‘So you hastened hither to congratulate your cousin and your friend? How thoughtful.’ Rayner's voice was so heavy with sarcasm that Owen winced. ‘But could I be mistaken there? Have you perhaps come to demonstrate that most splendid of your talents? To sow discord and create misery, where there was but peace and harmony before?’
Owen bit his lip. Avoiding Rayner's eye, he now looked directly at Jane — and was distressed to observe that although she met his gaze with perfect candour, she also shrank against Michael Atkins's reassuring bulk.
More than shrank. In fact, she nestled so close that her body moulded itself against his. Incredibly, but quite obviously, these two were lovers.
Owen felt sick and ill. Furiously, murderously jealous, too. But, all the same, he managed to remain calm. ‘Jane,’ he began humbly, ‘may I have a private word with you?’
‘No, you may not.’ It was Rayner who spoke. ‘How dare you force your way in here!’ he cried. ‘How dare you come gatecrashing into our lives again, how dare you demand an interview with my sister — who, I am sure, hates the very sight of you, and most sincerely wishes you away!’
‘Jane, I — ’
‘Not content with breaking her heart just once, now you are trying to destroy her happiness a second time. Well, sir — you shall not succeed. You will have no private word with Jane. If you have anything of interest to say, say it here, to me.’
Owen ignored him. ‘Jane?’ he repeated, urgently, beseechingly.
‘Please, Owen. Just go.’ Turning away, Jane hid her face against Michael Atkins's broad expanse of waistcoat. Now, his arm was draped protectively across her shoulders. Sensing her mistress's distress, Blanchette whimpered in doggy sympathy.
‘You may say anything you wish to say to Jane here. In the presence of myself and Mr Darrow, too.’ Michael Atkins stroked Jane's upper arm in such a proprietorial fashion that Owen wanted to kill him. ‘We are all friends,’ he continued, smoothly. ‘All in each others’ confidence. So, you may speak as easily here as in any private chamber, believe you me.’
‘All the same, I wish — ’
‘Do you? I am sorry. It is not possible to grant any wish of yours today.’
As he spoke, Michael Atkins touched a bell on his desk. At once, Robin and Henry Corder appeared in the doorway. Glancing behind him, Owen could not help but notice the look which passed between master and men. ‘So now,’ continued Michael Atkins, ‘please come to the point. Tell this lady whatever it is you have come so far to say.’
Owen sighed. ‘Cousin?’ he whispered. ‘My dearest Jane?’
Jane shrugged. But at least she turned to look at him. ‘Well?’
‘When Maria told me you were engaged to be married,’ Owen began, ‘I was so shocked and dismayed that I fear my heart almost stopped beating. Afterwards, I was faint for hours. For days I could not eat, could not sleep, could not rest. In fact, grief and wretchedness conspired to destroy me.
‘But then, I rallied. Just a little. Surely, I thought, I might at least appeal to her? Sweet, good and gentle as she is, surely she will not refuse even to hear me? So I have come here today to beg you, to beseech you — ’
‘How the fellow rants,’ muttered Rayner. ‘He ought to be on the stage.’
‘To beg you not to marry this man! Worthy and honest though Mr Atkins undoubtedly is, and far more deserving of you than I could ever be, please — in the name of God and all the saints — do not become his wife!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, dear Jane, you belong to me!’ Now, as Jane stared at him in amazement, Owen ploughed on. ‘I behaved so badly,’ he continued, ‘that whenever I think of it, I weep. I destroyed the happiness not only of the woman I love, but of her whole family, too.
‘But I repent! I repent most humbly, sincerely and sorrowfully. If I could make amends, if I could resurrect the dead and restore the living, I would do so, even if it cost me my own heart's blood. Oh, Jane — darling Jane — I beseech you, leave this man. Leave this house. Come with me!’
‘Go with you?’ Jane gaped at him. Blanchette was whimpering again, so her mistress held her close. ‘Owen,’ she began, ‘I fear there is no hope for you. Indeed, you have run quite mad. All the same — will you try to set aside your ravings just for one moment? To consider what I have to say?
‘You ask me to become your wife. But do you not already have one? Isabel lives with you. She shares your life! She has even given birth to your child, and she most certainly has more claim — ’
‘Jane, please!’
‘No!’ Jane buried her face in Blanchette's silky coat. ‘I shall not listen to any more!’
‘Dearest Jane, look at me!’
‘Go away, Owen!’ Jane's shoulders were shaking. Obviously, she was perilously close to tears. ‘Please, for the love of God, leave this place!’
‘Well, Morgan. You heard the lady. You had better go.’ Rayner took a step forward.
But it was Michael Atkins who nodded, almost imperceptibly, to Robin and Henry. Almost before he was aware of what was happening, Owen found himself standing in the sunshine once more, his hat and cane on the gravel sweep, and the doors of the house barred firmly against him.
* * * *
Michael Atkins sent for cake and wine. Inviting brother and sister to be seated, he poured a glass of madeira for each. ‘Well,’ he began evenly, ‘I shall confess it now. I am still confused. In fact, I am so bewildered that a simple account of events themselves, shorn of explanation, excuse or prevarication, would be of inestimable value to me.’
He looked from his prospective bride to her brother, then back again. ‘Could one of you oblige me?’ he enquired. ‘Jane, my dear? Alas, I fear you are yet unequal to speech. Therefore, Rayner, the task falls to you.’
Rayner was only too ready to unburden himself. ‘As my sister mentioned,’ he began, ‘Owen Morgan was born and brought up in these parts. His father was a farmer. His parents died when he was but a little child, and his uncle and aunt — my parents — took him in.’
‘This uncle and aunt. They were Ellis and Rebecca Darrow, were they not?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Sorrowfully, Rayner smiled. ‘How did you learn their Christian names?’
‘My friend Mr Lloyd mentioned them many a time. There was a trading agreement between him and your family. His rolling mills supplied your Birmingham factories with tin plate. I believe he had a great personal affection for the late Mrs Darrow, too.’
‘Ah, yes. Of course.’ Remembering how he had wept over Mr Lloyd's letter of condolence, Rayner sighed. ‘Well, then. From the ages of seven to thirteen, that creature and I were playfellows. I loved him like a brother. He affected to be fond of me. Little did I dream that he in fact hated and despised me, and would be instrumental in ruining my life!
‘At thirteen, I went away to school. But although he might have gone with me, my cousin disliked the idea of receiving a gentleman's education. So he came back to South Wales, to spend some time with his paternal uncle, who is an apothecary here.
‘My sister Jane, unwilling that he should lose contact with the family in Warwickshire, proposed to open a correspondence with him. She wrote to him regularly, for years.’
‘Did Mr Morgan write to her?’
‘Yes.’ Jane spoke now. ‘Of course he did.’
‘To cut a long story short,’ Rayner continued, ‘this exchange of letters seemed to promote an affection which, as the years went by, grew in intimacy and tenderness. Meeting again, Jane and her faithful correspondent were delighted with one another. More than delighted, in fact. Eventually, my cousin declared himself. He asked my sister to marry him, and she consented to become his wife.’
‘But?’
‘Three short weeks before the wedding was due to take place, Owen told my sister he could not marry her after all. He had become enamoured of another woman, and preferred her to the one he had promised to wed.’
‘Good God!’ Michael took Jane's hand in his. ‘My poo
r darling — ’
‘It was worse even than you suppose. The woman my cousin had beguiled was my own wife.’ Closing his eyes as if in pain, Rayner reached for his glass. He fortified himself with more madeira. Then, sighing, he nibbled more cake.
Feeling a little stronger at last, he continued. ‘Owen left my father's house. A matter of months later, my wife — whom I loved and was disposed to pardon, for although she had foolishly permitted Owen Morgan to declare his affection for her, she was, I assumed, too chaste and honourable to have let things go any further — came to speak with me. She was with child, she said, by that thing.’
‘So you turned her out?’
‘On the contrary. I sent her to her room, and asked that she should stay there, whilst I collected my thoughts.’ Rayner shook his head. ‘I believe I would have forgiven her everything. Had she shown any remorse, had she expressed even the slightest regret for the distress she had caused, I should have made her mistress of my heart and home once more. After all, I reasoned, her child might be her lover's. But it might just as easily be mine.
‘But she did not repent. Instead, she ridiculed me, after a fashion I shall not describe here. She affirmed her affection for her seducer, and declared he loved her still.’
‘So you suggested she might prefer to throw in her lot with him?’
‘No! Mr Atkins, I am a magistrate. A churchwarden, too. I would never have positively encouraged vice!’ Rayner sniffed. ‘Isabel and I discussed the matter. At the conclusion of our discussion, she simply left my house. She went to her lover. She is now his whore. Her bastard takes his name and passes for his child.’
‘I see.’ Michael Atkins looked grim. ‘I knew he had a family,’ he muttered. ‘There is at least one child. Her mother is known as Mrs Morgan. I had assumed she was his wife.’
‘Why should you think otherwise?’
‘Why, indeed?’ Michael Atkins glanced towards Jane. ‘My sweetest love,’ he murmured, ‘you look so pale! I fear you are unwell.’
‘I am, a little.’ Jane rose to her feet. ‘Will you excuse me?’ she whispered. Then, taking Blanchette, she retired to her room.
Rayner solaced himself with more cake. Michael Atkins watched him eat. He licked his fingers so greedily, and devoured slice after slice so voraciously, that he reminded his host of a fat dowager at a ball. A professional chaperone, whose sole raison d'être was either to be eating one meal, or anticipating the pleasures of the next.
He was so like his cousin! But the dark good looks, the fine bone structure and athletic frame which he shared with Owen Morgan had, in Rayner's case, been obscured and submerged by layer upon layer of blubber. Sloth and easy living meant muscles and sinews had wasted. Fuel which should have powered activity and enterprise had merely been laid down as fat.
Michael Atkins fingered his paper knife. It would be exactly like killing a pig. In fact, they might do it that way. String it up by the hind trotters, perhaps. Then let it squeal for a while, to get the blood flowing, before they slit its throat.
‘Why don't you go upstairs, and rest a while?’ he suggested, as Rayner slurped more wine. ‘You've had a most unpleasant shock. You surely feel the need to recover?’
Rayner agreed that he did. He retired to his room. Then he rang down again, to ask if the rest of the cake and wine could be sent up after him, to keep his spirits from sinking any lower than they were already today.
* * * *
Michael summoned Robin and Henry Corder, who closed the door behind them, then stood impassive while their master paced the floor. Eventually, he spoke. ‘There are arrangements to be made,’ he announced. ‘There are rooms to prepare, and work to be done.’
Robin lifted one eyebrow.
Michael Atkins nodded. ‘The woman and her brother,’ he agreed. ‘As for the gentleman you saw off this morning — he will undoubtedly be back! I expect him to provide us with especially good sport.’
Henry smiled a satisfied smile, which further narrowed his already thin lips.
His master did not return the smile, but went instead to stare out of the window. ‘We will take Mr Darrow to the cliffs,’ he murmured. ‘To one of the caves. No one will disturb us there. I'm not sure about the woman. Prepare a chamber in readiness, but leave it empty.’
Turning back to his servants, the master frowned. ‘Well? Do you not know your duty?’
Thus dismissed, Robin and Henry left the study in silence, closing the door behind them.
* * * *
Sitting down at his desk, Michael Atkins made some notes. He locked them in a drawer, then rang for a serving maid. ‘Ah, Sarah,’ he began. ‘Step up to Miss Darrow's room directly, if you please. Present my compliments, and enquire if the lady is well enough to receive a visitor.’
As he waited for Sarah to return, Michael Atkins pondered. How much did Owen Morgan know? Anything? Everything? Nothing at all?
The child had been very small when he left Gower. Six or seven at the most. So when Ellis Darrow had begun his impertinent investigations, when he'd discovered what he evidently did, was it likely he'd have taken a little child into his confidence?
No. Of course it was not.
So, the brat grew up in ignorance. What reason would there have been to enlighten him? To cloud his days with sorrow?
None.
Obviously, Owen knew nothing. So much the better. Michael loved a good story, and would thoroughly enjoy telling this one. He would relate in detail how Owen's parents had met their respective ends. Then inform their son how he was to meet his.
* * * *
‘Jane, my dear?’ Leading her over to the window, Michael studied Jane's pale face. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘A little better, I think.’ Miserably, Jane sighed. ‘But I'm so cold! I can't stop shaking, and my head aches shockingly.’
‘Poor darling. Shall I ask Sarah to make you a hot drink? Or would you perhaps like to walk — ’
‘Why did he come?’ Covering her face, Jane burst into tears. ‘Why did he have to come here, to this beautiful place, why did he have to spoil everything about it for me? Oh, Michael! I had meant to be so happy today!’
‘My dear Jane, you shall be happy!’ Taking her hands in his, Michael Atkins kissed her cheek. ‘Listen,’ he murmured, ‘it's not yet noon. There's time enough for happiness yet.’
Jane shrugged. ‘Perhaps,’ she agreed.
‘Shall I stay with you for a while?’ Once more, Michael kissed her, but this time on the lips. ‘Or would you prefer to be alone?’
‘Stay,’ murmured Jane, as she kissed him in return. As she felt her body respond to his. As he warmed her once again.
Afterwards, she felt a little better. Hardly light–hearted, she was at least more composed. She had stopped shivering, too.
As he held her, Michael Atkins stroked her hair. ‘I wish to put a proposition to you,’ he said.
‘What is that?’
‘This fellow Morgan is dangerous. Mad, even. But all the same, he loves you.’
‘Does he?’
‘I think so.’ Michael Atkins met Jane's eyes. ‘Well, my dear? Do you still wish to marry me?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Then, I suggest we marry soon. By special license, in the church here at Oxwich.’
‘That's an excellent idea.’
‘I think so. However, I hardly dared hope you would agree.’
‘But of course I agree!’
‘That's splendid.’ Jane's lover embraced her. His cold, dry lips touched her forehead.
He smiled, but only to himself. Her aunt had cheated him of blood, of tears, of agony. But now the niece would pay her debt. Pay with interest, too.
Chapter 19
Bruised and dusty, tired and hungry though he undoubtedly was, Owen could not be downhearted. Not in the least dismayed. For, he had seen the way his cousin had looked at him. In those beautiful blue eyes had been reproach, regret, even a little anger — but no bitterness. No hatred. In f
act, she loved him still! This conviction made his heart light, and put wings on his heels.
He reached the first of the crossroads once again. Punching his hat back into shape, he jammed it jauntily on the top of his head, pushed his hands deep into his pockets, and began to whistle a lively Irish jig.
So, he and Jane would marry. Isabel would go back to Rayner, who would no doubt fidget and grumble for a while, but would secretly be glad to have her home again, where she was happiest and where she really belonged.
For Isabel had had her little adventure. As for Rayner — this actress or that harlot was surely no adequate substitute for the beautiful, cultured lady who was his lawful wedded wife?
There would be no practical difficulties about Isabel going home. No other kind of difficulty, either. Rayner was the wealthiest landowner in the district. Not to mention a magistrate, a churchwarden, and all the rest of it. If he chose to forgive and forget, the rest of the county would be obliged to follow suit. To accept his wife and her child in their midst, and to call them their own.
‘Ah, but what about the baby herself?’ asked a voice, somewhere deep inside Owen's head. ‘What about the innocent child?’
‘Well,’ he replied, cheerfully, ‘that's no matter. On the contrary, I imagine Honor will benefit greatly, in the end. In law, she is Rayner's own daughter. Not to mention his heir.’
Recalling Honor's pretty face and artless prattle, he grinned. Surely Rayner had only to see her to love her? What could be better for any child, than to have a rich, doting father — and an uncle more closely related, and therefore far more devoted, than the general run of uncles tend to be?
By the time he arrived in the village of Parkmill, Owen had it all worked out.
* * * *
‘Might you be making your way to Swansea, sir?’ Now, a farmer's cart slowed down to a languid crawl, and ambled along beside him.
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am.’ Shielding his eyes against the noonday glare, Owen glanced up at the man who held the reins. ‘Could you perhaps give me a lift?’
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