by John Jakes
He hurried on to his room, puzzling about the curious conversation he’d overheard. He had no idea what Laura and Mrs. Pennel were talking about, although an urgent, almost conspiratorial, note had come through quite clearly. Mother and daughter had obviously patched up their quarrel.
He supposed that was good. But the whole business bothered him, for reasons he couldn’t adequately explain.
ii
The morning dawned rainless but gray. Heavy air carried the promise of new storms.
Will was cheered when Laura came down to breakfast in the morning room. Despite lingering signs of fatigue, she seemed in much better spirits.
They agreed to go driving in an hour. She whispered to one of the servants and sent him out of the room. When Will asked what she was up to, she hugged him and said it was a surprise.
When they’d finished eating, she asked him to come with her to the loggia. Once outside, they walked on across the damp lawn to the bluff overlooking the serpentine Cliff Walk. Only then did she tell him what was on her mind.
“I’m dreadfully sorry yesterday was such a botch.”
“And I’m sorry I made your mother so angry.”
“She isn’t any longer. I finally saw her before breakfast.”
Before breakfast? You saw her last night. But all he said was “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“That’s good news.”
“The problem isn’t you—it’s Papa. For the past few months he’s been—call it inattentive.”
He thought a moment. “I noticed he wasn’t around much this spring.”
“It’s gotten worse. He invents excuses for spending all his time in the city. Most Newport men are absentee husbands. They’ve grown indifferent to their wives. But in Papa’s case, there’s talk—”
She glanced toward the mansion, as if she feared eavesdroppers. Remembering Town Topics, Will understood why she’d brought him outside.
She went on. “Talk that he consorts with other women. I mean women of the very lowest kind. I wouldn’t be surprised. Things have become so strained, he seizes every opportunity to spite Mother. I shouldn’t tell you this, I suppose. But we’re friends, and you are training to be a doctor. I presume you’re familiar with the—the symptoms women experience in midlife?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Mama experienced them in a very acute way. And although she’s too decent to discuss the particulars, I gather the change only aggravated her lifelong dislike of—the physical side of marriage. That’s why Papa’s never here— and why I believe the rumors we’ve heard.”
“That’s certainly unfortunate.” But eminently understandable. An image of Mrs. Pennel’s autocratic face had flickered in Will’s mind. “I saw that your father was gone a lot. But I’m embarrassed to say I wasn’t aware of other changes in his relationship with the family.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. It all happened very gradually.”
“Marcus did hint at some difficulties, after you left the dining room yesterday—”
“Our friends in the city are starting to do more than hint. They tell us Papa’s drinking a lot—for him, even a little is too much. One or two champagne cocktails and all control disappears. He hardly knows what he’s saying—”
Will remembered. “I’m very sorry to hear all this, Laura. It makes me doubly unhappy that I upset your mother yesterday. I hope the problems between your parents won’t lead to”—how to phrase it politely?—“something more serious.”
“You mean divorce? Absolutely not. I expect Mama would like to be free of Papa, but the price is too high. In our set, both parties to a divorce are ostracized. Mama is under great strain, though. For the first time in memory, Papa’s defied her openly. She has difficulty accepting that. And of course she dreads a scandal.”
But had Laura been referring to Thurman Pennel when she spoke of “her” problem behind a closed door last night? He probed for an answer.
“Is that why you’re looking so exhausted?” He touched her chin gently. “It’s the doctor’s considered opinion that someone as fine and beautiful as you shouldn’t be worrying every waking moment.”
She tried to lighten her tone. “Perhaps if I had a husband to share the burdens, I wouldn’t.”
A nod of exaggerated gravity. “Professionally, I agree.”
A whisper. “And personally?”
“Yes, there too. Are you searching for a husband, may I ask?”
She linked her arm in his. “Yes, Doctor, I am. Quite diligently, in fact.”
“And has your search been rewarded?”
“No.” A slow, almost smoldering flicker of her eyes. “But I’m hopeful it may be soon.”
He faced her. The wind blew her straw-colored hair against his cheek. It had the feel of a disembodied hand caressing him. Nervousness made him hoarse.
“Teasing aside, you know how I feel about you. The search can end any time you say.”
“How sweet you are. How very sweet—”
With another swift look toward the house, she raised herself on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his face, the swell of her soft breasts pushing against his jacket. He reached for her. She eluded him, started toward the loggia.
“But you mustn’t press me, Will. I haven’t made up my mind. Not yet. I like you very much. But the trouble between Mother and Papa reminds me how cautious we must be. Marriage is such an important step—”
Suddenly she pirouetted to face him, her gray eyes wide with emotion. “It’s a lifetime promise. I’m just not completely sure, even though”—her voice dropped lower, the very sound of the whisper exciting him—“even though I want you more than I dare admit. I admire my mother. But I’m not like her in every way. I won’t be—cold to my husband.”
Stunned by her candor, he held out his hand. “Laura—”
“We’d better get ready to go driving.”
She whirled away and hurried toward the house. He followed her, his emotions in turmoil because of what she’d confessed.
I won’t be cold to my husband.
I want you more than I dare admit.
He was skeptical of her statements about being unsure of her own feelings. Laura’s character was complex, but that complexity didn’t include being indecisive. She always knew what she wanted; in that way, she was exactly like her mother.
He felt traitorous for questioning something she’d said, but he couldn’t help it. He also couldn’t understand why she’d put him off, unless it was a feminine tactic designed to make him want her all the more.
If that was her aim, she’d succeeded. The thought of her eyes, her mouth, the light touch of her hand and her body filled him with aching expectation as he raced to catch up with her beneath the ominous sky.
iii
The Pennel carriages were housed in an enormous twenty-stall stable on Coggeshall Avenue, which ran parallel to Bellevue and one block west. In the stable, Will and Laura found the sorrels already hitched to a splendid landau with a two-section folding top that permitted it to be converted to a half-head barouche or a fully open carriage, or to be kept completely closed, as it was this morning.
Will felt nervous about driving unfamiliar horses, just as he felt self-conscious about his outfit—a duplicate of the one Marcus had worn to meet him. It was the surprise Laura had mentioned. She’d ordered it from a fashionable gentlemen’s shop, just for his visit.
The four sets of reins were exactly where they were supposed to be—hitched behind the tug strap supporting the trace buckle and pad of the off-side wheel horse. Will took the reins in his left hand and carefully let out the proper amount of slack on the two sets belonging to the off-side horses.
He put the reins in his right hand and mounted the wheel to the coachman’s seat. Then he transferred the reins back to his driving hand so that they were in the right order: the near-leader’s rein between thumb and forefinger; those of the off-leader and near-wheeler between the next two; and the off-wheeler�
��s rein lowest of all, between the middle and third fingers. The feel of the reins had become part of him long ago. Without conscious thought, he could tell whether the four sets were correctly arranged. That was essential. On the road there was no time for conscious selection and manipulation. You had to know where each rein was, how to get hold of it without looking at it, and how to handle it without disturbing the other three. Will knew of several careless beginners who’d been killed because they mistook one rein for another.
He grasped the whip in his right hand, then shortened rein until he could feel just a slight tension of the bits against the mouths of the two leaders. Laura sat close to him on the box seat; one of the grooms had helped her climb up on the other side. Will grinned at her.
“Ready?” She nodded. “Here we go.”
They set out southward along Coggeshall, turning right where it intersected a muddy, deserted road Laura identified as Ocean Avenue. She clung to his right arm as the landau lurched in and out of several ruts.
Ocean Avenue switchbacked along the shore. He had trouble keeping the horses under perfect control on the sharp turns. But Laura complimented and encouraged him, and once he’d discarded his top hat and stopped worrying about mud splashing up from the road, his driving improved. He accustomed himself to the size and weight of the landau and began to feel the mouths of the sorrels a little more positively. The horses were well schooled, responsive animals, and soon he had them clipping along briskly.
“Marcus was right. You’re a first-class whip,” Laura exclaimed as the landau bounced and swayed around a curve. Will was showing off a bit, turning so that the right wheels lifted away from the road for a moment or so.
She gasped delightedly as they came down again. To the left, fans of white spray rose above boulders lining the shore. Ocean Avenue was low and close to the water at this point. The waves were noisy; Laura had to shout to be heard.
“What does it take to be a good driver?”
“Two of the same qualities it takes to be a good doctor. Patience and practice. Plus the money to maintain a fine outfit like this.”
“And what else?”
“Strong wrists. Strong forearms. Above all, you need what they call good hands. That’s a kind of instinctive feel for the reins. Expert drivers develop it. Poor ones never do.”
They were rolling along a straight, fairly smooth stretch of road parallel to the rock-strewn shore. He shook the whip in his right hand. “You also have to be able to touch the whip to any one of those four horses and miss the other three. If you can’t do that and do it perfectly every time, you’re not a true four-in-hand man.”
A quarter of a mile further on, the racing horses rounded another bend. Will pulled them frantically to the right to keep from running down two men and a shabbily dressed girl who’d emerged from the damp underbrush on the left side of the road. Laura lost her last trace of color.
“It’s those creatures from the Casino—”
Will recognized the shacker who had accosted Marcus. The shacker recognized him in turn, just as the lead horses flashed by the trio. The slatternly girl’s clothing was disarrayed, leaving little doubt as to what she and the boys had been doing this warm, windy morning.
Behind him, Will heard the boy shout. He was about to ask Laura about the shacker when something sharp struck the back of his neck with enough force to draw blood.
He twisted around, scowling. The shacker flung another rock. This one hit the near wheel horse on the left flank.
The impact frightened the animal. It whinnied and lunged forward, throwing the other three off stride. In a moment the smoothly running quartet became four frightened runaways. Will sawed and hauled on the reins in a desperate effort to stop the landau from overturning in a ninety-degree turn just ahead.
CHAPTER VII
LOVE AND HONOR
i
“HANG ON!” WILL SHOUTED.
Laura ducked her head. He leaned back, tugging frantically. The lead horses plunged into the turn.
On the far side of the road, the shoulder dropped steeply to a natural ditch. The lead horses raced straight toward it for a moment more. Finally they responded to the reins and made the turn. So did the wheel horses.
But the four runaways exerted a tremendous whiplashing force on the carriage, skidding it sideways toward the ditch. Will feared one or both axles might snap.
There was a terrifying instant in which he felt the right wheels slide onto the shoulder and slip downward. If the landau tipped and crashed into the standing water, Laura could be injured or killed—
The near wheels rose from the road. “Will, it’s going over!”
Without conscious thought, he fed slack into all four sets of reins, keeping only minimal pressure on the bits as he stroked the off-leader with the whip—“Hah!”—then the near-leader—“Hah!” The response was a sudden forward surge of the horses down a short straightaway—enough to arrest the landau’s sideways skid and settle its near wheels on the road with a jolt.
Will’s gut hurt. His mouth felt dry as he pulled on the reins again, tightening up on the bits. Badly frightened, the horses didn’t respond. He shortened rein again, trying not to dwell on the fact that by now the bits would be tearing at the mouths of the sorrels.
In a moment the horses began to slow down. By the time the landau bumped into the next turn they were down to a walk, snorting and bobbing their heads in response to the pain of the bits. Will hated hurting them; he’d had no choice.
He slacked off on the reins and pushed his boot against the brake lever. The landau came to a stop.
His shoulders slumped from the sudden release of tension. After two deep breaths, he turned to Laura expecting to see a bleached look of fear. To his astonishment, she was flushed with exhilaration.
Her gray eyes fastened on his, communicating a message he could hardly believe. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip and brushed at the hair, blowing past her cheek. She gripped his forearm with her left hand, kneading his flesh through the green coat. Her voice was husky as she said, “That was splendidly done. You were very brave.”
He shook his head. “No bravery involved. I just drove and hoped we didn’t upset. If we had, it could have been serious.”
“You were brave, Will. Don’t deny it.”
Breathing almost as loudly as he was, she leaned toward him, opening her lips. My God, he thought, aroused. The danger excited her.
“So brave,” she murmured as her mouth came against his, all moist and soft. He tasted her tongue, felt her hand glide across his leg. He thought of the shackers and the girl. What had become of them? Was anyone else driving on Ocean Avenue today? This was a public road—
Southward above the Atlantic, the sky was solid gray. On a nearby hillside, a collie ran back and forth along the skyline, barking at a farmer carrying a milk can. Laura’s breathing was rapid now, as if she were no longer in control of herself. She kissed him more ardently, and moaned. Her hand tightened. The pressure between his legs was almost more than he could bear.
One by one he forgot the things that had been worrying him. There was no sign of the two boys from the Casino. The road remained empty. The man with the milk can was gone, the collie silent, the heavens dark as evening.
A fissure of white lightning split the sky in the south. Laura’s other hand moved in his hair. She teased his tongue with hers, whispered, “Let’s go down to the shore. Please, Will.”
“What if someone comes along and finds the carriage?”
“They won’t find us. Tie the horses! I can’t help myself. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve waited and wanted you too long as it is—”
“All right, just a minute.”
Awkwardly, he disentangled himself and climbed to the ground. The only tree close by was a low, stunted evergreen at the roadside. By reaching under—scratching his face in the bargain—he was able to tie the sweating horses securely. They seemed content to stand, spent from their run.
As he stood again, he used his cuff to wipe dirt from his cheek, then rubbed at the blood on the back of his neck. He extended his other hand to Laura. She clasped it and led him into the wet underbrush separating the road and the shore.
Their passage raised miniature rain showers when they disturbed branches still wet from last night’s storm. “Laura, you’re getting soaked. Your clothes will be ruined.”
“I don’t care. It’s warm and we can lie on your coat. Please, Will—hurry. Unless you don’t want—?”
He squeezed her hand. “You know I do.”
ii
They found a patch of sand in the shelter of some seaside rocks. The sand was damp but level and smooth. The tide was running out, leaving bits of driftwood and small, jellylike creatures behind.
Will kicked a piece of wood from the spot he’d chosen. Standing, he looked back toward the road. He could just see the roof of the landau over the top of the largest rock. Lying down, they should be invisible to anyone up there. Unless, of course, someone grew curious about the abandoned carriage and came searching—
“Will, your coat!”
Her voice was so urgent, it made him apprehensive about his ability to please her. The surf thundered as he flung the green garment on the sand. Lightning gashed the dark sky. Side by side, they dropped down on the coat, their arms going around one another.
He put a hand on her breast. She cried out in delight. Her fingers strayed to his neck and came away faintly red. That seemed to excite her even more.
He got his breeches off, then everything else. She bared her body without embarrassment, pleading for him with almost shocking intensity. He brought himself over her and her entreaties became a roar in his ears. His mouth savored her damp hair, her sandy cheeks—all of it sweeter than anything he’d ever experienced. The hasty, almost frantic coupling climaxed when they rolled off the green coat onto the sand, he below, she above, arms and legs locking them into a heaving convulsion—