Cousins of a Kind

by Sheila Walsh

  Theo rose upon seeing Selina, surprise swiftly concealed, and beckoned her in with a smile. The older woman hesitated and looked uneasily towards the bed.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Theo said. ‘He isn’t conscious … at least, I don’t think he is, though he has opened his eyes once or twice, and although they didn’t appear to be registering any kind of recognition, Sir James thinks it a very good sign.’

  ‘But …’ Selina went so far to close the door, but continued to lean against it, clutching the knob as though prepared for instant flight. ‘I thought I heard … voices?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Theo. ‘I often talk to him. I was recalling my first proposal of marriage. I was only seventeen, and Mr Knight was a contemporary of Papa. But I fear his attachment was not in the least romantical. The plain fact was that he had several children in desperate need of a mother and he was much impressed by my many practical qualities!’ She chuckled again, remembering.

  It was quite clear that Selina thought her a trifle touched in the attic.

  ‘But I’m not, truly,’ she said, hastening to reassure her. ‘Only it occurred to me that Grandpa might sometimes be aware of what was going on around him, and if that were so, a hushed silence could have the most lowering effect on him and send him into a fatal decline. Whereas a nice cheerful human voice just might make him curious enough to want to know who was speaking.’

  Selina stared into the vital face of this extraordinary girl, her slim figure in its crisp sprigged muslin so full of life and eagerness … as though she really cared what happened to a crabby old man she didn’t even know! She made an unconsciously helpless little gesture. ‘Oh, I do wish I understood you!’ she cried.

  ‘As if I were some kind of freak!’ Theo complained wryly to Benedict when she came down later to take her afternoon walk.

  Selina had already regaled Benedict with a highly coloured account of what had happened, but he was for once tactful enough to refrain from contentious comment.

  When, however, to her intense chagrin, her odd way of going on was made known to Sir James, his reaction surprised everyone. Far from rebuking her for showing a lack of consideration for his patient, he appeared to regard what she was doing rather in the nature of an interesting experiment and charged her with keeping him informed as to the outcome.

  That night, when all had been done and Theo was making ready for bed, she brushed out her hair with extra vigour to combat a feeling of restlessness. More than once she had been tempted to have it cut in one of the shorter fashions, but vanity had prevailed. It was, she decided, staring into the darkened mirror, her only claim to beauty (though Benedict had once commended her eyes!), and besides, there was something very soothing about the long, repetitive, sweeping strokes of the brush.

  Before climbing into bed she went back into the main bedchamber for one last check on her grandfather, comfortable in the knowledge that there was a footman within call in the corridor, should she have need of him.

  It was as Theo leaned across to straighten the sheet that it happened; his fingers moved shakily to curl round her hand. The shock of it stifled the cry that rose in her throat, her pulse began to race, and she remained perfectly still lest she disturb him. With her hair spread across the sheets like a silken coverlet, she looked down into his eyes, open now, sunk deep in cavernous shadows.

  ‘Marianne?’ His voice was no more than a cracked whisper.

  Without thought of deception, she returned a murmured ‘Hush!’

  His shaking fingers moved to bury themselves in her hair, ‘Always … so beautiful …’

  Chapter Five

  ‘He worshipped your grandmother, of course,’ said Great-aunt Minta.

  She was standing at the foot of the vast bed in the morning light, watching her brother in a fixed way as though willing him to waken.

  ‘I saw the likeness in you from the start,’ she continued, ‘but I hadn’t realised how marked it was until I saw you with your hair down.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Uncanny.’

  Theo felt drained. She had no idea how long she had remained at her grandfather’s side through the night. She remembered easing herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed ‒ and there she stayed until her cramped limbs protested. He didn’t stir when she climbed down, and in a panic she had to lean very close to assure herself that he was still breathing.

  For the remainder of the night she remained curled up in the fireside chair, alternately dozing and starting awake. But he woke only once, briefly, just as dawn was breaking, and as she bent over him a film clouded his eyes, forming into tears that ran down into his hair while his mouth worked with childlike weakness.

  And Theo, immeasurably moved, had wept too. She who had schooled herself to remain dry-eyed throughout her father’s last unendurable weeks of suffering, because it was the only way she could help him, found herself utterly defenceless against the pitiable disintegration of this one-time giant of a man.

  She was still sobbing in sporadic little bursts when Benedict came in. He stopped short at the sight of her curled miserably in the chair ‒ looked frowningly towards the still figure in the bed and then back to her.

  ‘Is he dead?’ he demanded harshly, striding forward.

  ‘No, oh no!’ Theo pushed back the tangle of her hair and attempted a reassuring smile, but it was a woebegone affair confounded by eyes reddened with much weeping and an air of weary exhaustion.

  She attempted an explanation, but he cut it short by sweeping her up in an inelegant heap, silencing her hiccupping protests by the simple expedient of pressing her face tightly into his shoulder as he carried her through to the other room. There he removed her dressing-gown and coaxed her into bed, soothing her as though she were a grieving child.

  ‘Later,’ he reiterated with a kind of rough gentleness as she tried again. He smoothed back her hair and tucked the blankets round her. ‘I shall be here.’

  She didn’t argue. The pressure of her drooping eyelids had become irresistible, and as she drifted into oblivion she couldn’t even be sure whether or not the faint pressure of his lips against her temple was real or imagined.

  It was well into the morning when she woke, less refreshed than might have been expected, largely because of a thick-headed lethargy which was the aftermath of all that crying. And her mouth was dry as dust. She had already reached for her dressing-gown and was buttoning it up, when Benedict’s shadow filled the doorway.

  ‘So you’re awake.’

  She stifled a yawn. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Silly,’ he said as she came close to him. ‘You should have stayed where you were. You’ve earned your rest.’

  ‘Nonsense. All I need is a good strong cup of coffee,’ she maintained valiantly.

  He laughed. ‘I’ll arrange for a fresh pot to be sent up at once.’ He took her by the shoulders, holding her away a little, still smiling faintly. ‘Very demure,’ he murmured, eyeing the high ruffled neck of her now firmly tied dressing-gown. ‘But with your hair loose, you look almost irresistibly alluring!’

  She recalled that he had been responsible for removing it but a few hours earlier, and blushed scarlet. His smile broadened to a lecherous grin.

  ‘Fear not, sweet coz. I do not ravish my relations!’

  ‘So I should hope!’ she exclaimed, and pushed past him.

  ‘That’s much better,’ he approved. ‘The light of battle is back in your eyes. For a while you had me quite worried!’

  By the time Great-aunt Minta had arrived on the scene, Theo was dressed and in command of herself once more, and if she was a little quieter, a little paler than usual, the old lady was too preoccupied to notice.

  ‘It’s absurd, when he’s so cross-grained, to say that I would miss him,’ she mused. ‘But we understand one another, d’ye see, and when you get to our age, that counts for a lot. Perhaps, if Marianne hadn’t died when she did … she could handle him so easily!’

  ‘I wish I had known my grandmother!’ The
o said earnestly. ‘Papa talked about her such a lot. Her death affected him deeply.’

  Aunt Minta nodded. ‘They were ever close ‒ too close, belike. A boy scarcely out of short coats is at best a vulnerable creature, and a boy like John …’ She sighed. ‘After Marianne’s death, the very sight of him, looking so like her, seemed to bring out the worst in his father. But although Edmund affected to favour Geoffrey more and more, it was John that he loved!’

  ‘And yet he drove him away?’

  ‘Oh, ay, but then, how often do stupid men seek to destroy that which they love?’

  Theo did not know whether to tread further on delicate ground, but curiosity drove her on. ‘Papa would never tell me what finally brought things to a head between them. But he never said anything bad about him, either. And … at the end … well, I didn’t just come because of that lawyer’s letter. Papa wanted me to come … to make everything right.’

  ‘How like him!’ The old lady gave an abrupt little snort of laughter. ‘Strangely enough, it was that very quality of gentleness ‒ which was Marianne’s great strength ‒ that Edmund saw as a weakness in John. Quite wrongly, of course. But because John preferred books and music to the more physical pleasures of hunting and shooting, and because he didn’t care to womanise, Edmund taunted the boy constantly … and when he could neither bully nor shame him into changing his ways, he attempted to force his hand … informed him that he was buying him a commission in the Hussars … said the army would make a man of him. That was when John finally walked out!’

  ‘Oh, yes, he would.’ Theo was very quiet. She stood looking down at the crumpled, parchment-like face, now slack and impotent in unconsciousness, and tried to see him as he must have been in his prime. It would have taken great courage to oppose him. She wondered, when it came to the point, whether she would be able to forgive him for the unhappiness he had caused.

  ‘Of course,’ said Great-aunt Minta, getting to her feet with much puffing, ‘y’do realise that if Edmund recovers, you’re going to have your work cut out to deal with him? I’m not at all sure that even such a free-thinking young gel as yourself should be exposed to the kind of language he’ll throw at you, even if you don’t understand the half of it!’

  Theo laughed. ‘Well, we shall just have to see. Perhaps Gorton will be recovered before too long.’

  Purley had kept the elderly valet informed about his master’s condition, having dissuaded Theo from visiting him in person.

  ‘Put him all on end it would, Miss Theo, if you don’t mind my saying so … having a young lady in his room. Very set in his ways, is Mr Gorton, and we don’t want him suffering a relapse on top of all else, do we?’

  ‘Certainly not, Purley,’ she said with a smile. ‘I shall, of course, be guided by you. I was only concerned lest he should feel overlooked.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll see that doesn’t happen, miss. He’s chafing at his confinement already, as is only natural, him having been with his lordship most of his life.’ Purley shook his head. ‘But he won’t be taking up his duties again for a fair while, I’m thinking.’

  ‘Well, we shall just have to try to keep his spirits up,’ she said. Fortunately she had by then got her routine well established, and was able to view the prospect of a prolonged period of restricted freedom with equanimity. Sir James was delighted with Lord Radlett’s steady progress and commended her care of him. He might have been a little surprised, had he witnessed her first coherent confrontation with her grandfather.

  She had just returned from her promised ride with Aubrey, a thought-provoking experience, for although he had been taciturn to the point of rudeness for most of the time, she had twice managed to make him laugh, and came back convinced that beneath that sulky exterior there were all the makings of a much nicer young man.

  She entered the room, still in her brown velvet riding-habit, with her cheeks glowing from the exercise, and her eyes beneath the small rakish brim of her hat full of a sparkling determination to find some way of helping Aubrey. She nodded absently to Maddie, who had been deputising for her, to indicate that she could go, and was a little surprised to receive by return a look of mingled relief and what could only be described as apprehension.

  Theo swung round to the bed and saw that she was being watched; his lordship’s eyes, deep in their cavernous sockets, were not simply open ‒ they were registering a startling degree of comprehension.

  ‘Do you want me to stay, Miss Theo?’ whispered Maddie behind her.

  ‘Get out!’ The force in the snarled command surprised them both. Theo hid her nervousness behind a quiet confidence.

  ‘Go along,’ she said. ‘We shall do better alone.’

  She made no attempt to move until the door had closed. Then she took a deep breath and walked over to stand beside him.

  ‘Well, miss?’ said the rasping voice. ‘And who gave you leave to issue the orders here?’

  ‘No one, sir,’ she replied as calmly as she was able. ‘But I thought that if you wanted to come to points with me, it would be better done without an audience.’

  ‘Damned interfering malapert! Miss Theo!’ The vituperative fury of this last set him coughing, and as she stepped forward to help him, he clawed the air with a shaking hand. ‘Get out!’ he whooped. ‘Send … Gorton to me. Can’t th-think what he’s … about …’ At this point his voice gave out and he was gasping in a way that alarmed Theo.

  She poured a little of the cordial that stood on the near-by table and came swiftly to his side, supporting him with a firm arm about his shoulders and talking to him in a calm unhurried way as she persuaded him to sip it, chiding him for getting excited.

  He lay back on the pillows at last, exhausted, and she sat on the edge of the bed facing him.

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t have Gorton,’ she explained gently. ‘He isn’t very well himself just now, and must rest.’ She saw a shadow of distress pass over his face, puckering his mouth, and instinctively she reached for his hand, overcoming its initial resistance to her touch. ‘I know you won’t like it, but in the absence of anyone better, I’m afraid you must make do with me for the present,’ she concluded with a wry smile.

  His breathing was becoming less laboured, and the fierce, hawk-like face had lost most of that sudden alarming greyness. His eyes were unwavering as they fixed on her.

  ‘Y’re a … bitter disappointment to me, d’y know?’ He ground the words out. ‘Just like y’r father … to sire a girl!’

  Passionate indignation rose like bile in Theo’s throat, and was instantly quelled. What, after all, had she expected?

  ‘Yes, well, we’ve neither of us got what we hoped for,’ she said in a voice devoid of colour. ‘But I’ll try to make the best of it, if you will.’

  He didn’t answer, and after a moment she stood up. ‘Now I must go and change out of my riding-dress, and you must try to rest.’

  When she came back into the room presently she found he had fallen into a deep sleep. She called the footman in from the corridor to keep watch, and went downstairs. On the way she met Selina drifting in her usual aimless way towards the morning room, where luncheon was laid out. Theo wasn’t really hungry, in spite of her recent exercise, but she didn’t much care for her own company either, so she fell into step beside her.

  ‘Aubrey tells me you have been riding with him?’ Selina’s voice echoed a faint suspicion. ‘I’m sure I don’t see why you should wish to do such a thing.’

  ‘I simply thought it might be agreeable for us to get to know one another a little better,’ Theo said, wondering why she should feel obliged to justify her actions. ‘I wanted some exercise in the fresh air, and it has sometimes seemed to me that Aubrey is lonely and irked by the inactivity of his life here.’

  ‘Well, that isn’t my fault!’ Selina’s voice was a little shrill. ‘Believe me, were I able to arrange it, we should both leave this house tomorrow and never return!’

  ‘Oh, dear! Are you really so unhappy?’

  To
her consternation, Selina’s wide blue eyes filled with tears. ‘I h-hate every minute!’ she sobbed, as they streamed down her face unchecked. It was as though a dam had been breached and all the pent-up emotions came pouring out of her in a torrent of incoherent intensity. Theo opened the door of a little saloon close to the morning room and whisked her inside. The room was dimly lit, and chill from lack of use, but there were several red plush chairs grouped under the window, and Theo guided Selina to one of these.

  ‘Y-you have only been here a few days … you can have no idea what it is really like!’ the older woman cried. ‘N-no one ever comes to call … and if I go out, there is nowhere to go!’ There was much more in similar vein, and with a sigh, Theo put her own problems to the back of her mind and gave her attention to Selina’s distraught catalogue of woe.

  ‘All I have for company is Beau with his awful sarcasm, which at its worst reduces one to shreds … and Aubrey. And he, like all young people, is selfish and totally wrapped up in his own misery!’ She pulled at her handkerchief. ‘If it were not for Benedict, I sometimes think I would go mad!’

  Theo found it was possible to detach part of her mind so that she could make sympathetic noises while wondering just what kind of relationship existed between Selina and her cousin ‒ and at the same time noting with an irrepressible twinge of envy that Selina was one of the lucky few who could cry without any distortion of her features. If anything, weeping gave her an added appeal, for with her pale golden curls framing her pointed face and those wide round eyes constantly filling and overflowing, she looked for all the world like a spoiled, vulnerable child ‒ an illusion that her widow’s weeds and the ridiculous scrap of black cap only served to emphasise.

  ‘My dear ma’am,’ she said with a bracing smile. ‘You talk as though you were at your last prayers, when it is patently obvious that you cannot be a day above two and thirty.’

  This appeal to her vanity had the desired effect. Selina’s tears stopped as if by magic. ‘Do you really think so?’ There was a coquetry in her glance that made Theo realise how easily she would blossom in company ‒ and how utterly out of her element she was at Shallowford. It made her more sympathetic than she would otherwise have been.