Ruined

by Ann Barker

  Eustacia crossed the room to where he stood looking down into the fireplace, where a fire had been kindled earlier to air the room. ‘Gabriel, it was a mistake. Your old tutor Dr Littlejohn told me before we were married. It was she who pursued your father, not the other way round.’ He turned and looked down at her, puzzled. ‘If it had been the other way round, would not he have been in her bed?’ Gabriel grunted. Treating this as a promising sign, Eustacia went on. ‘Besides, it has turned out for the best really. If all that had not happened, she would have been married to you by now, and where would that leave me?’ He grinned reluctantly, and she was encouraged to go on. ‘When we first met, you accused me of being in pursuit of him. He is impossibly handsome. Even I can see that, and I am besotted with you. So surely some of the time—’ She was destined not to finish this speech, for he caught her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘Oh, Gabriel,’ she breathed, knowing that before they were married, to sigh his name in this fashion would encourage him to bestow more kisses. She was not to be disappointed.

  ‘Enough talking, now,’ he growled, lifting her easily on to the bed, and proceeding to disrobe.

  ‘Well, almost,’ she agreed. ‘It’s just that we were talking about children earlier and, well, I thought you would like to know …’

  She was not allowed to say any more.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Lord and Lady Ilam decided not to share their good news with the rest of the party just yet. The knowledge of impending fatherhood had such a mellowing effect upon Ilam, however, that he even offered to take Ashbourne out in the gig to show him some of what he had been doing on the estate. The ladies were unsure about the wisdom of this, but the day was warm, and Ilam promised not to take his father too far.

  After the men had gone, Lady Agatha took Eustacia and Jessie around the principal rooms, for Eustacia had not visited Ashbourne Abbey before, and Jessie had not been for some years. It was a Jacobean mansion, similar in age to Illingham Hall, but much larger, and lacking the warm atmosphere that prevailed at Ilam’s residence. Lady Agatha took them to the long gallery, in which hung portraits of monarchs and statesmen, but also pictures of previous Earls of Ashbourne, most of whom looked as if they considered all of these extra people privileged to be allowed to hang in their midst. The last picture in the line was one of the present Lord Ashbourne, portrayed in his velvet and ermine state robes. He looked imposing, handsome and also somehow desolate and very alone. Next to his picture hung one of a man dressed in the costume of about thirty years before. Like Raff, and all the other Ashbourne men, he was handsome; but there was a look in his eye which was downright malicious.

  ‘He does not look very lovable,’ Eustacia observed.

  Lady Agatha sniffed. ‘That was my father. He was a horrible man. He never forgot a grudge and he never forgave a mistake.’ After they had looked round for a little longer, Lady Agatha said, ‘This place holds no happy memories for me. Shall we go in search of refreshment?’

  ‘Very well,’ agreed Eustacia. ‘I wonder how the men are getting on.’

  After he had exercised his husbandly privilege the previous night, Lord Ilam had lain awake in thought beside his sleeping wife. The idea of impending fatherhood excited him, but also made him a little fearful. His relationship with his natural father was distant. In order to discover what a father ought to be like, he would look instead to his foster father, Tobias Crossley, the local farmer with whose family he had been placed as a baby by his grandfather. He would attempt to be the kind of father who listened to his children, and gave them his time. He would take his son round the estate and show him what needed to be done. He would not blame him for things that were not his fault. Smiling at this agreeable picture, he drifted off to sleep.

  His good mood persisted the following morning, and this resulted in his invitation to his father. The pleasant feeling continued until Eustacia said to him, ‘Ask your father about the truth concerning that young woman – the one we were talking about last night.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he replied shortly. Nevertheless, the feeling of well-being continued, and he pushed his wife’s suggestion to the back of his mind. After all, he reflected, what did she know about the situation? His father had blotted his copybook too publicly and too frequently for his son to be prepared to listen to him.

  Then, as they drove off, he glanced down at his wife, and saw the breeze catch hold of her gown and mould it to the contours of her still slender figure. He remembered all that he had thought and planned the previous night. He wanted to be a father who listened to his son; but he had to face the fact that he was the kind of son who would not listen to his father. Impulsively, before he could think twice about it, he said, ‘Tell me, without roundaboutation, what happened when Lucy Planter came to stay?’

  The day was instructive for both men. Ashbourne had answered Ilam’s question honestly, and Ilam had listened without comment to his father’s account, which had tallied exactly with what Eustacia had told him. Afterwards, they had confined their attention to the land and the situation of the tenants.

  They greeted a number of local people on their travels. Both of them were recognized, Ashbourne with a kind of wary deference, Ilam with a mixture of informality and respect. The same thing happened when they stopped at a local farm for refreshment. Ashbourne was greeted warily, even fearfully, but Ilam was welcomed, consulted, and even gently teased over the amount of time that he would now need to spend dancing attendance on the new Lady Ilam.

  While they were there, Ilam happened to notice the reaction of the farmer’s two daughters to his father. Once they had overcome their astonishment that he was there at all, they began whispering, giggling, and trying to attract his attention. Eventually, their mother packed them off to the kitchen. Ilam had been keeping an eye on his father the whole time. He had done nothing to attract them. Eustacia was right: women were simply drawn to Ashbourne. He just couldn’t help it.

  For his part, Ashbourne watched his son’s easy manner with wonder and, to his astonishment, some envy and a good deal of pride. When Gabriel had a son, the boy would have a far better model than Gabriel had had in his own father.

  ‘Where the deuce did you learn all of that?’ Ashbourne asked Ilam, when they were perched atop the gig for the last time setting out for home, the earl more tired than he was prepared to admit. ‘It wasn’t from me, I know.’

  ‘From Tobias Crossley,’ Ilam answered, adding nastily, ‘I didn’t learn anything from you,’ regretting the words the instant they were out of his mouth.

  ‘I’m aware,’ Ashbourne replied. ‘My only excuse is that my father didn’t give me the chance.’

  There was a long silence. ‘The one thing that I find it hard to forgive is the way that you gave me up so easily,’ Ilam said eventually.

  ‘It was not at all easy,’ Ashbourne answered. ‘Pressure was brought to bear on me which—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Never mind. In any case, you should be thankful. You would have been far worse off left to your grandfather’s tender mercies, believe me.’ Ilam glanced curiously at his father’s face, shadowed by memories which were clearly not pleasant. Misunderstanding the nature of his silence, Ashbourne said defensively, ‘I was only a boy when you were born, you know, and still under my father’s authority.’

  ‘Eustacia said that,’ Ilam replied. ‘How old were you, exactly, when you married my mother?’

  ‘I was sixteen years and ten months,’ Ashbourne answered. ‘When you were born, I was not yet eighteen.’

  ‘You were too young,’ said Ilam.

  ‘I agree.’ They were silent for a time. Then the earl said suddenly, ‘Do you call him father?’

  ‘Who?’ Ilam asked blankly.

  ‘Tobias Crossley.’

  ‘I’ve always called him Uncle Tobias.’ Another silence. ‘If you want me to—’

  ‘No.’ Ashbourne interrupted him. ‘You’re far too old for me to insist that you call me father. But I should be delighted if yo
u can bring yourself to call me Raff, as my friends do.’

  It had been a very significant day for both men. Perhaps because of that, as well as because of the physical exertion, Ashbourne felt quite tired the next day. Although he did get up, he would not allow Pointer to arrange his hair or to tie his cravat. He went straight to the drawing-room after breakfast, which he shared with Ilam, the ladies not having yet come downstairs.

  Ilam accompanied his father intending to sit with him for a short time before attending to some estate business. They had not been there long before the butler came in with a message that a clergyman had called and was asking to see Lord Ashbourne.

  ‘A clergyman?’ replied the earl. ‘That’s novel. Did he say what he wanted?’

  ‘Only that he was in the area, and knowing that you had been ill, wanted to congratulate you on your recovery.’

  ‘Then you had better admit him,’ said Ashbourne. He turned to his son after the butler had left the room. ‘Did any clergyman attend me, thinking that I was on my deathbed?’ he asked.

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ answered Ilam.

  The butler returned shortly afterwards, announcing the clergyman as Rev’d Percival Goode. The thin clergyman entered the room, wreathed in smiles. ‘My Lord! This is a sight to gladden the eye indeed! How thankful I am to see that my prayers have been answered.’

  ‘You are very good,’ answered Ashbourne. He had risen briefly from the sofa on which he was sitting, but resumed his seat again almost immediately. ‘You will understand that I am still very weak.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ the clergyman agreed.

  ‘Ah, my son, Lord Ilam,’ said Ashbourne.

  The clergyman bowed respectfully. ‘Lord Ilam, you must be beside yourself with joy.’ Ashbourne gave a low chuckle.

  ‘Just so,’ Ilam answered politely. ‘It is a little early for wine, but may I offer you some coffee?’

  ‘Coffee would be very welcome,’ answered the beaming clergyman. Ilam rang the bell and gave the order when the butler came.

  ‘How do you come to be in these parts?’ Ashbourne asked, feeling his way.

  ‘I am on a walking holiday,’ Goode replied. ‘Learning that your estate was very close to the area where I plan to walk, I made enquiries and heard that you were in residence and making a good recovery. I decided to call and offer you both my good wishes. How delighted her ladyship must be at your recovery. After all her devoted care, it must be a great cause of thankfulness.’

  ‘My sister, Lady Agatha and my daughter-in-law are both staying here,’ said Ashbourne, not at all sure to which ladyship Goode might be referring. At that very moment, the door opened and Lady Ilam came in. She was introduced to the clergyman, who showed every evidence of gratification at the introduction, but who then turned back to Lord Ashbourne.

  ‘I am referring, of course, to your wife, my lord,’ he said. As luck would have it, at that moment the door opened and Jessie was admitted. She halted by the entrance, her face the very picture of consternation. ‘And here she is!’ he exclaimed, and hurried over to take hold of both of her hands. In his delight, he did not notice how white she had turned. ‘My dear Lady Ashbourne, what a joyful situation is this compared to that sickroom where I first met you! I must admit that when I joined your hands, I felt sure that you would soon be a widow, but now I see that your husband has made a remarkable recovery. What a fine constitution he must have! Although I am certain that much of his recovery must be due to your loving care.’

  His attention was fixed upon Jessie, and therefore he did not see how his revelation had poleaxed the other occupants of the room. Lord Ashbourne was the first to regain his poise. ‘Indeed, you are right,’ he said smoothly. Then to Jessie he added, ‘Pray come and sit next to me, my love. Please be seated, Mr Goode.’

  Jessie was too stunned to do anything other than obey Ashbourne’s instructions. The last thing that she had expected was that the clergyman who had married them would appear in Derbyshire. Indeed, he had looked quite frail when he had conducted the ceremony, almost as if he might be the next to expire.

  As she reached the sofa, Raff put out his hand to take hers, pulling on it with surprising strength so that she found herself sitting so close to him that they were touching. To her further embarrassment, he held on to her hand, clasping it so that it was resting on his thigh. She knew she was flushing, but the clergyman, who clearly saw them as a loving couple almost parted by death, beamed on benevolently.

  At that moment, the coffee was brought in and Lord and Lady Ilam, who had been standing rather like actors who had suddenly found that they had been given the wrong script, bustled about, making sure that everyone was offered a cup, and had somewhere to put it.

  To Jessie’s great relief, Ashbourne was obliged to relinquish his hold of her hand in order to take his coffee. She was still very conscious of where his body touched hers through the silk of her gown.

  ‘Now, Mr Goode,’ the earl said when they were all settled, ‘you must tell us the story of that night, for my son and daughter-in-law have not yet heard it, and my own memories of that time are hazy, to say the least.’

  ‘There is not a great deal to tell,’ Mr Goode confessed. ‘I was called upon very late by one Mr Hinder, who asked me if I would perform a marriage that was earnestly desired by a desperately sick gentleman who was not expected to last the night.’

  ‘Hinder,’ breathed Ashbourne. ‘Of course. Go on.’

  Jessie put her half-drunk coffee on one side. ‘I … I think I might go upstairs,’ she murmured, making as if to rise.

  Anticipating her intention, Ashbourne put down his own cup and caught hold of her hand, imprisoning it once again upon his thigh. ‘By no means, my love,’ he said in an amiable tone, but with a hint of steel in his gaze which only Jessie could see. ‘I well know your modesty, but I must insist that you stay.’

  Jessie subsided uncomfortably against the back of the sofa, and wished that she might just disappear. What must everyone be thinking of her? All the occupants of the room, with the exception of Mr Goode, knew that she had adored Raff for years. No doubt they would now be thinking that she had acted the opportunist and taken advantage of a desperately sick man for her own advantage. She cast one more scared glance at Raff, then stared at the pattern on the carpet, barely taking in the words of the clergyman as he recounted the events of that fateful night.

  Eventually, his recital came to an end. As it did so, he glanced round, colouring a little as if at last becoming aware of the exalted nature of the company in which he found himself.

  ‘What a romantic story,’ exclaimed Eustacia. ‘Do you not think so, Ilam?’

  ‘Fascinating,’ replied her husband.

  ‘It was very kind of you, Mr Goode, to furnish us with this story,’ went on Lady Ilam, ‘but I am sure that there is more. Let me show you something of the gardens here, and you can tell me the rest.’ She stared at her husband pointedly.

  Ilam looked at Jessie, unwilling to leave her alone with Raff if she did not wish it. It was Ashbourne who spoke next. ‘Yes, pray take Mr Goode around the gardens, both of you. I would very much like to have a private word with my wife.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘When were you going to tell me, Jez?’ he asked her. He did not sound angry.

  They had both stood up as the others had left. Now Jessie sighed and walked towards the window. ‘I did not think that I would ever have to, to be honest,’ she replied frankly. ‘When Hector Hinder fetched me, he told me that you were dying, you see.’

  ‘So you came in response to the request of a dying man.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And only married me for the same reason?’

  ‘I didn’t want to agitate you,’ Jessie explained.

  ‘I see. How very lowering.’ His usual society drawl concealed the hurt that he felt inside. Once she had loved him. Now, at best, she only pitied him.

  ‘Lowering?’

  ‘I have never befo
re had a woman accede to my wishes because she did not want to agitate me.’

  ‘You had fought a duel; you were gravely wounded …’ It was a strange, stilted conversation that they were having, she thought to herself. But it was either that or be completely shamed by flinging herself down at his feet and begging him to give her a chance to make him happy.

  ‘Ah! The duel. I remember now.’

  ‘I should thank you for your gallantry,’ she said, looking across at him.

  ‘Yes, I really think you should,’ he answered. ‘I don’t remember putting myself to such trouble over a female before. By the way, did it occur to you what you might do if I lived?’

  ‘It was not thought likely, to start with,’ said Jessie. She paused as she remembered lying by his side, thinking that she might wake and find him dead. ‘Then, of course, when you began to recover, I knew what I must do, as soon as you were strong enough.’

  ‘And what might that have been?’ he asked her, his head slightly tilted to one side, his tone quizzical.

  She straightened her spine. ‘The marriage is not a proper one. Neither you nor I desired it; it was forced upon us by circumstance. There should be no bar to an annulment.’

  He drew his brows together. ‘An annulment? Is that what you want?’

  She could feel tears coming into her eyes but she refused to let them fall. ‘Of course. It is the best thing. It means that … that another marriage would be possible.’

  ‘Ah yes, Henry Lusty,’ he murmured. ‘You want an annulment because of him?’