“That is true. Oh, Joe, we’ll never agree about this. But … why don’t you try to get into Parliament?”
“And face all that scandal being revived?”
“If it were … by your opponents … it would only be for a short while. After all, it was not even you who were involved. At least, that is what people would think.”
“I see that your uncle is setting up Helena’s husband now. I suppose he will decide which way the young man is to vote.”
“I think Matthew will judge for himself. Uncle Peter spoke for him during the election. Everyone knows he was supporting his son-in-law. That did not spoil Matthew’s chances. So why should what happened to your father spoil yours?”
“I couldn’t risk it.”
“If you don’t take risks now and then you can’t hope to succeed.”
“Annora, I want to be there. It’s the life I want. I know I could do it. I could have got in at the last election.”
“You should have tried.”
“I couldn’t face it. All that stuff in the papers. I was afraid it would be revived. I shall never forget it.”
“It’s past.”
“And you and I,” he went on. “We were getting on very well, weren’t we? And that stopped it. That day you saw me in that room …”
“I know.”
“You seemed to despise me.”
“No. Joe. I understood.”
“It was for my father.”
“You didn’t do him any good by your attempt to ruin Uncle Peter.”
“And I lost your friendship, I know. You were different afterwards. You couldn’t forgive me for using you to get into the house. I was desperate. If it had been your father, wouldn’t you?”
I thought of the accusation that woman had made against my father. Yes, I would do a great deal to prove her wrong … not only for the sake of Cador, but for my father’s memory.
I said: “I understand how you felt about your father.”
“He is a good man, a man of high morality. Think of that sleazy scandal involving such a man. Think of my mother, the family. I could have killed him when I knew he had set it all up.”
“He is ruthless. He brushed people aside to get what he wants. But that is not all of him. People are strange. They are not all bad … not all good.”
“I think any goodness he may have is lost beneath the weight of evil.”
“He is a manipulator, a man who must have power, who must …”
“Use people to his own ends.”
“Yes, that’s true. But, Joe, it’s past. Let’s forget it. Let’s think of you … and your future.”
“I shall be in the mills. I shall force myself to stop dreaming of what might have been.”
“That is no way to live really. Not when there is a way open to you.”
“I see no way.”
“I do. Pull yourself together. How long will this government last, do you think? Be ready for the next election.”
“And face all that slanderous mud?”
“Yes, face it, Joe. They’ll soon get tired of throwing it.”
“I couldn’t do it, Annora.”
“Then you must content yourself with the cotton mill. Oh, Joe, forgive me. I sound sententious. Who am I to talk? I am undecided, floundering hopelessly.”
“Life has been hard to us both, Annora.”
“Uncle Peter says that you cannot help yourself lying down and letting events get the better of you. You have to stand up and fight.”
“And ruin other people’s lives as you do so?”
“That is not necessary. But don’t you see, Joe, you tried to ruin him just as surely as he tried to ruin your father. But he wouldn’t have it. He’s fighting his way back.”
“I can’t bear to hear you talk of him as though he is some sort of glorious warrior. Attila the Hun possibly.”
I smiled. “Try to rid yourself of your bitterness. Frances has.”
“Frances has taken advantage of the situation.”
“Frances knows what she wants and she is not going to let anything stand in her way.”
“Frances is doing good to the community. Your uncle is doing good to himself.”
“The method is the same.”
“We shall never agree on that.”
“But, Joe, do get up and fight. You will never be content if you don’t try to get into Parliament. All your life you will bear a grudge against fate which robbed you of your chance, and when you are very old and have become mellow you will ask the question: Was it fate which robbed me of my chance, or was it myself?”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It certainly isn’t that. I know how you feel. But you ought to try. You ought to face up to it. Forgive me, Joe. I’m preaching. It’s the last thing I want to do. I know you hate me to mention it but I can’t help thinking of Uncle Peter and the way he is overcoming all that scandal. I think there was just as much about him as about your father in the papers. He planned your father’s fall and carried it out. You planned his. You were both equally successful. You’ve had an eye for an eye. Your father gave up. Uncle Peter didn’t. So … fight on, Joe.”
He looked at me steadily. “I don’t think I could do it.”
“Be bold and see. Oh dear, I’m upsetting you. It was to have been a pleasant trip up the river.”
He said: “It has been good to see you again, to talk to you frankly.”
“I’m afraid I’ve said too much. It is not for me to advise you. You have to make up your own mind. I am the last person who should try to tell you what to do.”
“You are very unhappy, Annora.”
I did not answer.
“The shock must have been terrible and then that dreadful woman from Australia.”
“That’s over, Joe. I’m trying not to think of it. But there is so much to remind me of them.”
“It makes my affairs seem almost trivial. They do to you, don’t they?”
“You have your family, Joe.”
“I know. I’m going to think about what you’ve said. Don’t let’s lose touch again.”
I nodded. Then I said: “Frances was right. This is a very pleasant spot.”
Helena’s baby was due in a few weeks.
Aunt Amaryllis came down to the Mission and her purpose was to persuade me to come back to be with Helena until her baby was born.
She said: “You were with her at Jonnie’s birth and she says what a comfort you were to her. Moreover, Jonnie does miss you. Do come back and be with her, Annora.”
So I went.
How different this was from Jonnie’s birth. Helena had come a long way since then. This was her husband’s child and an astonishing relationship had grown up between them. Helena was proud of Matthew. He had scored a hit with his maiden speech; it was clear that he was going to do well in politics. He was going to be one of those who would be responsible for the abolition of transportation in due course. He was working for it with such enthusiasm and it was inconceivable that he could fail.
Uncle Peter was satisfied with his son-in-law and nothing was going to be spared in sending him forward. I wondered how long it would be before Uncle Peter himself was back in Parliament.
Helena hovered between bliss and apprehension. She was longing for the baby. With great pride she showed me its layette and I wondered whether, like myself, she was comparing this with Jonnie’s birth.
Jonnie himself was now at a delightful age. I drew for him with coloured crayons and he showed me what he could do. He was interested in the new arrival and confided to me that he wanted a brother.
Every morning he would come to my room and ask: “Has he come yet? He’s very lazy. He ought to be here by now.”
There was great rejoicing when the baby was born, and Jonnie’s wishes were granted. It was a boy.
Helena was very proud to see the notices in the paper. “Son for Matthew Hume.”
Uncle Peter was delighted. “There is nothing people like bett
er than babies,” he said.
The baby flourished. The christening was to be a grand affair and was to be celebrated in Uncle Peter’s house—the baby’s home was not large enough to accommodate all the guests. Uncle Peter had seen that several important people were invited—many of them politicians.
It was during this celebration that I learned something which made me feel I had touched the very nadir of despair.
It came out quite naturally. The drawing room was crowded. I stood there with a glass of champagne in my hands when a middle-aged man came up and spoke to me.
I had not heard his name, nor had he heard mine.
He just said: “What a crowd. Well, Matthew’s baby would attract attention, wouldn’t he? Amazing what Matthew has done … such a short time he’s been in the House.”
“You are a Member of Parliament, are you?”
“I hope to be. I’m taking over a constituency in the south west. I have just been making a tour, talking to my prospective supporters, trying to clock up the votes.”
“What part of the south west?”
“It’s a big constituency. Rather remote and scattered. In Cornwall actually. The people take a bit of knowing. Farmers, fishermen, miners. I’ve had chats with them on the quays and in their cottages.”
He was garrulous which one would expect of a man who hoped to become a Member of Parliament. He was entirely interested in himself and I was glad of that for I did not want him asking me questions.
“They’re a superstitious community. One has to get to know about them, how their minds work, how best one can impress them. Have to make their interests yours. You get to know what is happening in these little places and then you talk of little else … and slip in the propaganda so that they won’t notice. For instance, there was some place where there had recently been quite a big case … well, big for them … about some property …”
“Oh?” I said faintly. “Where was that?”
“Somewhere down there. Somebody had come out from Australia and claimed this estate … rather a large one. But that it seems was old news. What they were all talking about was her marriage …”
“You mean the marriage of the one who claimed the estate?”
“Yes, that’s it. Apparently it was a nice little bit of gossip, and when they’ve got something like that on their minds they just won’t talk about anything else. You have to listen and seem as interested to hear as they are to tell you. It’s the only way of winning their votes. So I stand there saying ‘Really? Did she then? Well, I never did.’ Apparently this woman who’d just got hold of the mansion was marrying some chap from the Manor which was a sort of rival estate. Could have knocked them down with feathers, they kept saying. I didn’t get to see the married pair. But that’s what I’m telling you. You have to listen and hope to get in what you’re really there to … I just listened and told them how amazing it was. Well, that’s an example of what you have to do.”
“Was the name of the place … Cador, do you remember?”
“Why, that’s it. Do you know it?”
“Yes,” I said flatly. “I did.”
“Grand sort of place. So was the other one, this Manor. I reckon that was what they were all so excited about … linking up the two …”
I felt rather dizzy with the shock. I heard myself say, “So you’ll be standing at the next election?”
He went on talking but I was not listening.
I was thinking: So Rolf has married that woman. “The chap from the Manor.” How could he? But everything was clear now. I had been right. He would do a great deal for Cador.
It had taken this to tell me how much I loved Rolf. In spite of everything, more than anything I wanted to be with him. I might have married him, but fate had conspired to take him from me. No, that was not true. I was the one who had broken it off.
How I wished now that I had married him! Even if he had been in the woods that Midsummer’s Eve; even if he wanted Cador. I had made excuses for Uncle Peter and I had seen the good amongst what was deplorable in his character. But I had made no allowances for Rolf from whom I had expected perfection.
I could talk to no one of this. I felt wretchedly empty. I could never be happy again.
For some days Helena did not notice that there was anything wrong with me. Then at last she said: “You look pale, Annora, and very unhappy. Is it because of the children?”
I looked at her in astonishment and she went on: “Oh, I know how you love them, how you’ve always loved Jonnie. I felt that you often wished he was yours. Now I have two and you have none.”
“Oh, Helena,” I cried. “What an idea! I am so glad for you. I think all turned out beautifully. And now you have little Geoffrey. You are lucky, Helena.”
“I know. I feel it isn’t fair. Everything came out so well for me, didn’t it? I never told you, but I saw John Milward some time ago. He talked to me. I was never sure how I should feel if I saw him again, and I felt nothing … nothing at all. I had to keep reminding myself that he was Jonnie’s father. He said how sorry he was that it had turned out the way it had. But I couldn’t be sorry. He was very weak really … and now it has all worked out with Matthew. Matthew is wonderful. My father says he can be a great politician. It is what he really wants to do. I don’t think John Milward would ever have been anything without his family. Matthew is thinking of writing a book about chimney sweeps. He feels very strongly about that and my father thinks it is a good idea.”
“I’m so glad it has turned out like this for you.”
“I wish it could for you. Perhaps it will. Joe Cresswell is a very nice young man.”
“I know.”
“And he is very fond of you.”
I wanted to shout at her: But I want Rolf. I’ve always wanted Rolf. I was too stupid to see how important he was to me.
The idea of his living at Cador, which he had always wanted, with that woman, was more than I could bear. It made me angry and then desperately unhappy.
I saw Joe before he went back to the North.
We went again to the Sailor’s Rest.
He said: “I’m going back tomorrow, Annora. But I shall come up again. I was thinking you might like to pay us a visit. My parents would like to see you.”
“Perhaps I will, Joe.”
“It’s a different life up there, you know.”
“I’m sure of it.”
“I’ve thought a lot about you. I believe you think I am rather weak.”
I was silent for a moment, then I said: “What I think is, Joe, that if you want something, you have to take some action; you have to get it. You can’t let it slip through your fingers. If you do, you’re going to regret it all your life.”
I was speaking for myself really. Joe still had a chance. I had lost mine.
He said: “I shall come back, Annora. Think of me … and then we’ll meet again.”
I knew what he was suggesting. There was a bond of friendship between us. We had always had a fondness for each other. Could it grow to something stronger?
I was thinking: Is this a way of escape? Could I go to the North of England among more hardy, down-to-earth folk? It would be a complete breakaway.
I liked Joe. I was not in love with him by any means. Helena had not been in love with Matthew when she married him. But I was not Helena … and I loved Rolf.
But she had loved John Milward. But had she really? What was it she had said recently: “I don’t think I really loved John so much as what he stood for. He was the only one who had taken notice of me and I loved him for that. He was a symbol to me that I could be attractive too. Perhaps that was what I felt for him and when he deserted me because of his family I thought I was heartbroken because of him … but it wasn’t really so. It was because of what he stood for. Then there was Matthew. I didn’t love him at all but he was so good to me … he’s such a good man. I can help him. I’m happy with him … happier than I ever thought I could be after John had gone.”
That might be how it was with her. It was different with me. I wanted Rolf. I always had. I had thought of him constantly. I had compared everyone with Rolf and they had all seemed wanting.
How greatly he had desired Cador … always. He loved the place. I could see how much he had wanted Cador, just as Uncle Peter wanted power.
They were the sort of men who set out to get what they wanted, letting nothing stand in their way.
John Milward … Joe Cresswell … they were different.
Now I had to stop brooding. Rolf was lost to me forever and I had to go on.
How?
Joe? I could be very fond of Joe. I had liked his parents. I was very fond of his sister Frances. I could picture quite a happy life with Joe … if I could forget Rolf. I had to forget Rolf.
I could devote myself to work in Frances’s Mission. That would be satisfying.
I wanted to start afresh. I had to, because all the time I had been really waiting for Rolf. What I had in my heart been hoping he would do was come to London to woo me, to insist on my returning to Cornwall.
I must have been foolish. I had deserted him on the day I was to have married him and I could not have dealt him a more humiliating blow. It was more than a man could endure.
Besides, it had been Cador he wanted; and he had that now.
Let me be sensible, I prayed. I have been telling Joe that he should be. Now let me tell myself.
I had an income from my mother. I was not rich but on the other hand I was not poor. I was in a position to make a decision. I could not go on drifting.
I must sever all links with Cornwall, I told myself. I will sell Croft Cottage, and then there will be no more temptation to return to it.
When I told Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis of my plans, Uncle Peter said: “You should write to Tamblin. He can see to everything.”
“No,” I said. “I want to arrange the sale myself.”
“My dear girl, you’d have to stay there. You wouldn’t want to do that … not in that little cottage.”
“But I should, Uncle Peter.”
“Wouldn’t you feel unhappy being so close to Cador?” suggested Aunt Amaryllis. “All those memories.”
Midsummer's Eve Page 34
