The fact that Harpcore’s suicide meant he would be buried in unconsecrated ground could not have deterred many from attending the burial, for people were there in their hordes: many had come in coaches and cabs, others had walked to the cemetery, the majority out of curiosity.
Nancy Ann had left the House and, with Rebecca and Mary, had taken up abode with her grandmother. There wasn’t enough room to take Agnes, but Graham, in his constant kindness, had found a position for her in his overstaffed house, so that she could be near her sister until they could both make up their minds what they wanted to do: Rebecca now had no need of a nursemaid; nor had Nancy Ann of a housekeeper; but she was very definitely at the time in need of a companion and friend. And Mary was both to her. Also, she could in a way handle Rebecca better than she herself could, as she’d had the early rearing of her.
Rebecca had been attending a private day school in Durham. But on being informed that she must now go to the village school, she had shown some pique, in fact, temper, which was surprising, for, generally, she had been a most obedient child. Mary put it down to what she called the recent narration, but Nancy Ann saw another source for the change in her daughter’s character, and she could date the change from David’s arrival. More than once she’d had to check her for the way she spoke to him and for making demands on him. Only yesterday she had asked him if he would take her back to Australia. And he had smiled as he answered her, saying, ‘Ask me that question in another five years’ time.’ And at this she had flounced away.
Today was the last day of the sale in the House. Nancy Ann was sitting with her hands resting idly in the lap of her black gown. Jessica sat opposite to her. She was cracking her knuckles: she would put her right hand into a loose fist, push each finger on the left into the tunnel, then grip it and pull. The fingers did not crack every time as they once had done. She would break her bones, she used to say to amuse the boys and her when they were young. Later, she had discovered that her grandmama would often crack her knuckles when she was worried: and apparently she was worried now, for she said, ‘Do you think the money from the sale will cover all his debts?’
‘No, not anywhere near, Grandmama. The House itself will have to be sold. The sale of that will take place after all the goods have gone.’
‘You say that David has stocked the farmhouse up with all the best pieces?’
‘Yes, so Graham tells me.’
‘Well, I’m glad of that, although I don’t think the farm is the kind of setting for French furniture, and there was a lot of that there, wasn’t there?’
‘Yes, Grandmama.’
‘They are dealing with the things outside today, I suppose?’
‘Yes, Grandmama.’
‘And the House will come up after?’
‘Yes, Grandmama.’ Oh she wished, she wished she would stop talking about it. Her head was going round and round. She felt ill. Since they had brought Dennison into the House and she had looked down on his shattered face, she had been haunted by the thought that the words he had levelled at her were true, that nothing had gone right for him since he had married her and that, in a way, she was to blame for what had overtaken him.
She was feeling very tired. She had the great desire to lie down and sleep: if she could sleep long enough she would wake to find that at least the past five years were forgotten and that she could now start another life. But always the question would yell at her. Who with? Who with? In the small hours of this morning she had lain staring ahead in the comparatively small room upstairs and asking herself if she were on the verge of going mad. Her husband had just died a dreadful death; there was a mountain of business to be seen to, debts from every quarter to be cleared and yet, she would keep asking herself, with whom would she begin her new life? Yes, she must be on the verge of going mad.
Her grandmama was saying, ‘I think I’ll go and rest for a little while, dear,’ and so she got quickly to her feet in order to help her up, and when, her arm about her grandmama, they reached the sitting-room door, the old woman smiled at her wanly, saying, ‘I’m all right, dear. I’m all right. I can manage. I’ve been managing on my own for a long time now, you must remember. When I need help, there’s always the girls.’
It was as if she was being dismissed. She dropped her hand from her grandmama’s shoulder and watched her walk steadily across the small hall, then grip the bannister and slowly, one by one, pull herself up the stairs and then for some distance edge her way past the boxes containing their personal belongings now stacked against the landing wall.
There’s always the girls. Her presence, and that of Rebecca and Mary, were going to disturb her grandmama. She had lived comparatively on her own for years now and she was happy that way…Who shall I start a new life with?
Dear God! There it was again. She must get outside and walk, breathe deeply, try to flood her mind with sanity.
She took a light coat and a straw hat from the wardrobe in the hall, and she donned the coat and pulled on the hat as she hurried outside. She had the desire to run as she had done when a girl, but now it wasn’t towards home or in joyful skipping along the river bank, but away, away from everything, everyone.
After walking some distance she wasn’t surprised to find herself by the river and quite near the stone where she had first seen David sitting. She wasn’t afraid of the river. It had taken her child; and for this she had herself accepted part of the blame; she should have been more watchful of him, knowing how high spirited he was. No, she didn’t blame the river, but she did blame God for allowing these things to happen. Her father had instilled into her that God was kind and merciful; everything He did had a purpose behind it, even good came out of evil, you only had to wait long enough. Well, she had known quite a lot of evil of late, but where would the good come out of it?…It all depended on whom she would begin her life with.
Oh, dear, dear God. She dropped down onto the stone and bowed her head deeply onto her chest. Please, she prayed now, stop me from thinking this way. Give me peace. Oh, please, give me peace. Oh, please bring peace into my soul. I don’t want to marry anyone. I don’t. I don’t. This twisted feeling of love inside me is not natural. I am ill. Make me better in my mind. Please, please, God, make me better in my mind. Oh, Papa, speak for me.
How long she sat on the stone she didn’t know. An hour? Perhaps more. But when at last she got to her feet, she felt strangely calm. It was as if, in this instance at least, her prayer had been answered. She now turned and walked up through the tangled path, having to push the brambles back here and there, and she was nearing the end of it when she saw the figure hurrying towards her, and her heart jerked in her breast.
She stopped, and he stopped an arm’s length from her, and quietly he said, ‘Well, it’s all done.’
‘What? What did the House bring?’ Her voice sounded calm.
‘It didn’t go. Nobody would rise to the price. They were all out for bargains in every way. But the auctioneer saw that they got very few. You will do well out of the sale.’
‘The creditors will.’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose that’s what I mean. I could have I bought the House, you know. Yes, I could. But what would I do with it? Burn it down? Yes, I’d like to do that, burn it down. It’s an unhappy house. Always has been, and not only in his time, from what I’ve gathered lately; the supposedly ideal marriage between his parents was a sham too. You’re well out of it.’
She began to walk on, and he, suiting his step to her, walked by her side, his hands behind his back. And, looking ahead, he said, ‘Well, the farm is all ready for you.’
‘What!’ She jerked her head towards him.
‘The farmhouse. Most of your stuff is there and all the furniture that it would take, from the drawing room and dining room to kitchenware.’
She stopped, and they faced each other again, and she said, ‘Do you think I would go and live there? Is that why you’ve done this?’
‘Yes, I think you will go and live there, a
nd that’s why I’ve done this.’
‘Then’—she shook her head slowly—‘you’re suffering under a delusion. I couldn’t possibly go and live in that house. You know that.’
‘How do I know that?’ His face looked grim. ‘What’s to stop you going to live there? I’ll be gone next week. I’ve outstayed my visit by a month just so that I could see you settled there.’
‘Oh, David.’ Her voice was low now and sad. ‘You must have known, under the circumstances, I couldn’t have accepted such an offer from you. I’m already in debt to so many people.’
‘But you don’t want to be in debt to me? If you look at it that way, I’ll sign the place over to you tomorrow.’
She closed her eyes and put her hand tightly across them now, muttering, ‘Stop it! Stop it!’
Her hand was pulled roughly away from her face and his came close to hers and in a hoarse whisper he said, ‘A few weeks ago you said words to me, “If you love me, do what I ask. Please go.” You said that, didn’t you, because you knew I loved you? I’ve always loved you. Now I’m asking you something. Do you love me?’
She gave a shudder and pulled herself from his grasp and, stepping back from him, she stared at him, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish’s before she could stammer, ‘I…I am eight years or more older than you, I…I’ve looked upon you as I might a s…son.’
‘Don’t talk rot.’ He flashed his hand between them now, his little finger tweaking her now in the process, causing her head to jerk back. ‘That was when you were a girl and I was a boy. I’ve thought of nobody but you for years. Do you know something? Women chase me. Yes, they chase me. Mothers with marriageable daughters hound me. Even the short time I’ve been in Durham I’ve had visitors, even a county lady or two. Can you believe that? Money talks; it can even cover bastardy. But every woman I look at, every girl I see, has your face, your manner, your voice, everything about you. But I know there is somebody else in the running. I’ve known that for a long time. He’s a good man and I like him, but not for you. When I think of him having you I could hate him as much as I hated him that’s gone. Do you love Mercer?’
She felt she was going to cry and was forbidding herself to do so. She wanted to sink to the ground. She wanted to rest. The tired feeling was on her again. She heard her voice saying limply, ‘I don’t love anyone at the moment. No-one. You…you forget, my husband has just died…’
‘Oh, don’t be a hypocrite. What feelings you had for him died years ago, and Mercer stepped in. And he is sure to ask you to marry him, love or no love. What will you say? Tell me, tell me truthfully, what will you say?’
She opened her eyes wide as if to get him into focus. He looked beautiful. His hair was the colour of the sun. He was the most handsome man she had seen in years, or had ever seen, and he was young. Youth emanated from him. What was he? Twenty? Twenty-one? And she? Nearly twenty-nine. Soon she would be in her thirties and it would be a tired thirties, because oh, she was so tired, so tired of everything. But he, he would still be vibrating with youth. There would be no peace for her when near him; his very youth and energy would make demands on her that she wouldn’t be able to meet. Whereas Graham, Graham with his tenderness, his consideration; Graham with his love that had been tried over the years; Graham had to have something for his loyalty, something for his kindness. And besides gratitude, she really did love him. Yes, she loved Graham.
Simply now, she answered, ‘I shall say yes to him, David. He has earned my love and respect for years now. But I will say this to you. Yes, I do love you, but in a different way. And if you really love me you would not want to marry me, for marriage with you would bring me no peace. The gap in our ages is too wide; our outlooks are so different. And everything that has happened over the years has already created a gulf that neither of us can really step over.’
She watched his face tighten; she watched his whole body stiffen; and she pleaded now, ‘Please, don’t be bitter. And for all your thoughtfulness with regard to the farmhouse, I’ll never forget your kindness. What…what will you do with it now?’
It was some time before he answered her. The tan of his face had paled, his eyes had darkened, they looked almost black; he wetted his lips a number of times before he said, ‘What will I do with it?’ His voice rose higher. ‘Leave it as it is. I’ll come back every now and again. Who knows, I might even settle here in my old age. And, on one of my visits, should the House still be empty, I might buy it and wait for Guy Fawkes night and have one big splendid bonfire.’
She turned her head to the side and drew her lips tight between her teeth before she murmured, ‘Oh David,’ and he repeated scornfully, ‘Oh, David.’ But then he demanded, ‘And what would you say if, in five years’ time when she’s sixteen, I decide to marry your daughter? She’ll be willing enough; she’s had an affection for me since she was a tot. And you heard what she said yesterday, she wants to come back with me to Australia. So, my dear old lady, what would you say to that?’
‘Goodbye, David.’ She half turned away, and he cried at her, ‘I mean it. I mean that, mind.’
She took no heed but walked on; and then she found herself dragged round with his arms about her and his mouth on hers, and she was being kissed as even Dennison in the height of his passion had never kissed her. When it was over she staggered back from him, her mouth open, dragging in air to prevent herself from choking. Then, gripping the front of her skirt, she pulled it up and ran now as swiftly as when she was a young girl along the path and away from him. And she didn’t stop until she reached the gate leading into Graham’s estate. Once through it, she still ran until she was well within the shadow of the trees, and there she sank down by a broad bole and, leaning her head against it, she gave vent to a paroxysm of weeping.
And it was here, sometime later, that Graham came across her and, having gently lifted her up, he led her as gently back to the house, thinking that she had been overcome by all the turmoil and worry of the past days.
Six
She’d had no word from David since he had returned to Australia, but the newspapers were prophesying a gold rush in the place where he lived, Kalgoorlie.
Life, she was finding, was not easy. The Dower House, as her grandmama said, housed so many people now that they were falling over each other. Rebecca, too, was proving more of a problem every day. She had taken into her head to pay uninvited visits to the farmhouse, and often Mary would have to go in search of her and would find her installed as if she owned the place. Apparently, too, she had got into the habit of giving orders to the staff, and when these weren’t obeyed she would get into a tantrum and say she would write and tell David.
This information Mary tactfully gave to Nancy Ann because, as she said, something had to be done and she wasn’t in a position to take the matter into her own hands.
When Nancy Ann forbade Rebecca to go to the farmhouse on her own, the girl retorted, ‘David said I could. He said I had to keep an eye on it.’
‘David said nothing of the sort. You’re lying.’
And to this, Rebecca had come back, ‘He indicated as much, because he said we were going to live there. After Papa died he said we were going to live there.’
Very likely he had. But what she said to her daughter was, ‘Well, we’re not living there and you’re not to go unless accompanied by Mary or myself.’
‘But you don’t go there,’ the girl had replied.
That was true; she didn’t go there.
For weeks now she’d had the urge to get away, not only from this house, but from the confines of both estates, out in the open, as she put it. To this end, she had taken to walking to the village; she could do this now for the tradesmen’s bills had been met, at least in most part. But even this outlet had been checked recently on a suggestion from Shane McLoughlin. Shane had actually made it his business to come to the house this day and to ask if he could speak to her. And he had begun, ‘I’m sure you’ll pardon me, ma’am, but it’s about your little w
alk to the village. There’s…well, there’s been one or two incidents lately, quite unpleasant, and I would be careful if I were you for the time bein’.’
‘What kind of incidents, Shane?’ she had asked.
‘Oh.’ He had seemed reluctant to explain the nature of the incidents, but said, ‘Well, not pleasant things. And unless you have somebody with you, Mr Mercer or one of the stable lads, well, I don’t think it would be wise, not for the present anyway, to do any jauntin’.’
She was puzzled. She had not heard of any incidents happening on the road between here and the village. And only last week she had been in the grocer’s-cum-post-office-cum-general stores, and Miss Waters the dressmaker was present and if there was any gossip going she was the one to spread it around: tragedies large and small were meat and drink to Miss Waters.
However, she had thanked Shane and said she would be careful.
But there came the day that Rebecca did not return from school at her appointed time. There were two roads to the school. One along the main coach road and through the village, and the other by a lane that branched off the coach road and ended at a field gate over which you had to climb because it had been padlocked for years, ever since some cattle had escaped through it and along the path and onto the coach road, and there caused havoc when meeting the horse-drawn post van head on, resulting in a dead cow, an injured horse, a post van on its side in a ditch and the driver with a broken leg.
So on this early evening of a day that had been very hot and was still warm and soft, she did not bother to put a dust jacket over her grey spotted voile dress, with the black waistband proclaiming she was still in mourning, but pulled on a light straw hat and made her way through the bottom of the garden, so avoiding coming within sight of the Manor House, and through a small wicket gate and onto the coach road. It was only a five minutes’ walk to where the path that afforded the short cut branched off from the roadway, and she was within a few yards of it when she saw the landau approaching. But she took no notice—carriages were frequent sights on this road—but after she had turned into the side road and then heard the landau being driven from the main road into it, she did take notice.
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