“Yes.” What else was she going to tell him? If only she knew. But—sufficient to the crisis were the evils thereof. “I shall have to concede our game, Cousin.”
“Well?” Her grandfather looked sharply at her from the depths of his big chair. “Come to announce your engagement, eh?”
“No, Grandfather.” But she bent to drop a kiss on his leathery cheek. “I announced that weeks ago, remember?”
“Yes—and much good it’s done us. Have you heard what Richard says?”
“About Ross running off and enlisting in the navy? Yes—and give him credit for believing it himself.”
“You don’t, hey?”
“Of course I don’t. Nor do you.”
“He might have been pressed.”
“A gentleman? Fantastic. Besides, I think I know where he is.”
“Oh you do, do you. And where, pray, is that?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Grandfather. It’s not my secret.”
“You mean it’s all moonshine. Now, I’ll tell you what I think, girl, and you can just quit arguing and listen to me. Of course you’re right on one point—gentlemen don’t get pressed. But there might be truth in Richard’s story for all that. You know as well as I do that Ross was far more closely involved than I like to think with that rascally band of smugglers.”
“From whom we get our tea and brandy? Yes, Grandfather, I have suspected something of the kind.”
“Suspected! Pah, girl, don’t give me that. If he didn’t confide in you, and get your help, too, I’m more senile than I think. Well, then, suppose he was in the gang that day when Trevis caught them. Suppose by some fluke he was not recognized, in his disguise—I have no doubt Ross can look a villainous enough character if he wants to. Might he not then, rather than disgrace himself, and, to be fair to him, us, have stuck to his alias? How do you know he isn’t rotting in Dover Castle at this minute?”
“Because I know relatives of all three men who are there.”
“Oh.” But he returned at once to the attack. “Just the same, he might have traded information for a chance to volunteer for the navy. It’s entirely possible, you know, that they’d take him—he’s a great brute of a man. He’d make two of Richard.”
“And you think that a bad thing. Take a long look at me, Grandfather.”
Surprisingly, he chuckled. “Long’s the word all right. I know what you’re thinking, girl. You’re afraid you’ll look foolish towering over poor Richard. But it can’t be helped. I’ve borne with Ross all this time, because he had the name—if nothing else. Now, I’ve had enough. If he’s between decks on a man-of-war … well, what more suitable place for a bastard? I expect he’ll thrive there too. Ross always falls on his feet. Well, now what’s the matter, girl?”
She had risen to her feet. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving, Grandfather. I engaged myself to Ross, not because either of us wanted it, but to please you. Now, for as little reason, you wish me to break that and make Richard miserable with an engagement as distasteful to him as to me. I came here because my father made me promise, on his deathbed, that I would. It’s true that I promised him I’d stay six months, but, if he was alive, I’m sure he’d agree I’ve done my best. So … good-bye, Grandfather.”
“What? What?” He gobbled at her in surprise and rage. “Leave! I never heard such nonsense. My granddaughter leave Tretteign Grange! Impossible. Besides”—he was relaxing now, a look of cunning spreading across the blotchy face—“where would you go? Going on the town—hey?—So you’ll be fit company for Ross when he gets home?”
“It’s lucky you’re so old.” She stood over him, looking down dispassionately at his crumpled figure in the big chair. “I’m not going to say the things I might, Grandfather. Only this. My father escaped from you. Your other son and your daughter, who stayed at home, do not seem to have made remarkable successes of their lives. I think, even now, old as you are, you are dangerous because you’re so selfish and so stupid. Well, you’re not going to make a mull of my life, because I won’t let you. Father hoped you might have learned something, over the years. He begged me to come back and give you a chance to be my grandfather. ‘Family’s important,’ he said. Well, I’ve given family a chance for his sake, but now I’m finished. May I have the use of the carriage as far as Rye?” She might have been any guest arranging her departure.
He had shrunk down into the chair, but his voice was still spiteful. “To Rye, hey? And what will you do there? Not set up as one of the muslin company on my very doorstep, I hope.”
“What a fool you are, Grandfather.” But this time she said it kindly enough. “No, I shall hire a post chaise to take me to London. Has it never occurred to you that my father has friends? The American minister in London is one of them.”
“So you’ll live on his charity, eh?”
“Rather than on yours—yes. But, in fact, it will not come to that. You have teased me, I know, about my inheritance from my father, but it should see me through this crisis.”
“And set you up, no doubt, in some delicious career—you reckon to commence governess, perhaps?”
“Heaven forbid. But what I do with myself, from now on, is my own affair. You have lost the right even to ask about my plans. So … good-bye, Grandfather.” She bent to kiss the dry old cheek, and something about the way he had huddled down into his chair moved her to add, “I’m sorry it’s had to end like this. I’d have liked to be a granddaughter to you. Father was right, you know, family is important. That’s just the danger.” And then, on an entirely new note, “Grandfather! What’s the matter?”
His face was livid and his jaw hung down at one side. “My drops, girl, quick!” He spoke with difficulty.
She poured them with a hand that shook. Monstrous, in her anger, to have forgotten his precarious state of health. But then, to be fair to herself, she had always thought his ill health merely one of his many holds over his family. Now, ringing sharply for Greg, she blamed herself bitterly. After all, he was a very old man. The mere shock of having his wishes crossed—so unusual in his life—might have been too much for him.
But Dr. Pembly, when he came, was less discouraging than Christina had feared. He confirmed that old Mr. Tretteign had suffered a slight stroke. “Been having an argument, had he?” She had been frank with him about the nature of the scene, though not about what had been said. “Well, I’ve warned him often enough … and don’t you look so miserable either, Miss Tretton. The truth is, he’s been using these seizures of his to rule his family for years. I’ve warned him often enough … but how were you to know?”
“I should have guessed. I’ll never forgive myself. But you think he’ll recover?”
“Of course he’ll recover—with nursing—and be ruling the roost as hard as ever in a week or two. But, that brings me to a point—nursing. Greg’s had practice, but I wouldn’t trust him with the medicines. And, worthy woman, your aunt …” He left silence to speak for itself. “Last time Mr. Tretteign was ill, I sent in a woman I could rely on for sheer good-natured bullying. But she’s left the district. Now, you managed Parkes …”
Christina had seen this coming. “I was meaning to leave today,” she said.
“That’s what the row was about, eh? Well, I don’t want to pose as your conscience, but won’t you feel better if you stay and pull the old man through? It’s nothing difficult, mind, just good honest woman’s care. But as for your aunt and cousin …” It was, she supposed, significant enough that they had left her to deal with him.
“Yes.” It hardly took a struggle. “I’ll do it.”
“Good girl. You won’t regret it, I’m sure.”
Of course she would not. Had not something, deep down inside her, been glad of a valid excuse for staying? After all, if he came back at all, surely Ross would come back here.
Inevitably, Richard used his grandfather’s illness as an excuse to apply for an extension of his leave of absence from the Admiralty. “Do you realize”—he had c
ontrived to corner Christina in her study—“that if the old man were to die now, the whole estate would go to the Patriotic Fund? It doesn’t bear thinking of—”
“No?” She rounded on him with pent-up fury. “It doesn’t does it, so let’s not.” And then, more quietly, “Look, Richard … for one thing Grandfather is not going to die. For another, I would not have you even if he had just received the last rites of the Church. And, finally, if you so much as hint at this again, I will stop nursing him and let him die.” Of course she would do no such thing, but she had Richard’s measure by now. He believed her implicitly, and left her alone.
Chapter Twelve
Christina was not so absurd as to expect her grandfather to be an easy invalid. Sometimes she almost suspected him of wanting to die, simply out of bad temper, but, if so, a naturally rugged constitution was too much for him. He began, slowly, reluctantly, ill-temperedly, to recover.
“Well now.” He was sitting up in bed for the first time one wild January evening when his rooms were the only draught-free ones in the house. “What’s been going on while I’ve been ill, hey, girl? Richard’s still here, I hope.”
“Yes, Grandfather.” She handed him his glass of medicine. “Still here, and still obeying orders.”
“And what, pray, do you mean by that?” He made a disgusted face and put the medicine, untouched, on the table by his bed.
“Why, that he’s wooing me as pertinaciously as you could wish. It would be comic if it were not a nuisance.” She picked up the glass and offered it to him again. “Dr. Pembly says it’s important you should take it regularly.”
“Be damned to Pembly. What makes it comic, may I ask?”
“I’ll tell you when you’ve drunk your medicine.” She moved away to make up the fire.
“Obstinate bitch aren’t you? Damned if you don’t remind me of your grandmother.” He was looking beyond her now into the remote past. “Everything would have been different if she hadn’t died bearing that fool of a girl … daughters—pah! Couldn’t stop her own husband seducing her brother’s wife. That’s what all my troubles stem from. God, I could have killed her.”
Christina looked at him thoughtfully. He was obviously much better. Well enough to face the truth for once? “Don’t you think you probably did?” she said.
“What on earth do you mean?” In his surprise, he drank off his medicine at a gulp.
“Why—just that if you made her the kind of scene you go in for these days, on top of her other troubles, it’s no wonder she died in childbirth. Did my grandmother let you bully people?”
“Bully? I?” He was honestly surprised. “Someone’s got to keep this family from going to the devil. And I tell you, girl, I mean to do it. And I won’t be put off with red herrings either. I want to know what’s so comic about Richard’s courting you.”
“Everything. Poor Richard! He tries so hard. But you’re no fool. You must see the absurdity of it. Richard and I? It would be like mating a humming bird and an ostrich, and he knows it.”
“Nothing of the kind. And at least he’s got more sense than to defy me. I don’t suppose there’s been any word from Ross while I’ve been ill?” And then, reading the answer on her face, “Very well then, that settles it. And I’ll have no more of your bullying either. Send me Greg and write Foxton he’s to come at once.”
“Very well, Grandfather.” She turned to leave the room.
“To proud even to ask, hey? Well, I’ll tell you—a new will … everything to Richard—the only one of my grandchildren who obeys me. The only one I can trust.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. Remind him of Richard’s declared intention to sell the Grange at once? Tell him any marriage between them would have been in name only, with no chance of heirs? Tell him … no, there was enough tattle and talebearing in this house already. “Poor Ross,” she said instead. And, “Poor Grandfather.” She shut the door gently behind her and set about doing his bidding.
She was in her study writing to Foxton when she heard carriage wheels on the drive outside. Who on earth? Dr. Pembly was not due till the next day. Even in fine weather, visitors to the Dark House were few and far between, discouraged equally, she suspected, by her grandfather’s bad temper and her aunt’s bad name. She was at the window now, peering out through driving rain as a shabby-looking post chaise drew up on the sweep outside the front door. The postboy was still busy with his horses when the carriage door was flung open and a tall figure jumped lightly to the ground. Ross!
She was in the hall in a moment, then, forcing herself to show a calm she was far from feeling, stopped to ring the bell for Parkes. While she awaited his slow approach from the back of the house, she made herself stay away from the windows. Her aunt would think it unladylike if she rushed out to greet Ross. She did not care a straw for that—but Ross would not like it either. She saw that the grandfather clock was five minutes slow and made a little business of reaching up to move its hands.
There, Parkes had appeared at last, and, as he did so, a resounding knock sounded on the heavy front door. “It’s Mr. Ross, Parkes.” She could at least spare the old man the shock that even such a pleasant surprise must be.
“Ha, Parkes. Good to see you.” Ross sounded as matter-of-fact as if he had been merely as far as Rye, or, at most, Hastings. “And Chris.” She had let herself come forward now, hands outstretched, a host of silent questions in her eyes. “Good to see you, too.” His tone was exactly the same as to Parkes. He took her hands, looked as if he did not quite know what to do with them and compromised by giving them a little, friendly shake and letting go. “Is all well?”
How to answer such a comprehensive question? “Well …” she began doubtfully, but he interrupted her. “No matter—there’ll be time for that. I’ve no doubt my grandfather is in a fury, but that can wait too. I’ve got a surprise for you, Chris, one that will please you.”
“A surprise? For me?” But he had turned away and started back down the front steps to the carriage. Following him to the open doorway, she saw movement, faces inside. Ross had opened the door and was carefully, almost tenderly, helping someone to alight. The slight figure—she could not be more than a girl—turned to look at him, laughing, and say something, then ran for it through the rain to the open doorway. “Tina!” She was still laughing as she shook raindrops from her curls. “I’d have known you anywhere.” She put up a pointed, delicate little face to be kissed. “I declare, you’re taller than ever …”
Returning the kiss, “Sophie!” said Christina, “I don’t believe it. But how?”
“By a miracle and our cousin Ross.” She rolled her r’s in the French fashion. “But, come and greet Mamma.”
“Mother!”
“Of course. You didn’t think I’d trust myself to anyone so dashing as Cousin Ross, alone?” They both turned in the doorway in time to see a plump little figure in extravagant widow’s weeds make a cautious descent, carefully supported by Ross’s arm. Despite the rain, she came up the stairs sedately, looking about her as she came with quick, dark eyes that missed nothing. Now they settled on Christina. “Well, my dear?”
“Well, Mother?” Once again, Christina had to bend to kiss the exquisite maquillage of the cheek. As she did so, a wave of perfume, familiar as the memories of childhood, assailed her; the temptation to make it a real kiss, to throw her arms around her mother and let the tears of welcome come, was strong in her. But, already, her mother had drawn away to look about her at the hall. “I’m delighted to see you, my dear. And this is Tretteign Grange at last. We are exhausted from our journey. Rest first, perhaps, and exclamations later?”
“Mother, you haven’t changed a bit!” Christina could not help it. “And Sophie!” She had a hand of each. “Yes, of course you must rest. Come up to my room while I think what’s best for you. Ross, if I were you I would go straight to Grandfather. He’s very angry. I was just writing Foxton.”
“I see.” How silent he had been. Tact? It seemed most unlike
him. Or could memory of their parting weigh as heavily with him as it did with her? He must know by now that she had had nothing to do with M. Tissot’s escape. Could he be trying for the apology she had demanded from him?
“Christina!” His voice made her turn back from the stairs which her mother and sister were already ascending. There was certainly something on his mind. Well, no wonder.
“Yes?” She stopped on the bottom stair to look at him from his own level.
“We have much to talk about.”
“Yes.”
“And no time yet. Meanwhile …” A pause. Something was indeed the matter. “I did not know what to do for the best. I have said nothing—to your Mother—to them.”
“Nothing?” She could not help feeling sorry for his obvious embarrassment. “Oh—about our engagement, you mean, such as it is?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” How much did she see?
“Cousin Ross!” Sophie was leaning over the upstairs banisters. She had snatched off her calash and dark curls fell loose around the little face. “You won’t forget your promise?”
“I should think not! Just as soon as you are rested.” And then, oddly awkward, to Christina. “I told her about the haunted cloisters.”
“And she wants to see them. Of course.” She gave him one long, clear look, then turned to follow the others up the stairs.
“That’s better.” Mrs. Tretton settled back luxuriously against the pillows of Christina’s bed. “I shall sleep for two hours. Wake me with a cup of chocolate, like a good child, and tell my father-in-law I will be pleased to wait on him then. He does not leave his rooms, I understand?”
“Not often.”
“So much the better. No, child. I said, questions later, or, if you must ask them, ask your cousin.” She closed her eyes and relaxed, catlike against the pillows. “Good night, my love. I’m glad to see you.”
Christina smiled as she tiptoed from the room. Her mother had always got her own way—except when she wanted father to go back to France with her—and even then she had gone without him. As she paused at the door of the room that had been hurriedly prepared for Sophie, it opened and Betty tiptoed out. “She’s fast asleep already, miss. They’ve traveled night and day, she said. Oh, Miss Christina, ain’t it the most romantic thing. You must be struck all of a heap, like.”
Watch the Wall, My Darling Page 17