Brides of Aberdar

by Christianna Brand

  In byres and stables and kennels also, and on the tenant farms, change had come about. Unrelaxed in fairness, a proper generosity, what the Squire would have called compassion—the bailiff, now sole manager, stalked with unsmiling blue eyes and had lost all his eagerness and joy in the work once so much loved. ‘I am responsible to a new over-lord,’ he would say in reply to intemperate pleading; adding quickly that Edward’s Hilbourne cousins, John and Henry, were the highest powers now, in the affairs of the manor lands. ‘But that’s not what he meant first-off,’ the staff would mutter behind their hands. ‘A new over-lady is what he meant first-off; and a harder task master than ever the Squire’s gentlemen-cousins, who never come near the place.’

  They had come, however, soon after the Squire’s death. The widow received them with perfect coolness, making no apology at all for her present situation; entertained their ladies with calm civility, while the gentlemen talked in the estate office with Hil. Hil’s own situation in the family had been revealed to them, on a tacit understanding that while it invested him with a superior claim to remain on the estate, to special trust and a due respect, it need be no further referred to, outwardly or otherwise. To enquiries as to the comportment of the new Lady Hilbourne he had replied with his now accustomed brevity that he kept himself too much occupied with the business of the Manor, he saw very little of her—he duplicated to her such information or question as he sent to each of them, preferring a reply in writing, which might be filed for future reference. For the rest, he knew his place and kept to it. And she knew hers.

  ‘We were thankful, Hil, to our cousin for taking off our hands the responsibility of orphaned children.’

  ‘No doubt that was the main purpose of his marriage.’

  ‘You know he had an idea to exchange homes with me? But wouldn’t entertain the idea of exchanging with Henry. He was a strange fellow. I sometimes wonder whether he wasn’t a little deranged? Anne Hilbourne… Too much inter-marrying, it’s not a safe thing. This branch of the family have suffered from it, all down the line.’

  ‘The Squire thought the house situated too low, and itself not light and bright enough for children. I think he would not ask you to bring other children here, while he sought a better climate for his own.’

  ‘There was a great idea when he left us, of building for himself, on his own land.’

  ‘He returned home already in the early stages of his illness, and that idea was laid aside.’

  ‘That’s why we bring it up now. Will the new lady not consider it?’

  ‘I daresay she thinks it best not to unsettle them, their father being dead.’

  ‘He was highly set on it. Should we propose it to her?’

  God forbid! thought Hil. We want no more slamming doors or mysterious fires, no more maladies incapable of diagnosis. Her own removal to a house more distant from the estate office and buildings, would deeply have eased his own comfort but with her would go the little girls and, helpless in their affairs as he might be, he wished still to keep an eye upon them. ‘I think she would reply that they are thriving quite well here. With the history of the Aberdar Hilbournes, he might perhaps have been over-anxious for them.’

  ‘Does she adhere to this madness about keeping them segregated from other playmates?’

  ‘I am not in her ladyship’s confidence as to the children,’ said Hil coldly.

  ‘The ladies are having a word with her about it. The idea was preposterous; if she concurs in it, they will have to talk her out of it.’

  They’ll have their work cut out, he thought, to talk Lady Hilbourne out of anything on which she had made up her mind. But already the cousins were shrugging it off. ‘Impossible of accomplishment, anyway. Children will be children and find playmates, and young men and women equally will find mates. They’ll always sniff their way to freedom—if marriage can be called freedom.’

  ‘You speak as if they were animals, Henry,’ said his brother.

  ‘Well, and so they are animals—and animals will mate, it’s the oldest law in the world. Let you tether them never so closely, these pretty little heifers will find out a suitable young taurus to couple with.’

  And now the pretty heifers were toiling up to the house on the hill to tell him all about their conquests. At least, he thought, watching them cross the little lawn, like two flowers risen up out of his garden, halo’ed with gold, their father’s second marriage had saved them from the crudities of life with such as their Cousin Henry. ‘Well, my doves—how high did you fly to the stars last night?’

  ‘Oh, Hil, it was beautiful—’

  ‘Everything went so splendidly—’

  ‘Lyneth danced with Lord Benchly and he nearly proposed—’

  ‘But he’s only a no-Lord really, so of course I refused him.’

  ‘Fancy on the very first time he met her!’

  ‘He didn’t really,’ said Lyneth, laughing. ‘I was mostly only teasing.’

  (Were you teasing, thought Christine, when you said that Lawrence had wished he might dance with you for ever?) ‘And Sir Edward Groome danced with her and said she was as light on her feet as the pretty white feathers in her hair…’

  ‘And who made pretty speeches to you, my darling?’

  ‘Oh, she had more successes even than I,’ said Lyneth, ‘only she’s too modest to speak of them. But my cousin Bertha overheard old Lady Lilac, at least we call her Lady Lilac because she’s dressed in lilac all over, even down to her silk stockings, Hil!—well, she said that Christine was a sweeter looking girl than me. She said I looked a proper little puss.’

  ‘And so she is, and so you do,’ said Hil, laughing. But his heart was sick within him, for was not this all that their father had dreaded for them?—was not this part of the reason why he himself…? He turned his mind from that thought: the sick thought that, buried away in his consciousness, was with him night and day, the marriage that had been acceptable because it could bring no more doomed Hilbournes into the world. Well, let them be happy now, with their sweet faces and shining eyes; God knew what was in store for them all too soon! And upon his thought, Christine said, ‘Only it was very cold. I thought the house too cold.’

  ‘It was a cold night,’ he suggested.

  ‘It was warm,’ protested Lyneth. ‘Everyone felt it warm. Even going home, the people were saying what a warm, starlit night it was.’ Of course, she admitted, shrugging, there were the hands; but the hands seemed to be always there nowadays, one got used to the chilly brush across one’s cheek. ‘Tetty feels them too. She doesn’t say so, but now and again you see her unconsciously move her own hand as if she brushed a cold cobweb aside.’

  ‘She is a Hilbourne now,’ said Christine. ‘It’s just the Hilbournes.’

  ‘You didn’t catch a chill, my pet?’ said Hil, moving away from the dangerous name. ‘You look a little pale, today.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to ride with me and Tetty.’

  ‘Might I stay here instead, Hil, with you?’

  ‘Yes, indeed; I must do a little gentle pottering among the store cattle down in the Long Meadow. Come round with me, it will be less tiring than to be with this energetic young lady who goes to bed at dawn and sets off for a gallop in mid-morning…’ But tucking her hand into his arm, starting off down the far side of the hill with her, he said at once: ‘So what is it, Christine? You are unhappy.’

  ‘Oh, Hil—! I danced with him last night, he held me in his arms, it was as though the sky turned upside down and my feet touched the stars. And he said that he could dance with me for ever. He asked me if I should grow tired of dancing for ever only with him. He said his father had told him I was too young for—well, to make up my mind. So he must have spoken to his father about me, Hil, mustn’t he?’

  The lovely land was spread out below them, a patchwork of fields, feather-stitched within their neat green hedges, dotted with farms and cottages and little clumps of trees. The countryman in him could not help reflecting that the two estates march
ing together, divided only by the little river, would add up to a delectable piece of property; nor was there any thought in his mind of the huge increase in value that would accrue. On the other hand… He forced himself to speak warmly to her through his chill fears. ‘It would be a happy—alliance—for you, Christine. So close to home.’ A new hope arose in him. ‘You need never leave the Manor.’ Would the old house relent if she made no move to leave it? He knew that past history would prove to him that such a hope was in vain, but it remained something to cling to. ‘You’ve loved him always, haven’t you? Since you were a little girl, playing in the woods across the Dar…’

  ‘Oh, Hil—suppose I should lose him! Lyneth says—’

  ‘What does Lyneth say?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘She says that he said the same to her, last night—that he could dance with her for ever.’

  Now indeed his heart began to shake. Was trouble building up already for this, the more vulnerable of his two pretty darlings? ‘Young men say such things lightly. It’s just a regulation compliment, I daresay. What is more important is what he said about his father. And you know what a tease Lyneth is.’

  ‘She wouldn’t tease me about such a thing as this. She knows how much I love him; I could never love anyone else. And you know she has always loved Arthur—well, sort of loved him. He adores her.’

  Her cousin. Not that, not that! ‘I don’t think that’s very serious, Christine. A boy and girl infatuation.’

  ‘Are Lawrence and me a boy and girl infatuation? I don’t think I am.’

  ‘Ah, no, my ever-serious Christine! When you love, where you love—that’s all too likely to be for ever. But Lyneth—she’ll dance her way through the next year or two till she makes up her mind between a dozen adorers. I don’t think she’s ready yet to dance with any one person “for ever”.’

  She walked close to him down the leafy lane, clinging to his arm, her silky head touching his shoulder. ‘But if he should be one of the adorers! I think that Lawrence is a for-ever person too. He said that when we were little girls we were so much alike that he never quite knew which he loved the best, I knew,’ she said wistfully. ‘I knew when I was six years old, I can remember always loving Lawrence. But Lyn—supposing when she is ready to dance with one person “for ever”, it’s Lawrence.’

  ‘Lyn has her own way too much,’ said Hil. ‘They all spoil her and you spoil her too, Christine, always giving way to her—’

  She interrupted, she said quickly: ‘I wouldn’t give way about Lawrence. I wouldn’t let her take Lawrence away from me, even if she begged me to let him go; not if he loved me. Other things don’t matter, she wants things so much when she wants them. I don’t want things like Lyn does, I don’t really care about a wreath of roses or a wreath of feather-flowers; or this dress or the other one—why shouldn’t she have what she wants so much more than I want it? But with Lawrence—that’s different. I wouldn’t give way about that, that’s something I do care about. Only… Suppose she really wanted him. And suppose he wanted her!’

  She had said that she would fight and she fought. But what weapons were available between two devoted sisters, intent upon gaining the love of the same young man? ‘Oh, Christine, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dearest, I know that you love him, but what can I do? If he loves me…’

  ‘You want him because I want him, Lyn. You’ve always wanted anything I had and now with Lawrence, it’s the same all over again. But this time, I can’t, I won’t let him go.’

  ‘But, darling, we can’t order him to love you!’

  ‘He does love me, he’s always loved me. At our coming-out ball—’

  Hil spoke seriously to Lyn; unwisely, for the message went straight back to Tetty. ‘You don’t think, Tetty, that I’ve fallen in love with Lawrence because Christine wants him?’

  ‘Are you two girls mad? There’s a dozen already at your feet; Lawrence Jones is not the only young man in the world. You, you foolish child, think what you could yet become—a great lady, a very marchioness, and these things aren’t to be despised, Lyneth. Why should you tie yourself down to a boy you’ve known all your life, and to Plas Dar just across the river, no change, no excitement?—when you might go out into the great world. Let Christine have Lawrence. No, since you ask me, I’m not sure that you don’t want Lawrence only because you don’t want Christine to win him over you—?’

  ‘That’s what Hil says.’

  And at that name, once again the old iron perversity clamped down upon them all. ‘—though of course, my child, you can’t help it if it’s you that Lawrence prefers. He is not just a bone for two sisters to be quarrelling over, and if you truly love him, Lyneth—’

  ‘Tetty, you can’t believe how much I adore him! Only it’s so terrible if Christine loves him too.’

  ‘Well, neither of you can go and propose to Lawrence! It’s simply a matter of his declaring to one or other of you. Or to neither of you!’

  ‘Oh, Tetty, I shall die if he doesn’t!’

  But Christine also must ‘die if he didn’t’—did, in fact, every day die a little in her heart as his easy, young-man’s love allowed itself to be gradually divided between two identically pretty and charming girls, ever more away from the gentle, unassuming one with her almost overt acknowledgement of her love, to the laughing, teasing, only too possibly unattainable, deliciously unpredictable twin. And on their eighteenth birthday…

  Not a great ball this time, as at their coming-out: just a small party for friends from the closer neighbourhood, but with the ballroom opened for dancing and the air of excitement pervading all the day, that Tante Louise well knew how to whip up: Madame dearly loved to exercise her talents in contributing to an ‘occasion’. And no question now as to which sister should wear this dress or that, this head-dress or that, this or that pair of slippers. Lyneth having made her one great claim, no longer argued over the petty ones: nor need she, since Christine, listless, uncaring, expressed no choice, accepted what was with genuine love and caring pressed upon her. ‘You have the pink dress, darling, it will give you some colour, light up your face; you’re so pale, darling, you’re sure you’re not unwell?’ Nevertheless, Lyn went no more to visit Hil these days, who would have given a stern answer to her anxieties about her sister, which she did not dare to provoke.

  Dressing for the party seated before her mirror, Lyneth in all her radiant loveliness, soft fair hair curling deliciously, blue eyes bright with the innocent delight of a young girl at the height of her triumphs. Christine came through to her there. ‘Oh, darling, you’re dressed already? You look lovely, I knew the pink dress would suit you…’

  They had separate rooms now, in the main part of the house, decorated with all the ex-Parisienne’s taste and charm. Christine sat down on a small gilded chair beside the dressing-table with its curlicued mirror, its pretty china boxes and pots, the pearl-backed brushes and combs.

  ‘Lyneth—will Lawrence propose to you tonight?’

  ‘Propose? Darling, how do I know? Perhaps he’ll propose to you!’

  ‘If he proposed to you—will you accept him?’

  She turned away from the mirror, faced her sister directly, her hands clasped in the lap of the billowing white dress. She said simply: ‘I know you love him, Christine—but so do I.’

  ‘Do you love him truly, Lyn? Do you love him like I do? I’ve loved him all my life, I don’t know any other love, I could never know any other…’ She put her hand to her heart in a movement almost of fierceness. ‘My loving him is—a sort of part of me, if I lose him I think all this—all this part of me will almost literally die. There’s no other life for me, nothing else to care for or care about—I might as well be dead.’

  ‘Oh, Christine—oh, darling!’

  ‘So I have to know, Lyn. If he loves you, if you love him—well, I must die; my heart must die. I only ask you, now Lyneth at this last hour—’

  ‘I do love him, darling, how can I help myself?’

  ‘But do you
really, Lyn? Is it real? Is it my sort of love, the killing love, the hopeless, helpless for ever and ever love? If it is… I only ask you to know that, to be absolutely sure of it, both of you, not to go into this lightly, just for the—the happiness and excitement of it. Please be terribly sure… Please, Lyneth, please!’

  ‘Oh, Christine—if you could know!’

  She put her hand to her heart again. ‘Do you ask me if I know?’ And a terrible shudder went through her. A sunny evening, after a long warm day, but—‘Lyneth,’ she said, ‘the cold is here. It’s dangerous, it’s warning us. The hands are here, it seems as though they are closing around my heart…’

  ‘Oh, Christine—darling—don’t frighten me! I—yes, the cold is here and the hands, like icicles. But…Well, we’ve always felt them, Christine, the cold hands reaching out towards us, and it never seems to have meant anything—I mean no warning, nothing has happened.’

  ‘I think they have been warning us always, always,’ said Christine. ‘About tonight.’

  Lawrence stood before Lady Hilbourne, humbly. ‘My lady—I thought that I should speak to you first. You know that I want to ask Lyneth to marry me.’