A Taste of Blood Wine

by Freda Warrington

  "I'm jealous of them," she said, soft and intense.

  "Charlotte." He turned to her, eyes shining with fire, his fingertips caressing her breast. "Don't be. There's no need. They are… long in the past. I'm with you now. And I have never felt for anyone as I feel for you."

  His gaze on her was so fierce that it disturbed her as much as it reassured her. He never forbade her to ask questions, but he never answered them, either. All she could trust was his passion for her. It was only when they were apart that the glow faded and doubts dripped coldly into Charlotte's mind.

  What if I found I was expecting a child? I should die of shame. I'm being such a fool, but I can't stop.

  There was always that moment in their love-making when he seemed to want more from her, and had to struggle against himself, as if he was afraid he would hurt her in some way. Once the moment was over, he was his tender and loving self again, but the struggle seemed harder each time. It alarmed her and excited her in a way that made her feel she'd truly fallen from grace. Did this happen to all men? She had no comparison and there was ho one she could ask.

  Worst of all was the guilt she felt about Madeleine. However badly Maddy had behaved sometimes, Charlotte still felt protective towards her. Maddy came first, she must always have what she desired; it was her natural due for being the prettiest, the youngest—and compensation, perhaps, for not being her father's favourite. The fact that Karl felt nothing for her was irrelevant; Charlotte could not shake off the feeling that she had stolen him from her sister.

  Is this what's making her ill? Guilt racked her, but she could do nothing to help—except to give up Karl. Impossible.

  Poor Maddy, to feel about him as I do… but does she? How could she? She has never strayed into that dark country… She would have held out for courtship, a wedding ring. And what does that make me, to risk everything for nothing?

  If he loves me we should marry… all my life that's what they've told us, that marriage is the only way and anything else is a sin. But I don't know, I don't care… Seduction. This is what it means; to be drawn into something wicked, not because it seems evil, but because you're deceived into believing it's right.

  I'm drowning. I feel as if I'm the first person this has ever happened to but I'm not. It's been the same cry down the ages. How can something so beautiful be if rang? The cry that precedes ruin…

  Just a few more days before they went back to Cambridge. The other visitors had left, and now Elizabeth's only guests were David and Anne, Charlotte, Madeleine, their father and Karl. A pleasant family gathering… except for the atmosphere that was slowly thickening like winter around them. Perhaps it only existed in Charlotte's mind, but it seemed Madeleine's illness and her own secrets were darkening everything.

  It can't go on but I can't bear it to end…

  Outside, the wind was lashing the leaves from the trees and scattering them across the rain-soaked grass. All the lovely soft autumn foliage under which she had walked with Karl, tattered rags.

  The library door opened and she was shaken out of her thoughts by her aunt's wineglass-clear voice. "Charlotte, dear, will you come into the Blue room? You have a visitor."

  Charlotte felt no suspicion at first. Contrary to her threats, her aunt had said nothing more about her walk with Karl. "Oh, who is it?"

  "I'm surprised you even ask." Elizabeth's manner was brisk. "I did warn you that I had to do something about your behaviour before you completely ruin your life and give your father heart failure."

  Then the foreboding began. How foolish to imagine her aunt would let the matter rest.

  Henry was waiting for her in the Blue room, with a serious expression she had never seen before. Charlotte was startled and dismayed. Her father was with him and they looked like lawyers about to announce the death of a distant relative.

  Her lips parted, and after a moment she managed to say, "Hello, Henry, I—I wasn't expecting you."

  Henry was such an awkward, lumpen figure compared to Karl. He seemed a total stranger. That she had ever agreed to marry him was incredible. "Lady Reynolds sent for me. I think there are one or two things we ought to clear up." He stammered a little, but the passion in his voice took her completely by surprise. "She said there had been—um, certain rumours about you and Karl, and while I'm sure they're completely unfounded, I won't tolerate such things being said about my fiancée. If you had come to my parents this would never have happened, and it's too bad of you not to have done. My mother agrees; so far you've put absolutely no effort into this engagement whatsoever, and every time I try to pin you down to a date, you make excuses to put it off. Well, enough is enough; we are going to sit down and discuss this and I am not going away until we've sorted the whole thing out and set a day for the wedding!"

  Shocked, Charlotte glanced round and found her aunt looking squarely at her with raised eyebrows, as if to say, "Don't appeal to me, this is exactly what you deserve!"

  I'm trapped, thought Charlotte; then, No. Why should I be?

  The feeling of panic fell away and she felt sorry for Henry. Behind his crooked wire glasses was a look she had never noticed before, but which she now recognised, and she thought, Oh God, he's in love with me! He's probably felt this for years and I never even knew. And I'm going to hurt him. Trembling, she said, "It's no good, Henry, I can't go through with it."

  He blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I can't marry you! I'm sorry." She took a step forward and held out the ring; he took it and stood staring at the diamond glitter in the palm of his hand.

  "I don't understand, Charlotte. Why? What have I done wrong?"

  This was Henry's trouble; he thought life went in a straight line, he never looked to left or right. So hard to divert that one-track intelligence; it was like being cruel to an uncomprehending dog.

  "You've done nothing wrong. It's my fault. I—I don't love you, and I should never have said yes in the first place."

  "Are you seeing someone else?" he said wildly. "It's Karl, isn't it? I don't believe it, how could you be so deceitful?"

  His words cut her, but she could not defend herself. She wished the floor would swallow her.

  Henry looked helplessly at her, then at her father. "I see." He thrust the ring into his pocket, and his face was rigid. "Well in that case, er… I think, sir, it would be best in the circumstances if I left your employment and found a position elsewhere." Her father's face fell. "What?"

  "Miss Neville and I could hardly go on working together without deep embarrassment on both sides, therefore it would be best for everyone if I left."

  "No!" Charlotte exclaimed. "There's no need for that, it will be just like it was before."

  "No, it won't, Charlotte," said Henry, with a harshness she would not have thought possible. "Do you think I could stay there, knowing you look on me with such contempt?"

  "I don't—" she gasped, but he was still speaking.

  "No, my mind is made up." He turned to her father. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, stepping away with a self-conscious, dipping motion. "Sorry."

  As he went out awkwardly, closing the door with a quiet click behind him, Charlotte's father turned on her. "Do you see what you've done? Is this what you wanted to achieve with your selfishness? I can't think what's got into you, young lady."

  She had broken the magic circle. Unforgivable. His anger crumbled her like liquid air. Tears sprang to her eyes. "But you can't really have wanted me to marry someone I didn't love? You were against it to start with."

  "Love be damned! You've just lost me the best assistant I've ever had!"

  Before she could start to apologise, Elizabeth said, "Don't blame Charlotte, it was you who employed Karl in the first place."

  Neville was outraged. "Don't be ridiculous! To suggest Charlotte had some nefarious motive for walking round the garden with Karl is deplorable. D'you think I don't know my own daughter?"

  "Really, George, if you'd take off your blinkers for five minutes you might notice tha
t she is a grown woman and he is a man. These things do happen, even to Charlotte, unlikely as it may seem."

  Charlotte felt herself colouring. She knew her aunt's game. Elizabeth didn't want to believe that Karl could be genuinely attracted to her, but she did want to punish her.

  "Nonsense! If anything untoward had taken place, I would hold you to blame, Elizabeth. You are supposed to be chaperoning my daughters."

  "Oh, you are so old-fashioned," said his sister, folding her arms. "I can't watch them every minute of the day. You've kept Charlotte so cloistered, how is she supposed to defend herself from a wolf if she meets one? These Continentals make a pass at anything that moves."

  "That's a dreadful thing to say, and it's not true!" Charlotte cried. "Karl's a perfect gentleman, one of the kindest people I've ever met, and I won't hear such things said about him!"

  She broke off. They were both staring at her, judge and jury, as if she had condemned herself out of her own mouth.

  Her father was grave, formidable, his rage filling the room like heavy white heat. "Don't you think you owe rather more respect to Henry and me than to him? If I ever find there's an iota of truth in this—What would your mother have said?"

  Always the comparison with her perfect mother that needled straight through her heart. She hung her head, and then she felt his hand on her arm. "I've decided to go back to Cambridge tomorrow," he said portentously. "I trust you'll be coming with me."

  ***

  Later, as they all sat in the main drawing room after dinner, Charlotte looked around at them; her father straight-faced and quiet, Elizabeth smug, David and Anne their unaffected cheerful selves. They veiled their feelings in the English way and went on as if nothing had happened, making small talk as the butler and maid served coffee. No one said anything to anyone… Yet the atmosphere was fragile. They all knew Charlotte was in disgrace. Henry had gone back to Cambridge and tomorrow her father would take her home like a child expelled from school.

  And what of Karl? Would her father turn against him, send him away? And all this for a walk! she thought. Ye gods, if they knew the truth, the sky itself would fall. The thought of never seeing Karl again was terrifying.

  Karl had been out all day, and now they were all together there was no chance for them to speak privately. It seemed nothing had been said to him. Charlotte was the scapegoat; he was still the angelic guest, incapable of wrong. He had stayed in the dining room with David and Father while they had their port and cigars; they, all unconscious of his true relationship with Charlotte. Now he sat with Madeleine on the sofa, held there as she asked him question after question about Vienna, responding charmingly while his untouched coffee turned cold.

  Maddy was trying very hard to put on a brave face, but she hadn't been herself since the night she had fallen ill. She seemed tired and vulnerable, restless if Karl was not there, bright and frail as a candle flame in his company. Sometimes her eyes would glaze as if she were lost in a frightening daydream. She was still determined to win Karl, perhaps convinced she would, but growing more desperate as his friendliness remained impersonal. Only when he met Charlotte's gaze did his eyes fill with warmth, the secret communication that left her in no doubt of his passion for her.

  At the same time it was agony to see her sister suffering.

  Charlotte could see no way to talk to Karl alone, without it being obvious. But even if she could, what good would it do? While they had been friends she had talked to him easily; now they were lovers, too much went unspoken… Anne glanced at her once or twice, and she thought, Oh, Anne, I know you want to help and I would do anything to tell you the truth but even you, even you would condemn me…

  The room was light and warm, a fire crackling in the red marble fireplace. The curtains were open, the windows holding two worlds in one shiny black plane; the reflection of the bright domestic scene and the silver trails of raindrops lashing the glass. Charlotte's gaze drifted to Madeleine's face and she noticed that her sister was staring at the french windows even while Karl was speaking to her, the lost look in her eyes again. How cosy and safe it seems in here, Charlotte thought ironically, and as she thought it, she saw Madeleine's expression change. Her eyes enlarged, her mouth opened, and she cried out, "He's there!"

  All within a split-second it happened; Charlotte glanced towards the french windows, saw something dash across the terrace, and then there was a tremendous boom that seemed to shake the whole house as a figure flung itself against the glass like a crashing bird. Everyone leapt up, exclaiming with shock.

  There was a man pressing himself flat against the windows, arms outstretched, staring into the room with a wild grin and wide, mocking blue eyes. Just standing there, leering at them.

  David was moving to the window, her father pulling the bell rope to summon the servants, Elizabeth rushing to comfort the distraught Madeleine. Anne came to Charlotte, saying, "Who is that lunatic?" But Charlotte stood petrified because she recognised the face; it was the man she had seen outside the Cavendish laboratory, whom she had thought was an hallucination. He was watching their panic, laughing at them.

  "What's your game, sir?" David shouted through the glass. "Infernal bloody cheek!"

  He grasped the handle, and Elizabeth said, "Oh, don't open the door, David, for God's sake! Make sure it's locked!"

  "I've no intention of letting this madman in. Where's Newland? Father, when he comes, have him send some men into the garden. I'm not letting this beggar get away."

  In the midst of this, Karl stood still and quiet in the centre of the room. "There's no need, David," he said.

  "What?"

  Karl paused. "It's someone I know."

  Elizabeth laughed in disbelief. "What strange friends you have, Karl. Couldn't he use the front door, like everyone else?"

  Madeleine would usually have been the first to make a joke of it, but now she only sat round-eyed as if too stunned to speak.

  Karl moved to the french window. Although he was as self-contained as ever, Charlotte realised with a shock that he was furious. She had never seen him angry before. The stranger put his head on one side and blinked at him through the glass.

  "Excuse me, please, David," said Karl, reaching past him to unlock the french window.

  "What the devil are you doing? Don't let him in!"

  "There appears to be no choice." He opened the glass doors; the stranger thrust himself into the room, still grinning, but Karl caught his arm and stopped him. They all backed away, and Karl said, "I must apologise for this."

  The stranger said loudly, "Why, what have you done, Karl? This is no way to greet a friend, trying to break his arm. Aren't you pleased to see me?"

  He spoke with a French accent, but his English, like Karl's, was near-perfect. He was a tall man in his late twenties, in an expensive dark coat and cashmere scarf, but no hat. He had angular, slightly exaggerated features, with full lips and a cleft chin. His hair fell brown and curly across his forehead. He was handsome, Charlotte thought, except for his eyes; they were intensely blue, too large and heavily lidded, with a cold humour in them that repelled her. Yet there was something about him that was similar to Karl; a power of presence that seemed to eclipse the whole room. It is him, the man I saw in Cambridge, the one who vanished!

  "Good heavens, Karl, do you really know this person?" said Elizabeth.

  "I'm afraid so," Karl replied.

  Undaunted, the Frenchman kissed Karl on both cheeks. "My dear fellow, how well you look! The English air must suit you. And the English food, eh?" He winked at Elizabeth, who looked astonished. "You must excuse the unusual manner of my arrival but it is such fun teasing Karl. He's so terribly conventional, don't you find? I would do anything to drag a reaction from him."

  Karl's face remained expressionless. "What are you doing here?"

  "At the moment, I am waiting to be introduced to this charming company."

  Karl smiled, but his eyes were red ice. "I am hardly going to do that, Pierre."

&nbs
p; Pierre beamed around him with a very white smile, as if he found Karl's attitude mildly exasperating. His gaze rested on Madeleine. She stared back, blank-faced as if about to faint. Then he looked at Charlotte and she had the terrible impression that he knew all the secrets of her soul and found them rather amusing.

  Newland was in the doorway, whispering to Dr Neville.

  "Oh, but you must forgive me for intruding on your party," said Pierre. "I was so eager to see my long-lost friend, my manners have deserted me—as his sense of humour seems to have deserted him."

  David said coldly, "I don't think any of us found it funny that you frightened my family half to death. Karl, I don't care if this fellow is a friend of yours or not. He must leave immediately."

  "Of course," said Karl. He tightened his grip on Pierre's arm as if restraining a dangerous dog. "If you will first allow me to talk to him privately for a few minutes." David started to object, but Karl went on, "I have known Pierre for a long time, but you see, he is rather to me as Edward is to you. Unpredictable, sometimes disastrously volatile—but I cannot disown him."

  "Oh." David looked taken aback.

  "You patronising devil!" said Pierre to Karl. "Are you suggesting I'm some kind of maniac?"

  "You make it quite obvious, without any suggestion from me." Karl looked at Elizabeth. "You will excuse us while we withdraw to another room for a few minutes?"

  Pierre objected extravagantly. "Oh, Karl, how can you take me away from these charming people, when we have only just met? You are too cruel." He looked pleadingly at Elizabeth. "He is always dreadfully cruel to me, Madame, the tales I could tell you… "

  "Goodness, I'm sure we'd all be fascinated!" Elizabeth said, raising her eyebrows. "You can take your friend in the library, Karl. Er—would he like a drink?"

  "Oh, you are too kind!" the Frenchman exclaimed. "But I fear my taste would prove very expensive for you… "

  Karl interrupted, his voice as softly imperative as a razor. "You have forfeited any claim to hospitality, Pierre. I'm sure you have a lot to tell me that could not possibly be of interest to anyone else." He gripped Pierre's elbow and guided him to the door, past the astonished butler.