The Gentle Prisoner

by Sara Seale

  "How are you, sweetheart?" he said, holding out his arms, and it was the first time he had ever used any intimate endearment for her.

  "Nicholas!" she cried, catching himeagerly by the shoulders, "What do you think? Father's here. Isn't it lovely? I haven't been lonely at all."

  His arms slackened about her. So the happiness had not been for him.

  "Yes, well, that's nice for you," he said. "Did you send for him?"

  "No. He just sent a letter. He couldn't have chosen a more appropriate moment, could he?"

  He couldn't have chosen a more damnable moment, thought Nicholas grimly. Lucuis wandered into the hall.

  "Good evening," he said, smiling a little puckishly. "I hope

  the unexpected guest doesn't inconvenience you."

  "Of course not. How are you, Lucius? Shelley has been hoping for some time that you would come down," Nicholas replied and shook hands.

  "Drinks are in the study," Shelley said, and slipped a hand through her father's arm. They walked together into the study and Nicholas followed them.

  Shelley began to ask questions about Martin. How had he behaved? Was his new guardian nice? Did he mind parting from Nicholas? He gave her satisfactory answers to all her questions, and she looked relieved, but he knew, that for the present at any rate, the boy was a secondary consideration. He watched Shelley and her father together with faint misgiving. Lucius had clearly been putting on an act ever since he arrived, and no one could do it better, but Nicholas distrusted his father-in-law's motives when he set out to please, and it hurt him to see how eagerly Shelley responded to the smallest attention.

  Lucius was wandering round the room examining Nicholas' pieces with an appraising eye. His knowledge of such things was superficial, but he had always made it his business to be able to talk intelligently about the arts.

  He paused before the Bartolozzi print and exclaimed:

  "That's new, isn't it? A Bartolozzi, and a very fine one at that. What a pity it lacks its margin."

  Shelley looked up quickly.

  "Does it matter?" she asked.

  "To a connoisseur, yes," Lucius replied, delighted to air his knowledge. "A print minus the margin loses most of its value, isn't that so, Nicholas?"

  She looked at Nicholas and her eyes were dismayed.

  "Is that true?" she asked.

  His regard was gentle.

  "Well, yes," he said. "But it doesn't matter, Shelley."

  "Oh, it does, it does," she cried, and at her father's enquiring look, added humbly: "I - I had the margins cut to fit the frame, and Nicholas never breathed a word."

  "How very restrained," remarked Lucius with a quirk of the eyebrow. "You're a little vandal, I'm afraid, my child."

  "It doesn't matter," Nicholas said again. "The frame was

  a present I value very much. By the same token, here's a present for you." He took a small parcel from his pocket and tossed it into her lap with a reassuring smile.

  "Well, I must say that's very handsome - very handsome indeed," said Lucius, his eyes on the delicate, jewelled bracelet which Shelley lifted from its case.

  "Oh, Nicholas, it's lovely," she said, and held out her wrist for him to snap the bracelet on.

  "Well," said Lucius with his crooked smile. "You may keep her short of cash, but I must say you make up for it in other ways. That trifle must have cost you a pretty penny."

  Nicholas snapped the clasp with fingers that were suddenly clumsy.

  "Has Shelley complained I keep her short of cash?" he asked suavely, and she said at once, distressed:

  "Oh, no, Nicholas. I told Father I don't need money."

  "No, no, my dear Nicholas, it's I who complain," Lucius said with his old impudence.

  "Father, please - " Shelley began, when Baines came into the room carrying a hat-box.

  "Good evening, Mr. Nicholas, sir. Is this to go to madam's room?"

  "Yes," said Nicholas shortly, but Shelley snatched it from the old man, as much to relieve her own embarrassment as anything else.

  "Another present!" she cried, and lifted a little hat of sable fur, shaped like a bonnet, from its layers of tissue paper.

  "Oh, how perfectly charming!" she said, and put it on, tying the ribbons under her chin.

  Nicholas smiled unwillingly. It was impossible to be churlish, with Shelley standing there, looking at him, the dark fur framing her fair face with such flattering charm.

  "It suits you very well," he said. "You remember I told you I would find you something to go with the muff."

  "Yes, but two such lovely presents!" she said, and Baines, smiling affectionately in the background, asked.

  "What shall I do with the flowers, ma'am?"

  "Oh, shove them in water somewhere," said Nicholas, embarrassed. He had never meant to do his present-giving

  under Lucius' amused eyes.

  "No," Shelley said, "I want to see them. You're never given me flowers before, Nicholas."

  There was a little silence while Baines went to fetch the box. Nicholas, aware of Lucius' curious regard, avoided his eyes, while Shelley stood fingering the strings of her bonnet and looking from one to the other of them with a puzzled expression.

  The flowers were roses, white, hot-house roses with long stems. There must have been quite four dozen of them.

  "Oh!" said Shelley, flushing unaccountably, "How perfectly lovely! I shall have them all in my sitting-room."

  Lucius watched and made no comment, but his eyes, resting on Nicholas, were bright with an incredulous interest. After seven months of marriage, this! Poor devil, thought Lucius, with a rare flash of understanding, he had intended this to be a special occasion, and Lucius himself had spoilt it. Oh, well, life was full of special occasions which did not come off.

  "I'd better go and change," Nicholas said, getting to his feet. "Help yourself to another drink, Lucius."

  Lucius stayed with them for five days, and by the end of that period he felt he had entirely satisfied his curiosity, and was beginning to find his role of understanding parent a little trying to support, also it was deadly dull at Garazion. He tried to picture anyone less sheltered and unsophisticated than Shelley putting up with such a life, and failed. Either Nicholas was extremely clever in the odd fashion one would expect to go with the rest of his character, or he was a fool. Some day, someone would break into this prison fastness and be mightily intrigued by the situation he found there. You could not lock your wife away from the world indefinitely, even someone so undemanding as Shelley, and there must come a time when someone or something would wake her up.

  He touched very lightly upon such matters to Nicholas, but found him no easier to approach than of old.

  "You wouldn't understand, Lucius," he said patiently. "You and I want such different things of life."

  "I never thought you wanted anything of life, shut away here

  with all your valuables," returned Lucius.

  "Well, you don't know me very well, do you?"

  "Neither, I observe, does my daughter."

  "No." Nicholas' face was impassive. "She doesn't know me very well, either."

  "Well, my dear chap, do you think you're going the right way about things?" Lucius smile was entirely charming. "When all's said and done, it can't be very amusing for a young girl shut up here with no companionship - not even any money. I think you should remedy that, Nicholas. All women like to have a little something of their own to spend and no questions asked."

  "Hard up again, Lucius?" asked Nicholas pleasantly. Lucius looked a little ruffled.

  "My dear chap! I was thinking entirely of Shelley, though now you come to mention it, I could do with a loan."

  "That's what you came for, wasn't it?" Nicholas' face hardened, and his scar was ugly. "You don't give a damn what happens to Shelley so long as you get something out of it, though I'm well aware you've gone over big this time. If you want money, why can't you ask me outright instead of trying to drag your daughter into it?"


  Lucius spread his hands.

  "Well, the last time-"

  "The last time I turned you down, didn't I? My dear Lucius, I already allow you two thousand a year. That should be sufficient for your needs, but if you're hard up again, I'll help you this time on condition you keep away from Shelley."

  Lucius looked pained.

  "My dear fellow! Rather a curious condition, isn't it? My own daughter..." Nicholas' eyes were cold.

  "It would be curious if you were anyone else. But you're not good for Shelley. You set up false standards for yourself, then, when it suits you, don't trouble with her at all. I don't want her to be hurt unnecessarily."

  "Well," said Lucius gracefully, "since you put it that way - your family mansion isn't exactly exhilarating in any case. How much?"

  "How much do you want?"

  "Five hundred?"

  Nicholas' eyebrows went up.

  "Been going it rather, haven't you?"

  "My own pet charities," Lucius said, with his old insolent grin. "It won't break you, my dear chap. That little trifle you bought for Shelley must have cost you all of that."

  "I'll let you have a cheque before you go," Nicholas said quietly. "But remember this. I'm making her no allowance so long as I know you'll have access to it, so stop putting the idea into her head, will you?"

  "Oh, you needn't worry. She's touchingly grateful for your generosity. It's a pity you don't make out quite so well on other matters."

  "And who do you think I have to thank for that?" asked Nicholas violently. "I have to be father and mother as well as husband to her."

  "And - er - lover, too, I hope," said Lucius gently.

  Nicholas got up and left the room.

  "I won't be seeing you again for a long time, my sweet" Lucius said to Shelley the day he left.

  She lifted clouded eyes to his. Already the weight of his departure lay heavily upon her. He had been so very sweet.

  "Oh, why?" she asked. "I know it's rather dull for you here, but you'll come for my sake, won't you - just for a few days?"

  "It's for your sake I mustn't come," he said lightly. "How do you mean?"

  "Your lord and master thinks I'm bad for you." She looked incredulous.

  "Nicholas said that? Do you mean he told you you weren't to come again?" Lucius shrugged.

  "But - but he wouldn't." She sounded bewildered. "Why should he?"

  "I told you, he thinks I'm no good to you."

  "Father, you must have misunderstood him."

  "Well, ask him, my pet. I don't think he'll deny it. Do you find him attractive, Shelley?"

  She frowned, still thinking of other things. "No, I don't think so." "But not actually repulsive?"

  "Oh, no. Perhaps a little, just at first, but he's so good to me, and I'm sorry for him." Lucius' voice was dry.

  "I shouldn't think he wants that. Women, you know, have found him very attractive, in spite of his face. He would be a good lover, I imagine."

  She considered this.

  "But he's so cold, so remote," she said.

  Lucius threw up his hands.

  "Cold! My poor child, where's your knowledge of men! Oh, of course, you haven't any, but try and employ a little of that feminine intuition we hear so much about. You're my daughter, Shelley. You can't be entirely lacking in sensibility."

  He looked at his daughter and decided that if he were married to Shelley he would want to shake her. It hardly seemed possible that she should be so unaware of the man's feelings for her. Nicholas must have bungled things pretty badly to start with. Well, it was none of his business. He had only probed from curiosity, and he had no particular reason for wishing his son-in-law well.

  "Sometimes - " she began slowly, and stopped. Not even to Lucius could she explain her muddled thoughts about Nicholas.

  He patted her hand.

  "Get him to take you about more, and persuade him to give you an allowance. I assure you it's perfectly normal, and he can well afford it," he said and she replied quickly.

  "I'm so sorry I couldn't help you, Father. Perhaps if I asked Nicholas - "

  "No, no, it doesn't matter. I'll manage," said Lucius, and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.

  When Lucius had gone, Shelley went up to her own sitting-room and stayed there until dinner-time. Nicholas left her alone, guessing she would miss her father. He could hear the sound of her piano as he went upstairs to dress for dinner.

  She was very silent as they sat together in his study. She was

  wearing a dress he was particularly fond of, black velvet and full, which made her fairness even more startling.

  "A penny for them?" he said, trying to rouse her.

  "I was thinking," she said slowly, "that in all these seven months I've hardly been outside Garazion."

  He studied her carefully.

  "Have you wanted to go away?" he asked.

  "No - not really. There was Martin."

  "Oh, yes, of course. There was Martin."

  "Would you take me with you, sometimes, when you go away?"

  "Yes, I'll take you if you wish," he said after a slight hesitation. "Are you tired of Garazion?"

  "Of course not, but - " she flushed suddenly and stumbled over her next words. "Do - do you think I could have a little money sometimes?"

  He looked surprised.

  "What do you want money for? You only have to ask me for anything you need."

  She bent her head, and the fine, soft hair fell forward over her face, hiding it from him.

  "I know. You're very generous," she said. "But it isn't the same."

  "You mean you want an allowance?"

  "Well, Father said it was usual."

  "I'm sure your father would think so," he said dryly. "No, Shelley, I won't give you an allowance." She looked up quickly. "Why not?"

  "I have my reasons. If you should ever want money, you have only to ask me. Is that so embarrassing for you? I'm your husband, you know."

  "It's not that." She sounded a little miserable. "It's times like Christmas. I - I have nothing to give. It isn't the same when you do all the choosing."

  His face softened. Yes, he should have thought of that. " "I'm sorry, my dear," he said gently. "I'll see that things are different next year. Is there anything else?"

  "No, only - I hated to send Father away empty-handed today,"

  Nicholas' eyes grew hard.

  "Your father didn't go away empty-handed, as it happens," he replied.

  "Did you help him?" she said, surprised. "He never told me."

  "No, I don't suppose he would." She looked at him with troubled eyes. "Don't you like Father?" she asked.

  It was a difficult question to answer, and in his momentary hesitation and the guarded expression of his eyes, she read hostility.

  "You don't, do you?" she accused, before he could speak. "Is that why you don't want him here?" He was silent and she said slowly: "Is it true that you told my father he wasn't to come back here?"

  Nicholas moved restlessly. What devil's brew had Lucius cooked up, now?

  "It's true that I told him I thought it best if he stayed away for a while, yes," he said quietly.

  "But why-why?"

  "Reasons I can't explain."

  "Reasons you don't want to explain," she retorted, bitterly hurt.

  "Very well. Reasons I don't want to explain at present," he said.

  She sat stiff and straight in the firelight and there were two angry spots of colour in her cheeks.

  "I don't understand you," she said. "You shut me up here with all these - all these" - she gestured a little helplessly -"things, and you even grudge me a few days' happiness ..."

  "I don't think I've grudged you much," said Nicholas, watching her.

  "Oh, presents - things again!" She was talking at random, saying the first thing that came into her head. "But the things that matter - I seem to have none of the things that matter."

  "And what do you consider are the things that matter?" />
  She remembered Lydia and what she had done to Nicholas, she and Justin together.

  "All the things that no longer matter to you," she said and stood up. "I think I'll go to bed, if you don't mind."

  "How do you know what matters to me?" he asked gravely. "Shelley dear, come here..."

  But she shook her head. Her little spurt of anger was gone now, and she only wanted to weep in solitude.

  "I'm tired," she said. "Good night, Nicholas. I - I'm sorry if I was rude to you."

  He wanted to take her in his arms, to tell her that the small flash of anger after so much careful politeness made her very lovable, and to ask her what she thought were the things which no longer mattered to him. But it was not the right moment. Lucius had clearly been disturbing her with his little hints and half-truths. It would be wiser to let her go.

  "Good night, my dear," he said, and she missed the intense weariness in his voice.

  It was a discouraging period for Nicholas. He realized that he must recover again the ground that he had lost in some way through Lucius' intervention, and it was unfortunate that at this time he was obliged to be much at the works, as his foreman was away, ill. It meant leaving Shelley for the greater part of the day at a time when he particularly wanted to establish a better relationship with her, and there were evenings, too, when he had to get through a great amount of paper work, and he would listen to the strains of her piano in the distance, and wonder if he had been fair to marry her.

  To Shelley the days seemed very long. She would wander round the house, exploring the empty rooms, and one day she found a picture behind an old settee, its face turned to the wall. She dragged it out, idleness making her mildly curious, and propped it up against a chair, facing the light.

  At first she did not recognize the face that looked gravely back at her, then with a sudden little intake of breath she realized that it was Nicholas. Here then was what he had looked like in those far-off days when the laughing Lydia had loved

  him, and cruelly left him. She sat for a long time on the floor, staring at the portrait, and pity filled her heart. This was Nicholas as he should have been, without the twisted features, and above all without the bitterness. Even at that age it had been a grave face, with a strength and gendeness that was lacking in Justin's portrait, but his attraction was undeniable. This was a man, Shelley thought, with surprise, who might well have had any woman he chose to love. She put the picture back where she had found it, and turned the canvas gently to the wall.