“Not very often, although I think it was because he had done so once or twice that Mama became so meek. I learned to keep out of his way and to at least appear to do his bidding, but I do not think he has ever forgiven me for – for what I did when I was fourteen. It is since then that he has been so particularly unkind.”
“Thus ensuring that you were bound to run away as soon as an opportunity arose?”
“I did not run away from him - I ran away with Archie.”
Chapter 3
“So you did.”
“Now I am running away, although not precisely from Papa; it is more a case of finding it difficult to live comfortably with him and my stepmama, neither of whom makes any bones about wishing to be rid of me. This time I am running to Lord Stonegate.”
“Are you sure that is such a good idea? What do you know of him?”
“Very little. He was the man who ‘rescued’ me when I ran away last time.”
“I know. Forgive me, but I wonder if it was altogether wise to choose him? Is he not on the same side as your papa, when all is said and done - the side that upholds the status quo and believes women should do as they are bid regardless of their own sentiments?”
“Very likely, but I could see no other means of escape; it was too good an opportunity to miss. You see, no one else has made me an offer and, since I go nowhere and meet no one, it seemed unlikely that another would come forward. Perhaps my reasoning was faulty, but I considered that being mistress of my own household would be preferable to being ordered about and constantly criticised by a female both younger and stupider than I. Truly, you can have no idea how disagreeable it is to live with her – she lets no opportunity pass without making a disparaging remark. It was bad enough after Mama died and I had no one but Papa to deal with, but now I have to contend not only with Papa’s unkindness – which has got worse since he married again - but his wife’s too. I will not call her Mama – at least I have been obliged to do so to her face, but I will not refer to her as such.”
“I can understand how you might have thought it was your only chance, but I suspect your reasoning may have been faulty. What after all do you know of Lord Stonegate’s character?”
“Very little, but he was not unkind when he snatched me – indeed I cannot but admit that he showed admirable restraint for I showed none and behaved extraordinarily badly. Why? Do you know aught to his detriment?”
“No, nothing. How old is he? Is he of your father’s generation and, if so, why has he not married – or is he a widower?”
“I do not think he is a widower – Papa told me he has a mistress to whom he is apparently devoted but she is married to someone else. He is not as old as Papa. He cannot be excessively old, can he, for he still has a living mother? She lives in the Castle with him – when he is there. I understand he is more often in London. It was she who wrote to invite me to visit.”
“I see. Have you not heard from him at all except via other people – your father and his mother?”
“No, as a matter of fact I have not. Do you think that odd?”
“I suppose not in the first instance; it would be proper for him to write to your papa to ask for your hand, but I think it a little odd he has not written since to express his pleasure at your acceptance. To whom did his mother write?”
“To Papa of course.”
“And neither of them has communicated directly with you?”
“No. At least, I do not think so although Papa has a history of suppressing my correspondence,” she added with some bitterness.
“What was he like last time you saw him?”
“I’m afraid I did not notice particularly; I was far too taken up with my own unfolding tragedy to notice him. He did not evince any sympathy for my plight – or my sentiments - and indeed barely spoke as we drove home but then I suppose I did not give him much chance. As I recall, I sobbed all the way apart from the – quite frequent - times when I gave way to actual screaming; I believe I kicked him and hit him; indeed, I am ashamed to say that I bit him.”
“Good God! Did you draw blood?”
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
“And he never said anything? Did he not curse you roundly? I’m sure I would have done.”
“No; as I say, he did not retaliate at all. He was implacable though. He picked me up off the road as though I had been a valise which had unaccountably tumbled out of the carriage and, when we reached Hankham, carried me into the house, no doubt because I was still kicking and screaming, and handed me over to Papa who did not, unfortunately, feel he needed to exercise any degree of restraint in his manner.”
Mrs Ripley looked sideways at her companion whose voice, as she retailed this episode, was curiously lacking in expression.
“Did he leave then?”
“Yes, immediately. There were a number of people in the house at the time but they all left at once, almost tripping over themselves to get out of the door.”
“And you never heard from him again until he made you the offer?”
“No. I suppose it is odd when you think about it.”
“More than odd. My dear girl, when we get there, I wish you will stick close by me and we will make up our minds then as to whether he will make an acceptable husband. If either of us has any doubts, I think we should leave at once – in the middle of the night if necessary.”
“Lud! Do you think he will be that bad? And what do you make of the fact that he lives in a castle? Does that, to your mind, add an additional layer of threat to the picture?”
“It should not but it gives the whole a sort of medieval flavour which I own does add a sort of extra frisson. And what, by the way, has happened to the man you eloped with? I have forgotten his name.”
“Lord Archibald Meridew. He is married.”
“Did someone tell you that?”
“Yes; my stepmama.”
“Is that what did persuade you?”
“Yes. I had sworn to remain true and to wait for him, no matter how long it took. It sounds absurd, I know, but I have never stopped loving him or waiting for him. I believe I would have endured living with Papa and his new wife for ever if I had not learned of Archie’s defection. But it seemed to me that, if I could not marry him, I might as well marry Stonegate and get away from home once and for all.”
“No, it does not sound absurd; it is excessively sad and not really to be wondered at. You had placed all your hopes on him. Your stepmother does not sound as stupid as you think – it was a masterly stroke to tell you he was married.”
“Do you think she was lying?”
The little lift of hope in the dull voice gave Aspasia an uncomfortable stab. She said, “There is no reason to suppose that, but every reason to conjecture that she told you because she knew it would make it more likely that you would accept Stonegate; that is, if she is as eager for you to leave as you believe.”
There was silence for a few minutes which gave Aspasia ample time to wish that she had not tantalised her niece with the hope that her beloved’s marriage was merely an invention of the wicked stepmother’s, and Letty time to consider how forlorn such a fantasy was since, married or not, she had not heard from her lover for nearly four years.
“Why do you think he stopped writing?” she asked at last; it was a question she had hardly dared to ask herself but one which she knew her aunt would consider seriously and answer responsibly.
Aspasia, who had, fifteen years earlier, repeatedly asked herself why her husband had abandoned her, said gently, “Dear child, I do not know; I can only say that, very often, one half of a couple is a little less attached than the other. He may have thought that, since you were so very young at the time, you would forget him.”
“How could he have thought that? Oh, Aunt, you do not know what we said to each other, how close we were, how absolutely we understood each other.”
I do, oh, I do, or I believed I did, Aspasia thought, her withers wrung. She said, “When did you last hear from h
im?”
“I have not heard more than once or twice since I was brought home in disgrace. At first, I thought that someone was intercepting his letters or perhaps he could not write on account of the army not permitting it - you know he was forced to join up, I suppose? Stonegate bought him a commission. And then of course I wondered if he had been killed in battle but there was no one I could ask.”
“Did his letters stop abruptly?”
“Yes, which is why I was afraid he had been killed but I suppose he must have stopped writing when he met the woman who is now his wife. How could he have fallen out of love with me so quickly? It is lowering to realise how foolish I have been.”
“Not foolish,” the older woman said. “You were deceived. He has proved himself to be unreliable and – frankly – unworthy of your regard.”
“I know, but it does not matter how many times I tell myself that; all it does is to make me despise myself even more.”
“Well, let us leave the vexed subject of Lord Archibald and focus our attention upon Lord Stonegate. Why was it he who bought Lord Archibald a commission?”
“It wasn’t this Lord Stonegate – it was his father. Archie is Stonegate’s half-brother.”
“Good God! To my mind that makes it even more unwise for you to marry Stonegate for you are bound to meet Archie at his house in due course – and, of course, his wife. How in the world will you deal with that?”
“I suppose I will grow used to it. I love Archie, Aunt, and I would rather see him, even if he is married to another, than never see him again.”
This touching proof of the girl’s devotion did not by any means reconcile the more cynical aunt to the likelihood of a marriage to the wrong brother turning out anything other than disastrous but, travelling as they were, ever closer to Stonegate, she did not see what she could do to abort the marriage other than hope that, once they arrived, it would be as clear to Letty as it was to her that such a step would be foolhardy in the extreme.
She said, “Let me reiterate in the strongest possible terms: you do not have to marry him if you find you do not suit even though you have accepted. It would be infinitely preferable to jilt him than to go ahead with the marriage if, when you get to know him a little better, you take him in dislike.”
“And go back to Hankham? No, I could not. I hate it there. I believe I would rather die.”
Aspasia, thinking that the family life described by her niece sounded bleak said, “No, I am persuaded you should not go back; indeed, it would be better if we were to run away somewhere together. I believe I can provide a modicum of respectability.”
“Goodness, I should think so!”
“Should you? You don’t know the whole. I have not always been considered quite proper – indeed in some quarters I would be judged anything but respectable. I own I was surprised when your father wrote to ask me to accompany you on this trip.”
“If what you say is true, I can only assume that his desire to be rid of me was so pressing that he felt obliged to lower his usual standards.”
Aspasia thought that he had probably succumbed to the blandishments of his new wife and that the level of trustworthiness of the only chaperone he could think of came a poor second to falling in with his wife’s wishes. In addition, Lord Stonegate’s offer had probably seemed too good to run the risk of its lapsing while they searched for a more suitable companion.
“Perhaps he has forgotten my shocking conduct – it was after all some time ago and we are not close. Have you noticed him suffering from senility recently?”
This last was uttered in a humorous tone but Letty answered it perfectly seriously.
“Not particularly, although his marrying such a woman as my stepmama leads me to doubt his reason. She is excessively pretty but her temper is no more reliable than his.”
“Well, he is nearly fifty and it is not impossible that he still hopes for an heir.”
“I suppose so; certainly, his daughters are of no use in that respect,” Letty said with some bitterness.
“How long have you been a widow?” she asked after a long pause.
“I am not – or at least in point of fact I do not know whether I am,” her aunt replied confusingly.
“Oh! I assumed, because you have Miss Watkin as a companion, that Mr Ripley had died.”
“It is possible that he has,” Aspasia said. “The truth is that I do not know. He deserted me after less than a year of marriage and – before you express sorrow at such a fate – let me assure you that it was not a moment too soon.”
Letty seemed to have been silenced by this unexpected confession for she said nothing in response so that, after a pause, her aunt continued, “I believe I should tell you something of what occurred for it may help you to be thankful that Lord Archibald has disappeared. No!” She raised her hand to silence her niece, who had begun to fidget and give every indication of being about to interrupt with a spirited defence of her lover. “Do not fly out at me for implying he might, in the end, have turned out to be disagreeable; pray hear me out.
“I ran away – eloped - when I was sixteen, as you did. In passing, I cannot help wondering why it is that the women in our family seem to be given to such drastic and unwise starts.”
“I think it may be because our families are so dreadfully restrictive,” Letty said, frowning. “At least my father is – and my mama was a goose.”
“Possibly; my father was not autocratic, but he had died some years before and my brother seemed determined to make up for any laxity of which he considered Papa had been guilty. I did not elope in order to escape from my home although I own I did find my brother’s excessively tight grasp of the reins irksome. I fell in love with Mr Ripley. He was some fifteen years older than I and I had met him in – of all unlikely places – a shop whence I had gone with my mama to buy ribbons, as I recall. He came in while we were choosing and interfered at once – oh, most politely – but interfered none the less, insisting that a certain blue was the shade we should purchase on account of it so exactly matching my eyes! Having prevailed upon Mama to buy that one, he followed up his own introduction by inviting us to drink a dish of tea with him in a small place a few doors down. Mama was, I think, as charmed by him as I. He was very handsome and paid her quite as many compliments as he did me. The upshot was that she invited him to join a party that she had got up to visit some nearby ruins. I cannot think why she was so foolish except perhaps that she was bored and became almost drunk on his flattery. I thought he much preferred her, which did not surprise me for she was excessively pretty and had been sadly neglected by Papa, who had been used to spend most of his time in London, and I suppose - as you have said of your own mama – that she was at bottom a goose.
“He came, he invited us to attend the assembly rooms which, although I was barely sixteen, Mama agreed to – again I think on account of her own boredom – and we danced. Away from Mama, he seemed quite taken with me and it was not long before we became close.”
“Did not your mama resent his transferring his attentions to you?”
“No, not in the least; she thought it all vastly amusing. She liked to flirt but she was not possessive of her conquests. He seemed to be a perfectly respectable person although not I think from the sort of background which Mama would have chosen – but then I believe she thought I was simply flirting and would in the end settle for the right sort of husband, as she had. Like Lord Archibald, he proposed marriage and spoke to my brother, who rejected him out-of-hand, saying that I was far too young – which I was. I suppose I should have become suspicious of the sort of person he was when he refused to accept my brother’s decision; he did not, unlike your young man, swear to wait until I was of an age when Papa might agree but insisted upon an immediate elopement.
“We ran away one night and, after a couple of days and nights on the road, reached Gretna Green where we were married over the anvil. I thought it the most romantic thing ever.”
She paused but Letty said noth
ing.
“The first few weeks were … I thought I was in paradise. It did not last – very likely it never does. In any event, it was not long before he became irritated with me and – although most of the time he was as charming as ever – he slapped me – quite hard – one evening.
“I was shocked and indeed outraged and took issue with him, apologising for my fault and promising to try harder in future. He said, quite harshly, I thought, “See that you do.” Indeed, then, I thought – and said – that he was behaving as though he were my papa. He apologised but it was not long before he found fault with me again and – having failed to restrain himself before – failed again. I told him I would not put up with such outlandish conduct and asked him to leave; he did not, pointing out, quite correctly, that he had purchased the house in which we lived – that same house from which you collected me earlier – and that, if I wished to leave him and return to my family he would not prevent me – would indeed be relieved to see the back of me. I took him at his word, packed a small bag and ordered the carriage. He flew into another rage, told me I could not have the carriage, that if I wished to leave I must do so on foot and moreover the clothes upon my back had been bought by him and I could not take them either. We had an argument which ended with him hitting me so hard that I fell down. When I came to myself he had gone, and I have not seen or heard of him from that day to this.”
Chapter 4
This short history of her aunt’s ill-fated marriage, delivered in a crisp tone which did not invite sympathy, not unnaturally shocked the younger woman.
“Are many men like that?” she asked in a small voice after a long pause during which the carriage rumbled on in a southerly direction.
“I do not believe so,” Aspasia answered gravely. “The truth is that I do not know for I do not think one ever knows precisely what goes on in other people’s lives. For a long time – indeed still to this day – I have wondered if it was at least partially my fault. I had believed that he loved me, and, because of that, I had expected him not just to be kind but to put my wishes before his own. When we were first married it was my pleasure to make demands of him, which I was persuaded he enjoyed fulfilling because he was inclined to tease me about what he called my ‘exigence’ but gradually, I suppose inevitably, the teasing became unkind and, when I grew afraid and shrank from him, his manner became positively hectoring. And then, you see, he had a disagreeable habit of imbibing quantities of strong liquor which can lead some gentlemen to behave with a distressing lack of restraint. I am certain I was not a good wife in the sense that I had little idea of how to run a household and have never had many accomplishments so that he grew irritated with my incompetence and lack of skill. But – and I think this is important – a powerful person should never achieve their will over a weaker one by means of strong-arm tactics – nor lash out when he loses his temper.”
Letitia Or The Convalescent Heart Page 3