Set In Stone

by Linda Newbery

  Half an hour later I left the shop, with my packages wrapped in tissue. One of the wrappings concealed a blouse of vivid scarlet, high-necked, with a ruffled front. When I should ever wear it, I had no idea; it was a foolish extravagance. Yet, as I made my way towards the premises of Deakins and Murdoch, Solicitors, I felt a secret, furtive pride in owning such a boldly colourful garment.

  In a sombre office lined with shelf upon shelf of heavy books and files, Mr Arthur Deakins received me, and offered his condolences. He was a man of perhaps fifty, with a shiny forehead and a bristling, tobacco-stained moustache.

  ‘I may as well be frank,’ I told him, since I was neither tearful nor downcast, ‘and tell you that I have not seen Mrs Newbold for more than eight years; when we did meet, her treatment of me was coldly formal. Therefore I cannot claim to be much saddened by her death. I am greatly surprised, in fact, that she thought of sending for me. I am afraid that I must leave all arrangements for her burial in the hands of a funeral director, since I must urgently return to my place of employment, and cannot stay here beyond Monday.’

  ‘I see.’ He raised an eyebrow at this. ‘Well, Miss Agnew, your grandmother has done all she could to ease your burden. Her Will is very particular in its instructions concerning the funeral.’

  ‘Mrs Newbold must have had some reason for telling you that she is my grandmother,’ I told him, ‘but she has always disguised this relationship by calling herself my great-aunt. That is what is believed in her household, and I see no reason to change that perception. She could not let it be known that I was her daughter’s daughter, so the fiction was created that she was my great-aunt, and that I was the offspring of her nephew, who was widowed and incapable of caring for me.’

  Mr Deakins nodded. ‘Thank you, Miss Agnew. I am acquainted with some of the details, but you may be able to furnish me with more. Your mother, Mrs Violet Morris, is also estranged? There has been no contact between you since she departed for Kenya?’

  ‘That is correct. Although I cannot speak with any certainty, I doubt that there was much contact between my mother and grandmother. My grandfather died while I was still a baby, and my grandmother remarried soon after. On this second marriage, she moved up in the world, and seemed desirous of casting off all reminders of her first. I was an embarrassment to her.’

  Hearing the note of bitterness in my voice, I knew that I had said too much, and fell silent.

  ‘You have had to make your own way in the world, Miss Agnew?’ Mr Deakins said, in a kindly tone.

  I did not want his sympathy. Looking down at my hands, I saw that I had picked at the skin around one thumbnail until it bled. I could have told him more: of the drabness of my South London boarding school, of the uninspired teaching, the dull food and the sparse dormitories, of the weeks I spent alone there while the other girls went home for their holidays. Yet I had learned one valuable lesson there. Since my own wits were all I had to rely on, I had better sharpen them.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I stayed on at school as pupil-teacher, before finding my present position as governess. But, Mr Deakins, I have not come here to talk about myself. Please continue.’

  He shuffled his papers. ‘Presumably, you’re aware that your grandmother’s second marriage, to Geoffrey Newbold, resulted in a son, Edward? He would of course have been her heir, but he was killed in the Transvaal, only last year.’

  ‘Yes, I have heard that.’

  ‘Edward Newbold was barely twenty - it was a grievous loss to his mother, and, needless to say, he was unmarried and died without issue. Soon after his death, Mrs Newbold summoned me to make amendments to her Will. Of course, it would be more usual for relatives to hear of the contents of the Will at a later stage than this, but since you are here only for a short time, and your mother, the only other interested party, is not in the country, I see no harm in mentioning it to you now. Until recently, your grandmother had left everything to her son - the house, her investments, and her late husband’s substantial shares in the London, Brighton and South Coast Railway. After Edward Newbold’s sad demise, she asked me to change her Will, leaving all her assets, excepting the house, to your mother.’

  ‘I see. They are considerable, I suppose.’ How I longed to finish with this tedious business and leave the dusty, dimly-lit office! Oppressed by the dinginess of the furnishings and shelves, I wanted to walk on the beach and gaze out at the sea. What could this matter to me? As soon as my grandmother was in her coffin, I could dismiss her from my thoughts; as I had done these eight years or more.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Mr Deakins replied. ‘Mr Newbold was a shrewd businessman; by the time of his death he was a moderately wealthy man. But, my dear young lady, you surprise me by showing no curiosity about your grandmother’s house!’ His mouth twitched into a smile beneath his moustache. ‘Miss Agnew, Three Sussex Esplanade is left to you.’

  Next day I could accomplish nothing, for it was Sunday. In the morning I went to church, where I offered the most perfunctory prayers for my grandmother, though I felt it was insincere to do even this. My churchgoing was, in any case, a matter of form rather than compunction; I went chiefly because Juliana insisted, with much fervour, on attending each Sunday. If she were here, warm-hearted creature that she was, she would undoubtedly shed more tears for my grandmother, a complete stranger, than were likely to escape from my own dry eyes.

  Juliana! The realization that had come to me by the tide’s edge seemed newly outrageous each time I considered it. Demure Juliana, the mother of an illegitimate child! Impossible - yet, each time, fresh consideration convinced me that it must be so; it could not be otherwise. At St Nicholas’s, our parish church, she did not simply go through the motions, as Marianne and I did, of kneeling, singing, and making the required responses. She seemed genuinely moved by the hymns, the prayers and the sermon, and was usually quiet and withdrawn in the gig on the way home, while Marianne and I talked together. Poor girl! What mental torments she must have concealed - and my anger rose more strongly against Hardacre and Waring every time I thought of them. How they had taken advantage of her compliance, of her unsuspecting good nature!

  As Mr Deakins had told me, my grandmother’s stipulations regarding the funeral were very precise; she had even arranged for the payment to be made from her estate. Thus, there was little for me to do but set things in motion with the undertakers, and send out cards announcing the death, giving the time and place of the burial. It was to be a costly business; she had ordained enough pomp and ceremony to satisfy an entire dynasty of mourners. There was to be a hearse and two mourning coaches, each drawn by four horses; there would be plumes of ostrich feathers, brass handles to the coffin, and a velvet pall over it; there would be pages and coachmen. Her acquaintances, I trusted, would suffice to fill these carriages, though I should have no means of knowing. Mr Deakins would attend, as her representative.

  On Monday, I made arrangements with the undertaker, then returned to Sussex Esplanade to inform my grandmother’s staff that her funeral would take place on Friday. Summoning the cook, maid and boy, I gave them their instructions: they must receive the mourners after the burial, and provide refreshment; after that, they should place dustsheets over the furniture and shut up the house, for their employment would be at an end forthwith. Mr Deakins would arrange payment, and provide each of them with a written character reference, which would help them to find new positions. The maid, a good, earnest girl, became red-eyed and sniffy at this, while the cook only looked cross, and the boy bewildered. Thanking them for all they had done in my grandmother’s service, I suspected that they had had an easier time of it than they would find elsewhere. When they left the house at the end of the week, the keys would remain with the solicitors until such time as I required access.

  When would that be? What should I do?

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Deakins had said in his office, surrounded by files and deeds and legal reference books, ‘you will wish to resign from your post as governess? In your
position I should sell the house, buy a smaller one and invest the proceeds to give myself an income. You could make a good deal more from the sale of the furniture and paintings, if you wished. I can recommend a reliable valuer.’

  I told him that I would do nothing until I had given the matter further thought. Now, however, I looked around the house, roaming from room to room. My house, as I should soon be able to call it, when all the formalities were completed. It seemed so improbable that I laughed aloud, startling myself with my irreverence, and in a house of mourning! Shocked at my behaviour, I was in such a flippant mood that I could not make myself care. Maybe I was suffering from shock, for I certainly felt as light-headed as if I had consumed a quantity of wine or spirits.

  Everything the house contained would be mine too, to keep or dispose of as I wished: Mr Deakins had explained that. Looking around, I adopted a haughty air, ready to find fault with everything. Used as I was to the spaciousness of Fourwinds, and to the simple lines, sturdy materials and good craftsmanship favoured by Mr Farrow, I saw my grandmother’s house as intolerably cluttered: the walls were hung with gloomy portraits and landscapes, the reception rooms were crammed with any number of little tables, plant stands, chiffoniers, upholstered chairs, screens and footstools, and every available surface was covered with a tasselled or embroidered cloth and loaded with ornaments. What should be done with it all? The challenge was enough to make me quail.

  Well, I need not trouble myself with it now. I left the house, and stepped out again to the breezy promenade. Still in a peculiarly frivolous mood which I hardly recognized, I reflected that I had more freedom now than ever before in my life. Soon, with money and property, I would be a woman of means. If I chose, I could send a telegram to Fourwinds to say that I would not be returning; I could ask for my belongings to be forwarded to me. I had enough money about me for a train ticket and a hotel; I could go wherever I chose. What was to stop me? Now, today, I could go to the train station and buy a ticket for London, or Edinburgh; I could cross the Channel to Deauville, Calais or even Paris, and live there independently; when I ran short of money, I could ask Mr Deakins to sell some of my grandmother’s valuables.

  This flight of fancy was short-lived, however, and by the time I was seated on the train back to Staverton, I had scolded myself into a more sober mood. Whatever had I been thinking? How could I have contemplated abandoning Marianne and Juliana and Mr Farrow - my only family? Reynolds met me with the pony-chaise, and, jolted and jaunced over the rough ground for the few miles back to Fourwinds, I had time to regain my composure, and for Charlotte Agnew, governess and companion, to become herself again.

  What use to me were money, investments, or a house in Eastbourne? All my material needs were met at Fourwinds; and what I lacked, no amount of money could buy.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Marianne

  On Monday evening after dinner, I set up my stool and easel on the north side of the house, with paints and brushes arranged on the grass at my feet. Mr Farrow was in his study, the girls in the drawing room; the front door was open, and occasionally Marianne came to look out at me. She did not speak, but tiptoed back indoors, with pantomimed gestures of Artist at work - do not disturb. Charlotte was expected back on the late train, and Reynolds had gone with the chaise to meet her.

  I mixed my colours and looked at the patterns of light and shade, of brick and tile and stone. In this picture - which was not one of Mr Farrow’s suggestions-I wanted to capture the cool of evening, the shadows stealing across the grass, together with the simple Gothic arch of the porch, and the steps leading up; through the open door, glimpses of lit lamps, flower vases and wood panelling within, and the sweep of stairway. The North Wind sculpture would be in shade-merely hinted at, in cold blue-grey tones. More detailed renditions of the three Winds would be painted separately. Rather, I mean, of all four - for I could not resist giving my interpretation of the West. Mr Farrow could discard it if he chose.

  I made marks on my canvas, I sat back and considered, I looked and I looked. Turtledoves nearby were crooning from a treetop; I smelled crushed grass and leaf mould, the fertile scents of the earth; swifts hurled themselves in arrow-clusters high above, screaming their summer cry of freedom and joyousness. To my right, the sun was setting in a glorious striation of golds and purples, so that the west façade, out of my view, must be ablaze in light. I felt that I would not exchange my situation for all the riches in the world. Truly, I had fallen in love; I had fallen under the spell of Fourwinds. I wanted to think of the place as my own; so utterly had it claimed me.

  Listening, I tried to hear whether Juliana was at the piano indoors; its sound on the air would have completed the perfection of the evening. She had been playing earlier in the afternoon. I had not recognized the tune, but it was probably Chopin, her favourite -something minor key, part playful, part regretful. Its mood of longing had pulled me to the doorway of the drawing room, where I stood very still, watching her. She was alone; her face was still and serious, drawn into a pretty frown of concentration, her head bent; her lack of awareness of being observed added charm to the tableau. I could paint her like this, I thought; for today I felt my fingers itching with more pictures than I could hold in my head, my mind tingling with light and colour and atmosphere. If I did so, I should want to paint the music, to have the air of the room filled with its tones, so that the observer could hear as clearly as see, could be saddened and gladdened and teased by it. Although I did not want to break the spell by letting Juliana see me, I loitered there, knowing that if I stepped forward into the room, she would reward me with a look of welcoming radiance.

  Now, catching myself smiling all over again, I allowed myself to entertain the fancy that this, if I chose, could be my future. I saw myself as Juliana’s husband; imagined myself approaching my pretty wife at the piano, stooping to kiss her, inhaling the scent of her perfume, her hair; I would ask her to play my favourite piece, and she would gladly oblige.

  Why not?

  The idea was not of my own devising, but once planted in my mind it was proving difficult to dislodge. With it came the knowledge that, in this little scene, Fourwinds would be mine, or destined to be mine -for Juliana would inherit, and I with her. If we had a son, he would be heir to Fourwinds, and Mr Farrow’s purpose would be achieved, at one remove - for this conjectural son would be a Godwin, not a Farrow.

  Why not? What is to stop you? goaded my insistent inner voice.

  I do not love her, I answered at once.

  No, you do not, but that can easily be overcome.

  But what of Marianne?

  You must forget Marianne. She is not for you.

  But… but… I do not like this scheming way of thinking. It sits uneasily with thoughts of marriage.

  Do nothing. Be compliant. Accept what is offered you.

  This train of thought was disturbing, for I feared that persuasive inner traitor.

  Leave me alone. Don’t tempt me like this.

  Briskly, matter-of-factly, I marshalled my arguments. I was only one-and-twenty, still young to be thinking of marriage; I had no means of supporting a wife; when I did consider it, I should marry for love, and for nothing less. Juliana was a pleasant, amiable girl; she would be a loving and devoted wife to - to whoever was lucky enough to win her…

  Finding that I did not like this thought either, I called myself to attention, and set myself the task of mixing the precise shade of purplish-grey I needed for cold shadow on stone. I managed to concentrate for some while on the rendering of shade around the figure of the North Wind.

  When I heard the clop of hooves and the rumble of wheels, I realized that the light had faded too much to continue. I began to put away my tubes of paint, leaving my brushes to soak in turpentine. The chaise bowled up to the door, and Charlotte alighted, thanking Reynolds for coming out so late to meet her. Hector, the pony, had seen me in the shadows; his ears pricked alertly towards me, like those of a gun dog.

  ‘G
ood evening, Charlotte! Let me take your bag.’ As I stepped forward, Reynolds touched his cap and drove on towards the stables. The tread of hooves quickened to a neat trot, fading beneath the trees; the warm smell of horsehide and sweat lingered behind. Charlotte and I stood smiling at each other.

  ‘I am happy to see you back,’ I told her. ‘I hope you’re not too tired after your journey?’

  ‘I am very glad to return. No, not tired at all.’

  I felt then that I should very much like to speak to Charlotte alone - to tell her of all that had happened during her absence - but, of course, both girls clamoured for her company. My enquiries about the nature of her visit to Eastbourne were met with the same reticence as before; all she would say was that it was some business matter concerning a distant relative, something tedious, and not quite concluded. ‘I may be called upon to return there, at some time in the future,’ she added, ‘but it’s of no great importance, and need not concern us now.’

  We had moved into the vestibule. I saw Charlotte’s eyes lift to the study door on the half-landing; and as if prompted by her glance, the door opened and Mr Farrow came down the stairs towards us.

  ‘So! You have come back. I hope you had a tolerable journey.’

  She turned towards him, smiling. ‘Good evening, sir. Yes, I—’