You cannot.’

  ‘But I can.’ I fixed him with my gaze. ‘Listen to me, Jos. Now we will talk of your life. And a promise I will make you. A solemn vow. If I go with you to Midford Grange, I will do so as the very model of what a wife should be. And I will sustain the performance as long as I have to. Until fate hands me my chance.’

  ‘There will be no “chance”.’

  ‘Oh, but there will. There is bound to be. When you are sleeping, or drunk, or careless, or paying me no heed. When you have forgotten my promise. Then I will strike. I will kill you, Jos, if you do not let me go. I give you my word. I will kill you and be hanged for it. But you will not be there to see me hang. You will be dead.’

  He said nothing. He went on staring at me in the shadows cast by the phaeton’s lamps. The horses stirred and I heard the reins creak as he restrained them. Then he gave a low, mirthless laugh from which some edge of confidence was lacking. ‘You cannot expect me to believe such nonsense.’

  ‘Believe it or not as you please. It is the truth. You have taken everything from me, as you intended. But everything encompasses fear and self-preservation and a Christian conscience. You have deprived me of those along with every ounce of hope. So the consequence is this. If you force me to remain with you, I will find a way to take your life. You would do better to kill me now. But can you trust Mr Poulter so far as murder? I doubt it. Let me go, then. I promise you will never see me again.’

  Silence intruded once more. Our thoughts, our memories, our knowledge of each other contended in the cold and motionless air. I was defeated. And he was confounded. He had succeeded too completely. He had outwitted himself.

  ‘What is your answer, Jos?’

  He gave none. None, that is, that he had not already given. I realized as I waited that he was no longer touching me. I slowly lowered myself to the ground on the far side of the phaeton from him. He made no move. I stepped back. Still he said nothing.

  ‘Goodbye, Jos.’

  ‘Be sure I never do see you again, madam,’ he said, in the tone of one forcing out the words. Then he flicked the reins and the phaeton moved forward. ‘Get on, damn you,’ he shouted at the horses. I heard him rattle out the whip and give them the feel of it. They started and broke into a canter. The phaeton swayed away along the lane. As it turned a bend and vanished from view, I sensed a presence at my shoulder.

  ‘This isn’t what was foreseen, ma’am,’ said Poulter.

  ‘Where is Mr Byfield?’

  ‘Gone abroad. I was given no hint of his destination.’

  ‘He and my husband … have been acting in concert?’

  ‘I wish I could say otherwise.’

  ‘Whilst you and Miss Gathercole …’

  ‘Have much to be ashamed of. But what else should we expect when we go to the market and sell ourselves to the highest bidder?’ He sighed. ‘Can I see you on your way somewhere, ma’am?’

  ‘I do not think so.’

  ‘I’m loath to leave you here.’

  ‘Then you should not have brought me.’

  ‘I have a hired mare tethered in the wood nearby. She’s from the inn at Saltford, up on the Bristol turnpike. Take her back if you want. She’ll give you no trouble. If you can manage the saddle, that is. It’s not—’

  ‘I can ride astride if needs be, Mr Poulter.’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am. Well, there’s nothing to pay at the inn. And most of the London coaches pick up there. If you’re set on leaving the area by the swiftest route …’

  ‘I could do no bett
er?’

  ‘You could not.’

  ‘I accept, then. You’ll understand that I don’t feel inclined to thank you.’

  ‘I understand, ma’am. Let me show you where she is.’

  I followed him through the gloom to the corner of the wood. The mare neighed at our approach. Poulter untied her, led her out into the lane and helped me to mount. I gathered the cloak around my legs for modesty’s sake and waited while he adjusted the stirrups. Then he stepped back.

  ‘If you follow this lane, it’ll bring you out on the heights above Bath. Bear left at the Odd Down crossroads and you’ll be able to cut across to the turnpike without touching the city.’

  ‘You seem to know my requirements well.’

  ‘I’ve helped to wish them on you, ma’am, have I not?’

  ‘So you have.’

  He tipped his hat. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Poulter.’

  With that I rode away into the night. The stars and a three-quarter moon were bright enough to light my path. Jos was a mile or more away by now, the gap between us stretching into permanence. I was alone and free at last to weep tears of anguish for the love I had wasted on Lawrence Byfield and the treachery he had found it possible to practise against me. Was it all pretence, then, the wooing and the winning? Was there nothing heartfelt and wholesome in the things we had done? I knew, even as the tears ran down my cheeks, that I would have to learn the answer. As I rode on, the knowledge hardened my distress and transmuted it into the steeliest resolve. Wherever he had fled, I would follow. However long it took, I would find him. And then I would call him to account. I pulled my handkerchief from my sleeve, closed my eyes and wiped the lids dry.

  And when I opened them I was walking down a tarmac lane, with the amber glow of city lights visible beyond the horizon. I still held the torch in my hand. When I switched it on, its beam showed only an empty stretch of hedge-flanked road ahead. On instinct, I turned round and started back the way I seemed to have come. Soon, I reached a junction, a finger-post pointing to Midford one way, Combe Hay the other. I headed for Midford, walking fast to stay warm. I began to recognize the lie of the land, or to feel that I did. I pressed on and came to the padlocked gates of Midford Grange. I walked straight by.