“You said you knew,” she whispered at last into his ear. “You said you knew what we should do—”
He pulled away from her. “No!”
“Yes! Please!” She clung to him. “Richard – it’s the only way! I don’t care what they say! I don’t care what anyone says! I want you. I love you. I won’t let them part us! Please, Richard—” With a quick, unexpected movement she caught his hand and thrust it into the loose neck of her gown, to her bared breast. His fingers brushed the rigid nipple and she shuddered. “Please, Richard!” she said again, and in the lamplight he saw that the tears had started again, streaking her cheeks, damping her hair.
“Sophie don’t – please – don’t—” The whisper was pleading; but his body was already reacting to her demands, and he knew himself lost.
Sobbing still, with a swift movement she sat up, slipped her dressing gown from her shoulders and almost in the same movement stripped the nightgown over her head. Then she sat, straight and still and white as bone, watching him, a turmoil of embarrassment and longing in her eyes.
“Christ,” he whispered.
A gust of wind scurried through the overlapping tiles. She shivered. Very slowly he put out his hand, traced with his finger the line of her shoulder, the sweetly drooping breast. Her skin was cold. He stood. Took off his clothes. She watched him, silent, unblinking, unsmiling, fear in her face, but determination too, and the softness of love.
“This is our wedding night,” she said, as he leaned above her, “isn’t it?”
He kissed her. “It is. And I swear it: no one shall keep us apart. I’ll marry you, Sophie Anatov. And we’ll live together for ever and ever, with no one to come between us.”
He was far from a practised lover, but Sophie, innocent too, did not know that and their young ardour needed no art to perfect it. She gave herself to him with no reservations, instinct her sure guide: and the tears that she shed were no longer bitter ones. He leaned above her, afterwards, and kissed them away, a little worriedly. “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?”
She smiled. Shook her head. “No,” she said, untruthfully.
He reached for her dressing gown and drew it about them, then, on one elbow, looking down at her, he reached a finger to her hair and wound a strand of it about his finger. “There. A golden ring. Our wedding ring.”
She took a long, trembling breath. “Richard?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think – I mean—” she paused “—have we made a baby?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I hope so. Oh, I do hope so!”
They were silent for a while.
“We ought to go,” Richard said at last.
Her arms tightened about him, but she said nothing.
“Sophie? We really have to go.”
Reluctantly she released him. He stood and, a little awkwardly, began hunting for his clothes. She slipped her nightgown over her head and drew her dressing gown about her, then sat watching him. “Richard?”
“Mmm?”
She hesitated, pulled a piece of straw from the pile and smoothed it with her fingers. “How did you—” she looked at him quickly, and away “—how did you know what to do?”
Tucking his shirt into his trousers, he paused.
“All right,” she said, hastily, “it doesn’t matter.”
He crouched before her, took her hands. “It’s no mystery.” His hesitation was barely noticeable. “A boy at school told me.” It was almost the truth.
She looked relieved. “You mean – you’ve never actually done it before, either?”
He shook his head.
She smiled, softly and happily. “I’m glad.”
He stood again, pulled her to her feet after him. “Tomorrow night? Here?”
She nodded and smiled as if tears had never been.
* * *
They met every night for almost a week before the storm broke. Richard it was who was caught – and by of all people his mother, who, woken from light sleep by a noise, left her husband snoring in bed and walked out on to the landing just in time to confront Richard as he climbed the stairs, shoes in hand and an expression on his face that screamed guilt almost before she had had time to connect his actions with their most probable cause. She lifted the night-lantern high and studied her son, her face forbidding. Then she raised her voice. “Alex? Here – at once, please. Send to the cottage. Quickly. Catch that creature before she reaches her bed. And as for you,” she addressed Richard in a quieter, flinty voice that made his skin crawl, “get to your room at once. Your father will deal with you later.”
The flogging he received was bad enough; the castigation of Sophie and of what had been between them was all but unbearable. And this time there was nothing to be done; they had no champions – none that is but Rupert and Maria, and their young good will was hardly effective against the hostile condemnation of everyone else, including a hurt and disappointed Josef. Sophie, in undertaking her rash action, had not considered this, and was desolate. But worse was to come; this time Boris and Louisa could not be kept out of it. They arrived the next day, Louisa distraught, Boris raging. Sophie had never seen him so angry. She was appalled, however, to discover that his anger was directed if anything more at Richard than at herself.
“I’ll take a horsewhip to the young scoundrel! I’ll kill him—”
“Papa! No! It wasn’t Richard’s fault! It wasn’t!”
He turned on her, his face blazing. His tender pride was touched by this, and that it should be Alex Rose’s son doubled the humiliation. “Keep a still tongue in your head for once girl! Not his fault? Of course it was his fault. His – and mine,” he added grimly.
“Yours? What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, his voice corrosive with contempt and fury, “that in all these years I have been blinded by my own stubborn stupidity. I have loved and indulged you. Now I get my just deserts. I would not – could not – listen to what others said of you. What my own common sense should have told me. And if you repay me in this way for my foolishness then I have no one to blame but myself.”
“Papa!” Sophie was horrified.
“You’re spoiled. And arrogant. And selfish. You care for no one and nothing—” His harsh voice was cold as a steel blade.
Shaking now, Sophie covered her face with her hands. Louisa turned away.
“Your actions have brought dishonour not just upon yourself but upon your mother, your sister and upon me,” he continued, remorselessly savage. “I swear, Sophie, that I will never forgive you for this. You are no longer my daughter.”
“Papa!”
He turned from her. Louisa’s slender shoulders were shaking. At the door Boris turned again, looked coldly at Sophie. “Go now to your room. And stay there.” He turned to Louisa. “Lock her in. We’ll have no more of her harlot’s tricks.”
Sophie flinched. The shock of her father’s anger had leeched the blood from her face.
“Where are you going?” Louisa asked her husband quietly.
“First I have an apology to make,” Boris said, stone-faced, “to Uncle Josef, whose kindness and hospitality have been so flagrantly and heartlessly abused—”
“Papa doesn’t need an apology, Boris. Truly he doesn’t.”
Boris turned. Anna stood behind him, unsmiling. “He’s upset, of course. He feels responsible. But he certainly doesn’t blame you for what’s happened.” Her gaze had moved to Sophie. The girl said nothing, but her eyes were eloquent. Very, very slightly Anna shook her head. “Oh, Sophie,” she said, as she had said once before, and at her expression Sophie’s heart sank.
Louisa hurried to Anna, hands outstretched. “How pleased I am to see you! You’ve heard?” Her eyes were still bright with tears.
Anna leaned to kiss her warmly. “Yes. At least one member of the family had the good sense to see that you needed an outsider – a comparative outsider at least – down here to calm tempers and ease the situ
ation. Rupert,” she added at Louisa’s enquiring look. “He rang me first thing this morning. I came at once.”
“It’s kind of you,” Boris said, stiffly. “But unnecessary. We can manage our own affairs.”
Anna raised caustic eyebrows, in no way deterred by the tone. “What are you going to do?” she asked midly. “Horsewhip the boy? Pound Alex to a pulp? Put Sophie on bread and water?”
Colour rose in Boris’s handsome face.
“You’ll only make matters worse, Boris,” she said, gently. “The thing is done. Richard has been punished – very severely punished – by his father,” she ignored the small, choked sound that Sophie made at that. “Alice and Alex – of course – blame Sophie. You – of course – blame Richard.” She glanced at Sophie. “It seems to me that such mischief takes two.” Sophie could not sustain the look. Miserably she hung her head. “So – surely,” Anna continued, “it is the future that we must now think of. What are we going to do about the situation?”
“The boy must marry Sophie.” Surprisingly, it was Louisa who had spoken. Her husband’s volatile anger had kept her quiet until now, but Anna’s presence lent her strength and her voice was firm.
There was a small silence. Sophie looked from one to the other, hope dawning in her eyes.
“Exactly my thought,” Anna said quietly. She looked at Sophie again, her pale eyes unusually chill. “And if we’re playing the game the way that you planned it, Sophie, then I hope you’re proud of yourself. I wish you joy of your manipulations.”
Sophie coloured a deep and painful scarlet.
Boris, for the moment, appeared to be at a loss for words.
“Now,” Anna was brisk, “I would suggest that for the moment – until tempers have cooled – I should speak to Alice and Alex. Accusations and recriminations will do no good at all. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Of course,” Louisa said, promptly and gratefully.
“Boris?”
Boris hesitated. “It’s the only way,” Anna said gently. “The boy must marry her. There can be no doubt about that. And words spoken in anger now will never be forgotten. We’ll have to live with them for ever. All of us.”
The fierce light of anger was dying in the fair, handsome face. He nodded.
Anna looked at Sophie, exasperation in her eyes. “Isn’t there enough trouble in the world at the moment – don’t we all have enough to worry about – without you making it worse?”
“I’m sorry,” Sophie said, and her voice was sincere. But glimmering in the dark eyes was the beginning of an undisguised gleam of happiness.
* * *
“No,” Alice said. “You may talk, Anna, until you are blue. No.”
Anna stared at her. “You can’t mean that?”
Alice returned the look, cold as stone. “On the contrary, Anna, it is I who find it hard to believe that you mean what you say. That we should allow this – guttersnipe – to trap Richard as her mother trapped her father—”
“Alice! That’s an outrageous thing to say! And as for Sophie – she may be silly and headstrong—”
Alice laughed, and the sound was unpleasant. “Oh, come now, Anna! Silly? I should say not! She’s far from silly. In my belief she knew exactly what she was doing – knew exactly what the reaction would be. Well, she has miscalculated. Under no circumstances whatsoever will we give our permission for Richard to marry. Isn’t that so, Alex?”
Alex looked helplessly at Anna.
“Well?” his wife prompted sharply.
He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Anna held her temper, with difficulty. “And what,” she asked, “If the child should be pregnant?”
Alice’s expression did not change in the slightest. “That has nothing to do with the case. Nor with us.”
“Nothing to do – for God’s sake, Alice!” Anna could restrain herself no longer, “It would be Richard’s child! Your grandchild!”
Her sister-in-law lifted a cool, contemptuous face. “Can you be so sure of that? We only have her word for it. How do we know who else she may have been,” her lip curled, contemptuously, “romping with in the hay?”
“Now that’s unfair, and you must know it.”
“I know no such thing. I simply know this. Under no circumstances whatsoever will we give our permission for Richard to marry that girl. He is to be sent away – to the military establishment at Woolwich. I have no doubt that the discipline there will restore his sanity and his sense of proportion. He will forget her.”
“I shouldn’t count on that,” Anna snapped, all her dislike of the woman openly in her voice. “Has it occurred to you that the youngsters may really love one another? Is it so hard to believe? What they’ve done is wrong – of course it is – but it’s hardly the worst crime in the world, is it? God Almighty, with the terrible things that are happening, that may happen, around us you can hardly blame them for—”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Alice interrupted sharply. “Are you suggesting that every absurd rumour of war should be used as an excuse for wicked immorality? Have you taken leave of your senses? If war breaks out tomorrow – and I have to say that I for one do not for an instant believe that it will – it excuses not one jot of that chit’s behaviour.”
“I didn’t for one moment suggest—”
“Then what are you suggesting? That we allow them to marry? That we should let the scheming little minx get her own way? What a good idea that is! As mismatched a pair as you could possibly wish to find—”
“You don’t know that. In point of fact I should have said that they were quite well matched.”
Alice smiled, viciously sweet, and let off her final salvo. “I hardly think, Anna my dear, that you are an expert on what makes a successful match.”
Anna stared at her, speechless.
Alex cleared his throat.
“I think,” Anna said, “that I’d better go. Before I throw something.”
* * *
The dashing of scarce-raised hopes was cruel, and Sophie – brave until now – broke under this final blow. Locked in her room at the cottage she cried, first hysterically, then more quietly, and finally soundlessly and wretchedly, as if she would never be able to stop. Boris’s bitter anger and disappointment, however, were too great to be softened by this behaviour. “If the girl won’t pull herself together,” he said harshly, “then she’ll have to travel as she is. I’ll not remain in this place one moment longer.”
“Boris – please, my dear.” Louisa’s still-pretty face was pale and worried, “of course we must go. But give Sophie a chance to—”
She trailed off as her husband turned a closed, hard face to her. She knew Boris: soft-hearted and indulgent as he was, his pride, temper and trust affronted in this manner might take months, if not years, to appease. She looked in silent appeal at Anna.
Anna thought she had never seen light-hearted Boris look so much like his brother. The thought changed a vague thought into determination. “I’ve an idea,” she said.
No one spoke.
“Perhaps – for now – it might be better if Sophie came home with me. I promise I’ll care for her—”
“She has been cared for,” Boris said, coldly, “and see what’s come of it. She needs discipline. Punishment.”
Louisa winced.
Anna, gently, shook her head. “No, Boris. That simply isn’t so. And in a few weeks – perhaps months – I’m sure you’ll see that too. That’s why I think it would be better if you allowed Sophie to come to us. To give everyone a chance to calm down. I, for one, don’t intend to let Alice get away with this so easily. I’ll get Alex on his own – try to persuade him to—”
“No!” The word was violent. Boris stepped forward, his one hand raised, index finger stabbing aggressively at her, “No one – no one – begs on behalf of an Anatov! You hear me? If Richard Rose were the last man on earth I would not give my permission for him to marry my daughter after this.”
“Oh, for
God’s sake!” Anna, too, was really angry now. “Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re as bad as they are! Can’t you see how destructive it all is?” She stopped, fighting her temper down. She of all people should know that she would get nowhere shouting at an Anatov with his pride up. She spoke more calmly. “Boris. Please. Let Sophie come to me. Everything else we can talk about later. But – for now – we have to get her away from here. She’ll have Victoria and the boys for company. It will be better for everyone.”
“She’s right, Boris,” Louisa said.
Boris turned away, anger still veiling the terrible hurt in his bright eyes. “I don’t care where she goes,” he said.
* * *
Sophie left Bissetts the following morning, subdued in the company of an equally quiet Anna. Half an hour before she was due to leave, still locked in disgrace in her room, she stood at the window and looked up the curving drive towards the big house.
Richard. What have they done to you? What have they said? Do you hate me now? The hot, easy tears rose again. It seemed to her that there could never be a time again when she would smile.
A movement caught her eye, on the fringe of the shrubbery. A tall, dark figure – she dashed her hand across her eyes and leaned, suddenly eager, to the window. Not Richard – even from here she could tell it – but Rupert. He stood for a moment looking towards the cottage, glanced at his watch, as if waiting. There was a scurry of movement in the garden below and Maria slipped from the door and along the path to where Rupert stood. They came together for only an instant, and that furtive and hurried, with Maria glancing constantly and nervously over her shoulder. Rupert gave her something, then swiftly bent and kissed her upon her cheek and was gone. Maria scampered back to the path to the cottage. Sophie’s tears had died. Her heart was thumping in fierce excitement. She heard the door slam, heard her sister’s quick footsteps on the stairs. A moment later a slip of paper was pushed under her door. She flew to it, snatched it up.
The Rose Stone Page 39