The Forbidden Path

by Jean Chapman

  The doctor shook his head. ‘Not for the moment; that time has passed. What we have to do is to let nature give her all the sleep she needs to ease the effects on her heart — that as I’ve said, is the danger.’ Cato opened his lips to ask another question, but the doctor forestalled him. ‘There are things I can do, if necessary. I am ready.’ He motioned towards a covered bowl on a small table by the sofa. ‘But I only want to resort to further drugs as an emergency measure.’

  The hours passed in continual attention to Belle’s pulse and blood pressure: time and time again her arm was tightly strapped and the pressure-meter read. Each time Cato felt as if his own heart had stopped. There could be no doubt of the increasing seriousness of Belle’s condition; it was mirrored in the doctor’s manner, in his ever-increasing attention to his patient. Then just after two o’clock in the morning, as he seemed to hover between patient and the bowl containing a syringe ready to give an injection to help the heart, Belle startled them all by violently catching her breath twice, as if needing more air than her lungs could take in one inhalation.

  ‘Mind, boy!’ the doctor said peremptorily, in one movement pulling the small table with his instruments nearer and holding her wrist.

  Twice more, Belle took those terrible, swift double breaths and Cato found himself on the far side of her, taking her other hand and talking to her. ‘Belle, come on, come back to me. Belle, I need you.’

  For a moment the doctor looked as if he would protest, but putting his stethoscope to Belle’s chest, he listened, then nodded to Cato. ‘Go on talking to her, not too dramatically -just persuade her, persuade her back to you.’

  Cato talked - anything, nonsense, he knew not what, perhaps the same thing over and over again. He only saw Belle hanging between life and death, the pallor of her face, the swallowing action of her throat, and registered the doctor’s nod of approval to him and heard his words, ‘Yes, go on, go on, fight for her!’

  ‘Come on, Belle, we have so much to do - go back to sing songs with the Longs, you remember …’ For a moment Cato’s voice broke, failed him, and he saw the doctor’s hand snatching the cloth from the bowl, his hand taking up the syringe.

  ‘Go on then, man, sing!’ the doctor ordered. ‘Sing - not for your supper, for her … for her.’

  ‘When the lights are low …’ Cato sang softly at first, then his voice gained power as he sang without sentiment, his tone now demanded, now persuaded, then commanded her to live, to overcome the triple dose of powerful herbs she had taken.

  Twice more the doctor seemed about to use the syringe; twice he paused, the second time as Belle moaned and turned her head slowly from side to side on the cushion. ‘Cato,’ she breathed.

  ‘Yes, I’m here,’ he replied eagerly, then thought to rally her with one of her own devices. ‘But if you don’t smile at me before I count three I shall think you don’t love me. One … two …’ Her face turned towards him and, though she obviously still could not focus properly, her lips turned up in a smile before she closed her eyes again.

  The doctor was busy once more strapping her arm to take her blood pressure, but when he had finished he looked up at Cato, and there was some admiration in his eyes. ‘I think I can say I have truly witnessed the power of love,’ he said. He put a chair by Belle’s side for Cato to sit there, almost ceremoniously waving him to it. ‘She may drift in and out of sleep for some time yet, but I think I can safely say we are over the crisis point - but,’ he paused to spread a hand in warning, ‘no news, no gossip at the back of the room, nothing to disturb her in any way.’

  18

  ‘Belle, are you awake?’

  She turned her head dreamily on the pillow. Waking for the first time in Cato’s bedroom had made her feel secure, wanted, then the doctor had come, and been kind, even solicitous. She lifted her arms to Cato. ‘I can get up for tea.’ He came to her and held her close to him, still and solemn. ‘I’m all right now, honestly, Cato, and I promise never to…’ She pushed herself away a little so she could look at him to make her promises, but she saw more than anxiety on his face, which frightened her. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  He told her as simply as he could. When she protested that her mother did not ride, he could not tell her about the path being ploughed; when she said she must go to her father, he told her Levi was staying at the farmhouse with him, but did not tell her that Sam Greenaugh had not spoken or eaten since he had left that first night; and only when he saw her alarm at the passing of the days since the accident, did he tell her that the funeral was the following afternoon.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she breathed. ‘My mother …’ She searched his face to find some denial, some escape from this awful thing he had told her. ‘So when I asked for my mother, it wasn’t because she didn’t want to come but… Oh, Cato, she died trying to ride that mare to come to me as quickly as she could.’

  Belle looked at him with grief-stricken eyes. ‘Why aren’t I crying? Because I don’t believe it, that’s why. Cato, I must go home. She would have got up immediately, even though Cato protested, but when she put her feet to the floor the room span dizzily and she had to lie back again.

  She held tightly to Cato’s forearms as he laid her gently down again, feeling she might doubt even his presence, in the unreality of what he was telling her. Her mother … ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘Of course it is. If I hadn’t been ill, if I hadn’t …’ She shook her head. ‘You should keep away from me, Cato, I’m bad luck. My father and I, we’re both bad luck.’

  Bad luck — Cato thought of the great new ridges of the ploughed path, but he could not give her more hurt. He contented himself with saying, ‘It seems to me bad luck had very little to do with it.’

  ‘How would you know? What do you know about my father’s bad luck? What do I know, come to that? And isn’t an accident bad luck?’ she questioned, looking at him sharply. His gaze dropped as if caught out in something less than the whole truth. ‘Where is my mother now?’ she asked, and there was a glimmer of suspicion in her voice.

  Even as Cato answered, he saw her resolve to go home that night. ‘Belle, you are not fit enough,’ he argued.

  ‘My place is at home with her,’ she began, raising herself to a sitting position, then having to pause until her spinning vision stilled. She tried to push her feet out of the bed, but Cato sat stubbornly so it was impossible. ‘Teatime, Belle. The doctor said you could get up for tea, not before.’

  ‘I must go, Cato,’ she appealed to him in such a grownup and reasonable tone, it moved him more than if she had cried or raved. ‘I must go to my father. I know you think he’s a terrible man, but he wasn’t always so, not when I was small, not …’ She broke off and tears then filled her eyes. ‘Not when Harry was alive, not when we were children. He was so … kind … so loving. I loved him, Cato, I can’t bear to think of him at the farm, just with old Levi … and my mother to be buried tomorrow. Cato, if you love me, you’ll take me home.’ There was desperation now in her appeal. ‘There’s Levi too. Ah! He’s an old man, how can he cope? You’ll not keep me here by force, surely?’

  There was a tap on the door, and the doctor, who she thought had long gone, re-entered. ‘You knew all this,’ she accused, but as he took Cato’s place on the side of the bed she lay back in her pillows and turned her head away from him. ‘I must be a very wicked person,’ she said, the tears falling unheeded down her checks.

  ‘No, not wicked, but very foolish.’ The doctor’s voice was kind but firm. ‘And even more foolish if you think either I, or this young man who cares so much about you, is going to let you risk your health, racing off anywhere before tomorrow.’ She turned to argue, but he continued, ‘It won’t help, you know. You’re no use to your father as you are-just another responsibility - but with another night’s rest …’ And when she tossed her head away again, he added with quiet forcefulness, ‘Your constitution is strong, and you’re young, but …’

  ‘I feel I’m growing u
p very quickly,’ she interrupted, but knew she must make some concession. ‘You’ll take me home first thing in the morning?’ Cato nodded emphatically. She lay back, trying to come to terms with the idea of such a loss.

  Her mother, trying to ride to Glebe Farm, across the fields, along the path - she had cared that much. Belle realised now that she had never really doubted her love, it was just the way her mother had been undemonstrative. Her strong line of puritanical discipline perhaps went back to the days when the only way of limiting the number of births for a woman was abstinence, a discipline that had made her mother outlaw even the natural kisses and embraces of family life.

  Belle tried to imagine the farm kitchen without her mother, and the thought was bleak. Never again would she share baking days, jam-making, help keep Tweeny occupied — or be lectured for making a terrible bodge of a mend in a sock. She wondered why it was the last thought that finally made the tears well from under her closed eyelids. Cato’s hand was immediately over hers, holding it tight. It helped beyond measure but she kept her eyes closed, for she knew she must explore her loss more thoroughly before she could begin to cope with it.

  The next morning Belle’s journey began many hours before anyone else rose, the first faltering steps only to the bedroom fireplace, and she half fell, half stumbled back, the room spinning. She sat gripping the side of the bed, her legs trembling, but on the next try she paused to stand upright, and controlled the five steps back. By the time she allowed herself to lie down again, she knew she had completely overcome the effects of Meg’s potions, and that any weakness she felt was more irresolution for what she faced that coming day. The strange thing was that as she lay attempting to discipline her fears and uncertainties, she could well imagine the steadfast presence of her mother, but could not picture her father, could not begin to think how this loss would affect him.

  Cato’s mother came early, bringing tea and Belle’s clothes. Ruth was obviously expecting to have to help Belle dress, but seeing she was steady on her feet, left her, saying, ‘Cato is coming to bring you down. Stairs can be tricky when you’ve been ill in bed.’

  Cato came, looking unfamiliar in crisp white shirt, dark suit, trousers and waistcoat. She crept into his arms, and they stood close and silent, the comfort she drew from him needing no words. His shirt smelt of fresh air, with a hint of lavender. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to it, feeling the warmth and hardness of his chest beneath. She prolonged the moment, feeling it might be the only solace she might find in the day. Then quite suddenly she drew herself upright, determined not to lean. Through the long night of grief and regret, she hoped she had emerged more mature, more disciplined, someone her father could rely one, someone Cato would be proud of. She nodded for him to precede her down the stairs. He kissed her gently on both cheeks, then holding her hand took her down to the family breakfast table.

  Joe and John both rose from the table as she walked into the kitchen, both greeting her. John reseated himself as Joe said, ‘I’ll wish you strength to get through the day, my girl, and … well, all I have to say on the subject of you and my son, Cato already knows, and can tell you in good time. You’ve enough for one day.’ He turned to John before leaving. ‘I’ll steam up the engines.’

  Cato drove her home, not allowing her to walk along the bridle-path, as she had been quite prepared to attempt, but taking her by the pony and trap. They had to describe three sides of a square to travel to Hall Farm by road - backtracking towards Rodborough, then turning back towards Loncote.

  There were lights in the guest rooms at the farm, and Levi met them in the farmyard with the news that her aunt, uncle and her eldest cousin had arrived the evening before. Belle was more concerned by the change in Levi’s appearance: he had aged ten years in a few days. She went to embrace him, holding her check against his for a moment or two. It was an unconscious ploy from childhood, a testing of her reception after some indiscretion, but there was no blame, only thankfulness that she had come, in the old man’s eyes.

  This first shock was one of so many that day: the almost comatose state of her father, and her mother in the open coffin in the parlour, so serene and unmarked that some stupid hope made Belle’s hand rush to grasp those folded in formal repose. All day the waiting was the worst - waiting to process to church, waiting for the tortuous formalities of the service to end. She ran the gauntlet of the church, every seat full, for the Halls had named the land they farmed as long ago as the seventeenth century, well-meaning, hardworking, country people - as Sam had found Mabel’s parents when he was taken into their home.

  The trauma of the graveside was punctuated by one loud agonised sob from Sam. Startled from her own grief, Belle took and held his hand, but it was so unresponsive the gesture seemed only to add to the isolation of them both. She lifted her eyes to look for Cato — he had been discreetly at the back of the church during the service — and as she looked across the road, she could see him sitting in the trap — waiting. Her heart seemed to try to jump and fall in the same instant, and for the first time in her life she knew the quandary of a divided loyalty. Her absolute wish to be with the man she loved battled with the ties that bound her to her father, ties of duty — tics of guilt. The awkwardness of the hand that refused to mould itself to her grasp wrung her heart more than any verbal appeal or show of temper from her father — and she knew if she was ever to be happy again, she had to make reparation.

  She remembered the schoolmistress who had told her she had ‘not a scrap of conscience’, but now each ridged spade-mark down into the clay; the first thud of soil, door-knocking down; the dank smell of mist and chrysanthemums — all went rawly into her memory.

  Belle came to feel that her decision to return immediately to Hall Farm pleased no one. Cato had been darkly solemn, understanding, but very unwilling to see her go back into the hands of the aunt and uncle with whom it had been proposed she should live. There was also some reserve about her presence at Hall Farm. She began to sense there was some move being contemplated about her father, who was obviously too grief-stricken either to make decisions for himself or to be left. Belle felt she knew exactly what needed to happen, but her aunt Lucy’s grief always sparked off her own tears, and she would rather any decisions be postponed a few days more — although she sensed matters were coming to a climax. Levi had intimated as much too by his facial grimaces when Horace and Ben were striding around the farmyard, and had muttered to her, ‘They mean to take over.’

  On the third day after the funeral she came upon Ben talking over with her uncle how he should run her father’s farm, and she knew the moment of confrontation had arrived.

  Levi came to the door of the stables and their eyes met- ‘Never!’ Belle mouthed, and they joined forces at that moment and waited for the next move. It came that evening.

  ‘We were thinking,’ her aunt Lucy said, ‘it would be as well to get some doctors in to see your father. He can’t carry on like this, not speaking, not eating, just wandering aimlessly about.’

  This was not what Belle had expected, but she scooped up the words that told their intentions. ‘Some doctors?’ she queried, and even as her aunt had the grace to blush she felt her temper rising. She barely heard the apologetic justifications - someone had to look after things - she obviously would not be at Hall Farm - either she must make her home with her aunt Lucy, or with her young man.

  ‘I’ll move in here,’ Ben Langton interrupted. ‘I can look after this place - needs less horses and more sheep, that’s all.’ Belle glanced at her father, who sat on the old kitchen sofa, his hands open either side of him, fingers spread as if he needed to encompass as much of its surface as he could, but he gave no sign he heard Ben dismissing his beloved shire horses out of hand.

  ‘You’ll move in here? Why should you?’ Belle played the innocent victim for a moment or two to marshal her thoughts. She needed some support, and an ace, to outplay his intention. She watched Ben with concealed abhorrence as he settled himself mor
e comfortably into the chair by the fire, pushing his hips insolently forward so he rested on the very edge and balanced the chair on its back legs.

  ‘Why not?’ he answered. ‘I’m more a Hall than your father is - as much a Hall as you are, and I’m a man, I can run the place.’

  No,’ she answered with quiet venom, ‘you’re not a man, you’re an animal.’ She heard her aunt’s protest, her uncle’s grunt of surprise. Ben’s belligerent ‘What d’ye mean? Do y’hear that! She’s as cracked as her old man.’ But she had found her ace, and intended to play it with all the support she could.

  She went quickly to the door and called Levi. He came, puzzled, ill at ease, but as Belle knew, he would be looking to her for his leads. ‘Ben was just telling me how he intended to come to live here, take over the farm and have more sheep, and less horses…’ Now she was sure she had Levi’s riveted attention.

  ‘I thought you should be here when I told him why he should hurry back to Derbyshire with my aunt and uncle as quickly as possible — before the law catches up with him.’She paused now, but the exclamations of protest changed to a quick sharp questioning from her uncle. ‘Well, it was a question of where people were putting their feet,’ she said guilelessly.

  Ben clattered the chair back on to its four feet and stood up aggressively, ‘What’s she talking about? What’re we listening to this rubbish for?’

  ‘Aye, he’s not heard the last of that business, Miss Belle,’ Levi confirmed, taking up his cue.

  Ben became more expansive, throwing his hands about and issuing orders for Levi and Belle to take themselves off. ‘Sit down!’ His father’s words cut the ground from under his son’s feet, and he sat.

  Belle’s respect for her uncle grew, and she addressed herself to him. ‘There’s nothing for any of you here but disgrace. After your last visit your son, Ben’ - she allowed her voice to fall on his name with judicial sounding authority - ‘set a trap.’ She glanced meaningfully at Levi before she went on, her sense of justice quite unimpaired by the lie she was about to tell. ‘He was seen taking the trap from our outhouse and setting it - setting an illegal mantrap - in which he duly caught a man!’ She paused to see the fury - and the belief - register on her uncle’s face. ‘And it’s only been the loyalty of Levi here, and the rest of our men, that kept you out of prison.’ She pointed, as if with the very finger of wrath, at Ben.