The child’s name was Patrick; and he was Edward’s son.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Clara said, flatly, her voice tightly controlled.
‘Then you ignore the evidence of your eyes.’ Maria’s words were cold. The child sat, all but lost in the depths of a leather armchair, his eyes moving uncomprehendingly from one face to another, ill-concealed anxiety making the soft lips tremble. Impulsively Jessica crossed the room and perched on the arm of his chair, smiling reassuringly at him. The child smiled back, a little wanly, the blue eyes understandably wary. Straight-backed upon a chair by the library’s tall window sat the elderly woman who had brought him. She looked exhausted and far from well, but her eyes were calm as she studied the faces about her.
‘Oh, the child is his,’ Clara conceded. ‘A byblow. A bastard. He isn’t the first and he won’t be the last. It’s this talk of a marriage that I dispute. It’s palpable nonsense.’
‘I am assured it happened,’ Maria said quietly.
Clara glanced in disdain at the woman by the window. ‘And the proof?’
‘—is evidently in Cambridge. In the church register and in the testimony of the priest who married them.’
‘You surely aren’t taking her word for that?’
Maria made an impatient gesture. ‘Of course not. I have already sent an urgent message to Sir Charles Sanders, our solicitor. He will be here within the week. In the meantime—’ Maria surveyed the faces about her calmly, ‘—I intend to visit Cambridge myself to make preliminary enquiries.’
Clara lifted her head sharply, frowning, her expression quarrelsome. But as she started to speak Giles, who had until now barely said a word, said suddenly, ‘Be still, Clara.’
She turned angry eyes upon him, and he shook his head. ‘Be still!’ he said again, his voice tense.
Clara took a sharp breath. ‘If you think I’m going to sit by whilst a chit of a child—’
For a moment it looked as if Giles might strike her. Ignoring the onlookers he caught her wrist and hauled her to her feet where she stood, unafraid, glaring, equally as angry as he. ‘This is Edward’s son!’ Giles said, the words grating harshly. ‘Look at him! Edward’s son! There’s no doubt!’ His fingers still in painful grip on his wife’s wrist he swung to look down at the frightened child. ‘Edward’s son!’ he said again, very quietly.
‘Edward’s bastard,’ Clara snapped.
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not.’ Giles let go of her wrist and his hand dropped to his side. ‘I’m not sure that it matters.’ The words held a weary contempt that to Jessica seemed directed as much at himself as at Clara.
Clara stared at him incredulously. ‘You aren’t going to accept this? You aren’t going to give up all we’ve done, all we’ve fought for, for this – this brat?’
Maria was watching them both narrowly, making no attempt to interrupt or interfere.
Giles’ face was like granite. ‘If the story is true – if Edward did marry this girl secretly – if the child is legitimate – then we have no alternative.’
‘And if he did? A runaway marriage – Edward was under age! A student!’
‘That would neither invalidate the marriage nor affect the legitimacy of the child,’ Maria put in, quietly.
Beside herself Clara swung on her. ‘Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you ? Well let me tell you this—’ she stepped forward, rage bringing colour to her clear-cut, striking face, ‘—if you think I’m going to be cheated of my rights you can think again, Mother-in-Law! And if you think that I’d trust you – you! – to go to Cambridge alone to verify this story then you must be mad!’
Maria drew herself up, her face a mask of chill outrage. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Clara was beyond discretion or control. ‘Do you think I don’t know that you’d do anything – anything! – to get your hands on this house again—?’
‘Are you suggesting that I conjured the boy out of mid-air?’ The calm voice was icy, ‘Are you – can you be? – suggesting that I could possibly be party to some kind of conspiracy? Beware what you say, Clara.’ She turned to her son. ‘Giles. Please control your wife. She’s behaving like a fishwife.’
Clara was trembling. ‘I won’t let you do this,’ she said. ‘I won’t!’
‘Clara, be quiet.’ Giles turned abruptly and took two long strides to the table upon which stood a decanter half-full of brandy. With a jerky movement he poured himself a glass and tossed it back in one movement.
‘Giles—!’ Clara began, impatiently.
He spun on her, levelling a finger. ‘Quiet I say!’ and the dangerous force of the words struck her for an unexpected moment to silence. Giles poured himself another drink. Then he strode to where the old woman satr, watching him. ‘You say that my brother married your daughter nine years ago, whilst he was a student at Cambridge?’
‘Yes. The child is nearly ten years old.’ There was neither servility nor fear in her voice.
‘And his mother is now dead?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ There was a small silence. The woman looked at Maria. ‘He was a handsome lad, your boy. Handsome, and kind – or so he appeared. He and our girl seemed made for each other. And then—’ She paused for a moment, shaking her head, her face bitter. There was another moment of quiet. ‘When Anne told her father, he all but killed her. He couldn’t stand the disgrace. The shame. He threw her from the house.’
‘She was breeding?’ Giles asked, bluntly.
The woman nodded. ‘She was desperate. She went to your brother’s rooms. She took his razor and she cut open her wrists.’
Jessica made a small, stifled sound. No one else stirred.
‘He found her. Just in time. He swore he hadn’t known about the child until then.’ Jessica remembered Edward – gay, warm, lovingly impulsive. What else would he have done in such circumstances but marry the girl?
‘They loved each other.’ The woman was looking down at her clasped hands. ‘Anne didn’t want your money. She didn’t want anything to do with you. She wanted him. She wanted a father for her son.’
‘And so – you say – they married?’
‘Yes. He warned her that the marriage would have to remain a secret. At least until he came of age.’
‘And she didn’t mind that?’
‘Mind? Of course not.’ The woman lifted her head, looked Giles in the eye steadily. ‘I keep telling you. She wanted none of this. None of it. She wasn’t stupid. She understood. If he’d brought her here what would have happened? Would you have accepted her?’
Clara was staring in clear disbelief.
‘She had a house and she had some money. She had her child, who she loved more than anything else in the, world. Even when she realized that his father would probably never openly acknowledge their marriage – even when she began to suspect that one day he would find some reason to deny it, she would never even consider coming to you. She was afraid of you. She knew that the least that would happen if she came to you was that she would lose the child. She knew enough of the ways of the gentry to be sure of that. And at the worst she feared you’d find some way to disprove the marriage, to make of her boy a bastard.’
‘But you’ve brought him to us now?’
She shrugged tiredly. ‘Needs must. She’s dead. And I’m dying.’
Jessica heard the sharp intake of the child’s breath beside her. She put out a hand and he took it.
‘The money’s gone. There’s no one to care for him. She came to me at the last. Now I bring him to you, for the alternative is the parish, and we all know what that means. God will watch how you deal with him.’ She fell to silence, her breathing heavy and difficult. Her eyes were on Maria.
‘He’s Edward’s son,’ Maria said. ‘We’ll deal with him well, I promise you.’
‘This is absurd!’ Clara spun on her heels and marched to the door. ‘Have you all taken leave of your senses?’
The child watched her with fearful eyes, his hand clutching Jessica’s. She squeezed it reassuringly.
‘Edward’s dead!’ Clara snapped, and the words were for Giles. ‘Dead! And nothing can bring him back. New Hall is yours by right. Fight for it! Or by God, I will!’
Giles was upon her in a movement of such violence that the child clutched at Jessica’s hand, frightened. Giles grabbed his wife’s shoulders, shaking her savagely. ‘By Christ! One of these days I swear I’ll—’
‘Giles! Clara!’ Maria’s command cut like a knife.
Giles let go of his wife and swung to face his mother. Clara rubbed her arms where he had bruised her with his grip, breathing heavily. There was a long tense moment of silence. Then Giles caught his furious wife’s arm and propelled her through the door, slamming it behind them.
Jessica was watching her mother. Maria sat still as stone for a moment, her eyes upon the closed door, and in them a gleam of something close to triumph. Jessica could stand it no longer; sick at heart she forced a smile, bending to the child. ‘Do you like marzipan?’
Wordless he nodded.
She stood up briskly. ‘Then follow me. I know where Cook keeps her secret store!’ She was well rewarded by a brilliant, tremulous smile before the child followed her to the door. As she opened it she glanced back. Her mother had moved to the window where she stood beside the other woman, a reassuring hand upon her shoulder. Tiredly the sick woman looked up, and Maria smiled. Deep within Jessica some unease moved. She turned away, holding out her hand to the boy. Trustingly he took it. And, troubled, she found herself wondering how long, in the hostile and suspicious atmosphere that had invaded her home, his innocence could last.
The next day Maria, accompanied by Patrick’s grandmother, left for Cambridge. The boy stayed at the house, cared for by a happily fussing Lucy. He cut a subdued and pathetic little figure, the immediate uncertainties of his young life quelling spirits that Jessica suspected might under more normal circumstances be cheerily high. She spent the first morning with him, walking in the park with Bran after breakfast and then taking him up to her own rooms to see if she might find in the schoolroom trunks something of interest to keep him occupied – and out of Clara’s way – for the rest of the day.
‘Poor little mite,’ Lucy said. ‘All alone in the world at such an age!’
Jessica had had a lifetime to accustom her to the apparent omniscience of servants; it did not surprise her in the least that Patrick’s circumstances were apparently already common knowledge in the household.
‘Strange business, though – Mr Edward being married, like—?’ Lucy cast a look of tentative enquiry.
‘We don’t know that he was,’ Jessica said, briskly. ‘And there again, we don’t know that he wasn’t. That is what must be established.’
Lucy, busying herself about the bed, allowed herself a small uncharacteristically mischievous smile. ‘No doubt about the other, though, eh?’
Jessica looked at her, puzzled.
‘Two peas in a pod,’ Lucy said, nodding knowingly. ‘Everyone’s sayin’ it—’
Jessica sighed, knowing she should reprimand the girl: but to what purpose? Gossip and rumour must be flying about the house like dust. There was no way to stop it – no way either to prevent it spreading further. Such a choice morsel, no doubt suitably embellished, would be county property in no time. Who could blame Lucy for being intrigued? She bent over the trunk, rummaging amongst the well-worn books of her childhood.
‘You’ll be goin’ to see Mr Robert, I expect?’ Lucy asked, conversationally.
Jessica straightened in surprise. ‘Robert? Of course not. He’s at Oxford.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘Bin home for two or three days,’ she said. ‘Not bin well, so Mary Baldock says. Talk of him not goin’ back.’
‘Surely not?’ Jessica’s brows furrowed.
‘So Mary Baldock says.’ Lucy quoted Old Hall’s kitchen maid as an unimpeachable source.
Jessica hefted a book in her hand. ‘I wonder why he didn’t send to tell me? Yes – perhaps I will pop over there. This afternoon.’ She looked in sharp concern at Lucy. ‘He’s ill, you say?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘That’s what they say. Though Mary said he seems all right to her. Just a bit down, she thought. It’s all that learnin’ if you ask me. Enough to put anyone under the weather.’ And with that gem of wisdom she left, her arms full of bed linen.
Jessica rode to Old Hall after luncheon. She found Robert in the Old Drawing Room, hunched into a chair, staring into space.
‘Robert? Whatever’s wrong? Why didn’t you let me know you were home?’
He turned his head, his reverie broken. ‘Oh. Hello Jessica.’
She was taken aback by the look of him. Always pale, his skin now had an odd, unnatural translucence and was drawn across bones so fragile-looking that they might have been made of glass. ‘You look awful,’ she said, with the childish directness of close friendship.
‘Thanks.’ He smiled a little.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’
He shrugged. ‘I haven’t been all that well.’
‘All that Well? You look—’ she stopped. ‘What is it? What’s wrong with you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘But—’
He lifted an impatient hand. ‘Nothing now. Jessie, don’t fuss. I’ve been unwell. Now I’m better. Just – a bit tired—’
She watched him, frowning, not sure how far to trust his reassurances. ‘How long are you home for? The rest of term?’
‘At least that. Possibly for good.’
‘For good! But Robert – why on earth—?’
‘Jessica, please!’ His voice held a grating edge of nerves. ‘I asked you not to fuss! I’ve been ill. I’m all right now. But it may be better if I don’t go back to Oxford. I don’t know yet. Now. I’d like to talk about something else, if you don’t mind.’
She surveyed him for a moment longer, her eyes still worried, then, shrugging a little, she plumped into a chair opposite him, by the fire. ‘Well, there’s certainly something else to talk about!’
He listened to her story with astonishment and gradually reviving interest.
‘Edward’s son? His legitimate son?’
‘So it seems. So the old woman says. And – oh, Robert, when you see him, you’ll believe it! You remember the picture in the dining room? The one of Edward and Giles as children? Patrick is the image – the very image – of Edward. It’s quite astonishing. And he’s such a sweet little boy—’
‘I doubt my sister thinks so.’
Jessica sobered. ‘No. She doesn’t.’
Robert shook his head. ‘Trouble, trouble and more trouble,’ he said, quietly. ‘Keep out of it, Jessica, if you can. Trouble like this is like the rising of a flood. It can drown anyone who’s near.’
Unsurprisingly Robert’s words proved all too prophetic. As they waited for Maria’s return and for the arrival of Sir Charles Sanders the family solicitor, trouble did indeed appear to be rising like a flood in the house. Clara’s mood was foul. And Giles, apparently abandoning his duties on the estate, had to all intents and purposes so far as Jessica could see given up eating in favour of drinking. He was seldom sober. His and Clara’s angry voices, raised sometimes but equally often fiercely and implacably quiet echoed in the rooms and corridors of the great house. Late on the afternoon of the second day after Maria’s departure Giles stormed from the house, setting his horse at the drive like a cavalry charge. Jessica watched him go from her window high in the west wing. In a Christian attempt to keep Clara from Patrick she had had the child installed in a small room near hers, to motherly Lucy’s delight. Over the past days Jessica and Patrick had become wary friends; but his heart was given to Lucy, and hers to him. Jessica could not bring herself to blame him. Though he said nothing she was sure he understood all too well what was going on, and at least part of what hung on its outcome; and she, for all her efforts must for the time being anyway be ranked with the enemy in the child’s sensitive mind. Lucy carried no such stigma. As Jessica watched her brother gallop wildly down the drive and wondered wearily what new crisis had triggered such a departure she could hear Lucy and the child laughing in the other room as they played a simple card game that involved much shouting and slapping down of cards.
Giles did not return for dinner, which in accordance with the new order was served at six o’clock. Clara sat, frigidly silent across the table from a Jessica who after a few desultory attempts at polite conversation gave up and ate in silence also. She was glad to escape to her rooms after a brief and barely civil farewell from her sister-in-law. Outside the wind was rising. In no way unhappy with the solitary comfort of her small, familiar sitting room she settled back before the fire. Patrick was asleep in his little room along the corridor and Lucy, who for so many years had slept beyond Jessica’s own open door had, on the understandable plea that the child was restless in a strange house, moved her own truckle bed into the boy’s room where she sat now, within call, sewing and watching the sleeping child. Jessica had reassured her of her own capability of putting herself to bed when the time came; the thought of an uninterrupted evening’s reading was bliss. With a small sigh of relief at the peace of the moment she reached for her favourite book.
Ten years before, with Europe still at war Augustus Von Kotzebue had travelled through Italy, describing in detail her lovely countryside and the treasure-houses of her cities. Jessica had discovered the book some two years before; parts of it she knew almost by heart – ‘the view of Florence, with the surrounding hills and the houses dispersed on them would be accounted by many as unparalleled—’ It had been counted so, she remembered, by Danilo O’Donnel, her Danny, who had sown within her the seeds of a love for a city she had never seen. As she picked up the small book it fell open at a well-worn page. A Florence she had read about so often that she felt as if she knew every street, every church, every sculpture in every gallery, waited in those pages. Smiling, she settled down to read and to dream. The glow of the fire was transmuted to the warmth of a southern sun. Narrow streets, smiling people, the centuries’ store of lovely things – her head nodded, and, sweetly, she slept.
She jumped awake stiff and cold and for the moment completely disorientated. The fire had collapsed to ashes, and those candles that had not died altogether were very low. It must be very late indeed. She stretched her legs gingerly, that had been tucked beneath her and were now painfully cramped. She could not place the sound that had awakened her until it came again – the quiet scrape of a restless horse’s hooves upon the gravel of the drive below. Flinching at the pain in her legs and her stiff back she got up and went to the window. In the flickering light of the windblown cresset by the front door she saw Giles’ horse standing, head down and blowing, a still, shapeless shadow slumped on his back. As she watched the animal danced again, eager to be rid of its burden and safe in a warm stable. Giles – for he it most certainly must be – did not stir. The horse moved again. This time Giles lifted his head, painfully. He was lying sprawled full length upon the horse’s neck, arms dangling limply on either side. God only knew how he had stayed in the saddle this far. Jessica reached for a shawl. She saw her brother, swaying perilously, try to lever himself upright in the saddle, saw him pitch over and disappear from sight. The horse tossed its head and danced dangerously. Flinging her shawl about her shoulders Jessica ran from the room.
She encountered no one in her flight through the house. The world, it seemed, was sleeping. But as she reached the landing above the entrance hall, in which two wall-mounted candelabras threw their elongated, dancing shadows, she stopped. The front door had been opened by a sleepy footman. Giles leaned in the dark opening, his hat gone, his greatcoat muddy, his hair tousled. His fair face was flushed with bright colour. Almost at the foot of the stairs Clara stood poised, dressed in a froth of virgin white lace that hid her slim body from throat to ankle. Her face was still and pale as marble, and venomous with anger.
‘Thank you, Frederick. That will be all.’ Her voice was savagely quiet.
The footman, long past curiosity or question in the matter of his master’s behaviour, mumbled a goodnight and left. Giles swayed, his handsome face lifted defiantly to his wife.
‘Where have you been?’ The question was icy.
‘Drinking,’ Giles said, and grinned belligerently.
‘I can see that, fool!’
‘Mind your tongue, woman.’ Giles was undoubtedly and barbarously drunk.
Clara took a step down, towards him. ‘You’re disgusting!’
He laughed, as if truly amused. ‘Then we make a good pair, my dear. But then, we always did. Two cats in a cage. Two – disgusting – cats in a cage,’ he corrected himself punctiliously.
From where Jessica stood, unseen, on the landing above she could see Clara’s hand trembling upon the smooth wood of the sweeping banister. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’
He too stepped forward, tilting his head further, the candles shining full on the perilous blaze of his face. ‘Well, how dare I?’ he asked, softly, of the ranked portraits that lined the walls. ‘How dare I speak so to the woman who blackmailed me into marriage – who sold her body and her soul for – this!’ He flung out his arms as if to encompass the house and its contents.
Clara stood like a stone, watching him.
His voice grated on, bitter and uncontrolled. ‘Whore!’ he said. ‘WHORE! Are you satisfied now? Are you enjoying your ill-gotten gains?’
‘At least I didn’t kill for them,’ she said, flatly and clearly, pure contempt in the words.
He stood as if she had struck him.
‘Did you hear what I said? I said—’
‘I heard what you said.’ There was violence in the quiet voice. He was advancing on her slowly.
‘—at least I didn’t kill for them,’ she repeated, inexorably spiteful.
He stopped. ‘I didn’t kill him,’ he said. ‘You know I didn’t!’
‘You didn’t save him. You stood, and watched him die. Where’s the difference between that and murder? You let the boat drift away from him. Knowing he couldn’t swim. You left him. Deliberately left him to drown when you could have saved him. I saw you. You know that I saw you!’ The momentary silence that followed the fierce words was terrible. ‘Oh, yes, Giles Hawthorne,’ Clara said softly, ‘you killed your brother.’
‘No!’
‘And I say yes! You know it, and I know it, and I dare you to deny it, you coward! Why else did you marry me but to still my tongue?’
For a moment Giles bowed his head, his shoulders hunched. Clara descended the last couple of steps into the hall. She was smiling now, a small, excited smile that brought a sudden feeling of nausea to Jessica’s stomach. She tried to move, to retreat from this nightmare, and could not.
‘You killed your brother for New Hall.’ There was a taunting in Clara’s manner, like a child that tormented a wild dog for the fearful excitement of it. ‘And you were willing to take me to prevent me from telling what I saw that day. Don’t complain of your bargain now! Don’t dare! I’ll not give up this house! It’s mine by right! And FitzBoltons will inherit it, as they should!’
He lifted his head and stared at her. ‘You’ll do as I tell you, Giles,’ she said, and this time there was no doubt that the taunt was deliberate.
‘Bitch,’ he said, flatly.
She moved closer to him. As she moved the froth of her nightgown drifted and her naked body gleamed in the fitful light. She did nothing to cover herself. Giles clenched and unclenched his big hands, trembling. ‘Bitch!’ he said again, quiet violence threading his voice.
Her eyes glinted. ‘Hit me!’ she said, a fierce excitement in her face. ‘Hit me, damn you!’
He did. He hit her, hard, open handed across the face.
She laughed.
Jessica turned, her hands to her mouth.
‘Again! Hit me again, you pig!’ Clara’s voice was husky with excitement.
With a choked sob Jessica turned and ran, blindly.
Behind her, Clara laughed again, clearly for a second before, suddenly, the sound was smothered.
Jessica could not get up from bed the next morning – could not face a world so suddenly tainted and awry. She had slept hardly at all, and her heavy-eyed pallor easily convinced a worried Lucy that she was in danger of fever and needed rest and care. She lay like a doll, or like a small sick child, staring at the ceiling, in her head the endless repetition of that dreadful scene, the endless echoes of the terrible words.
‘—you killed your brother for New Hall,’ Clara had said, ‘—and you were willing to take me to prevent me from telling what I saw that day—’
And Jessica believed it, could not help but believe it in face of Giles’ anguished and guilty reaction. She lay in silence and utterly alone. In whom could she confide such a secret? The thought of the grief such knowledge would afford her mother was unbearable. John was gone – lost to them all by William Hawthorne’s intransigence. Jessica had not the first idea where he might be or how to find him – and for the first time she understood that even a part of that might be laid at Clara’s door. Clara’s silence, her covert encouragement of John’s Catholic leanings, had not been for his benefit but for her own. Edward dead – John disowned and disgraced – Giles the only son left, the Hawthorne fortune his and his alone. No wonder Clara had done nothing to discourage John!
Jessica tossed uncomfortably in her bed.
‘Here, my love—’ Lucy supported her head and held a small spouted cup to her lips. ‘This will help you sleep, poor lamb. Drink it down – tha’ss right
She sipped the drink, sank thankfully back onto her pillows.
‘Jessie?’ A small bright head had appeared at the door. ‘Are you sick?’ Patrick’s face was drawn with worry.
She tried to smile, tried to ignore the stab of pain that the sight of the child brought. ‘I’m all right. I’ll be better soon.’
‘Are you sure?’ He advanced uncertainly to the side of the bed, his wide eyes searching her face. With a pang she realized that in all probability he had watched his own mother die, and very recently. He never spoke of her.
‘I’m sure.’ She put out a hand, and he took it. ‘Do you want to take Bran for a walk for me?’
His face lit like a lamp. ‘Oh, yes please! May I?’
She nodded. The sleeping draught Lucy had given her was taking effect. Her eyelids drooped. The marigold shine of the boy’s hair in the light from the windows blurred as if seen through tears. Somewhere very deep within her a resolution began to form. Giles had let Edward die. This was Edward’s son, legitimate or otherwise. Somewhere here was justice – and Giles, she suddenly thought, remembering the scene in the library, had probably been the first to see it. She tightened her hold on the child’s hand a little. ‘Patrick?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you like it here?’
He hesitated for only a moment. ‘Y-yes.’ He could not keep the doubt from his voice.
‘Would you like to stay here?’
‘I – think so.’
‘If you could have rooms of your own – books to read and toys to play with – Lucy to care for you – Bran to play with—?’
He nodded vigorously. ‘Yes.’
‘A pony?’ She persisted. ‘A pony of your own?’
His eyes had widened.
She closed her eyes, letting the relief of drug-induced sleep seep into her exhausted mind. She felt the child’s hand slip from hers, heard him leave the room quietly. Distantly, hatefully, those words rang again in her ears ‘—you were willing to take me to prevent me from telling what I saw that day—’
She slept at last.
She woke, heavy-eyed and unhappy late in the afternoon. Her sleep had been haunted by dreams she did not wish to remember, and the worst nightmare of all – the truth – crouched waiting for her as she awoke. But one thing had come to her, one small grain of comfort. She was not, after all, entirely alone. Robert was home. Robert would help her, as he always had. Robert would know what was best to be done.
The thought once lodged she wanted to act upon it. She threw the bedclothes back just as Lucy came quietly into the room. ‘Goodness, Miss Jess! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m getting up. I have to see Robert.’
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Firm hands pushed her back. ‘You’ll catch your death, the state you’re in!’
‘You don’t understand, Lucy – I have to see him. At once!’
Lucy shook her head. Slow she might be, but her mind once made up was not easily unmade. ‘Over my dead body you’ll go out there! Ha’ you seen that weather?’ The afternoon was bleak and threatening. The wind gusted still, rattling the windowpanes. ‘The very idea!’
Jessica, truly distressed, sucked her lip and fought against childish tears. The thought of clear-headed, dependable Robert had come like a ray of light in a dark world. She had to talk to him. She could not endure the long hours of another night solitary with her grim discovery. She had to talk to someone. ‘Lucy – please! I can’t explain, but it really is important. I have to see Robert.’ In her agitation she had caught the older girl’s hand. ‘If I send a note, will you make sure he gets it?’
Lucy patted the hand that clasped hers. ‘You know well I will. I’ll fetch paper, and a pen.’ At the door she stopped, and turned. ‘My head’s like a sieve! I forgot to say – Mr Giles sent to ask after you and to ask if you’d be joining them at dinner this evening?’
Jessica actually felt the blood drain from her face. Panic rose, choking her. The mere thought of facing those two – of ever having to face them again – brought a lift of physical. ‘No!’ she said, and then again, ‘No! I don’t want anything!’
Lucy nodded placidly. ‘I’ll let them know in the kitchen. They’ll send up a tray.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Jessica laid back on her pillows. Robert. She needed Robert. ‘Bring the paper and pen, Lucy. And – please – hurry?’
It was early evening when he came. A tray had been sent up, and sent back untouched. Von Kotzebue’s little book, usually a solace for all ills, lay upon Jessica’s lap, fallen open at the pages that she usually perused so eagerly. She had insisted on dressing and had resolutely refused Lucy’s offer of another sleeping draught. Remembering the desperation of the note she had sent she swung between certainty that Robert would come this evening and equal certainty that he would, very sensibly, decide not to brave the darkness and the bad weather but come in the morning. Guiltily she remembered that he had not been well. Supposing he came, and in coming made himself sick again? Frowning, she nibbled her thumb and glowered into the fire.
Lucy drew the curtains and lit more lamps to dispel the darkness. Usually Jessica loved the atmosphere of this little sitting room with its small windows and sloping ceiling, but tonight she found it oppressive. She wished she had gone to Old Hall. Perhaps she might have persuaded the FitzBoltons to let her stay there? Perhaps she might never have come back? She knew the thought was childish, but that was what she wanted – the need that was growing: to get away. For ever. She shifted in her chair, staring into the flames, her mouth a set and unhappy line.
‘You’ve not eaten a thing all day—’ Grumbling good-naturedly Lucy moved about the room, plumping pillows, straightening curtains, fussing with the fire. ‘—you’ll not get better if you don’t eat, Miss Jess, I’m tellin’ you that. A chill’s what you’ve got, I reckon – feed a chill, starve a fever, that’s what they say—’
Jessica did not reply; indeed she barely heard the words. Somewhere in a small corner of her mind the first germ of an idea had stirred. An outrageous idea. But yet—
Abruptly she stood up and peered into the mirror that hung above the mantle. A small pale face looked back, freckled faintly still despite all Lucy’s efforts with lemon juice and pastes. Her eyes weren’t bad. Her hair was awful. Exasperatedly she poked at it with a finger. It resolutely refused to curl smoothly and so the fashionable short styles – that of course suited Caroline as if specifically designed for her – were completely out of the question. The only way to keep it under control at all was to scrape it into a bun at the nape of her neck – and even then it flew like mousey wire about her head the moment she moved.
Lucy had stopped her fussing and was watching her in surprise. Jessica bit her lips as she had seen Caroline do, to redden them. ‘Lucy? Am I very ugly?’
Lucy laughed outright. ‘Why bless you, no—!’ She stopped as a shadow moved in the doorway. Jessica jumped, and sudden colour rose in her cheeks.
‘Robert! You – startled me!’ She turned and held out her hands. ‘I’m sorry to have brought you out on such a night. But I had to see you – and Lucy wouldn’t let me out! Thank you so much for coming!’
He advanced into the light. ‘How could I not? I never read such a desperate plea! What’s happened? Have the French after all landed on the Suffolk coast?’ The walk across the park had brought colour to his cheeks and the wind had ruffled his neat hair. She had never been so thankful to see anyone. He took her proffered hands and, whimsically, carried them to his lips.
She smiled a little, and blushed again. Lucy was watching her narrowly.
‘Lucy – take Mr Robert’s coat. And bring something – Robert, what would you like? Something to warm you?’
He shrugged lightly, slipped neatly from his greatcoat. ‘A glass of wine would be more than acceptable.’
‘A glass – a bottle – of wine.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ Lucy hovered by the door.
Jessica looked at her sharply. ‘Off you go, Lucy.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ She left, leaving the door ajar.
Robert chuckled a little. ‘Your mother hen doesn’t trust me.’
Jessica turned away from him to hide the deep colour that she knew had risen again in her face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, lightly. She settled herself, straight-backed in one of the small armchairs, waved him to the other.
He sat forward, elbows on knees, face suddenly intent. ‘Well, now – what is all this? What’s so desperate as to bring me through wind and rain to a distressed damsel’s side?’
She shook her head. ‘It isn’t funny, Robert. Truly it isn’t. It’s awful.’ She paused. ‘I had to talk to someone. Had to talk to you. I’ve got something terrible to tell you. And something – something very important to ask you.’
He leaned back, his eyes concerned and questioning despite the lightness of his manner. ‘Well here I am.’
She indicated the still-open door. ‘Wait. Wait till Lucy’s gone.’
He lifted a hand and nodded agreement. They sat in silence as Lucy reappeared, bearing a tray upon which stood a bottle of wine and two glasses. She was puffing a little from the stairs. She put the tray down with a clatter. ‘There’ll be murder done between me and that Frenchie one of these days, just mark my words. I nearly had to fight him for it, that I did!’
Jessica smiled. ‘Thank you, Lucy.’
Lucy hovered.
‘You can go and see to Patrick now.’
‘But—’
‘Lucy!’ There was exasperation in the word. ‘If I need you I’ll call. I want to talk to Robert privately.’
‘Yes, Miss.’ Grudgingly she left, closing the door behind her.
Robert poured the wine and handed Jessica a glass. She held it, not tasting it. To her surprise he drank his thirstily and poured another. She waited for him to sit down. Faced with the moment words had suddenly deserted her.
‘Now then,’ he sat down, watching her, ‘tell Uncle Robert all about it.’
She told him, carefully and with restraint, not looking at him, watching instead the dance of the firelight in the depths of the glass she held in her shaking hands. Once or twice her voice almost failed her, and she struggled to control tears. As faithfully as she could she repeated word for word the conversation she had overheard, tried to describe the scene as she remembered it. After a first, small shocked movement he remained very still and quiet, not interrupting, saying nothing to ease the fraught silences when once or twice she choked to speechlessness. By the time she finished she could not despite her best efforts control her tears.
‘God in heaven,’ Robert said, simply. Then, practically, ‘Drink your wine. Just a little.’
Trembling uncontrollably she tried to obey, but the wine slopped over the side of the glass and spilled onto the fine wool of her gown like blood. Gently he reached and took the glass from her.
‘What am I to do?’ she asked, desolately. ‘Oh, Robert – what am I to do?’
He knelt beside her, supporting her, an arm about her shoulders. ‘Poor little thing,’ he said, softly. ‘Poor little Jess.’
She was sobbing now. He held her gently until the crying eased. Eventually she pulled away from him, dashing a hand across her eyes. ‘I’m – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.’
He sat back on his heels, his face sombre. ‘Who can blame you? What a pickle, eh?’
She nodded. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘No.’
She looked at him, her tear-streaked face woebegone. ‘I can’t stay here! I can’t! I can’t face them – can’t bear to see them—’
‘Will you tell anyone? Anyone else, I mean?’
She shook her head in desperation. ‘I don’t know! Oh, Robert – you can see that I can’t tell Mama? It would kill her! And anyway—’ she stopped.
‘They’d deny it,’ he finished.
‘Yes. I haven’t any proof, have I? And – what could Giles actually be accused of? He didn’t save Edward. Well, we all knew that, didn’t we? What we didn’t know was that he acted deliberately. That would surely be impossible to prove?’
He nodded.
‘There’s just one thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Patrick. If there’s any justice in this world then that marriage will be proved. If there’s any doubt – any doubt at all – that Giles will accept it then I’ll tell him.’
‘Tell him what you heard?’
‘Yes.’ Her face was set in stubborn lines. ‘I may not have proof, and he may be able to deny it. But it would make life very unpleasant for him if I told what I heard, wouldn’t it?’
‘There’s little doubt of that.’ Robert’s voice was dry.
‘If I told Mama, she’d move heaven and earth to disinherit Giles, and he must know it.’
Robert nodded.
‘So at least if I have to I can use it as a weapon. For Patrick.’ She hesitated. ‘For Edward.’
He nodded. He was watching her with a small glint of surprised admiration in his eyes.
She rose and walked to the fireplace where she stood looking into the flames, her arms folded across her breasts. Then she took a long, slow breath and turned. ‘I’ll have that wine now.’ Her smile was weak, but it brought an answering one from him. He handed her the glass. Steadily she took it, and as steadily drank. ‘Thank you for listening.’
He smiled and shrugged the thanks away, gracefully. Then he looked at her. ‘You said you had a question?’
Abruptly she turned from him.
He smiled. ‘Well? Fire away.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’ Her voice was faint, all her calm again deserting her.
He surveyed her back, puzzled. ‘Why ever not?’
She shook her head again.
He stood, and taking her by the shoulders turned her to face him. She ducked her head. Her face was fiery. She would not look at him. He laughed, perplexed. ‘Jessie? What is it?’
‘An – idea I had.’ She struggled with the words. ‘A stupid idea.’
‘Try me.’
She shook her head.
‘Jessie, please – what is this?’ Faint exasperation was in his voice.
She lifted her head, an odd mixture of determination and desperate uncertainty on her face. ‘Do you think I’m ugly?’
‘What?’ Almost he burst into laughter, but the serious look on her face deterred him.
‘Do you?’
‘No! Of course not! What an idiotic thing to say! Is that your question?’
She ducked her head again. ‘Not – not exactly.’
‘Then what?’
She hesitated a moment longer, then bravely lifted her head to meet his laughing eyes. ‘Would you marry me?’
The laughter fled his face. The hands that had held her shoulders dropped to his side. Before he turned from her she saw the look in his eyes, and flinched from it. Humiliation flooded her. She clasped her hands tightly before her to still their shaking. ‘I said it was a stupid idea.’ The trembling of her voice betrayed her.
He shook his head, helplessly. ‘Oh, my God!’
‘It doesn’t matter. Truly it doesn’t. I just thought – we’ve been friends for so long – and – and I told you – it was a stupid idea. Stupid.’ She could not stop her tongue. She could hear the hysterical lift in her voice. She clamped her mouth shut.
In the silence a wild gust of wind battered the small panes of the window.
Robert was standing, head bowed, leaning against the armchair. In the quiet she could hear his breathing. ‘Please, Robert, don’t be upset,’ she said at last her voice childishly small in the silence. ‘I – I don’t mind. I don’t blame you—’
He shook his head, slowly. ‘Stop it, Jessica. You don’t understand.’
‘I do – yes, I do. And I’m sorry—’
He spun to face her, caught her hand. ‘No! I tell you, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. It isn’t you. It’s me. I – Jessica, if I intended to marry anyone – if I thought I could marry anyone – it would be you. I promise you that. But—’ he stopped.
‘What?’ She was truly puzzled.
That he was fighting a battle with himself was nakedly clear upon his face. At last, painfully, he said, ‘Sit down, Jessica. Let me try to explain. As best as I can, at any rate. You deserve that at least.’
A little shakily she sat. He remained standing, half turned from her. There was a long and difficult silence.
‘Robert, please—’ she ventured at last, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
He lifted his head. ‘First of all,’ he said, his voice low and clear, ‘I have to tell you that I lied to you. About the reason why I shan’t be going back to Oxford. It isn’t by choice. I’ve been sent down.’
Shock held her silent for a moment. Then, ‘But – Robert! Whatever for? Whatever did you do?’ She could not for a moment imagine Robert involved in any kind of wrongdoing.
His head lifted, sharply and somehow proudly. His face was grim. ‘Nothing!’ he said, ‘I swear to you, Jessie – nothing! It was a misunderstanding! A – a horrible misinterpretation – by people who – who simply won’t – or can’t – see that we are not all the same. That we don’t all conform to their narrow-minded idea of what we should be. They dirty everything they touch!’ The words were bitter.
She said nothing for a moment. She sensed in him a pain, and a sudden violent anger that confused and just a little frightened her. This was not the Robert she knew. She reached and pulled a chair forward, closer to the fire. ‘Come. Sit down and tell me about it. Everything. Please, Robert.’ She added as he hesitated, ‘You have to tell me now. You can’t stop.’
He moved slowly to the chair, perched tensely on the edge of the seat. For the space of several breaths he stared into the fire, collecting himself. When he spoke his voice was quiet and strained, and he stumbled over the words. ‘I think you know that – that I’ve never made friends easily? I don’t – I’m afraid that on the whole I really don’t like people very much. I find most of them coarse – uncaring – insensitive—’ He fell to silence for a moment. ‘I can’t stand it,’ he said at last, quietly. ‘I think – I think there must be something wrong with me. I’d rather be totally alone than forced into the company of – of people who trivialize – brutalize – the most beautiful things in life. But then – sometimes – maybe just a few times in a lifetime – you do meet someone different. Someone who feels as you do. Someone who understands. And – when you meet someone like that the bond you form is very special. It is – an association of souls. A refuge against a horrible world. It’s love, in the true sense of the word.’ He stopped talking for a moment, sunk in thought. Then he sighed deeply. ‘Paul Aloway was a friend like that. At least – I thought he was. I don’t know how I would have survived my schooldays without him. But – he changed. He said that our friendship was childish, and must be put away with other childish things. I think in the end it – it embarrassed him, even.’ His voice was bleak. His hands were clasped before him, the right thumb rubbing nervously upon the left. Jessica, oddly, found herself watching the compulsive movement, unable to look away.
‘At Oxford—’ Robert continued after a moment, ‘I at last found another friend. Another – special friend. We were closer even than Paul and I had been. Sebastian was—’ He lifted his head and, shocked, Jessica saw the glitter of tears in his dark eyes, ‘—he was the most wonderful person I have ever known. Intelligent. Sensitive. Understanding. But – they couldn’t leave us alone, of course. People – were jealous of our friendship. They – said things about us—’ A deep flush of colour was rising in his face. He could not hold her puzzled eyes. He looked down at his clasped hands. ‘They said we – were more than friends—’ he stopped.
For a moment, nothing registered. Then, very slowly, the words made a horrible sense. Sheltered she had been, but her reading had been extensive and even in her innocence she had picked up a smattering of information, mostly more confusing than otherwise, about certain unnatural sexual practices. She looked away from him, chewing her lip.
‘It wasn’t true!’ His voice was suddenly passionate, ‘Jessie, I swear it wasn’t true! Sebastian was my friend – my true friend. We were brothers of the soul. We cared for each other. We shared things. We thought alike. Our friendship was the most wonderful – the most sacred thing I have ever possessed. I don’t understand how people can be so – destructive! So horribly filthy-minded!’ He ducked his head abruptly, knuckling his forehead.
She waited a moment. Then, ‘Didn’t you tell them?’ she asked.
He lifted his head. ‘Of course we did. They didn’t believe us. They preferred to believe the filthy lies that people told about us.’ He laughed, suddenly and harshly. ‘Which just shows how little they knew of us. If they had only known—’ He pulled himself up.
‘What? If they had only known what?’
He hesitated. Then, ‘You do realize,’ he asked quietly, ‘what it is that I’m trying to tell you? What – what accusations were made against us?’
She nodded, albeit a little uncertainly. ‘Yes.’
He shook his head. ‘They tried to make out,’ he said, his voice grimly controlled, ‘that we – Sebastian and I – had a – a sexual relationship. Nothing – nothing! – could have been further from the truth. The truth is that this was one of the things that drew us together. One of the things that we agreed upon utterly. We both found the—’ he hesitated, avoiding her eyes, ‘—the very thought of physical love – repulsive.’
She was struggling to understand. ‘You mean – all of it? I mean – men and women too?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’ Tensely he flicked with one thumbnail at the other. In the silence the clock ticked loudly. Jessica frowned, trying to assimilate this strange piece of information. Robert made a sudden, small violent movement. ‘I can’t help it! I hate the thought. It disgusts me. People would say that was unnatural. But what could be more unnatural than that – that horrible act—’ He made a small grimace of distaste.
She sat in silence for a moment, still frowning. ‘I really don’t think I understand,’ she admitted at last.
He lifted helpless hands. He looked suddenly tired. ‘Why on earth should you? How can you be expected to understand something that I can’t entirely explain to myself? I only know that it’s so. When I was a child—’ He stopped, and Jessica, puzzled, saw the quick lift of embarrassed colour in his face again.
‘What?’ she asked. ‘What about when you were a child?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing important. I only know that I can’t stand for another person to touch me.’ It was obvious that that had not been what he had started to say. He rushed on. ‘When – when I stayed with Paul Aloway – you remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘His sister – the elder one, Chrissie – she liked me. She kept - touching me – trying to hold my hand. It was horrible. One day – in the garden – she kissed me.’
‘And?’
‘I was sick,’ he said. ‘All over her dress. It was awful.’
She stuck her thumb in her mouth and nibbled at the nail.
He was sitting tense as a drawn bowstring. ‘Women – all of them – frighten me. The way they look at you—’ He glanced at her and saw the expression on her face. ‘Oh, no, Jessie! Not you! You’re different. You’re my friend. Don’t you see – that’s just what I’ve been trying to tell you! Sebastian understood. We had a name for what we had – we called it—’ he hesitated, then continued half-defiantly, ‘we called it our passionate friendship. But that didn’t mean that we did anything wrong! It didn’t. We were as close as brothers. Closer.’ His face was alight now, suddenly soft with the shadow of remembered love. ‘We shared everything. Every single thought. And then they dirtied it.’ He closed his eyes as if at a spasm of pain. ‘It was the very fact that he was of my own sex that made our friendship possible.’ He said after a moment, his voice intense, ‘There simply cannot be that kind of relationship between men and women. Women want to touch, and to whisper. To kiss, and to—’ He trailed off and Jessica detected the faint shudder that shook him. ‘The Greeks understood,’ he said. ‘They knew about unsullied love. They didn’t drag everything down to the level of the gutter. But the English? Who would expect them to understand the purity of Platonic love? They accused us, and they shattered what we had. I’ll never forgive them. Never. If they wanted me back, I wouldn’t go.’
‘What will you do?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. But – you do see – why I can’t marry you?’ His voice was suddenly tired. ‘I’m no use to you, Jess. I’m no use to anyone.’
‘Don’t say that!’ She reached a hand to his. He drew back from her, very slightly, avoiding her touch. She nibbled her lip. ‘Robert – please, don’t say such silly things. It isn’t true. You’re the best friend that anyone ever had. I hate them for what they’ve done to you! It isn’t fair!’
For a fleeting moment she thought he would smile. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it isn’t. And it isn’t fair that my parents believe they have an unnatural son—’
‘No!’
‘Oh, yes. And who’s to blame them?’ He shook his head. ‘I suppose in a way they’re right. And you – what about you? Jessica, poor Jessica – you send to me for help and what do I do? I simply add to your problems by bleating about my own troubles, that are nothing to do with you—!’
‘Of course they are,’ she said, sturdily.
He smiled.
‘It’s because we’re friends that I needed for you to come this evening.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It’s because we’re friends that I asked you to marry me. Silly, wasn’t it?’ She smiled a small, watery smile. Silence fell. Then, ‘Or was it ?’ she asked in a voice that was barely audible against the sound of the wind.
She saw him stiffen and turn his head sharply towards her. Her eyes held his. ‘Was it?’
He shook his head. ‘Jess – I don’t think you understand—’
A slow conviction was growing. She interrupted him. ‘Robert – don’t you think that – perhaps you need help as much as I do? I asked you to marry me because I wanted you to help me. But – but don’t you think that I might be able to help you too?’
He said nothing, but shook his head bemusedly.
‘You’re serious – about not going back to Oxford even if they allow you to?’
‘Absolutely. How could I go back after what’s happened – after the gossip, the rumours—?’ His voice was bitter. ‘Conviction by rumour is all but impossible to refute. They don’t need proof. They can sack me on suspicion with no questions asked.’
‘Suspicion that would be confounded if you married,’ she said, quietly.
He became very still, watching her.
‘Doesn’t it make sense?’ The confidence of youth, that sees no obstacles that cannot be overcome, shone in her eyes. She in truth had only understood a part of what he had told her, but she had recognized another troubled soul, and the attraction was magnetic.
He shook his head. ‘Not for you. You don’t understand what you’re suggesting. Jessica – you can’t marry a man who can’t—’ he stumbled over the words, ‘who can’t love you as you deserve.’
She pondered that. ‘The way Giles loves Clara?’
Some understanding flickered in his eyes. ‘It doesn’t always have to be like that.’
‘No, of course it doesn’t. Look at Caroline and Bunty. There’s a love-match if ever there was one.’
‘Jessica—’
‘They aren’t even friends! At least we’d start with that! Robert, I have to get away from here. I have to! The only way I can do that is to marry. My portion from the estate comes to me when I marry, and not before. I’m penniless without it. Where would I go? What would I do? And you? – You have as much a need as I have to get away from here. We could help each other. And I’m sure in time you’d leam to – to—’ she stopped, fiery poppies of embarrassment in her cheeks, ‘to love me,’ she finished, determinedly.
‘And if I didn’t?’ His eyes were very tender.
She shrugged a bravado shrug. ‘It wouldn’t matter. So long as we were friends.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘It is.’ She would not admit to her own misgivings. She could not.
He stood watching her, chewing his lip.
‘I’ve quite a bit of money coming. We could go away. You could study music. Abroad. We—’ She threw in her trump card with a casual touch that might have done credit to a hardened gambler, ‘We could go to Italy.’
‘Your mother—’
‘—would be very happy to have me off her hands, thank you. Look at me. Hardly cut out for the routs of London, am I? What about your parents?’
‘They’d be delighted. More than delighted.’ His tone was heartfelt. For a week the look in his mother’s gentle eyes when she had looked at him had flayed him.
‘Well then.’
The strain was lifting from his face. Against all good sense and reason her persuasive enthusiasm was winning him. He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t let you do this.’
‘Try to stop me.’ She grinned an urchin smile that lit her tired, tear-stained face to devilry.
‘God Almighty, Jessica,’ he said.
‘It strikes me,’ she said, collectedly, ‘that He has very little to do with what goes on around here. Will you do it?’
He stood for a long moment, the decision in the balance. Then he stepped to her, hesitated for just one short moment before gently lifting her small face in his hands and brushing her hot cheek very lightly with his lips. It could hardly have been called a kiss, but it was, she thought, a start. His mouth was dry and cool and utterly passionless. She liked it. There was no violence here. No threat. She let out a long, sighing breath of triumph. He lifted his head. ‘Jessica?’
‘Yes?’
‘Will you marry me?’
She hesitated for one mischievous moment. It was like the games they had played a hundred times before. Then, ‘Yes,’ she said.