‘Oh, Ryder that will come. I’m sure of it.’ And, as if fearful of saying too much, she tucked her arm in his and they walked silently back to the house.
After all, she didn’t want to lose him.
Ryder was a young, healthy man, now recovered from his wounds, who normally slept well at night. But that night he slept fitfully.
He knew now that he was engaged to someone he did not love. He felt she knew it too. He also doubted if her feelings for him were any more passionate than his for her. Yet who would be the first to speak? Would they say nothing and, victims of circumstances, of convention, marry and spend their days in mutual antagonism, or, as she said, might love perhaps come?
Some people said it did.
Ryder got out of bed and looked for his cigarettes in the pocket of his coat, a thing he seldom did at night. He lit one and, half opening the window, leaned out, breathing the fresh night air. At times like this he was reminded of the torrid heat of Africa and, sometimes, his eyes closed and his heart pounded as though he were in the grip of a nightmare.
Sometimes he thought he was a man who had left his soul in Africa. Yet even as that thought came to him again, he knew he was wrong. It was not that war had made him incapable of feeling love. His passions had been woken, but the object of them was unattainable – now, and forevermore.
The house was hidden from view, but he turned his head in the direction from which the gentle breeze blew, down the hill all the way from Pelham’s Oak.
Henrietta Woodville gazed around the elegant bedroom she had occupied since her husband, Matthew, had brought her to Pelham’s Oak as a bride. He was a handsome man but, even then, he had been an invalid; a sickly person who was constantly visiting the Continent in search of a cure for his bronchial troubles. That he had lived as long as he had was largely thanks to her; that she had borne him two strong, beautiful children was largely thanks to her and the blood of the Martyns, yeoman stock.
Henrietta had been ten years younger than her husband and now, at fifty, she felt in her prime. Yet here she was, being cast aside as a widow, and not a wealthy one at that. Her inheritance was gone and she, along with her son and daughter, was dependent on the money of the woman who was supplanting her.
Her emotions were mixed because, on the one hand, she was grateful that the financial burden had been eased. However, she also knew that this marked the end of a long era. She wandered slowly over to the large bay window that gave such a beautiful view and looked at the valley, when her attention was caught by a rapid movement in the field below. There was her daughter, that tomboy, looking for all the world like a boy in her brother’s old shirt and riding breeches, practising her jumps over the hurdles, each one a little higher than the one before. Well, all that would have to come to an end, and not before time. Margaret couldn’t keep everyone, even though her fortune was considerable. She would not even wish to contribute to the upkeep of her sister-in-law. Whether she liked it or not, Eliza would have to be found a mate.
Or perhaps she should be sent back to school as her uncle, normally an equable, even indulgent man, had darkly hinted. Who would care to marry a girl with no money and such a violent temper – one who flouted convention and wore men’s clothes?
Eliza, who should have been her mainstay now, seemed indifferent to the change in circumstances. How long did she think her brother and his new wife would tolerate having her in their house, doing exactly as she pleased, refusing to conform, demanding her own way in everything?
Henrietta looked at the fob watch which hung from her waist and gave an exclamation. Eliza was still riding her horse and Prosper Martyn was due for tea. Henrietta had particularly asked Eliza to look nice today as her uncle had something important to say. Just then Henrietta saw Prosper’s light carriage bowling up the drive, drawn by two frisky horses and driven by himself.
A little flustered, Henrietta hurried downstairs to welcome him.
Prosper Martyn was the youngest of Henrietta’s three brothers. She herself, the only girl, was the eldest of the family and there were ten years between herself and Prosper. Despite the age difference she was closer to Prosper than to her other brothers because he had remained a bachelor and they were married men with families. Since Matthew’s death Henrietta had come to depend on her youngest brother a lot: he seemed to have a fount of wisdom, in addition to his natural abilities as a businessman.
Although Prosper had been the lover of many women in his forty years, he had never found one without whom he could not lead his life. He was still searching, if search it could be called, for that one special woman who most of his acquaintances now doubted would ever come.
When Henrietta got downstairs she found him in the drawing room, hands in his pockets, staring ruminatively out of the low bow window. Henrietta briskly pulled the bell for tea then joined him. She knew quite well what had caught his attention.
Prosper greeted his sister with a peck on the cheek, but his face remained thoughtful and unsmiling. He was a man of medium height, dark haired with long side whiskers, and he looked older than he was. His air of authority was instantly recognisable, and as instantly obeyed. People respected him, some feared him, yet those who served him and knew him best loved him.
Prosper had always regarded his only sister’s children as his own. His two brothers had moved out of the county: one lived with his family in London, the other in Yorkshire, and Prosper was not close to their children. But he loved Guy and Eliza, and he worried about them.
He worried more particularly about Eliza. He felt that a girl with such beauty, but undisciplined and untamed, could only come to harm. He had no idea where she had got her unorthodoxy from. It was a mystery to him.
‘There is a man,’ he said, putting his arm around Henrietta’s waist, ‘who might do as a husband for our Eliza.’
‘Oh?’ Henrietta’s troubled countenance cleared and she put her hand over Prosper’s.
‘He is wealthy and he is a lord. In many ways he is ideal if she would have him.’
‘She have him!’ Henrietta exclaimed. ‘She should jump at the chance.’
‘Ah, but we know she won’t, don’t we?’ Prosper looked affectionately at his sister, and as the maid entered with the tea tray they fell silent and continued to watch the skilful horsewoman outside putting her mount through its paces in the field next to the house.
There was no doubt that Eliza was an excellent rider. She cleared the fences easily and neither rider nor horse ever came to any harm. She didn’t expect the overworked grooms to do everything and looked after her horses herself. If they were ill she nursed them with the anxious love of a mother.
Now she was putting her horse through the complicated steps of the dressage, each manoeuvre carefully planned and faultlessly executed. When she reached the edge of the field, unaware that she was being observed, she gave an unladylike whoop, stuck her heels gently into her horse’s flank and flew through the gate and out of sight.
‘His name is Lord Thornwell,’ Prosper said, turning from the window after the maid had left the room. ‘He is a merchant banker, a man of great charm with a town house and an estate in Leicestershire. He farms and he hunts. Eliza would like him. They would have a lot in common.’
‘But –’ Henrietta raised an eyebrow as she went over to the table to pour the tea ‘– there is a “but”, isn’t there, Prosper? I can tell by your tone of voice. Is he very ugly?’
‘He is, in fact, considered a good-looking man – but he is fifty.’
‘Fifty!’ Henrietta cried. ‘Why, that is my age.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then perhaps he will do for me?’ She smiled archly at her brother. ‘Perhaps you should introduce me to Lord Thornwell and then I will not be a trouble to my children or you any longer.’
‘Alas.’ Prosper gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘His lordship had the misfortune to lose his only son two years ago. The lad died of consumption at the age of fifteen. He is very anxious to have a
n heir to inherit his ancient title and considerable wealth. I fear, my dear, that in that respect you would be of little use to him.’
Henrietta, still smiling, passed her brother one of the fine porcelain teacups.
‘I was only teasing. I don’t think I could ever marry again, or change the style of life I’m used to here.’
‘But when Guy and Margaret return?’ Prosper sat down opposite his sister, taking two sandwiches from the plate she passed him.
‘I believe they’re going to spend a lot of time in London. The house in Mayfair is being refurbished. Guy, of course, now has his business there, thanks to you and Willem. I wonder if he will take to it?’
‘He’d better,’ Prosper said grimly. ‘We have invested a lot in that young man. He carries all our hopes.’
Henrietta said nothing but continued to pour the tea. Suddenly there was a crash as the front door slammed, and with the force of a small hurricane Eliza rushed into the drawing room and dropped to her knees in front of the tea table.
‘Starving,’ she cried, cramming a sandwich into her mouth. ‘Oh, Mother, I saw...’
‘Kindly do not talk with your mouth full,’ her mother said reprovingly. ‘And what is the meaning of coming to tea in your riding breeches, Eliza? I have forbidden you to wear those unseemly garments. For a woman ...’
Eliza waited obediently until she had finished what was in her mouth and then said in a ringing tone: ‘I am not a woman, Mother. I am a girl. You’re always telling me that: I’m a girl, a child ...’
‘Well, you behave like one ...’
‘Therefore I dress like one. Good afternoon, Uncle Prosper.’ Eliza rose to her feet and, popping a kiss on her uncle’s forehead, took two more sandwiches.
‘I saw the most beautiful little foal at the farm, Mama. I am determined to have her. Oh, she is such a darling and Ted says –’
‘No more horses.’ Henrietta shook her head firmly. ‘You have three horses, two here and one in London. It is quite sufficient ...’
‘You must grow up, you know, my darling Eliza,’ her uncle said, taking her hand and swinging it gently to and fro. His eyes brimmed with love and affection.
‘But, Uncle, it is not childish to love horses or to want them ...’
‘I know it is not.’ Her uncle released her hand and patted the place next to him on the sofa. ‘Here, come and sit beside me.’ Then he joined his hands in his lap and faced her, his expression now grave. ‘My darling Eliza, you know I love you as my own child, and all I want for you is your happiness.’
‘What has that to do with horses?’ Eliza went on cramming the sandwiches into her mouth as she sat beside him, as though she had not eaten for a week. Then she picked up the crumbs from the plate like a scavenger and popped them into her mouth too, her wide eyes alight with mischief, the very picture of childlike innocence.
‘I have come to talk seriously to you today, Eliza.’ He put a hand on hers and glanced at Henrietta.
‘Oh dear,’ Eliza said with mock horror in her voice. ‘I know, I am to be sent away to a school for young gentlewomen to correct my behaviour. Some of my classmates will be eleven or twelve; but that doesn’t matter. I –’
‘I have a serious marriage proposition for you, Eliza,’ her uncle continued gravely. ‘It is no light or laughing matter.’
‘Marriage!’ Eliza gave a gasp. ‘Are you joking, Uncle?’
‘No, I am not.’
‘But I don’t know anyone I wish to marry.’
‘That’s not important, Eliza. The person I have in mind is someone I think you could come to love. He is a man of wealth and distinction. He could give you everything you would wish for in life ...’
‘Even more horses,’ her mother added helpfully.
Slowly Eliza put the plate down on the table and dusted her fingers.
‘I simply can’t believe this. Is it someone I know?’
‘No, you have not met him,’ her uncle said.
‘And is this gentleman aware that he wishes to marry me, someone he has never seen, or that you wish us to marry?’
‘He knows I have a very beautiful niece. We are good friends in business. He is also a farmer and very interested in horses. He has a famous stud near Newmarket.’
‘Oh, he might not be so bad then,’ Eliza said, reaching over for a piece of cake. ‘Except that I have not the slightest desire to leave my home, which I love, and marry a man I have never seen.’
‘His name is Lord Thornwell. You would be Lady Thornwell. It would be a match of great importance for you and your family. In addition I feel it will bring you, personally, much happiness.’
‘Oh, thank you, Uncle,’ she cried scornfully. ‘I see that comes last.’
‘I wanted to put the positive features of the marriage first. In many ways marriage is a business transaction. It is a contract.’
‘I see the marriage of Guy and Margaret has affected us all,’ Eliza said sardonically.
‘That’s a very crude thing to say, Eliza,’ her mother cried. ‘I believe Guy entertains a lot of affection for Margaret.’
‘Well, I don’t. I’ll be frank, Mother. Guy married Margaret because he was told to, by Uncle Prosper and his old friend Willem Heering. I can quite see that Uncle views all marriages as business alliances. There is a sort of marketplace for people, like the one for cattle they have in Wenham.’
‘Eliza, I forbid you to speak like that,’ Henrietta said sharply. ‘Besides your rudeness, you are hurting someone who cares for you greatly.’
‘I do care for you greatly,’ Prosper said gently. ‘You know that. I love you as my own daughter. Harry Thornwell is an extremely nice man. I do wish, at least, that you would agree to meet him. He is most anxious to meet you. We cannot force you, merely ask you.’
‘And where will this meeting take place?’ Eliza enquired haughtily.
‘I suggest in London. Maybe at my brother’s house. There is no hurry, my dear, you are not being pushed into anything. And if you do not like his lordship, if neither of you takes to the other, why then there is an end to the matter. But I must tell you that I think it an extremely advantageous match, and if Lord Thornwell is as taken with you as I suspect he will be I urge you strongly to consider it.’
Eliza got up and, sticking her hands in the pockets of her breeches, went over to the window and gazed at her beloved mare Cleopatra grazing in the field. Near her, never far away, was her daughter Lady, and below them lay the rolling countryside of Dorset which Eliza loved so much: the ranks of trees on the brows of neighbouring hills; the dips in the valleys through which ran the little twinkling tributaries of the Wen, like capillaries to the veins in the body. Beyond was Wenham and, above the town, the long escarpment of Wenham Hill, the highest point in the area. How often had she ridden through these valleys, over these fields, along by these streams until she was familiar with almost every inch? Slowly she turned and gazed at her mother and uncle, who were looking anxiously up at her.
‘I will meet Lord Thornwell if that is your wish, but only as a friend of yours and the family’s. I shall be embarrassed but I shall do it, to please you, Uncle Prosper, and to please Mother. But as for marriage – I would have to love someone very much to leave all this, and I must tell you both’ – she paused to look at each of them in turn – ‘all the gold in the world could never buy me happiness if it took me away from this place where I was born.’
She then left the room abruptly, and Henrietta and Prosper remained behind, gazing at each other with raised eyebrows. ‘She will like him,’ Prosper said after a while.
‘But his age?’
‘He doesn’t look his age, and you certainly mustn’t refer to it until she sees him.’
Eliza slept badly the night after the conversation with her mother and uncle. She kept tossing and turning in her bed, and every time she woke she thought she heard her horses whinnying. Once she nearly went to the stables to be sure that they were all right, but she knew it was her imaginatio
n, the effect on her mind of disturbed and troubling thoughts.
At first light she was up and dressed again in her breeches and shirt and, before breakfasting, she went down to feed and groom them, and then saddled Lady for a ride.
It was the first of May, a beautiful morning, and the air was balmy. The sound of birdsong seemed particularly sweet in the trees, and brought back memories of childhood: the smell of hay, of warm manure, of newly cut grass and wood fires.
‘’Tis going to be a fine summer they say, Miss,’ Ted, the groom, said as he helped her saddle Lady. ‘Maybe we’ll breed from Lady this year.’
‘I could never leave here, Ted,’ Eliza said suddenly as tears filled her eyes.
‘I didn’t know you wus leaving, Miss Woodville,’ Ted said looking puzzled.
‘They want me to marry a man I’ve never met,’ she burst out to this long-time companion whom she regarded as a friend rather than a servant.
‘Who’s “they”, Miss?’ Ted asked gently, taking a seat on a bale of hay and sticking a piece of straw in his mouth as Eliza adjusted herself in the saddle.
‘My mother and uncle.’
‘Well, ‘tis good to wed. I’m thinking myself ...’
‘But Ted, you’re older than me! I’m only eighteen. They want me to marry a lord with a lot of money.’
Ted scratched his head with the straw and then stuck it in his mouth again.
‘He has a fine stable,’ Eliza went on as though talking to herself.
‘Ah,’ Ted said brightening, ‘then mebbe it might not be so bad a thing if you wus wed to him, Miss. You won’t have no interference, and your own stable.’
‘But it will be my husband’s stable, not mine.’
‘This baint yours neither, Miss.’ Ted shook his head. ‘And when the new Lady Woodville gets home who knows what changes there may not be?’
Who knew indeed? That was the question. If it hadn’t been for the fact that change was in the air Eliza would have rejected her uncle’s proposition out of hand. But now it was Margaret’s house, not her mother’s, and although she liked her sister-in-law well enough she didn’t really know her. Nor did she know how much freedom Margaret would let her have. Marriage did strange things to people.
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 4
