‘No. I made sure of that. For how could I dare show what I felt when I was an ignorant lout of fifteen and you were already a young woman, turned eighteen, and a lady what’s more, as far removed from me as the moon?’
‘I still find it hard to comprehend. I was so sure ‒ we were all so sure ‒ Papa and Hugh as well as myself ‒ that you had fallen in love with Ginny. She used to flirt with you even then. She set out to cast her spell over you and we all thought she had succeeded.’
Martin, smiling, shook his head.
‘It was Railes that cast its spell over me and Ginny, of course, was part of that spell. Oh, it was very flattering for a boy of my sort, that she should flirt with me as she did, and I was only too glad to respond. But it was always you I loved, from that first day in the music-room, when we sat at the table and talked together, and you said you knew I had it in me to make something of myself. Oh, if you knew what that meant to me! You made me feel I could do such things ‒! And yet you made me feel, too, that even if I failed in my efforts, it wouldn’t really matter because ‒ I should still be myself. From that day on I was your slave. I would have given my life for you, if I had been called upon to do so.’
‘Martin, I don’t know what to say.’
‘I think, perhaps, it would be better if we were to ‒ to leave the matter just at present. I would not have spoken of it … not at this time, nor in this way … if Ginny had not said what she did.’
‘No. I am sure you would not.’
‘You are upset.’
‘Yes. For you.’
‘Please don’t be. There is no need. I wish I could persuade you of that but … your sister may return at any moment and ‒’
‘Yes. You are right.’ Katharine rose. ‘I think I had better go to the kitchen and speak to Cook about serving tea.’
Before she could leave the room, however, the three children came bursting in, followed soon by Ginny and George. The two boys were keen to describe how the last silver birch had been felled and how its stump had been torn from the ground.
‘It was bigger than all the rest and took a lot of fetching out ‒’
‘But it’s gone on the fire now, along with the rest ‒’
‘We both helped to drag it there ‒’
‘Heave-ho! Stamp and go!’
‘I think it’s a shame,’ Susannah said, ‘that all those lovely trees are gone.’
‘Yes, but they were all dust inside.’
‘May I show Anthony your sketches for the new garden, Mama? We have all washed our hands.’
‘Oh, what a lovely lot of new music. Did you bring it for us, Aunt Ginny?’
‘Yes. And next time I come I shall expect to hear you play two new pieces at least.’
‘Oh, I must tell you what Dorrie said when I showed her my new metronome. I set it ticking for her, you see, and when she had watched it for a while she said, “Yes, it’s very nice, miss, but it don’t play much of a tune, does it?” ’
‘You should try her instead with the tuning-fork ‒’
‘Or, better still, the plectroquill ‒’
‘Is it nearly supper-time? I’m starving!’ Anthony said. ‘I hope there will be one of Cook’s special hams …’
Martin smiled at his youngest guest and crossed the room to ring for the maid.
Some hours later, at half past nine, Martin sat in that room alone. The visitors had departed at half past seven; Dick and Susannah had gone to bed soon afterwards; and Katharine, having gone with them to hear their prayers, had not yet returned. Martin, unable to read, rose and walked about the room; but after a while he stood on the hearth, schooling himself into patient stillness. Soon the door opened and Katharine came in. He saw her into a chair and sat down opposite her.
‘I am much relieved to see you,’ he said. ‘I feared you might be avoiding me.’
‘No, not exactly. But I felt I needed time to think and I could only do that when alone. Now I feel I need to talk.’
‘Yes.’
‘I still cannot get over what you told me earlier today. I always felt we were good friends, of course, and I knew I had your respect and goodwill, but I never dreamt there was anything more and it grieves me very much indeed that I should have been the means of causing you unhappiness.’
‘I did not say that my love for you made me unhappy. It never has. Please believe that.’
‘But you’ve never married. And you ought to have done. I thought it was because of Ginny, but whatever your reason, it is wrong to set yourself against marrying, as though there were no other woman in the world.’
Martin smiled. ‘It was never a conscious decision. There was no solemn vow on my part, by which I embraced the celibate life. In earlier days I always assumed that I should meet some nice girl, of a background closer to my own, and that I should fall in love with her. It would, I thought, be love of a kind quite different from what I felt for you. A love more suited to everyday life. But years went by and it didn’t happen. And now, after these past twelve months, I know without doubt it never will.’
‘Martin, no! You must not say that. A young man like you, with so much to give! You have no right to deny yourself the happiness marriage could bring you. And to do so puts a great burden on me.’
‘But I am happy. That’s the whole point. And although I have no right to love you ‒ so the world would say if it knew ‒ I feel quite sure that I was meant to play an important part in your life. This may seem presumptuous of me but let me explain.
‘When your husband’s business failed and as a result this house became mine, I felt that fate had ordained it so, though I couldn’t quite understand why. I thought perhaps it was because of the love I had for it and for you, and that I had been chosen, so to speak, to keep Railes unchanged, for your sake. But I felt a certain guilt, too, at playing the part of usurper, and I wondered if you hated me for it. I hoped and prayed that you did not, and sure enough you gave me a sign, for when I arrived and came into this room, I found you had left the piano open and a piece of music on the stand. Do you remember doing that?’
‘Yes, of course. The Chopin study. I knew it was a favourite of yours.’
‘And was I right in thinking that you meant it to show you forgave me for taking your home away from you?’
‘It was not a question of forgiveness, because you had done nothing wrong. But yes, it was meant as a sign of some kind … I’m not sure what … To show I was still your friend, I suppose, and to let you know that I understood. But it seems I didn’t understand after all, because I thought you wanted Railes for Ginny’s sake, and now you tell me it was for mine.’
‘Yes. I regarded it as a special trust, though I still didn’t know why it had fallen to me to fulfil that trust. Then, when I heard that your husband had gone and that you and your children were left alone, I thought I understood more precisely why God had entrusted Railes to me. It was so that I could, as it were, give it back to you … to be a sanctuary for you and your children, for just as long as you needed it. And if God further wills that you and they should need that sanctuary for another two or three years, ‒ or five ‒ or ten ‒ then I shall know with certainty that my life and yours were meant to be linked.’
Martin paused and drew a long breath. He was watching her face very carefully, trying to read every thought and feeling expressed there. And, as she remained silent, he spoke again.
‘Katharine, I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but if in the course of time something of what I feel for you could perhaps be reflected back, in however small a measure, for whatever possible reason ‒’
‘No, Martin. It cannot be. I am not free to love you.’
‘You are not free to marry me ‒ not yet at least ‒ but the law can’t dictate what you think or feel.’
‘I can dictate it,’ Katharine said, ‘and I am still married to Charles.’
‘Do you still love him?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Even though he’s de
serted you?’
‘He is still my husband, Martin, and my marriage vows were not taken lightly.’
‘But if, as you fear, he should never return, what then?’ Martin asked. ‘I know there can be no question of divorce ‒’
‘No, there cannot.’
‘But I know too that the law grants freedom to a deserted wife seven years after the date of desertion. I learnt that from Mr Godwin. I presume you know that your brother-in-law consulted him on your behalf.’
‘Yes, Ginny told me. But it was not done at my request.’
‘Mr Godwin assumed it was. He was deeply anxious for you and that was his only reason for discussing the matter with me. I hope you will believe that and not be offended by it.’
‘I am not offended, Martin. Mr Godwin is an old friend and whatever he might do or say, I know him too well to doubt his motives.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that. And I’d like to think that you might have said the same of me. But now that you know what I feel for you, you will of course understand that my own interest in your legal position had a selfish element in it. Katharine, is it possible, do you think, that in another six years’ time, if your husband has still not returned, you might consider taking that course by which the law sets you free? And is it possible that then you might consider marrying me? Even if only to give me the right to look after you and your children and provide for their future as they grow up?’
‘I cannot answer that, Martin. I don’t know how I shall feel in six years’ time. But I do know it is all wrong that you should be thinking in this way. I’m not a young girl. I’m thirty-five. And you must not waste your life waiting for me.’
‘The time would be nothing,’ Martin said, ‘for I should be like Jacob, you know, who served seven years for his Rachel … and they seemed unto him but a few days, because of the love he had for her.’
‘Martin, dear, it is not well done of you to play upon my feelings like this.’
‘Katharine, I’m sorry. I did not mean to make you cry. I only wished you to understand that whatever you felt towards me, it would be enough, and that so long as I had you close to me, as I have these twelve months past ‒’
‘No, Martin, it will not do. If I had known from the beginning what you felt for me, I would never have come here. And now that I do know, I cannot stay.’
‘Surely,’ he said, with a chill at his heart; ‘surely you would not leave here simply because I’ve put into words what I have felt for seventeen years?’
‘Yes, I must. It is for the best.’
‘Best for whom? For yourself, do you mean?’
‘I think,’ she said, ‘for both of us, but most especially for you.’
‘Will you please tell me this ‒ is my love an insult to you?’
‘Martin, it grieves me very much that you should ask such a question as that, and I can’t understand what your motive might be.’
‘You are much above me, remember, in what the world calls rank.’
‘Rank has nothing to do with it. We both know that. Any woman, whoever she was, could not be anything but honoured by such a love as yours. But now that I know how you feel towards me … now it’s been spoken of between us … we can never be as we were before. It will be too difficult. People might easily sense something and if they did it would lead to talk.’
‘If you were to leave suddenly, don’t you think that would lead to talk? And what about Dick and Susannah? How would you explain to them your sudden decision to leave? Then there are the servants here. At present they accept the situation, but if you were to leave suddenly they would be puzzled and suspicious, and suspicion would surely fall on me. They would think me guilty of some offence ‒’
‘Indeed they would not!’ Katharine said. ‘They know you too well. And I would make sure there was no such risk, by remaining on terms of friendship and goodwill with you, for the world to see.’
‘Is that what you feel for me? Friendship? Goodwill?’
‘Yes, and a great debt of gratitude.’
‘If you feel these three things, then I think you owe it to me to remain in this house as I ask you to. If, as you say, you owe me a debt, this is your chance of repaying it. ‒ By putting your trust in me. ‒ By showing you think me a man of honour. I have loved you for seventeen years and it has been a secret till now. It is still a secret from the world and will be, I swear, for as long as ever it needs to be. Till the day I die, if you will it so. That I promise most faithfully.’
‘It is not a secret from my sister Ginny and you know how indiscreet she can be.’
‘Yes. But I cannot see how your leaving here will make her any the less so.’
For a while they stared at one another and in spite of all that had gone before, now, suddenly, in the space of a moment, there was a change of mood between them. Katharine’s grey eyes, although they still held a hint of tears, surveyed him with a glimmering humour, and when at length she answered him, her voice had a challenging ring to it.
‘It seems there is no confuting you. You argue like a trained advocate. But in one sense you are right, of course, for whether I go or stay, it will not stop Ginny’s quick tongue.’
‘I think there is one thing that will stop it ‒ the sisterly feeling she has for you. You are the one person above all others that she loves and respects without reservation. And, I may say, without selfishness. Provoking she may be ‒ mischievous, too, ‒ but Ginny would never do or say anything that she knew might cause you real distress. For that reason, I am sure, you need have no misgivings in continuing here.’
‘Martin, I feel I must ask to postpone any further discussion until I have clarified my thoughts.’
‘Won’t discussion help to do that?’
‘Not as you conduct it,’ she said, ‘for you lead me too much where I want to go.’
‘We human beings are apt to think that the only correct decision must be the one that gives us pain. But this is not so, because just as often the heart knows best. And in the present instance I urge you to think how many of those closest to you would be made sad if you left this house.’
‘You are playing upon my feelings again. Therefore, I will bid you good night. What I need is more time alone to think matters over in my own way.’
‘Very well. Just as you wish.’
They both rose, and Martin accompanied her to the door. ‘At least you do not need to hurry in coming to your decision,’ he said. ‘Indeed, if only you take long enough, the question will determine itself.’
‘Now you are laughing at me,’ Katharine said, and her look, although there was shyness in it, showed she could still be easy with him; showed she was taking him at his word, accepting that she need not pity him. ‘You think because I am a woman, and have just confessed to some lack of firmness, that I am incapable of making any decision at all.’
‘No. I think you are incapable of making any but the right decision. And in that certainty I place my trust’
One last glance and she turned away. ‘Good night, Martin,’ and she was gone. He closed the door after her and faced the emptiness of the room.
Chapter Eleven
He had loved her so long, and hidden it so long, that concealment had become second nature to him, and often during the past seventeen years he had congratulated himself on his ability to act a part. But his complacence had been ill-founded; Katharine now knew what he felt for her; and he, in a moment of folly, had betrayed his most secret hopes and aspirations. He reproached himself bitterly for this and was fiercely determined to make amends. He had been guilty of weakness. Now he must demonstrate his strength. Katharine must be made to feel that Railes was still a safe refuge for her; that never again, by word or look, would he cause her distress or embarrassment. This was his sworn resolution, and in keeping to it he had his reward.
The last days of October passed, and Katharine was still there. The laburnum arbour was planted on the north side of the Tudor garden; the new gateway was made in the wall
; and she was there to see it done. Mulberries ripened on the old tree ‒ an extra good crop that year ‒ and still she was there, to pick the fruit, and to help Cook in making the jam.
‘I feel it is wrong of me to stay, yet I stay all the same,’ she said once, alone with him.
‘And what of the future?’
‘It is in God’s hands.’
She found the decision easy to make because Martin had proved as good as his word. His demeanour to her, even in private, was just as it always had been: correct in the formal observances, yet always so warmly considerate that she rarely experienced awkwardness even of a trivial kind. She had feared that her own powers of dissimulation might not match up to his; that, being a woman, she might betray the secret he had kept so long; but in fact there was little difficulty, partly because of his example, partly because in this at least her will proved equal to the task.
She was always extra vigilant whenever her sister was present but although, every now and again, she would find Ginny watching her with a conspiratorial smile, there was nothing overt to cause her unease. All in all, Ginny’s behaviour at this time was perfectly normal. She flirted with Martin as usual, teased her husband when he was with her, and grumbled about him when he was not. As for George Winter himself, whatever part he had played in divining, and betraying, Martin’s secret, he now kept his own counsel. The nature of that secret was thus confined to four people, all of whom were equally anxious that it should remain so.
It was very strange, Katharine thought, how easily the human mind could absorb new knowledge, even when, initially, that knowledge had caused such astonishment. But here, paradoxically, circumstances played their part: being obliged, for safety’s sake, to banish this particular knowledge to the back of her mind, she soon found it had lodged itself there and quietly made itself at home. Thus, in a matter of weeks, Martin’s love had become part of her life; something she took so for granted that often, during their day-by-day encounters, she scarcely thought of it at all. Almost it seemed as though in time she could even forget it altogether.
The Old House at Railes: A heartwarming rags to riches Victorian family saga Page 32