Jane, who had been silent until then, spoke. ‘I will, of course, now start repaying Robert’s loan from my share of the cargoes. I imagine Charles will prefer to make improvements to Blake’s Reach in his own time, and Robert’s money needn’t be used for that …’
Turnbull cut in: ‘With the interest … you haven’t forgotten the interest!’
Charles looked across at him, his eyebrows shooting up.
Jane gestured quickly. ‘It was a … a pleasantry! I was to give Robert the first rose from the garden here each spring until the loan was repaid.’ She didn’t let her eyes go to Paul as she said this.
Now Charles smiled. ‘It’s most certainly an interest I should insist on being paid were I in Robert’s place.’
Paul moved restlessly in his chair. ‘The Dolphin …’ he said sharply.
‘Yes …?’ They had all turned towards him.
He drummed his fingers thoughtfully a moment, as if he had not been fully prepared to speak his mind, and the words had come too quickly. But they were waiting on him. He frowned. ‘It seems to me from all I’ve heard about the value of the Pearl, that it will fetch more than’s needed to buy the Dolphin. And with us all sharing the cargo, the individual contribution is smaller, and the profits less.’ Now he looked directly at Charles. ‘Why not use the rest to buy or hire another vessel? ‒ you can’t put Blake’s Reach back to what it was overnight, and in the meantime the money could be earning you round about five times your investment.’
Turnbull gave a little exclamation. ‘Fletcher’s right! As long as you’re going to borrow on the Pearl, you must get as much as you can and let it earn for you …’
Charles waved them to silence. ‘I have plans for the rest of the money. At the moment they don’t include spending much on Blake’s Reach … and I’m not sure even in the end Blake’s Reach will have anything spent on it.’
‘Other plans?’ It was Jane who spoke, the words forced from her in a gasp. She hadn’t wanted to question Charles, but his rejection of Blake’s Reach had touched her rawly. Two spots of colour flamed suddenly in her cheeks. Paul wanted to turn away from the sight of her distress.
Charles nodded. ‘… A private matter.’ But then he looked once more at Jane, and suddenly he threw up his hands. ‘Ah, Mon Dieu, why should it be private from my friends? I keep forgetting that I am free ‒ and in England. I know that I may speak to you, and you will respect my confidence.’
They nodded in agreement, Jane with them, but her hands gripped the arms of the chair tensely as she waited for him to go on.
Charles clasped his hands behind his back.
‘It takes less money to buy a strong man out of prison than a sick woman. I will need every penny I can lay hands on ‒ gold to buy the silence of many people, not just a few ‒ gold to buy the service and the help she will need to reach a port. She cannot walk or run, or sleep in the open, as a man can. Nor can she ride out of La Force in a coffin.’
Jane was deadly pale. ‘Who … who is it?’ she said in a whisper.
‘Her name is Louise de Montignot. She is the widow of the man who was my greatest friend, Phillipe de Montignot, Comte de Labrit. He died on the guillotine a year ago, and Louise has lately been brought to La Force. If the guillotine does not have her, she will cough her lungs out in La Force.’ No one said anything; their eyes were fixed on Charles’s face. It had become hard and tight, the cheek bones prominent, and his eyes bright with anger.
‘Phillipe was with me in La Force, and before he was murdered he learned that Louise had also been charged and imprisoned. I swore to him that while I lived I would not cease trying to aid and comfort her. I cannot consider myself free of that promise. She still lives, and I must send gold until there is enough to buy her out.’
‘Is it possible?’ Paul asked quietly.
‘The concierge is human, and, like most humans, greedy. As in my case, it is possible that, if the danger to himself is not too great, he can be bought. But from there on the difficulty begins. A sick woman cannot travel easily, or without attracting notice. She must have places to rest on the way, and someone to travel with her. I have friends still in Paris, but it takes time, and there is much danger … for Louise and for them.’
‘And if … when she escapes, what then?’ Jane’s lips were pinched.
‘Then?’ Charles repeated. ‘Then she will come here ‒ to Blake’s Reach.’
III
It had been a relief to Jane that the talk between Charles, Paul and Robert Turnbull had continued until the supper hour; hardly listening she had let it flow over her, and her own thoughts had gone on, thoughts that spiralled forever round Charles’s statement that he would bring Louise de Montignot to Blake’s Reach.
The three men had eaten supper heartily, absorbed in ever more detailed planning for running cargoes on the Dolphin. There was to be more money available, so there could be richer cargoes, more porters, more batmen, larger bribes and better protection. An atmosphere of confidence grew up between them, each adding suggestions and a little argument, but in the end always deferring to Paul’s opinion. To Jane’s confused mind there seemed to be many toasts to their mutual success, in which she joined, and she repeated the words of the toasts automatically. For some reason Kate’s food was better that evening; she had either been inspired by Charles’s presence to make extraordinary efforts, or she had been frightened into accepting a few of the hints Patrick poured into her constantly. The best china and glass and silver were set out, and Anne’s good linen was on the table. Patrick had even plucked some roses from the vine over the porch and placed them in a silver bowl in the centre of the table. Looking at it, Jane paused to wonder how many years it was since Blake’s Reach had known such a festive evening.
After supper they had gone to the drawing-room where Patrick had lighted a small fire ‒ more to brighten the hearth than for any other reason. Patrick also had responded to the occasion, sensing that whatever plans had put the three men into such fine good humour could hardly bode ill for Jane or William. He left brandy and glasses on the marquetry table. This time it was Paul who lifted Jane and carried her to a seat by the fire. Robert went before them with her footstool. The brandy glasses were filled, and there was yet another toast; Jane responded with stiff lips.
Charles had been in this room before, but only for a cursory glance. Now he wandered about, glass in hand, examining the portraits and the pieces of china displayed in the corner cabinet. He opened the harpsichord, and pressed a few keys lightly, wincing at the jangling sound they made. Then he came back to stand by the fire. Jane saw him looking at the carpet closely. He felt her gaze on him, for he turned to her.
‘Aubusson,’ he murmured, nodding towards the carpet. ‘It’s valuable … pity that end is so badly frayed.’
‘Could it be repaired?’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘Probably … but I wonder if it’s worth troubling.’
She looked away, staring into the fire and sick inside at the implication of his words. She felt the tears prick her eyelids, and once again the thread of talk slipped away from her. This room was familiar to her now ‒ she didn’t have to turn to see the colours of beautiful wood surfaces lovingly polished back into life, or the richness of the gold leaf on the china, or the texture and depth of the carpet. She had made this room come to life again. But Charles did not seem to care whether it lived or stayed mouldering under its dust. She leaned her head back wearily, and her eyes half-closed. Suddenly she was very conscious of the throbbing of her ankle.
At last they went, Paul and Robert, bidding her good night with a briskness that was part of their high satisfaction. Paul’s face had undergone a change during the evening ‒ no longer unhappy and full of suspicion. He was once again firmly master of the Dolphin, and he, like Jane, had been strongly affected by the news that if Louise de Montignot reached England, Charles would bring her to Blake’s Reach.
Jane didn’t want to be left alone with Charles. She wanted her be
d, and solitude. But she raised her eyes, and found Charles staring at her thoughtfully.
‘Paul,’ he said quietly, ‘he is your lover?’
She nodded, not troubling to deny it. It began to seem that Charles knew or made a shrewd guess at everything that happened at Blake’s Reach. ‘Yes ‒ he’s my lover,’ she said.
‘Why aren’t you married? ‒ he wants to marry you, doesn’t he?’
‘I ‒ I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.’
‘You mean you won’t allow him to talk about it, Jane. I know a man in love when I see one. He has run away from women before now, but you he would marry to-morrow. You’re partners in everything else ‒ why not in this also?’
She shrugged. ‘Paul isn’t a partner in Blake’s Reach. He’ll go back to the West Indies as soon as there’s enough money.’
‘And he wants you to go with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you ‒ you prefer Blake’s Reach, Jane? You want him here, don’t you? You want him and Blake’s Reach both. You have a dream of seeing it back as it used to be, and Paul at your feet, adoring you. Isn’t that so?’
‘I didn’t say it was so. Why do you twist things …?’
He gestured back to the portraits. ‘You’re the first real Blake they’ve had in a hundred years ‒ strong enough and determined enough to do everything you think should be done for this house and this family. Of course … you may destroy yourself, but you don’t think it would be destruction. You don’t see it that way at all.’
She was silent. He paced the length of the room, and swung round abruptly, speaking in a louder tone.
‘But I came back, Jane, and now you think the dream is finished. I’m a usurper under this roof, aren’t I? ‒ not as good for them …’ he nodded back towards the portraits, ‘as you would have been. Well, I’m not as good, and it’s unfortunate for Blake’s Reach that I didn’t die as I was meant to. You’re thinking that, Jane ‒ and it’s true! And you’ve heard me say that I’ll bring Louise here, and you’re thinking that this house may not have two mistresses …’
Suddenly he flung out his hands in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Well, Blake’s Reach was intended for you, and I’m not sure in the end that it won’t be yours, after all. But take care you don’t lose your happiness, your youth, and Paul Fletcher to it!’
She could feel the room move around her crazily and there seemed no blood left in her body, no will to deny his words, or oppose him. She pressed her lips together, but she wasn’t able to stop the tears that began to slide thinly down her face. But she still was too proud to put up her hands and brush them away.
Two
Charles was gone from Blake’s Reach almost two weeks, but even with him away, life did not fall back into the pattern Jane had established. It was true that her orders were taken, and attended to as before, but a feeling of impending change hung over the place. Her rule was temporary, and it was coming to an end.
With her ankle still bandaged she sat in the garden through tedious, impatient hours, and her thoughts were uneasy and confused. The time hung upon her heavily; she longed for the relief from thought and speculation which riding the Marsh on Blonde Bess would have brought. The days grew warmer, and the countryside lost its fresh green. The bright red of the roses on the vine began to fade in the sun, while Jane twisted restlessly in her chair, her thoughts forever on Charles.
Robert Turnbull rode out to Blake’s Reach several times during Charles’s absence. Not once did he refer to the last time he and Jane had seen each other alone, the night they had dined together at The Wool Pack in Folkestone. He talked without any sign of constraint ‒ their plans for the Dolphin, Charles’s return, the details of Charles’s escape ‒ all in his usual calm manner, and Jane began to wonder if perhaps she had imagined his firm, passionate kiss as he left her that night. But other things recalled it, if not Robert’s words. He had withdrawn a little from her, no longer so eager or spontaneous; she began to be conscious of the difference in their ages. Now when he talked to her, he was once again the man who had loved her mother and was kind to her, Jane, only for the sake of the memories he carried. She knew that he would never again kiss her.
But to Robert, at least, she could talk about Louise de Montignot, and find some relief in that. Endlessly she speculated about Charles saying he would bring Louise to Blake’s Reach, and she wondered aloud about what he had meant by the statement that, in the end, Blake’s Reach might be hers. Robert had no answers for these questionings; Louise de Montignot was still in La Force, and it seemed probable to him that she would never come out.
Paul also came to Blake’s Reach. He came at night, and discreetly, but he was full of good humour, and an aggressive jubilation. Firstly he liked Charles’s absence more than his presence at Blake’s Reach, and he would have preferred it if Charles had stayed in London altogether. But apart from that, in these two weeks, the Dolphin had completed two trips to Flushing, and was already on her way back there. The runs had gone off without delay or danger, and the cargoes had been large and profitable. Because of the long twilights fewer vessels were making the runs from France and Holland, and there were more men available as crew and porters. The added danger of these runs did not seem to trouble Paul. On his second visit, he brought Jane two hundred guineas in gold pieces. It lay heavily in her lap as she sat and listened to him.
He paced the length of the room, his excitement and impatience revealed in every movement. ‘Do you see it, Jane?’ he said, gesturing towards the leather pouch she held. ‘Do you see it? ‒ and that’s just the beginning! From now on it will be profit … and more profit! A few more months like this and we’d have enough to go.’ Then he frowned. ‘At least we’d have enough if we didn’t have to split the profits with Charles and Turnbull.’ he shrugged. ‘Well … the one good thing in this arrangement is that I know the Dolphin won’t be lifted from under my nose. And my brother James can’t get his hands on it either.’
Then the excitement would die a little, and his voice grow softer. He would sit on the floor by her footstool, leaning back against her chair, taking her hand and pressing it gently against his lips and cheek. He would talk then about the Indies, his tone filled with longing and regret; he would try to describe to her how the beaches looked in the dawn; and the strange violence of a tropical thunderstorm. Her fingers would stroke his face lightly, and he would talk on. Mostly the talk was soft ‒ to match his mood. But once his longing flared suddenly to something stronger, an anger at the days and weeks slipping by, a protest against the frustration of his love.
‘Damn it! ‒ what am I doing here, when I could be out in the Indies where I want to be! What’s the use of piling up money when it brings no pleasure with it? Sometimes I think I must be out of my mind to agree to the life I live now … only seeing you at times when it’s discreet, denying myself the sight of the only person who means anything to me. I think I am mad!’
He looked up at her desperately. ‘Without you the money is nothing ‒ you know that, don’t you, Jane? I love you … I love you foolishly and completely, as if I were a boy in love for the first time. I love you tenderly and reverently, and if you have flaws my eyes don’t see them any more. This is I ‒ Paul Fletcher ‒ saying things to a woman I never thought to hear myself say. Have you any idea how much it hurts to love this way? ‒ and not be able to shout my love to the world? Marry me, Jane! Soon! … quickly! As quickly as possible.’
‘Marry …?’
‘Yes! Marry! Is that such a strange thought? Don’t you love me? Isn’t that the reason we’re here together now?’
She bent her face to his in a suddenly upsurge of fear that he might withdraw from her. ‘Oh, Paul ‒ my love, my dear love …’ Her voice trembled. ‘I do love you, and you must know it! If you left me …’ She struggled now against terror at the thought. ‘I would be empty without you ‒ useless! It would be like a dark night …’ She shook her head, closing her eyes for a second. ‘Don’t ever
leave me, Paul, because without you there is nothing in this whole world for me. There’s no peace, no trust, no confidence … there’s no love any more.’
He grasped both her hands in a rush of triumph. ‘Then we must leave here! Why should we wait any longer? If each is all the other wants, why do we waste time? In London they could tell us what port the next ship for the Indies sails from … We could take William with us, if you wanted that … We could be together, Jane! ‒ together and free!’
‘So soon …?’
‘Why not? What is there to keep us? The money? … well, we’re not penniless any longer, and even if I couldn’t buy a sloop immediately, I’ve energy and skill to sell, and they fetch a good price out there. Why do we wait about here just to see the money pile up? When you’re young, gold isn’t worth time … Come with me, Jane!’
‘It isn’t the money …’ She stopped then, because she couldn’t face him and say what she felt. She was torn between his urgent pleading, the love in his eyes, her own need of him ‒ torn between these things and a longing in her own heart that she could not name to him. But it was there, and he recognized it.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said slowly. ‘I can’t believe it … And yet it’s there so plain a blind man could see it. You still want Blake’s Reach, don’t you? … you’ve still got some strange, unreasoning belief that somehow it will be yours. It’s obsessed you, hasn’t it? What in Heaven’s name …? What does this place have that you cannot give it up?’
She gestured, panic-stricken. ‘No! … there’s no way it could be mine now that Charles has come back.’
He pushed aside her groping hands on his arm, and rose abruptly. ‘Yes … there is a way. If you married Charles you could keep Blake’s Reach. Is that what you’re waiting for? Are you waiting for Louise de Montignot to die, so that Charles will turn to you?’
Shaking and weak, she also rose to her feet, supporting herself on the arm of the chair. Diffidently she put out her hand towards him, then, frightened by his look, she dropped it back to her side.
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