Darkwater

by Dorothy Eden

  ‘Who is he, Papa?’ Amelia demanded. ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Busybody!’ said Uncle Edgar, ruffling her hair affectionately. ‘If you must know, he is a diamond merchant from Hatton Gardens in London.’

  Amelia’s eyes became round.

  ‘And now you may ask questions until your voice wears out, but you will get no answers at present.’ He went off, smiling to himself, in high good humour.

  And it was no good Amelia persecuting her mother with questions, either, for Aunt Louisa declared she knew nothing whatever about the matter. Although Fanny thought there was something distrait about her manner, and a look almost of uneasiness in her eyes.

  The next visitor was Hamish Barlow.

  Trumble met him at the station and he arrived before lunch. Amelia, always eager to meet someone new, went down early. Fanny was late. She hadn’t meant to be, because she didn’t want to make any kind of entrance. But Marcus had been difficult over his lunch and she had stayed to help Dora get him into a better mood. So that eventually she came flying undecorously down the stairs just as everyone was going into the dining room.

  She was aware of the stranger’s face looking up at her with sudden intent interest. It was a narrow pale face, with reddish eyes, neat ginger-coloured eyebrows, and a small ginger moustache. Hamish Barlow was meticulously dressed in a black frock-coat and dark grey trousers with braided sideseams. He looked a gentleman. But there was a quick alertness about him that immediately made Fanny think of a fox.

  ‘And this late arrival,’ Uncle Edgar was saying, ‘is my niece Fanny. She has taken the children completely under her wing. You must talk to her about them. Fanny, this is Mr Barlow.’

  He bowed exaggeratedly like a pigeon to its mate, Fanny thought, his head well down, coat-tails in the air. Involuntarily she smiled at her foolish imaginings. Foxes, pigeons… was Mr Barlow an animal, a bird, or simply a human being, very anxious, for some reason, to make a good impression.

  It was pleasant enough to have a visitor from the other side of the world, who talked well about China and his travels in the East. Fanny planned to have him gratify her curiosity about the children’s parents, especially their mother, at a later time when they might have a few moments alone. Though she wasn’t sure that she particularly desired a tête-à-tête, for he was proving to be one of those men who couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He ignored Amelia, and only good manners made him turn occasionally to Aunt Louisa.

  ‘The wonders of the ancient Chinese civilisation,’ he said directly to Fanny, ‘are uncountable, but against them you must put their primitive and barbarous habits. Binding women’s feet, cold-bloodedly murdering female infants, or selling their unwanted daughters into slavery. When it comes to a woman’s country, Miss Fanny—Miss Amelia,’ he added belatedly, ‘you must be very content with your own.’

  Fanny was reflecting that there were different subtle forms of slavery when George suddenly leaned forward.

  ‘Why do you look at Fanny all the time, Mr Barlow?’

  No one could have warned Mr Barlow about George’s strangeness. It must have come as a shock to him that this handsome adult young man was asking the question of an ill-mannered and jealous child.

  Aunt Louisa said quickly, ‘George, don’t be foolish. Mr Barlow is talking to all of us, and most interestingly.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Mr Barlow easily, turning to George, ‘because I find an English woman such a pleasant sight after years of lemon-coloured faces.’

  He was quick-tongued and clever. But George was clever, too, in his fumbling intuitive way. He saw what was already happening. Fanny noticed that Uncle Edgar’s eyes were narrowed in thought. His expression was bland. Only her own heart was beating more quickly in nervousness and frustration. Hamish Barlow. She had instinctively disliked him on sight.

  But she had to be polite to him because he was a guest in the house and because she wanted to talk to him a great deal about the children’s parents.

  Nolly and Marcus did not remember him.

  ‘But Miss Olivia is such a young lady now,’ Mr Barlow said admiringly. ‘She was only so high when I last saw her.’ His hands, spread out, were pale-skinned with a dusting of large coffee-coloured freckles. ‘And Marcus in his cradle. That was when I visited your Mamma and Papa in Shanghai, but you won’t remember.’

  Nolly would have nothing to do with him. She forgot her manners and hung back against Fanny, giving her malignant stare. But she was not good with strangers. That was all that was wrong. Adam was the only stranger who had known the way past her prickly defences. Marcus was pleased enough to be noticed, and answered Mr Barlow’s questions as best he could.

  ‘Ching Mei went away,’ he said quite happily. ‘She left her sandals. Cousin Fanny looks after us now.’

  ‘And very lucky children you are.’

  ‘Yes we are. I have a new suit. It’s red velvet. It’s to wear to the ball. Nolly has pink ribbons on her dress. Would you like to see my toy soldiers, Mr Barlow?’

  Nolly tugged at him sharply.

  ‘You’re showing off, Marcus.’

  ‘And I wonder what Cousin Fanny is to wear to the ball,’ Mr Barlow said softly.

  Nolly’s hand tightened in Fanny’s. She seemed to recognise the unwarranted intimacy as much as Fanny did.

  But there were questions to be asked. She had to be pleasant. She didn’t intend Nolly to spend her whole life wondering what kind of a woman her mother had been, grasping at half-memories.

  ‘I haven’t heard your plans, Mr Barlow. Are you to stay for my cousin’s ball?’

  ‘Your aunt has been kind enough to invite me. I am looking forward to it with the greatest anticipation. You can’t know what this means to me after so many years in exile, a gracious house, this truly English garden, with its ancient oaks and cedars, the wonderful hospitality your aunt and uncle are giving me, and now beautiful women at a ball. I was only nineteen when I left England and I have been away for seventeen years. I feel almost like that nineteen-year-old young man again, full of hopes and dreams. Does that sound foolish to you, Miss Fanny?’

  He spoke sentimentally and quite movingly. One wouldn’t have thought those emotions dwelt behind his narrow and calculating face. Was he inventing them to gain her sympathy?

  ‘Then you have been an unwilling exile, Mr Barlow. I wonder why.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t misunderstand me. The East has me in its spell, just as it had these children’s Papa. I intend going back as soon as my business here is completed. But apart from winding up the late Mr Davenport’s affairs and assuring myself that his children are happy, as I promised him I would—it was my last assurance to him, poor fellow—this interlude makes me absurdly sentimental.’

  Fanny made no reply to that. She wished he wouldn’t look at her so boldly.

  ‘But I must talk alone with you sometime, Miss Fanny.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked bluntly.

  ‘For this reason and that. I hope you will give me the opportunity.’

  Amelia teased her mercilessly.

  ‘I believe you have made a conquest, Fanny. The way he looks at you. It’s almost ill-bred, but I suppose the poor man can’t help it if he’s so overcome by passion.’

  ‘Amelia, be quiet!’

  Amelia giggled. ‘But he really is. I’ve even remarked on it to Mr Marsh.’

  Fanny’s face became still. ‘And what did Mr Marsh say?’

  ‘Why, that you deserve a good husband.’

  Such rage swept over Fanny that she could scarcely speak coherently.

  ‘He dares to say that! He dares to patronise me! I won’t have it. And I won’t have you, Amelia, running to him with every bit of foolish tittle-tattle. What must he think of you? That you’re empty-headed and a gossip and a silly little rattle.’

  Amelia refused to be drawn.

  ‘I know exactly what Mr Marsh thinks of me,’ she declared complacently. ‘And really, Fanny, if you get so upset over a simple remark like that
you must be entertaining some feelings towards Mr Barlow.’

  Everyone else seemed to like the man, and there was no doubt that he set himself out to be entertaining. Aunt Louisa took even more care than usual over her toilette, coming down in the evening looking like the rich and well-bred matron she was, and Uncle Edgar was frequently in Mr Barlow’s company, showing him over the estate, or sitting closeted in the library with him when no doubt every aspect of poor Oliver’s affairs was discussed.

  Once the door was left slightly ajar, and in passing Fanny heard Uncle Edgar speak the word ‘Gee-gaws’ in an amused and slightly rueful voice.

  ‘Are you absolutely certain, Mr Davenport?’

  ‘But of course. I had them examined. If there had been anything else, the Chinese woman must have disposed of it. Tell me, can you trust these Chinese? You’ve lived among them long enough to know. It seems to me that they say one thing and think another. They’re like icebergs, their words are a fragment on the surface, their thoughts—oh, very deep.’ He laughed delightedly at his metaphor.

  Mr Barlow laughed, too, and agreed, and added, ‘I’m sorry that after the debts were paid there was no cash left at all. But you expected that.’

  A faint whispering sound behind her made Fanny turn to see Lady Arabella wheeling her chair expertly away across the polished floor.

  ‘No change there, my girl,’ she said over her shoulder, and then laughed hoarsely at her unwitting pun. ‘Come and help me upstairs.’

  As Fanny heaved the large soft body, like nothing so much as a bag overstuffed with wool, out of the chair, she was sure again that Lady Arabella was much more active on her legs than she let anyone know.

  ‘I’ve listened at doors all my life and never learnt anything pleasant yet. It’s not a habit to be commended.’

  Fanny flushed but made no excuses.

  ‘I was thinking of Ching Mei. I hoped Mr Barlow might have been her friend.’

  Lady Arabella gave Fanny her opaque unreadable stare.

  At last she said, ‘Ching Mei doesn’t need friends now,’ and leaning heavily on Fanny’s arm struggled slowly up the stairs.

  It appeared, however, that Ching Mei was in Hamish Barlow’s thoughts also, for a day or two later he joined Fanny and the children in the pavilion by the lake.

  He had cleverly learned that the best way to cope with Nolly’s hostility was to ignore her. Seeing that the children were absorbed in their own game of building a house with toy bricks and twigs, he asked quietly if he might sit by Fanny and talk to her. He admired the tinkling windbells, saying they almost made him homesick, then, with a suddenness that made Fanny draw in her breath sharply, asked what her version of Ching Mei’s death was.

  Adam Marsh, she remembered, had asked a similar question. Adam’s interest had been in Ching Mei as a person, this man’s was for some other reason.

  ‘Why, it was an accident, of course.’

  ‘You’re a very intelligent young woman, Miss Fanny. You really believe that?’

  ‘What else would I believe? Didn’t my uncle tell you the story? It was a thick mist that night and there was this escaped prisoner, desperately anxious not to be seen. If he had been caught—’

  ‘I understand all that. The laws for prisoners are harsh enough. Then if this is what you believe, I accept it.’

  Fanny frowned. ‘You mean, you accept what I say when you doubt—other people’s views?’ She had no intention of discussing her Cousin George with a stranger.

  ‘I repeat, I admire your intelligence.’

  Fanny’s eyes fell beneath his regard.

  ‘You think it your duty to make these enquiries, of course.’

  ‘Naturally. I take the trust imposed in me quite seriously. Does that surprise you?’

  She could have talked to him if only he would leave the personal note out of the conversation.

  ‘Mr Barlow, I have heard so little about Oliver Davenport’s wife. One day Nolly is going to ask what her mother was like and no one will know. I understand this, because I too was orphaned very young. Won’t you tell me about her?’

  ‘I knew very little of her background. Her family had returned to England after she had married. I believe they had only been travelling in the East when she met and fell in love with Oliver. She was young and beautiful—’

  ‘Who was young and beautiful?’ came Nolly’s voice, her ears alert at precisely the wrong moment.

  Mr Barlow sprang up.

  ‘I see a boat tied up at the jetty. Won’t you come on the lake, Miss Fanny? The children are fully occupied with their own affairs.’

  Extraordinary as it seemed to her afterwards, Fanny forgot her dislike of water and assented eagerly. On the lake they would be safely out of earshot of the children and she could hear more about the woman who had worn the flamboyant green earrings and the high-heeled dancing slippers.

  She allowed Mr Barlow to assist her into the boat, and push it smoothly out from the jetty. Away from the shadow of the willows the sun was deliciously warm, the summer wind on her face. The reflections of the yellow flag irises hung like lamps in the water. Dragonflies skimmed in darts of light. There was no sound but the far-off chirping and chattering of the children, mingled with bird cries.

  Mr Barlow sent the boat forward with a long pull on the oars.

  ‘At last,’ he said, ‘I have you to myself. The only way to escape me is to jump overboard, and personally I don’t care for the look of those water weeds. They could drag a person down.’

  The sun was not so warm after all. But it was silly to feel this chill. He was only joking.

  ‘Once, when I was a child,’ Fanny said, ‘I did fall in. Uncle Edgar rescued me. And why do you think I want to escape you, Mr Barlow?’

  ‘Am I wrong? I had the impression that Miss Fanny was fully occupied with the children, or reading to her great-aunt, or perhaps doing some highly important needlework. She always seemed to be just a flick of a skirt round a corner when I came near. Except at mealtimes, of course, and then she had to be polite.’

  ‘I lead a busy life,’ said Fanny coolly, ‘as you have noticed. And now I think we came out here to talk about Nolly and Marcus’s mother. You said she was beautiful?’

  ‘But not one half as beautiful as you.’

  Fanny made an impatient exclamation.

  ‘Mr Barlow, please be serious, or I shall have to ask you to take me ashore.’

  ‘But I am serious. Never more. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I recognised it the first moment I saw you.’

  ‘Mr Barlow—’

  ‘No, please listen.’ His face was quite pale. Perspiration glistened on his brow. There was no doubting his intensity. ‘I know your circumstances. All that makes not the least difference to me. I want to marry you. I want to take you back to China with me. I’ve spoken to your uncle. Now it only requires your consent. Fanny! Fanny, are you listening! I want you to be my wife.’

  She had been gazing into the distance, trying not to hear his words. Trying not to hear Adam Marsh’s words, if ever they had been spoken, ‘She deserves a good husband…’

  She had known this was going to happen at some time during Hamish Barlow’s stay. A woman couldn’t fail to sense that kind of thing. But she would have given anything for it not to have happened. Now she had to be graceful, grateful, and flattered. Her first kiss had been George’s violent searing one, and now her first proposal—perhaps her only one—came from a man with a foxy face whose hands were covered with blemishing freckles.

  She wasn’t grateful or flattered. She was furious with the fate that had done this to her.

  ‘Mr Barlow, you’ve tricked me, and I don’t enjoy that. Will you please take me back to the shore immediately.’

  ‘But, Fanny! How extraordinary you are! How different! You came out here to hear about a dead woman and you’re angry because I offer you life. Yes, life, my dearest. Don’t think I haven’t seen how you live here only through your uncle and aunt’s c
ourtesy and sense of duty. You’re a woman who needs her own household, her own family. And I would give it to you. I’m not a poor man. I’d show you the wonders of the East, and later you could choose your own house, in Peking, Shanghai, Hong Kong, wherever you pleased. I’d show you the world, Fanny. Doesn’t that interest you? Answer me!’

  ‘Mr Barlow—later I will thank you for the compliment you have paid me—just now I am not interested. I never will be interested. So please row back to the shore.’

  He stared at her in growing resentment and incredulity.

  ‘You can’t mean this! To choose to be a poor relation, little more than a governess—’

  ‘Cousin Fanny! Cousin Fanny!’

  The children were on the bank staring across the lake. Nolly had sensed something. She was agitated.

  ‘Cousin Fanny, come back. Our house fell down.’

  ‘Come back!’ Marcus echoed.

  ‘What is wrong with me? Why do you dislike me!’ He was leaning nearer. His eyes had a reddish glow. ‘Don’t you want a husband who would adore you?’

  His hand was on her skirt. It came nearer, intent on clasping hers. Fanny drew back sharply, forgetting the precariousness of her position, and her movement made the boat rock violently. For one heart-stopping moment she felt the water coming up close to her face, and that other long-ago memory swept over her, the cold, the choking, the darkness…

  Then the boat steadied, and she was aware of Mr Barlow, temporarily forgetting his ardent courtship, looking at her anxiously.

  ‘I am afraid of water,’ she murmured. And then, unaccountably, ‘Ching Mei drowned.’

  He picked up the oars.

  ‘I’ll take you back,’ he said curtly.

  She would have given a great deal not to go down to dinner that night. She was still shivering intermittently. Nolly had been wiser than she. Nolly had known Hamish Barlow for an enemy immediately. An enemy? When he wanted nothing but to love and cherish her? The thing was, what he might do if he didn’t get his desire. She recognised the driving force in him, the refusal to be thwarted.