‘Yes, what about Clifford, Father? I can tell you now that the only thing I wanted Clifford for was to secure this house for us all. But with Michael it’s different. It was different from the beginning. I knew he had nothing. I knew he’d be no means of security. Perhaps for me because I wanted very little…but not with both of you added on.’ She wagged her hand between them. ‘It’s yourselves you’ve thought of all along, what’s going to happen to you. I was just the one who solved the problems. I’ve felt old before my time solving your problems. I was the go-between with Uncle Edward—Uncle Edward, who could make things happen because he had money. I liked Uncle Edward for himself, but I hated being dependent on him…’ She just stopped herself in time from finishing, ‘I could earn a living anywhere.’
‘Your past problems will be nothing to your future ones.’ Jennifer was about to turn away on this last cutting remark when she was stopped by Rosamund saying very quietly, ‘There you are mistaken. Why he wanted to see me tonight…why he came to the ferry, was to tell me the result of his visit to London. He’s no longer without money. He’s rich. Do you hear? Rich. He can do anything he wants.’ She looked directly at Jennifer now as she said, ‘He can travel.’ And immediately she reproached herself for her cattiness, for Jennifer’s face tightened even more. She was about to make some retort when her Father said, ‘Are you serious about this man, Rosie?’
Rosie wanted to cry at them both, ‘Yes, yes, I am serious. We’re going to be married,’ but the promise she had made checked her, and for answer she said, ‘He has offered me a good post.’
‘Huh!’
Her father and Jennifer, both with their backs to her, were on the landing now and the ‘huh!’ coming from Jennifer angered Rosamund so much that she cried at them, ‘And tomorrow morning when you get up I’ll be gone.’
‘What!’
They had both swung round, the same expression threaded across their faces, and the apprehension that Rosamund saw there made her want to run to them, take their hands and cry, ‘Listen, listen to my wonderful news, we’re all going to be all right.’ But the time was not now, so, dropping her head, she modified her threat by adding, ‘I’m going into Cambridge to help…help choose some furniture.’ Her eyes too were cast down as she made this admission, but when neither of them spoke she added sharply and with a touch of bitterness, ‘But don’t worry, it’ll be all right and proper, we’re taking the child with us. That should set your fears at rest.’
When in the dim flickering candlelight she saw them go their separate ways across the landing, she went quickly to her door and closed it, and, standing with her back to it, her hands joined tightly together, she whispered aloud, ‘Oh why, oh why, does it have to be like this? They’re spoiling it for me.’ It was just as Michael had said, if they knew she was going to be married they’d put all kinds of obstacles in her way. Or would they, now that they knew he was rich? Oh! Why was she thinking like this? It made her feel horrible.
Pulling herself from the door and undressing quickly, she got into bed, and in a few minutes her mind had left them—she made it leave them. Or were her thoughts actually lifted from her and taken over the fenlands to the bare house? He had said, ‘I willed you to come out’, and now it was as if her father and Jennifer did not exist. She was with him again in the kitchen, hearing him say, ‘Will you marry me, Rosie?’ He had not said, ‘I love you, Rosie.’ He had been honest and admitted he was past silly romance. But he would love her, she would make him. Even now he must love her a little, but, being of the nature he was, would not admit it. How else could he have asked her to be his wife?
She was dropping off to sleep when, the control of her thoughts slackening, the answer was flung at her as she heard his voice saying as it had done only a short while ago, ‘perhaps it’s a mother I want.’
In marrying her he would not only be getting a nurse for Susie, but a mother for the little boy in him. The selfish, egotistical, demanding little boy.
Chapter Eight
Rosamund seemed to be swimming in a sea of uncertain happiness. When at times she was overcome by fear, as if suddenly finding herself out of her depth, she would reassure herself and say, ‘Just go steadily on, it’ll all come right.’ She had the conviction that, once married to Michael, everything would settle into place, and she longed for the next few days to pass. Her marriage, when dwelt upon, would cause her to shiver with a mixture of delight, apprehension, and longing. But generally there was little time now to sit down and think quietly, for Michael, in a spate of spending, was transforming Thornby House. In the midst of all the bustle she would sometimes stop and try to remember what the house was like a week ago. The desolation, the emptiness, the coldness of it. Now all that was changed. Knocking and hammering seemed to come from its every corner. There seemed to be painters and paper-hangers everywhere inside the house. And outside there were now four men working on the land, and only yesterday a new machine had arrived. Moreover, there was a car turning up its long snooty nose at being housed in the old barn. Overall there was a feeling of excitement pervading the atmosphere, and rather oddly an air of happiness too. The men whistled at their work. Maggie shouted and chaffed with everyone within radius. Everybody seemed happy and natural, everyone except Michael, and herself at times, when she realised she was playing a part, the essential of which was the deception of her father and Jennifer.
Michael never touched her, not even her hand, in front of others. Not until last thing at night when he was taking her back to the river in the dark did he come closer than an arm’s length of her. It was strange, she thought at times, that his manner was more stiff now than it had been before he asked her to marry him. She had hinted that she would like him to come across the river and see her father, as if on an ordinary visit, but he had not taken to this suggestion either. When they were married, yes, but not before, not before.
The men, making a concerted effort in the house, had yesterday finished one room, and when at noon today some of the furniture had arrived he had asked her to see to the arranging of it. He had spoken as if she had not seen the stuff before, as if every single piece but one had not been her choice. The workmen had been present, and he had addressed her as Miss Morley, saying, ‘Miss Morley will show you where it has to go.’ Miss Morley knows this, Miss Morley knows that. The only thing he himself had directed was the moving of the small baby grand. When, the piano assembled, he had run a practised hand over the keys, it had come to her that there were lots of things about this man she did not know. Evidently he played and liked playing the piano.
It was long past five o’clock, but the men were still working, and as Rosie listened to the hammering and their distant voices she thought, and somewhat sadly at this point, that it was amazing what money could do. This time last week there hadn’t been enough food in the house, and now men were working overtime. In a few minutes a lorry would come, and they would all pile into it and be taken to the main road. The money had even made a rough road across two fields to allow passage for the vehicles. Not only that, it had spanned the dyke with great planks of wood, a temporary affair while the bridge was being repaired. Money was like magic, like oil, it made the wheels turn, oh, so easily. She mustn’t be cynical about money, she told herself, but give it the respect due to it, that and no more.
The child came running with its unwieldy gait across the hall, crying, ‘Bov. Bov.’ This strange syllable was Susie’s name now for Rosamund. All the child’s utterances were staccato and short sounding, but ‘Bov’ was distinctly meant for Rosamund, and she always answered to it.
‘Oh, what have you got there? Oh, aren’t they lovely!’ She bent down and took the extended flowers from the child’s hand. They were a mixture of ragwort, dandelion, purple grass and wild foxgloves.
‘Bov.’
‘Yes, dear, thank you very much. We must put them in water. Come along.’
Today the child seemed happy and contented, but last night she’d had another of her screaming
fits—one so intense that it had completely exhausted her. It had taken place when she was once again in sight of the wood. It was as if she was always seeing something in the wood. Yet she had these bouts at other times too. The evening they were returning from Cambridge she had been walking between them, a hand in each of theirs, when she had pulled herself to a stop, became rigid for a moment while she appeared to sniff the air, then let out a most blood-curdling scream. Although at the time they were within their own boundary they were not within sight of the house, or the wood.
When Rosamund had seen Jennifer looking through the window that evening she had, for a time, blamed her for the child’s hysterics. It was evident that Susie had taken a dislike to Jennifer and the sight of her could evoke the scream. But Rosamund had now to discard this explanation. The child screamed when there was no-one to be seen, no stranger. Yet how could they say that there was no-one to be seen? She definitely was seeing someone or something. It was as if she smelt a presence. This eerie thought made Rosamund shudder, and yet the child did not have that effect on her. Even when she had first looked at the distorted face she had not shuddered. And now she saw the child as part of Michael and her compassion was threaded with love. But she shuddered at whatever it was that caused Susie to emit that terrible scream.
They had almost reached the kitchen when a voice from the doorway brought them round.
‘Well, well, well, what d’you know?’
She laughed as she greeted Gerald Gibson, and cried childishly to him, ‘Surprise! Surprise!’
As he came up to her he cocked his head on one side, and, looking at her through narrowed lids, he repeated, ‘Surprise? Surprise indeed. I can’t get over it. Mike’s just been telling me. I didn’t know what had hit the place when I saw all the bustle, and at this time of night. And you…have you come into a fortune too? You look positively glamorous!’
‘What, in this?’ She lifted one end of her overall up, then, shaking her head at him, she added, ‘It would take a lot of money to make me look glamorous.’
‘Well, if it isn’t glamour you certainly have acquired something.’
She turned her face quickly from him as she said, ‘It’s the excitement. And who wouldn’t be excited? It’s like a fairy tale. Have you had any tea?’
‘Yes. Yes, thanks. I had it before I left home.’
Maggie greeted the visitor with, ‘There you are then, Mr Gerald, and what do you think of the news, eh? Who would believe that such things happen? But God’s good, and He sees to His own, He does. Sometimes mind, He takes His time over it.’ She laughed and pushed at Gerald’s shoulder vigorously, almost overbalancing him.
‘Maggie’—he now teased her—‘I think it’s the worst possible thing that could have happened. You’ll now eat so much you won’t be able to move that carcass of yours.’
‘Aw, away with you. I’ll move me carcass, never you fear. Now I must go and find himself and see if he’s not ready for something to eat.’
When Maggie had left the kitchen, Gerald, looking across at Rosamund, remarked caustically, ‘My! My! My! Aren’t we all merry and bright! Not a cloud in the sky.’
Rosamund, turning her head quickly towards him, realised that Mr Gerald wasn’t too pleased at his friend’s changed circumstances.
He might have read her scrutiny, for he changed the conversation from Michael to herself by saying, ‘Have you got that cousin of yours staying with you?’
‘My cousin? No, what makes you ask that?’
‘Oh, you once remarked that your cousin used to berth his boat at the bottom of the Cut, and there’s one there now. It’s a Banham’s hired craft. Though this one’s not exactly at the bottom of the Cut, but just a little way along the bank, up near the staunch. What made me think that it might be your cousin’s is that I saw your sister leaving it. I was some way off and I tried to catch her up, but she was too quick for me. I’ve never really met her, only seen her from across the river. She’s quite a good-looking miss, isn’t she? You know, you’ve never asked me across to meet her.’
No, thought Rosamund, and I’m not going to. There was enough trouble between Jennifer and Andrew without Gerald Gibson complicating matters still further. So she evaded the latter part of the question and replied, ‘Yes, yes, she is very good-looking.’
Gerald Gibson’s news about the boat was rather startling. Clifford must have come. What was she going to say to him? What could she say to him?…‘You are three weeks too late.’ No, she wouldn’t go into it. She would just say no. That’s if he asked her before Monday. On Monday, when she came back from Cambridge, she would say to him, ‘I am married.’ The thought sent a spiralling wave of heat through her. It had the power to flush her face and bring forth comment from Gerald.
‘Ah! Ah! Have I stumbled on the reason for all this gaiety? Not my friend Mike’s money, but the cousin, in the cutter, at the bottom of the Cut.’ His high laugh at his own joke was checked by Rosamund’s voice remarking with chilling flatness. ‘Whatever the reason for my jollity I can assure you it has nothing to do with my cousin.’
‘Oh?’ He raised his eyebrows and remained silent for a moment, then added, ‘Can’t blame a fellow for guessing, can you?’
Rosamund turned away. Funny, but she didn’t like Gerald Gibson—at least at this moment she didn’t like him. She had up to now thought he was good fun, but now she wondered. She wondered, too, about the sincerity of his friendship with Michael when he said, ‘What’s all the to-do about in the house? Why all the rush, anyway? It’s not likely that he’ll stay here if he has enough money to get away. He’s a strange bird, is Mike, flying too fast and too far for anyone to keep a tab on him.’
‘I don’t see how he can fly very fast or very far with…’ She cast her eyes to where the child was sitting in the corner of the chair playing with her doll. ‘And, anyway, I thought you had his welfare at heart, and that you’d be glad of his changed luck.’
‘I have, of course I have, and I am glad. What makes you think I’m not? What’s the matter with you? Why are you on the defensive all of a sudden?’
Before she had time to answer the door opened and Maggie came in, saying, ‘He’s as hungry as ten buffaloes, he says. Let me get the table set. It’s steak he wants, with onions and mushrooms. Oh my, doesn’t it make your mouth water…?’
The evening that followed was not what could be termed a success. Michael, she felt, overdid the Miss Morley, and she knew that his attitude was puzzling Gerald Gibson, for he had been much more free and easy with her when poverty was his lot. Now it must appear that the money had gone slightly to his head. Yet she knew that Gerald Gibson would know more of this man than she did, and would not be satisfied that this was so.
Long before it was dark she spoke of her intention of going home. She did this because she did not want the position to arise where Gerald Gibson would surely offer to see her to the river bank, with or without Michael being there. So, making the excuse that she would like to get home early, as she thought her cousin had arrived, she prepared to go.
She had run upstairs to have one last look at the child and was quietly crossing the landing towards the stairs again, when the sound of the piano being played came to her. She stopped still at the head of the stairs listening. It was beautiful, beautiful. She did not know what it was he was playing, but it had a soothing, lulling sound. She moved quietly now down the stairs and towards the open door of the sitting room. Michael was at the piano, his profile to her. His powerful thick fingers were moving somewhat stiffly over the keys, yet bringing from them music which she knew to be good. Gerald Gibson was lolling back in an armchair smoking a cigarette, a glass of whisky to the side of him, and his eyes were on her as she looked towards Michael. But Michael did not look at her, he continued to play.
For a moment she forgot that there was anyone but themselves in the room and, moving to his side, she asked softly, ‘What is that?’ He did not stop playing, nor look at her as he replied, ‘Berceuse. Tchaiko
vsky’s Berceuse.’ His voice was dreamy as he ended, ‘…it’s my favourite. It was the first piece I ever heard played at a concert and it put me to sleep. My name for it since then has been “Sleep Music”.’
‘Sleep Music…Yes, it’s like that, it’s lovely.’
She remained still for a time conscious only of the melody and of his hands lifting and falling, until once again she became aware of Gerald watching her, then she said, ‘I’ll be going. Goodnight.’
When Michael did not answer she turned away, filled now with pain. All her body seemed to be aching. She had a lost, lonely, unwanted feeling, and she hated Gerald Gibson.
‘Rosie.’
The music had stopped abruptly, and she turned at the doorway and looked at him. He was still sitting at the piano but half-swivelled round towards her. His eyes were dark and bright, and he said now, ‘Goodnight, Rosie.’
The pain vanished, she swallowed, smiled, and said, ‘Goodnight.’ Then, turning her head briefly in Gerald Gibson’s direction, she added, ‘Goodnight,’ and left the house …
When she reached the river bank and saw Andrew sitting on the lawn talking to her father, she knew an immeasurable feeling of relief. When the ferry reached the other side Andrew was there to give her a hand up.
‘Nice seeing you, Andrew.’
‘You too, Rosie.’
‘It’s been a lovely day.’
‘Yes, but I think we’ve had all we’re going to get. This can’t go on for ever, you know.’
She laughed merrily. ‘There speaks the farmer…Hello, Father.’
‘Hello, Rosie. Had a nice day?’ His voice was ordinary.
‘Yes, a very nice day.’ Her answer implied nothing other than it had been a day of familiar rounds. ‘Where’s Jennifer?’
‘That’s what we’re wondering.’
‘Wondering?’ She looked from one to the other, then, turning her eyes from her father, she asked, ‘Has Clifford not arrived then?’
The Fen Tiger (The House on the Fens) Page 14
