Sandy was quivering. He raised his head hopefully, and gazed at Burke. “I don’t want to go, Uncle Burke! I want to stay with you.”
“Well, you’re not staying with this — this philanderer! You’re coming with us, so get your coat and come!” Stukely flung the order at him and snatched him from Lesley’s arms.
The boy let out a wail, and Stukely gave him a hard smack on the legs. Burke shot up out of his chair and strode to them.
“You may take him to London, the courts give you that right,” he said, between clenched teeth. “But by God, you will not abuse him! Do you wish my riding crop on you now?”
“He shall not defy me,” said Stukely, and dumped him down hard on the floor. “Come on, Sandy, get your coat,” he attempted to say in a more friendly manner. “Quit the tears, that isn’t being a little man,” and he chucked him hard under the chin. “Come on, Felicia!”
He swept them all before him, chivvied them into hurrying their departure. Guy Janssen went out to the carriage, escorting Denise Huntington who kept casting lingering looks back at Burke.
Viola firmly refused to go. She stood on the lawns in her thin muslin gown and steadfastly refused to enter the carriage. None of her things had been packed, she had refused to allow her maid to pack, and nothing of hers had been put into the carriages. “No, I shall not come, Aunt Felicia,” she kept saying. And Edgar Creswick backed her up quietly.
“She will soon be eighteen, and besides soon Burke Penhallow will be her legal guardian,” he kept saying, and Burke could have blessed him for his cool confidence and faith in him.
Lesley stood like a statue until Sandy was put into the carriage, weeping, held tightly by Aunt Felicia. Then she turned and went into the house, and disappeared into her rooms, not to reappear that day.
Burke felt sick as the carriages drove away. He saw Denise’s white arm waving and waving. He could have cut her into little pieces. That little bitch! All his gifts to her, he thought, and she had acted like that. Women! Especially women like her. He cursed the day he had met her and fallen for her facile charm and beauty.
He cursed even more the reputation he had acquired. He had thought he was hurting nobody by his actions. He had laughed when he was called a rake, and been rather proud to be termed a Corinthian. He had enjoyed entering Vauxhall or a concert hall with a beautiful loose woman on his arm, wearing his gifts. He had enjoyed forgetting the wars and his injuries by bedding a lovely woman. After all, he did not force any girl to his bed, he did not violate virgins, all knew what they were doing. He hurt nobody, he had said to himself.
But someone was paying for his folly — an innocent child. Sandy had been weeping as he had departed, and Burke would not soon forget the reproach in the child’s eyes as he was dragged away. “Uncle Burke, I have been good, I tried to be good. Please, please, don’t let them take me away! Please!”
And, damn it, he had been unable to do a thing!
He turned and walked to the gardens, but their beauty did not soothe him today. He did not see the July flowers, the bright beauty of the gladioli in crimson, the purple pansies and the yellow, the varicoloured roses in the rose garden near the gazebo. He paused at the summerhouse, gazed out over the lake. He had even lingered here one day laughing and talking with Denise because she was amusing and lovely to look at, and flattering to his ego.
Damn it! Lesley, shrew though she could be, was honest. And she was right. Burke had played right into Denise’s lovely hands, and into those of the Stukelys. He had encouraged her to think he would return to her, she had whispered intimately to him, urged him to her bed. He had laughed, and not gone, and been proud of his loyalty to his wife, though he had not yet won Lesley to his bed. And all the time ... God, all the time ... Denise had been plotting with the Stukelys for his downfall! That scene last night ... God, he had fallen right into her trap! But what else could he have done? He had never dreamed he would have to lock his door against a female guest!
Lesley slowly recovered from her extreme shock and fury, and began to recover her wits. Pacing her rooms, frowning, she began to think what she could do about Sandy. She finally went down in the afternoon to tea, and to face Burke.
Viola was there, she had been weeping, her eyes were red. She started up from her place behind the tea table.
“Take that place, it is yours, sister,” she said.
Lesley shook her head impatiently. “Pray, continue to pour, Viola. Just black tea for me, thank you. Burke, I wish to return to London.”
He had risen politely at her entrance, his eyes dark and unfathomable as he gazed at her. Reverend Edgar Creswick began to shake his head and exclaim. “No, that would not do, you must let the law work its course —”
“I will not try to snatch Sandy from them,” said Lesley, with composure. She accepted the cup of tea and seated herself in an armchair near to Viola. “I wish to be near Sandy, and see him as often as they will permit me. At least I can be sure he is all right.”
Burke hesitated, then shook his head. “I think they will be more careful now,” he said. “I have written to my solicitors. They must go to work at once, to get Sandy for us legally. No matter what happened here, Sandy belongs to us by Alexander’s will, they cannot get round that.”
“How long will it take?” she asked. She felt an almost unnatural composure, half-sick with weariness and sleeplessness as she was.
“I don’t know, my dear,” he said, gently. “We must be patient and wait. August is almost on us, London will be extremely hot and uncomfortable. Let us remain here, and in September or October...”
She blocked out what he was saying, gazing down at her cup. He did not want to help. No matter what he said, he did not really care about Sandy, or he would let her go to London. She rose abruptly, set down the cup, and went out of the open French windows into the garden.
She thought he exclaimed when she left the room. She did not remain, she could not. She walked for a time, then found a bench beside the lake. She did not wish to sit in the gazebo, remembering Burke and Denise flirting there.
Viola came to her presently, sat down beside her silently. She was a comfort. Lesley finally said, brokenly, “He is so young.”
“I know, dear. But he is sturdy and strong. I told him to be very good and guard his tongue, and we will come for him as soon as we can,” said Viola firmly. Lesley reached for her hand, her sister clasped it.
The days crawled past. Lesley would waken, think she would go up to the nursery this morning and play with Sandy — only to remember he was not up there. She would go to the kitchen, find they had fresh strawberries for luncheon, think of Sandy’s pleasure — only to remember he was in London.
She went driving in the carriage, alone. She would not go with Burke. She did not want to speak to him, to listen to him, to share his problems and thoughts. She felt cold and furious with him, she thought she hated him. He had acted so despicably that they had taken Sandy away! She would never forgive him.
Freddie waved vigorously from an apple orchard where he was working with some young boys. He ran over to the carriage, which she had ordered to stop.
She climbed down to talk to him for a time. “How are you, Freddie?”
“Slick as grease,” replied that young man cheerfully. He beamed at her from his fuller face. “Gaining weight like a young pig, that’s me!”
She had to smile. He gazed up at her shrewdly. “You lost your boy, young Sandy, huh?” he said.
She nodded, her lips trembled. “We have to wait for the courts, Freddie. They might not give ... him ... to us...”
“Sure they will. You got money to take care of him. You’re nice and smell good. And Mr Penhallow —” he pronounced it almost “penlow” — “he’s a good bloke, and can use his fists. You’ll get him back, right enough!”
“I wish I could be so sure,” she said, strangely comforted by his confidence.
“Why won’t they?” demanded Freddie.
She thought. “Bec
ause he has money from his father, and they want it,” she said bluntly.
“Oh. That. Money. Yes, folks’ll do ’bout anything for the blunt.” He nodded wisely, his black eyes narrowed. “Anything I can do, you tells me, huh? I knows London like me own hand, I does.”
“Thank you, Freddie.” She accepted his offer in the spirit in which it was given.
She told the others about the encounter at dinner time; it helped fill in the silences. Burke nodded. “I’ll bet that young rascal knows all London,” he said. “He ran the streets there, he’ll know every corner of it, every criminal, every hideout!”
“His foster mother complained about him to me at first,” said Reverend Edgar Creswick, with a reminiscent smile. “She said he was teaching her young brood every foul word and idea in his young mind! But recently she came and said he was doing fine. It seems he has a fine sense of justice, and keeps settling the young boys when they quarrel. It wouldn’t surprise me if he could become a little lawyer!”
“A lawyer? But he must come from a good family, must he not?” asked Viola. “Can a poor boy become a lawyer?”
“If he has the right education,” said Edgar, nodding. “Hmm, Viola, my dear, you give me an idea. I think I shall discuss his education with the headmaster. If he is doing well ... and I believe he is ... we shall find a way to further his education, and send him to a good school — as soon as I can clean up his vocabulary!”
Lesley stirred herself to become interested in this. It was something to think about, to forget for a moment the pain of Sandy’s loss. “If it is a question of money, I would be glad to undertake his schooling, Reverend Creswick,” she said. “It would certainly be a worthy cause. With his youthful knowledge of the London streets and what causes young boys to go criminal, he would have an advanced understanding of the criminal ways.”
“I also would be glad to be of assistance,” said Burke, showing some relief that Lesley was speaking naturally at the table. He smiled across the table at her, at the glow of interest in her face. “One of your chicks will do quite well, Lesley! I well remember how you kept after Alexander and me, trying to get us to toe the mark!”
“I did not succeed in reforming you, did I?” she snapped bitterly.
A dull flush crept into his tanned cheeks. There was a long awkward silence as Viola stared at her sister, appalled.
Reverend Creswick finally changed the subject. Dinner crawled on, and they left the table with relief.
Lesley excused herself and retired promptly to her room. She could not endure long being in the same room with Burke. She blamed him bitterly for what had happened.
She paced the room, cursing under her breath, fists clenched. The calm had passed, she thought of ways of rescuing Sandy, snatching him away.
The next afternoon, Viola spoke to her about the anger between her and Burke. In the garden Lesley was strolling with Viola and with Edgar Creswick, watching their flashes of glances between them, glimpses of smiles, brief handclasps.
There was a quiet, calm joy which Lesley envied. Their minds met, their hands met, they looked at each other in harmony and peace. There was a sweet, good love between them, of two fine people whose values were the same, whose hearts had come to beat as one, and she envied them. She felt such jealousy, such hurt, such rage whenever she thought of Burke and Denise, of Burke and his other mistresses. And to think ... she was married to him ... did it have to be for ever?
Edgar had only his living, but Viola did not care. Viola was an heiress, and he did not mind that. It would smooth her path, that was all that mattered. He did not want her to lack for anything that pleased her. For himself, he could live in the same suit for twenty years and it would not trouble him. His mind was on higher matters, and his people mattered much to him. He was gentle, intelligent and kind. That was what attracted Viola to him.
“Lesley, my dear, it troubles us very much, the way you speak to Burke and your coldness to him,” said Viola bravely. “I know you must blame him for what happened to Sandy.” And she looked at her sister with troubled gaze.
Lesley nodded. “Yes, I do,” she said bluntly.
“But he claims she came to him, he did not go to her. Certainly he was not in her bedroom.”
“No, too many others were in bedrooms nearby,” said Lesley frigidly. “It was safer in our wing, I expect. Must we discuss the matter? I find it disgusting.”
Edgar and Viola exchanged a look. Edgar said quietly, “He is my friend, I find he has a good sense of honour and truth. If he does something wrong, he is frank to admit it. This time, he claims that though they did ... hmm ... have an affair in the past, that affair was over on his engagement. He did not ask her to come, he did not wish her to come. I believe him.”
“He must be indeed happy to have such a devoted, trusting friend,” said Lesley coldly. She stopped, as though to turn about to leave them.
Viola said hastily, “Do not leave us, sweetest sister. Pray, walk with us, in the cool of the afternoon now that the sun has gone towards the horizon. We will speak of what you will.”
She shook her head. She saw Burke coming towards them from the apple orchards, swinging his cane. She said, “I will see you at dinner,” and departed, leaving them pointedly as Burke came.
She went into the house, to her rooms, and sat with a book for a time. She did not turn a page. Presently Netta came to lay out her dress for dinner. She changed mechanically and realized she was wearing the low-cut white silk. Netta had set out the ruby pendant with the diamonds. Lesley stared at it, touched it with her finger.
“No, not this one. The gold locket only,” she said, sighing, and Netta silently changed the jewels, putting the pendant in its leather case.
Lesley could not bring herself to wear the ruby heart, Burke’s gift, “to the virtuous wife”, she thought bitterly.
CHAPTER 11
The August sunshine woke everyone early these days. Lesley would lie awake for a time, then rise, and dress listlessly. There was little for her to fill her days, she felt cold and numb. She worried about Sandy, her thoughts were constantly of him. In the weeks they had spent together recently, she had come to feel very close to him, almost as his mother. She had a strange feeling that all was not well with him, and it troubled her.
If only Burke would allow her to go to London! She had asked again, curtly, twice, and he had refused her, angrily the last time. “You will remain here! I must complete the work of the summer, until harvest. Lesley, do not pester me about this! I am as worried about him as you are, but we will be there in the autumn ... the solicitors will take care of the matter...”
She had turned and walked away from him, wishing she could strike him. He was big and strong, he could take care of himself. He was not a small six-year-old child, at the mercy of a brutal man and an indifferent woman.
She dressed in the white muslin, she thought by noon it would be quite warm. Perhaps she would ride out today and find Freddie to talk to. His cheerful face and quick speech amused her, what a brave little soul he was! He was rapidly learning to read, even though school had not yet started. One of the older boys was teaching him.
Lesley went down to breakfast, moving slowly on the wide staircase, her long fingers caressing the rosewood railing. She moved like a shadow. The footman lounging in the hallway came alert as she neared the bottom of the stairs, snapped to attention and moved to open the door to the breakfast room. She bowed her head, murmured, “Thank you.”
They were laughing as she entered. Viola and Edgar and Burke — laughing. The laughter died on Burke’s face as she entered, and he stood politely. Laughing ... and Sandy alone and tormented in London...
She moved to her chair, the footman held it for her. She sank down. “Just tea, thank you,” she said.
“Lesley, you must eat! You are more thin by the day,” said Burke bluntly. He ordered the footman to fill a plate for her. Lesley stared down at the food, it made her half-sick to see it. Was Sandy eating, or did they ha
ve him on bread and water again?
After a pause caused by her entrance, the conversation continued. Edgar was speaking about a family in his parish, she dimly realized. Burke then spoke of his work. He hesitated, glanced at her anxiously.
“Lesley, I should like for you to ride out today with me,” he said at last.
She did not look up. She shook her head blindly. She sipped at her tea, the warmth helped dispel the chill that was inside her.
Burke’s face turned to stone. He rose, flung down his napkin and departed.
Viola said, “You cannot carry on like this for ever! Lesley, dearest, we shall soon be going to London —”
“When?” she asked, looking up eagerly. “This week?” Had Burke considered taking them earlier?
“No ... no, I mean in a month or two...” Viola looked anxiously at Edgar.
Lesley drooped again in her chair. A month, two months ... what would happen to Sandy in that time? She remembered the cowed, frightened child they had rescued, the child who had clung desperately to her in silence on the ride from London. The cuts on his legs, the heavy purple bruises that had not faded for weeks.
“Lesley! Lesley!” Viola spoke to her more strongly.
She finally listened. “What is it?”
“We are riding out today in the carriage, Edgar and I,” and Viola gave him a fond look. “We shall ride about the parish for the morning, and take luncheon at the mill. Do come, dearest, do come with us. You know you like the mill. And it is such a beautiful day. Come along and we will laugh and be happy today.”
Laugh and be happy ... when Sandy was shut in his dark damp rooms...
“No, thank you,” she said politely. “Do go and enjoy yourselves.” And some bitterness crept into her tone. Even they did not understand.
The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Page 13
