She shrank back, and then checked herself. She said,
“I can’t do that.”
“Why can’t you?”
Jenny caught her breath.
“I can’t.” The colour rose in her cheeks.
He said a little impatiently,
“It’s the sensible thing to do.”
“I can’t do it. Oh, you don’t understand.”
“I can’t understand if you don’t tell me.”
“It’s because of what he said-Mac. He said-he could marry me. He said it just like that. When his mother said, ‘No-no,’ he laughed, and he said, ‘You don’t suppose I want to marry the girl, do you?’ And he went on to say worse things. He said he would marry me, and they would hold their tongues. If it ever came out it would be just too bad, but there would be nothing to be done about it. They didn’t know, and I didn’t know. Once we were married it didn’t really matter. That’s what Mac said. He said, ‘I shall be the noble cousin who married her when she was the illegitimate poor relation.’ ”
Jenny had said her say. She had said it quietly. If it had come out, as it might have done, in a storm of sobs, it would not have been nearly so convincing. As it was, he was convinced. And something more. He was swept by such an insensate fury against Mac that it took him all he knew to fight it down. He said shortly,
“All right, get in. We’d better be on our way.”
Chapter XII
They drove along without speaking. He had to swallow his anger, and that wasn’t easy. It was in fact quite surprisingly difficult. Surprisingly? Yes, that was it. Why should he have flashed into that sudden state of anger with Mac? He had a hot temper, but it very seldom got away with him like this-not since he had learned to control it. Jenny sat beside him quite quiet. He was glad she didn’t chatter. Instantly, indignantly, the thought came pushing up-she wouldn’t. He stopped being angry in his surprise. What did he know about her to be sure what she would or wouldn’t do? He had a quick answer to that, a factual answer. He did know. He knew her as she had known him. There was kinship between them, and something more than kinship. He drove on in silence, thinking.
Jenny did not say a word. It all seemed quite natural, as things feel in a dream. She had put her case in at the back. It was a comfortable car. She was very lucky to have found a cousin. She felt as if she knew him quite well-as if she had known him always. It was very strange, but in a way there was nothing strange about it. It had just happened.
When they had gone three or four miles, he turned a little and said,
“What were you going to do?”
She said,
“I was going to go as far as I could. Because they’ll look for me, you know-they’re bound to. And then I was going to get a cottage to take me in, and try and get some work to do.”
He was appalled. She had said it before. He remembered that now. He said,
“No one would take you in like that.”
“Wouldn’t they?”
“Not respectable people-not the sort of people you ought to be with.”
She said, “Oh-” and then, “Are you sure?”
“I’m quite sure.”
There was a little pause. She said,
“Then what am I to do?”
He said, “I’m going to stay with an aunt. She’s a very nice person. She’s not a Forbes. She’s from the other side of the family. My father and mother were killed in an air raid-she looked after me. You’ll like her. Everyone does. Her name is Caroline Danesworth.”
Jenny said, “Won’t she think it rather odd your turning up with me?”
“She won’t when she sees you.” He felt so sure of this that it wasn’t until afterwards that he thought it was rather a strange thing to say.
Jenny looked at him earnestly.
“Are you quite sure?”
He was quite, quite sure. He said so in a matter-of-fact way that carried conviction.
Jenny gave a little sigh. She had begun to feel dreadfully tired. She wondered how much farther she could have walked. She leaned back and felt at peace. He was Richard Alington Forbes. He had her father’s name. She could trust him-he would look after her-she hadn’t got to bother about anything more… She fell asleep.
Richard drove on through the night. He had taken on an obligation, and he knew it for what it was. It was a very serious obligation. She wasn’t really his business-that was what anyone would say. She wasn’t really a relation. A hundred years had gone by since Lady Georgina had been painted in her wedding-dress. That picture he knew only from a photograph of it in his father’s album. It was a good photograph. He wanted very much to see the original. And now he was driving away from Alington House and from the portraits.
Jenny-he thought about Jenny. He had never seen her before, and he had the familiarity which only comes with years. Lady Georgina had had two sons, just the two, and they were George and Stephen. Jenny descended from George, and he descended from Stephen. The two sons had fought bitterly about this and that, and finally about a girl. She was engaged to George, and she ran away with Stephen. There had been the father and mother of a row and a complete separation of the brothers. Stephen and the girl, whose name was Susanna Cruickshank, lived long and happily on the estate which they inherited from his mother. George married a sickly heiress with whom he was neither happy nor unhappy. She was a nonentity with a large fortune, and when you had said that you had said everything that was known of her. The brothers never met, and the quarrel was never made up. There was no communication at all between the elder and the younger branch. What turn of fancy had made his father go back to the beginnings of the family for his name, he wondered. Richard Alington Forbes had been the son of an earlier Richard who married the only daughter of John Alington, Esq., by which marriage came wealth and an extraordinary tradition of happiness. There was no picture of him. The pictures began with his son, Richard Alington Forbes, who had built the house. That was the family history so far as he knew it. Odd that he himself should be a throw-back to the first Richard Alington Forbes whose name he bore. He drove on mile after mile, thinking.
After a while his thoughts turned to Jenny. He was taking her to his mother’s sister, Caroline Danesworth, who had brought him up. It was a complete give-away of course, but he couldn’t help that. Caroline would understand.
He looked down at Jenny sleeping like a baby beside him, and he was surprised at his rush of feeling. He supposed it was because one was used to seeing girls in every possible mode of activity, but one was not accustomed to seeing them asleep. Jenny slept deeply. Her hands were on her bag. Her face, against the side of the car, looked shadowy. He had the feeling that she wasn’t all there, that she was really somewhere else and he didn’t know where. He would like to know where she was, and what she was dreaming.
She smiled suddenly in her sleep. Her eyes half opened, looked at something he did not see, and closed again. Her lips moved. They said his name-“Richard Alington Forbes.” But was it his name that they said. Her father had borne it too, and the first Richard Alington Forbes who had married Jane and built Alington House.
Jenny went on dreaming. She dreamed that she was flying and she was not alone. There was someone with her, caring for her, someone with a strong arm which held her. If he let her go, she would fall down, down to the ground. But he would not let her go. She felt perfectly safe, and she felt perfectly happy. She could not see who was holding her. She knew who it was. It was Richard Alington Forbes. She was quite safe, because she was with him and he was helping her. She half opened her eyes and said his name. Then the dream closed round her again and she slept. The time went on.
Chapter XIII
It was a very curious experience driving through the night with the sleeping girl. He had a sense of familiarity which there was nothing in the facts to justify. It was one of those experiences which you can’t talk about. If he was to talk of it, it would be gone. A line of poetry came into his mind:
“Thinned into common air like the ra
inbow breath of a stream.”
He didn’t know where that came from, but it was what would happen to this feeling if he ever spoke of it. He knew that if he kept it secret it would remain inviolate.
He drove steadily on. Mile after mile, mile after mile. An hour-two hours-three. He was going to get there too soon. He couldn’t wake Caroline up before dawn and say baldly, “I’ve brought you a girl.” Not tactful -not even with Caroline. He turned off the road on to Hazeldon Heath. It was getting on toward four o’clock. He thought he would sleep till seven and then be on his way to Caroline’s cottage. He was not conscious of feeling sleepy until he stopped driving, when it came over him in a rush. One moment he was running off the road on to the broad grassy border and switching off the engine, and the next he was asleep. The interval in which he turned and got into a position suitable for sleeping didn’t seem to exist. He slept, and wasn’t conscious of anything at all until suddenly he was awake again and it was hours later. He came to himself, blinked a little, and looked round him. There was something missing. No, not something-someone-Jenny.
It took him a moment to get straight. She had been there when he went to sleep, he was quite sure of that. Well then, where was she now? He opened the door on his side and got out. As he did so he saw her bag, the one she had put down in the road when she talked to him in the night. It was on the back seat where he had put it. His heart gave a jump.
And then he saw her. She was coming across the patch of heath to his left. She had a singularly radiant air, as if there wasn’t such a thing as trouble in the world. Her head was bare. When she saw him she waved and called out,
“There’s a lovely place down there just behind those trees! Did you think I’d run away?”
It was exactly what he had thought, but he wasn’t going to say so. She laughed and said,
“I suppose you did!”
Then she came up to the car and got in.
“I had such a lovely sleep,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
He didn’t know exactly what she was thanking him for. He said so.
“What for?”
“Oh, everything. Are we near your aunt’s now?”
“Yes, quite near. If you don’t mind, I’ll go in first and explain you.”
“Will she mind?”
“Not when I’ve explained. You leave it to me.”
They drove in silence for a time. There was a long hill. Then they turned and ran into a village street which looked as if it were asleep.
“Half past six,” he said. “And very nice, too.”
“Is this it?”
He nodded.
“Third house on the left. She’s got a wonderful garden-wait till I get my key.”
He pulled up at a wicket gate. There was a cottage garden in front with all the late-blooming things in it. There were Michaelmas daisies, and sunflowers, and phloxes, and marigolds-lots and lots of different sorts of them. Jenny gazed entranced at the gaiden.
“She’s got a green thumb-everything grows for her,” said Richard. He came round and opened her door. “Be quick and I’ll get you in before Mrs. Merridew sees you.”
Jenny stopped with her foot on the step.
“Why?”
“Because she makes a mountain out of a molehill,” he said, but he laughed as he said it.
He took Jenny’s hand as he spoke, and they ran, together up to the little porch which was covered with purple clematis. He bent to put the key in the door, and suddenly he had the feeling that he was bringing her home.
Jenny had a feeling too. It wasn’t the same as his. She felt frightened in spite of all those welcoming flowers. Suppose Richard’s aunt didn’t like her. “Oh, she must, she must. Why should she?” She had a sudden dreadful feeling of what it would be like to be rejected by Richard’s aunt. She was young and inexperienced, but she did know that the arrival at half past six in the morning of a nephew whom you loved very much with a girl whom you didn’t love at all because you didn’t know her was not the thing you could expect an aunt to be pleased about.
The door opened, and they came into a passage which seemed dark, Richard leading the way as if it was his house. She supposed in a way it was-it was his home. There was a narrow passage and the stairs going up. He opened a door, and there was a dark room with the curtains drawn against the light that was so bright outside.
“Can you see?” he said, and took her hand.
Jenny found herself holding it tight. She was afraid. She was horribly afraid. Richard felt the hand which he held quiver in his. The quivering did something to him. He heard himself say, “You’ll be all right here, darling.” Jenny gripped his hand as if she would never let it go. He said “Jenny-” on a moved note, and Jenny looked up at him. Her eyes were full of tears.
“Will she-will she like me?” she said in a whispering voice.
Richard took a hold on himself. What he wanted to do was to take his hand from hers and put both arms round her and hold her close so that she would never be frightened or tremble again. It was madness, he knew that. He had only known her a few hours. He said,
“Jenny, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Caroline’s a lamb-she really is. I’ll go up and tell her about you. You just sit down here and wait. This is a nice chair.”
It was dreadful to have to wait. Jenny let go of his hand and sat down. She heard him go up the stairs, and then she heard two people talking. It took her all she knew to sit there in the dark room and wait. It was the hardest thing she had ever done.
And then there were steps, and behind them others not so quick and light. With her heart beating to suffocation Jenny stood up. There came in a tall woman with a rush of words.
“My dear child-oh gracious, how dark it is in here! Wait a minute and I’ll let in the light! Richard is a fool! Fancy his leaving you in the dark like this! Now just a minute-” She went to the far end of the room and drew back what the light showed to be brightly patterned chintz curtains with an apple-green lining. The garden side of the house came into view very reassuringly. There were apple trees well set with fruit, and there was a herbaceous border full of flowers. There was a blue sky and sunshine.
The tall figure whisked round and came back. She was half a head taller than Jenny and she had grey hair. Those were the first two things that Jenny saw about her. The grey hair curled vigorously and was tossed into untidy waves. Jenny saw that, and there was something very reassuring about it. Even at half past six in the morning no one had ever seen Mrs. Forbes’ hair untidy. Caroline Danesworth had obviously jumped straight out of bed and only waited to put on a dressing-gown. The dressing-gown was a cheerful shade of blue, and her eyes matched it.
Richard at the open door strayed in and said with an air of pride,
“Jenny, this is Caroline.”
“Who else would it be?” said Caroline. “If you want to be useful, Richard, you go and put on a kettle for tea. And there are biscuits on the shelf in the blue biscuit-tin. Now shoo-get along! We don’t want you here.”
When he was out of the room, she shut the door and turned back to Jenny, who stood waiting. She had a sense of belonging to no one and being most utterly alone. And then in a moment it was all gone. Caroline’s eyes smiled at her and Caroline’s hands took her cold ones. “My dear child, what is it?” she said, and Jenny began to cry. Caroline being what she was, she could have done nothing more endearing. As the tears ran down her face she felt Caroline’s arms round her.
“My dear! Now don’t try and stop it. It’s much better to cry it all away. You’re quite, quite safe here. I’ll look after you, and so will Richard. There’s nothing to cry about-nothing at all. But you just cry all you want to and get rid of it.”
It is really very difficult to go on crying when you are urged to go on. Jenny stopped half way through a sob.
“I’m all right now,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Well, come and sit down. I expect you want something to eat. We’ll all have some tea, and then w
e shall feel better. Richard is quite good at making tea.”
They sat on a green sofa and Jenny looked out at the garden. It looked happy and peaceful with the early morning sun upon it. She said,
“It is very good of you to be so nice to me. I don’t know what Richard has told you.”
Caroline considered. Her face was soft and kind. Her eyes were very blue and very soft.
“He said he hadn’t been to Alington House. He has always wanted to go there to see it, and the pictures and everything. But of course he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could go there in the middle of the night, though really when you come to think of it men are quite inexplicable. But anyhow he said he meant to get near the place and sleep in his car until the nearest pub would be open and he could get some breakfast. And then, I suppose, he thought he’d be welcome! On a Sunday morning!”
It was Sunday. It seemed such a long, long time since Saturday afternoon.
Caroline went on talking.
“Then, he says, you started up out of nowhere and stood in the middle of the road with your arms out to stop the car.”
Jenny felt that she had to explain.
“I felt desperate. The bag wasn’t heavy to start with, but it seemed to be getting heavier and heavier. I knew that if I didn’t get a lift I shouldn’t be able to get far enough not to be caught. I knew they would try to catch me. Has he told you who I am?”
“He told me your name-that you were Jenny Forbes.”
Jenny repeated the words.
“Yes, I’m Jenny Forbes. But I didn’t know it till yesterday afternoon. I knew that Richard Forbes was my father and Jennifer Hill was my mother, but I didn’t know that they were married. They kept it a secret. It was the war, you know, and my father was killed, and my mother was struck on the head in an air raid-she never spoke again. They sent her to Garsty.”
“Who is Garsty?”
“She had been my mother’s governess. She took her in. Her house was just opposite the gates of Alington House. When the Forbeses came there -Colonel Forbes inherited, you know-Mrs. Forbes came to see Garsty. She wanted her to move right away, and to take me with her, but Garsty wouldn’t.” It all came pouring out-Garsty’s accident, and how she had said that the letter from her father to her mother was in the little chest of drawers, and how she had looked for it after Garsty was gone, and how she couldn’t find it, and how Mac had taken it. “I heard him say so. I wouldn’t have believed it from anyone else. You just can’t believe that sort of thing about the people you know, can you?” The truthful eyes looked into Caroline’s. “You just can’t. But I heard him say it. I was behind the curtain, and they didn’t know I was there, and he said it. He took my father’s letter, the one in which he called her his wife.”
The Alington Inheritance Page 7
