Darkwater

by Dorothy Eden

  ‘My poor darling, you mustn’t be nervous. I tell you, Sir Giles declares not even a weasel could slip out of that jail now.’

  Amelia looked at her father with her dilated eyes. Then Lady Arabella, who had been dozing the entire time, woke with a great start, and murmured in her hoarse voice, ‘Fanny is a good girl. She deserves more than a party.’

  And it seemed as if after all she might have been listening all the time.

  21

  SHE WAS CAUGHT—SHE was the bird struggling and suffocating in the chimney. The bird had died…

  Fanny, dozing in her chair at Nolly’s bedside, started up, wide awake again, the questions without answers going round and round remorselessly in her brain.

  The fire was dying, and the room almost dark. She got up to carefully shovel on more coal. In spite of her care, Nolly stirred, and muttered, as she had several times in her half-delirium, ‘Cousin Fanny! When will Ching Mei come back for her shoes?’

  Soon the coal caught alight, and the room grew more cheerful. Nolly slept again. The Chinese doll that lately she had wanted much less was tucked in beside her. It had seemed to comfort her. That it had been the innocent cause of Ching Mei’s death, fortunately the child didn’t know. And, just as it was likely she would never discover who had put the bird in the birdcage, Fanny had never known who had tossed the doll on her bed that night.

  But none of the queer episodes, not even Nolly’s fright in the copse, had seemed quite as sinister as the imitation bird tonight.

  Or perhaps Fanny felt that simply because she was so tired and overwrought and disappointed about her cancelled journey to London. So alone…

  She had no one to whom to turn except Adam Marsh. Should she turn to him? Could she trust him? She kept remembering his injunction in his letter to her, ‘if ever you have any doubts…’

  Now she had too many doubts. Whether they were the kind to which he referred, she didn’t know, but on an overwhelming impulse she tiptoed to her room and got writing paper from her bureau.

  ‘…It isn’t for myself, but for the children that I am worried. Someone is deliberately trying to frighten them. Nolly is ill tonight. I can’t leave her to go to London. I am wondering if that pleases our tormentor, if it is what was intended. I confess now that I have never been entirely convinced that Ching Mei’s death was due to the accident of her encountering the escaped prisoner. I think someone outside the family should know that my cousin George is more seriously ill than it was at first thought. Families can be too loyal…’

  Putting her anxieties on paper gave her intense relief. She finished the letter, melted wax over the candle flame to seal the envelope, then slipped it into her pocket to ponder later how she would see that it reached Adam. She couldn’t leave it in the hall to be taken with the rest of the post. Everyone would want to know why she was writing to Adam Marsh.

  That letter finished, she began the one of apology to Mr Craike. She begged him to write to her telling her all he could of her parents. Perhaps at a later date she would be able to visit him.

  There was no worry about the posting of this letter. Uncle Edgar had promised to see that it was dispatched first thing in the morning.

  The wind had risen and it had begun to rain. The summer was over, and the leaves were falling. With this wind, the ground would be carpeted in the morning and the lake scattered with drowning leaves. The misty days and the long dark nights were coming. That was when the house really came to life, not with fires and parties and gaiety, but with its multitudinous creakings and sighings in the gales that swept over the moors, with the moonlight caught in uncurtained windows, and the snuffings of candles by immense disembodied breaths. Fanny shivered. She loved the drama of the winter, but this coming one she dreaded. She couldn’t see its end.

  Nolly was better in the morning. She drank a little warm milk, stared at Fanny with a shadow of her old truculence, said, ‘Stay here beside me! All the time!’ and fell asleep again this time deeply and quietly.

  It was still raining in a fine drizzle by mid-morning when Amelia came flouncing in, wet and bad-tempered. She had been out riding and Adam hadn’t met her.

  Fanny looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘Do you mean to say you have a rendezvous with Mr Marsh when you go riding?’

  Amelia nodded. ‘Of course. I never did enjoy riding alone. Oh Fanny, don’t look so shocked. This is the nineteenth century. Or is it that you’re jealous?’

  ‘Then your meetings were never by accident?’

  ‘The moor’s a bit big for accidental meetings, isn’t it? No, he waits for me by High Tor. But he didn’t come today, the coward. Surely he’s not afraid of a little rain.’

  Fanny’s fingers were closing over the letter in her pocket, crumpling it viciously. If ever you are in doubt, he had said. What was she in at this moment but the most miserable doubt?

  ‘And does he encourage you—to confide in him?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. I tell him everything. He’s so wonderfully sympathetic. Fanny. I really think I’m in love.’

  ‘Think!’ said Fanny contemptuously.

  Amelia frowned, ‘How can one ever be absolutely sure? Could you be sure?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t,’ Fanny admitted, her colour high. ‘Sometimes I don’t know which is which, love or hate. Or whether they’re both the same thing.’

  ‘You looked as if you hated us all last night,’ Amelia agreed. ‘So I understand what you mean. Because I’m sure you really do love us all. Even maddening George.’

  ‘I hate whoever frightened Nolly so badly,’ Fanny said in a low voice. ‘Who was it? I must know.’

  ‘Then don’t ask me.’ Amelia was uncomfortable. ‘I expect it was Grandmamma, really. But she’d meant to amuse Nolly, not frighten her. You’ve made an awful scene out of such a trivial happening, Fanny. Mamma was very angry with you.’

  ‘Does she think Nolly being ill trivial?’

  ‘No, of course not. How is she this morning, anyway?’

  ‘Better,’ said Fanny briefly. ‘Dora is with her. She must be kept quiet.’

  ‘Will she be allowed downstairs for your birthday?’

  ‘I don’t know. How can I say.’

  ‘Oh, well!’ Amelia sighed and yawned. ‘You’re lucky to be so interested in children. What am I to do for the rest of this dreary day? I hate sewing, I hate reading, there’s absolutely nothing to do. That silly Adam, why couldn’t he have come out in the rain!’

  When she had gone Fanny took the letter out of her pocket and tore it into small pieces. Then she burst into tears which she had to hastily dry when Dora came knocking at the door to say Miss Nolly was awake and fancied a little jelly. There was no peace for her, not even the peace of having a sympathetic ear into which to pour her troubles. Amelia had stolen that from her. It seemed that Mr Adam Marsh had a pair of very inquisitive ears, and enjoyed the secrets and heart-searchings of young women.

  ‘Now, Fanny,’ said Uncle Edgar that evening, ‘we must be business-like. You come of age on Monday, so, as I mentioned once before, you must make your will.’

  ‘But I have nothing—’

  ‘I don’t want to remind you of the value of a gift I have made to you,’ Uncle Edgar interrupted, ‘but I would point out that that sapphire pendant has a cash value as well as a sentimental one. Surely you would like to choose who is to be its recipient?’

  And there was the little Chinese camel, Fanny thought, with a pang. Adam’s gift. Of course, Uncle Edgar was quite right, she must choose her own beneficiary.

  ‘I would like to leave the pendant and—other personal things to Nolly,’ she said unhesitatingly.

  ‘I thought you would say that, my dear. And a very nice gesture on your part. The day will come, a very far-off day, I trust, when the child will appreciate this. The other essential thing in a will, as you probably know, is that you must name a trustee. I make the suggestion from a purely practical point of view that that task should be left in my ha
nds. If you agree, we’ll draw up a very simple document that can be signed on your birthday.’

  ‘Do what you think best, Uncle Edgar.’

  She was too tired, after her long vigil at Nolly’s bedside, to think clearly. Anyway, the subject was a minor one. It was only men who had this passionate desire for tidiness in their business affairs. She would give the pendant to Nolly long before she died, anyway. But the camel—that would remain her own until the end, no matter what memories it gave her.

  ‘Craike will get your letter, and write again,’ said Uncle Edgar as an afterthought. ‘I hope you’ve forgotten all that nonsense you talked last night. Your aunt and I understand that you were overwrought. You spoke as if we were all your enemies. Oh, I know that someone played a prank, but not a malicious one. A fine brainstorm you turned on, eh, my dear? But it’s all forgiven and forgotten.’

  So she was the one to be forgiven! Fanny was too tired even to be indignant about that. Tired and hopeless. Unless Adam had had private reasons for meeting Amelia and listening to her garrulous tongue.

  Perhaps that was it, Fanny thought, her mood turning to sudden high excitement. He was aware that somehow all was not well—as indeed he had hinted to her—and was pursuing his own methods of obtaining information. If that were so, she must see him. Yes, she positively must see him, and have the whole matter out with him. Why torture herself with doubts when ten minutes’ conversation would solve the whole thing?

  She would ride over to Heronshall. When? Tomorrow, when the family was at church. If Nolly continued to improve she could be safely left for three or four hours with Dora and Hannah. When the family returned from church and found her missing she could explain, on her return, that she had been impelled to get some fresh air.

  The next day it was still raining and blowing a half gale. On Amelia’s horse, Jinny, Fanny took the short cut across the moor. Even so the ride took her more than an hour, but the wind and rain in her face were wildly exhilarating. After being shut in a sickroom she felt one of her swift changes of mood to an almost intoxicated state of hope and freedom. It even occurred to her that she might find Adam waiting at his rendezvous beneath High Tor for Amelia. She would surprise him by her appearance, tease him, ask him if he were not bitterly disappointed.

  But there was no horse and rider beneath High Tor, only a grey huddle of sheep sheltering from the rain.

  Fanny rode on, and came at last to Heronshall. She was soaked through, but glowing with warmth. She didn’t give a thought to her dishevelled appearance, knowing that Miss Martha Marsh would at once invite her in to dry herself by the fire, and drink hot tea. And Adam—she could already visualise the expression on his face, puzzled, pleased, welcoming.

  Strangely, she had to lift the heavy knocker and pound on the door twice before it was opened.

  Then a manservant, dressed rather casually in a leather apron, whom she hadn’t seen before stood within, looking at her in some surprise.

  ‘Is Miss Marsh or Mr Marsh at home?’ she asked. ‘Would you be so good as to tell them that Miss Fanny Davenport has called?’

  ‘I’m sorry, miss. They be away.’

  Fanny stared at the man, scarcely taking in his words. Both Miss Marsh and Adam couldn’t be away—not after her picture of a glowing fire, a warm welcome.

  A gust of wind blew her wet hair across her face. She pushed it back impatiently.

  ‘Oh, they’ve gone to church, of course.’

  ‘No, miss, they be gone to Lunnon. There be only Bella and me here. The house is shut.’

  ‘To London!’ Fanny repeated. ‘But he never told us. He didn’t even tell Amelia. He let her ride out—’ She realised she was thinking her astonished thoughts aloud, and said quickly, ‘When did they go?’

  ‘Day before yesterday, miss.’

  ‘For long?’

  ‘That I can’t say, miss. But the servants was to have yesterday and today off.’

  Fanny tried to collect herself after her profound disappointment, her unreasonable sense of having been abandoned.

  ‘Is there someone who could rub my horse down? Could I rest her for half an hour?’

  ‘I’ll see to it myself, miss,’ said the man good-naturedly. ‘Will you step inside, into the dry, while you wait?’

  The hall which she had thought so light and airy and attractive was as cold as doom. She sat on the edge of a carved oak chair and shivered. No one came near her. She tried to rationalise what had happened. Adam and his aunt had probably found the grey windy weather depressing and had decided on an impulse to go to London to see friends, an opera perhaps, or a new play. They had no obligation to inform any one at Darkwater of their plans. They would be back before anyone knew they had gone.

  But Fanny failed to comfort herself. Apart from Adam’s thoughtless behaviour towards Amelia, he had given her the unmistakable impression that he would always be there if she needed him. And now he just wasn’t there, the house was cold and empty, and she had the greatest difficulty in controlling her tears. Could nobody at all be trusted?

  On the way back across the moor in the early dusk she saw a rider approaching, and her heart suddenly leaped. Adam, after all! He had returned. He had ridden out looking for her.

  The rider on the superb black horse who galloped up, reigning in his mount with easy authority, was George. His highly-flushed face was full of pleasure at having found her.

  ‘They said you’d gone out riding. Amelia’s furious that you took Jinny. How far have you been?’

  ‘Only to High Tor.’

  ‘That’s where Amelia waits for Mr Marsh. I’ve seen them.’ George’s face was suddenly suspicious. ‘You haven’t been looking for him, too?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t. I only had to get some fresh air. I’m going back now. Don’t wait for me. Jinny can’t keep up with your horse.’

  George laughed. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve been looking for you. Simon can suit his pace to Jinny’s. Let’s take as long as we like getting home.’

  ‘Not in this weather. I’m frozen.’

  ‘You don’t look frozen. Your cheeks are scarlet.’ George suddenly leaned across and took Jinny’s bridle. ‘Wait a minute, Fanny. I was jolly glad to hear you’d gone riding. I knew I’d get a chance to see you alone at last. I want to know when you’re going to marry me.’

  ‘Marry you!’

  ‘Well, don’t sound so surprised! What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you for the last six months?’ George’s voice had turned sulky. Already Fanny’s reaction had hurt him. ‘Look here, Fanny, I’ve waited long enough. You’ll be twenty-one tomorrow. Even if Mamma and Papa oppose us, you’ll be free to decide for yourself. So I want your answer then.’

  Jinny moved restlessly as the hold on her bridle tightened. George’s face, flushed, too bright-eyed, oddly triumphant, was uncomfortably near to Fanny’s. She felt caught and pinioned, unable to escape. And Adam had deserted her.

  ‘George, let me go!’

  ‘All right. I’ll let you go now. But tomorrow I want your answer. And after that I’ll never let you go. Never!’

  He gave a sudden wild laugh, and abruptly releasing Jinny’s bridle, spurred his horse and galloped off. But before he had gone far, he turned and came back, circling round Fanny on her slower mount, laughing and showing off his superb riding skill. He did that all the way back to Darkwater. It was, Fanny thought, like being hovered over by a bird of prey.

  22

  SHE WAS TWENTY-ONE. EVERYONE had gifts for her. Amelia gave her a cameo brooch and Aunt Louisa a cashmere shawl. Uncle Edgar kissed her soundly on the cheek, and handed her a small packet containing ten sovereigns. ‘Buy yourself some gee-gaw,’ he said affectionately. Great-aunt Arabella’s gift was a topaz ring set in heavy silver, but George was mysterious about his, saying that whether he gave it to her or not depended on her answer to his question yesterday.

  Fanny knew that it must be an engagement ring, and her heart sank. She dreaded the scene she would have to
face sometime today. She was physically afraid of George’s reaction.

  She tried to forget this in her pleasure at the children’s gifts. Nolly, downstairs for the first time since her illness, importantly handed her a flat parcel, then went back to sit on Lady Arabella’s lap while Fanny opened the parcel.

  It was a sampler, ‘Remember Life’s Sunny Hours’ and ‘This sampler was worked by Olivia Davenport, aged six years, in the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and…’

  ‘It isn’t quite finished,’ Nolly explained. ‘I had only that last bit to do when I got sick. But Great-aunt Arabella said I should give it to you on your birthday and finish it later.’

  Tears sprang to Fanny’s eyes. She went to take Nolly in her arms.

  ‘It’s the very nicest gift of all.’

  ‘You haven’t got mine!’ shouted Marcus. ‘Here’s mine.’

  This proved to be a box of sugar plums, and everyone laughed and agreed to sample one, and Fanny said tactfully that certainly Marcus’s gift had been the sweetest.

  ‘Well, Fanny, don’t you feel awfully old?’ said Amelia. ‘I intend to be married and have children by the time I’m twenty-one. Just think, if you had married Mr Barlow you would have been celebrating your birthday in China.’

  ‘She isn’t in China, she’s here, where she belongs,’ said Lady Arabella, with finality.

  It was still misty and dark outdoors, the trees almost leafless after the gale. In contrast, the warm room with the fire blazing, and the comfortable circle of people, had an illusion of happiness and security. Was it really an illusion? Had she been unfairly suspicious and mean-spirited to imagine undercurrents? It almost seemed possible this morning to wipe away all her doubts and enjoy the pleasure of being the day’s most important person in the bosom of her family.

  Uncle Edgar said, ‘Since we are all here, and since it’s a solemn occasion, I think we might read a chapter out of the Bible. Then, Fanny my dear, we’ll get a couple of the servants to witness that brief document I drew up last night, and you’ll really be your own mistress. Does that alarm you?’