Darkwater

by Dorothy Eden

  Fanny had overslept. She struggled up on the pillows, feeling heavy and dull.

  ‘I’m better, thank you. What’s the time?’

  ‘It’s after ten. Mamma said we were both to sleep all morning, but I couldn’t. I scarcely slept at all. I can still hear the violins.’ Amelia began to waltz round the room. ‘Wasn’t it all heavenly. Except—’ She began to frown a little, and Fanny asked, as she was expected to, ‘Except what?’

  ‘Oh, well!’ Amelia decided to be philosophic. ‘It isn’t something that can’t be remedied. It’s only that I had expected to be kissed, I was determined to be. But somehow I was never able to get the opportunity. There were so many people round me, wanting to dance, or talk to me. Mamma says I was a great success.’

  ‘And it wouldn’t have mattered who kissed you, so long as you achieved this great event?’

  ‘Fanny! How can you be so stupid? Oh, I see, you’re teasing me as usual. But, Fanny!’ Amelia was able to stop thinking of herself for long enough to tell the news which had brought her up to Fanny’s room. ‘Whatever happened between you and Mr Barlow last night?’

  Fanny’s heart missed a beat. She was suddenly sharply apprehensive. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because he’s left! Either he walked, or got a lift with some of the guests leaving last night, and caught the early train to London this morning.’

  Relief swept over Fanny. She could have heard nothing that pleased her more.

  Then suddenly she was remembering George’s peculiarly smug look last night, his words, ‘Fanny and I have sent him packing.’

  Fanny and I…What had George had to do with it?

  ‘But didn’t he say good-bye?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Didn’t anyone know he was going?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Papa did. He said Mr Barlow asked for his bags to be sent on. Now that he has suffered such a great disappointment—that was the way Papa said he expressed it—he only wanted to be away as quickly as possible. I suppose no one can blame the poor man. Fanny, you were cruel to him.’

  If he had told Uncle Edgar he was leaving, it must be all right. She had no reasons for these superstitious fears. She tried to concentrate on what Amelia was saying.

  ‘Would you marry a man you didn’t love?’

  ‘No, of course I wouldn’t,’ Amelia admitted honestly. ‘I don’t blame you. Neither does Papa.’

  ‘Doesn’t he?’

  ‘Well, he thinks you have thrown away a wonderful opportunity, but he has decided to forgive you.’

  Hamish Barlow, in that strange almost deadly voice, had said, ‘Your uncle will never forgive you…’

  ‘Papa is the kindest man,’ Amelia said. ‘You needn’t be afraid he will be angry with you.’

  But would he have been very angry indeed if Lady Arabella hadn’t taken her side? Why the old lady had done that was now perfectly plain. George must not be made unhappy. And for some reason Uncle Edgar always listened to Lady Arabella, even though he thought her a mischief-maker.

  So on the one side there had been Hamish Barlow, and on the other George. There was always George who, even without his grandmother’s help, would get his own way by any means. She didn’t think she wanted to live.

  Dora brought her hot chocolate and fresh brown bread and butter.

  ‘There you are, miss,’ she said, her rosy face full of affection. ‘The mistress said I was to bring it because you were poorly.’

  Instead of chiding her they were cosseting her. Fanny couldn’t understand it.

  ‘I hope you’re feeling better, miss, though what we all need after last night is a good sleep. Just fancy, even the peacock was upset. Screeching at three o’clock!’

  Fanny had forgotten that moment of frozen horror. Now it came back to her vividly.

  ‘Did you hear it, too, Dora?’

  ‘I swear I did, miss. Hannah and cook say I’m crazy, what would the peacock be doing awake at that hour. But I heard it as plain as daylight. Or else it was—’

  Had it been only three o’clock? What a strange time for the peacock to cry out. Some of the dancers must have sought it out on its perch and disturbed it.

  She was only half listening to Dora.

  ‘Or else it was what, Dora?’

  ‘Why, that—that other bird, miss!’

  ‘In the chimney! Making all that noise! Dora, don’t be daft!’

  ‘No, miss,’ said Dora, relieved. ‘It was only the peacock. He’s cranky in his old age, William says.’

  The strange thing was that Hamish Barlow’s name was scarcely mentioned again. Uncle Edgar made only one reference to the matter. His voice was uncharacteristically humble.

  ‘Your aunt and I were thinking of your own good, Fanny. But if you’re content to stay with us, we’re content to have you.’

  Something impelled her to say, ‘Did you see Mr Barlow leave, Uncle Edgar? Was he very upset?’

  Uncle Edgar pinched her cheek.

  ‘Little rogue! It’s too late now to worry whether he was upset or not. But he was, I assure you. He looked like a man in a daze, poor fellow.’

  Aunt Louisa’s silence was perhaps more eloquent. She had obviously been instructed by her husband that Fanny was not to be scolded. So she contented herself with looking cold and reproachful every time Fanny appeared. But even this attitude was hard to maintain, for she was so busy with the aftermath of the ball which everyone had pronounced a great success. Invitations were rolling in, and it seemed that Amelia was to lead at last the social life for which she craved.

  When Fanny’s name appeared on invitations, Fanny begged that apologies be made for her. She wished to devote herself to the children, she said. They were about to begin lessons in the schoolroom.

  Aunt Louisa interpreted this as a desire on Fanny’s part to retire into the kind of life that would now be her future, since she had refused what was probably her only chance of marriage. She willingly agreed, since who knew when the wretched girl would behave unpredictably and disastrously. But Fanny sincerely wanted to be with the children and avoid all those empty social festivities where she was always ‘Amelia’s cousin’, some nameless person who was there by courtesy only. Even her slightly malicious pleasure in stealing the limelight had ceased to be an amusing game. She preferred the company of Nolly and Marcus.

  She was nearly twenty-one and she must grow sober, quiet and restrained. In another ten years she would have lost her love of attractive clothes and be content with her governess’s grey gown. She didn’t suppose she would ever wear the rose-coloured ball dress again.

  Those were her resolutions and she thought she made them with calm resignation.

  They all vanished to the four winds when the invitation came from Heronshall for Miss Fanny, Miss Amelia, and the children, to come to tea to meet Miss Martha Marsh, Adam’s aunt.

  There was no hint as to whether Adam would be there. Fanny hadn’t seen him since that brief scene in the conservatory when she had as near as possible accused him of being a fortune hunter. Also, Amelia was to go, and Amelia was now as possessive of Adam as George was of Fanny.

  Yet Fanny’s lethargy had vanished, and she was filled with life and vigour. She hadn’t known she could despise a man and still love him. Nor had she realised that just to set eyes on the person one loved, even if no words were spoken, was the most acute and bittersweet pleasure. Perhaps even if he married Amelia she would still feel this. But he was not yet married and she was not a half-dead elderly young woman after all. She could no more keep the light out of her eyes than she could stop the sun shining.

  Heronshall, in contrast to Darkwater, was full of light. It was already most tastefully furnished with turquoise velvet curtains and rose-coloured carpets, a startling combination of colours that set off perfectly the plain white walls, and the few well-chosen paintings and ornaments. There were several pieces of Chinese jade and porcelain.

  The effect was so simple as to be extremely luxurious. Could Adam need to marry a fortune when he could live
in a house like this? But she had heard of men expending their last shilling on the gamble of making the correct showing.

  She despised herself for her thoughts as they were welcomed by Adam’s aunt. Miss Marsh was a tall bony commanding-looking old lady with unexpectedly gentle eyes. From the beginning, although she greeted Fanny and Amelia with the greatest courtesy, it was evident she was almost entirely taken up with the children.

  ‘I love children,’ she explained, and then made no effort not to devote her attention to them.

  Amelia began to fidget. This was not her idea of a visit at all. She was accustomed to being the centre of attention.

  ‘Is your nephew home, Miss Marsh?’ she at last asked boldly.

  ‘Adam? Oh, yes, he’ll be in shortly. Then we’ll have tea.’

  Amelia settled more happily then, patting her curls, and retying her bonnet strings. The children fortunately had taken to this rather unexpected elderly woman, and were shyly but politely answering her questions. She must have a good deal of Adam’s gift for dealing with children, for even Nolly’s hostility had not been aroused.

  But when Adam came in he, too, devoted himself to the children and what remarks he addressed to the young ladies were made chiefly to Fanny regarding Nolly and Marcus. Had they enjoyed watching the ball? How were they progressing with their lessons? What were their favourite games?

  Nolly answered that question herself. She clamoured for a game of Hide the Thimble when they had finished tea.

  This was not Lady Arabella’s cosy dishevelled room with a thousand hiding places. Nevertheless, Miss Marsh agreed good-naturedly to the game and suggested the morning room should be used, also. This necessitated a great deal of running to and fro, and so it was that Fanny, at one stage, found herself alone in the drawing room. She was fascinated by the Chinese ceramics, and was standing studying a small camel in some kind of earth-coloured pottery that looked older than the tors on Dartmoor when she was aware of Adam at her side.

  ‘Do you like that? It’s a Bactrian camel. It was one of my father’s favourite pieces.’

  ‘It has such a look of age.’

  ‘Yes. The craftsman who made that has been dust for many centuries.’

  Adam had picked up the piece and was studying it. Fanny no longer saw it, but only his strong square hands holding the fascinatingly ugly creature so surely. She was conscious of the most overwhelming desire that it should be one of her hands he held like this, turning it over, examining it lovingly. She felt hot and on the verge of trembling. If he were to take her in his arms now she would make very sure that his lips reached hers. The very thought made her draw in her breath sharply, and to cover her odd behaviour she said in a rapid voice, ‘Mr Marsh, I am sorry for the things I said to you on the night of the ball.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Had he forgotten? Had her words had so little effect on him?

  ‘Why, that you might be interested in whether I had other valuable jewellery besides the sapphire pendant.’

  ‘And so I was interested. But entirely for your sake. Fanny, if ever you are in doubt—’ His hand was on her, gripping her wrist. He had a look of wanting to say something of the greatest importance. But it was never to be said, for the children, followed by Amelia, came running in.

  ‘Cousin Fanny, Marcus found the thimble! Wasn’t he clever. It was in—Cousin Fanny, why are you looking at that funny camel. A thimble couldn’t be hidden in it.’

  ‘Have you ever heard about camels, Olivia?’ Adam asked. ‘They are beasts of the greatest courage. They can keep going in the desert when it seems certain they will die of hunger and thirst. But they never stop expecting to find the oasis with green palms and cool water and date trees.’

  ‘And do they find it?’

  Adam balanced the Bactrian camel on his hand.

  ‘This one did. And you see it became too happy to die. It has lived for hundreds of years. But it is important always to remain optimistic to be sure the oasis is there.’

  Nolly laughed delightedly.

  ‘Tell us more stories, Mr Marsh. Marcus likes stories.’

  ‘Fanny!’ Amelia’s voice cut sharply across the conversation. ‘Isn’t it time we left? We have a long drive.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, indeed.’ Fanny’s voice was distrait. She was only vaguely aware of Amelia’s petulance, and had scarcely heard Adam’s fanciful tale of the happy camel. Her fingers were clasped lightly round her wrist, as if they would preserve the unbearably exciting feel of Adam’s grip. She had the most foolish desire to burst into tears.

  At the last minute, as they were saying their farewells, Nolly remembered the most important thing.

  ‘Cousin Fanny, can we ask Miss Marsh and Mr Marsh to Marcus’s birthday party? Marcus will be five next week, Mr Marsh. Cousin Fanny says we can have tea in the pavilion if it’s a nice day.’

  ‘But it isn’t really a party, Nolly dear.’

  Amelia leaned forward in the carriage, her face suddenly much more cheerful.

  ‘Why don’t we make it a party? I’m sure Mamma will agree. We could play Hunt the Thimble outdoors, or have a real treasure hunt. Let’s, Fanny. You’re clever at thinking up things. Do you remember when we used to play paper chases? Miss Marsh, do say you will come. Mamma will write to you. And we can ask the Hadlows, and the Grey children for Nolly and Marcus.’

  ‘A party seems to be being born,’ said Adam, ‘What about it, Aunt Martha?’

  His aunt gave the remarkably sweet smile that transformed her stern face.

  ‘I should like nothing better than to go to Marcus’s party.’

  ‘I’m five,’ said Marcus, realising his importance.

  ‘Not until next week, you silly!’ said Nolly. Her face relapsed into resignation. ‘I shan’t have a birthday until next April. It’s an awfully long time to wait. Cousin Fanny has one before then. Shall we have tea in the pavilion for you, too, Cousin Fanny?’

  ‘Hardly, in October. There are fogs then, and the leaves are falling.’

  ‘Oh, do come, Fanny! We must go.’ Amelia was petulant again. For some reason Fanny had had far too much attention today. Who was interested in a woman’s twenty-first birthday? So old!

  ‘I do think, Fanny,’ she said aggrievedly, as Trumble whipped up the horses, and they began their long drive across the moor, ‘that you didn’t behave very well while we played that game. Just making it an excuse to talk to Mr Marsh alone. No wonder Mamma says you’re a born flirt. What with poor George, and poor Mr Barlow, and now Mr Marsh.’

  Fanny was in too dreamy a state to be annoyed by Amelia’s maliciousness.

  ‘Why don’t you say poor Mr Marsh, too?’

  ‘Because he is much too intelligent to be taken in.’

  ‘Have you discovered that yourself?’ Fanny asked innocently.

  Amelia coloured angrily.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t flirt. I’m entirely sincere.’

  When they had alighted from the carriage, at Darkwater, Amelia hurried inside, still sulking. Dora came out to get the children, but Fanny, following them, was called back by Trumble.

  ‘Miss Fanny! I have a package for you.’

  ‘A package?’

  Trumble took a neat brown paper parcel from beneath his driver’s seat.

  ‘Mr Marsh asked me to give it to you when we reached home. Quiet-like.’ The old man almost winked. His faded blue eyes were twinkling kindly.

  ‘Oh!’ Fanny had that absurd feeling of being about to tremble again. She took the package, and automatically slipped it inside her cloak. She would wish passionately to keep it private even if Adam hadn’t already hinted that she should do so. She could scarcely get up to her room quickly enough to open it.

  It was the Bactrian camel.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she whispered. ‘It’s too valuable. Oh, Adam!’

  If he had been there she would have flung herself into his arms.

  So it was as well he was not, she told herself soberly. But why did
he give her a present like this? Was it to disprove her sordid doubts that he might be a fortune hunter? Did he care so much for her good opinion?

  She could only stand there, lost in delight.

  It was some minutes later that she noticed the thin sheet of white paper that had fallen to the floor with the wrappings. It was a hastily scrawled note.

  My dear Fanny—what I was interrupted in saying to you—if ever you have doubts as to what is happening, if ever, I repeat, you are uneasy, will you tell me, or send a message to me or my aunt? If this injunction seems like nonsense to you now, it may not always be nonsense. I will be very happy if you will accept this small gift as a—let us say—happy omen.

  And then, at the bottom, was written, ‘I would not have let you marry Barlow.’

  18

  ‘WELL, HOW DO I look, Master Marcus?’ Uncle Edgar demanded in his rollicking voice. He stuck out his stomach, and patted his elegant striped satin waistcoat. ‘Made especially for your birthday party, my boy.’

  The children adored Uncle Edgar in this expansive mood. Marcus judged it a good moment to ask to hear the fascinating chiming watch, and Nolly, delicately touching the fine new waistcoat, remarked judiciously that she thought it beautiful.

  ‘So you’ve forgiven me, have you, young lady?’

  Nolly lifted her unafraid eyes.

  ‘Marcus thinks you’re being kind on his birthday. But I shall kick you, if I please.’

  Uncle Edgar roared with laughter.

  ‘By George, we’ll never find a husband for you, you little spitfire. Don’t say you’re going to be as stupid as your Cousin Fanny.’

  ‘Cousin Fanny isn’t stupid!’

  ‘All right, all right, we won’t malign your paragon.’ Uncle Edgar sounded suddenly irritable, his good humour a veneer that could easily crack. ‘But remember, your Cousin Fanny isn’t indispensable, and you children can’t monopolise her life.’

  ‘What does indispensable mean, Uncle Edgar?’ Nolly demanded, following him out of the room.

  ‘God bless my soul, child, keep off my heels. It means that I could find you and your brother quite dispensable, except that it’s my duty to keep you, and except that it’s Marcus’s birthday and I believe we’re having a picnic in the garden. Or aren’t we?’