Duelling Fire

by Anne Mather

  ‘No. No. That is—–’ Realising how ambiguous this sounded, Sara revised her words. ‘I mean, we were all worried. But now that you’re making such good progress—–’

  ‘It’s not Jude, is it?’ Harriet asked, with sudden perception, and Sara wondered if her expression was so revealing.

  ‘No,’ she denied now, plucking at the hem of the coverlet. ‘I told you, we’ve been worried about you, that’s all. Jude—well, Jude has been very upset, as you know.’

  It was difficult to talk about Jude with the knowledge of Harriet’s affair with Lord Hadley uppermost in her mind. Somehow it made it all so much worse and she wished she had not raised the subject.

  Harriet, however, had no such misgivings. ‘Yes,’ she mused. ‘Yes, Jude was quite amazingly disturbed, wasn’t he? I must admit, it reassured me considerably.’

  Sara bent her head, hoping the action would be construed as a silent acquiescence, and Harriet went on after a moment: ‘He hasn’t—how shall I put it?—tried to influence you in any way, since I’ve been in here, has he?’

  ‘Influence me?’ Sara was startled. ‘How? In what way?’

  Harriet sighed. ‘Oh—well, against me, I suppose—–’

  ‘No!’

  In spite of Sara’s vehemence, Harriet was still concerned, and after considering her words she said: ‘I shouldn’t like to think that you might—believe—everything he tells you. I mean, I know Jude, I know how jealous he can be, and if he thought—–’

  ‘There’s hardly been any conversation between us,’ Sara interrupted her quickly. ‘He—he’s out of the house most of the time. I—I’ve hardly seen him.’

  That’s good.’

  Harriet looked a little more relaxed, and Sara wondered for a moment whether she had been a little hasty in imagining that her aunt did not suspect her relationship with Jude. From the tone of this conversation, one would think Harriet had some reason for asking these questions, and the thought suddenly struck her that perhaps Jude had deliberately set out to make mischief between them. Was it conceivable that he had lied to her? For the first time Sara wondered if the things he had told her were true.

  It was unfortunate that Harriet chose that moment to misinterpret her silence. Unaware of the conflicting emotions playing across her face, Sara was totally unprepared for Harriet’s next challenge, but her appalled expression was answer enough.

  ‘I suppose he did find time to tell you about myself and James Hadley,’ she remarked, almost as if it was of no consequence. ‘I thought so. After what happened at the party, it was not inconceivable.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Come, come, Sara, surely you’re not shocked? Don’t you belong to the generation that condones such things?’

  ‘I—I—–’ Sara was finding it incredibly difficult to think of anything to say. Why on earth should Harriet have jumped to this conclusion? What possible reason did she think Jude could have had to discuss Harriet’s affairs with her?

  ‘Don’t look so flabbergasted, Sara.’ Harriet’s shoulders sagged a little wearily against the pillows now. ‘Oh, I know what I did was wrong, but Lord knows, I’ve paid for it, one way and another.’

  Sara was tempted to ask how, but she was glad she had kept silent when Harriet went on: ‘You don’t know what it’s been like all these years, watching James’s family grow up, knowing he would never let me be a part of it. He refused to marry me, you know. Even after Margaret was dead. He said it wouldn’t be fair to Rupert and Venetia.’ She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. ‘What did I care about Rupert and Venetia? Didn’t I have some rights, too?’

  Sara could see she was beginning to upset herself again, and she soothed Harriet’s hand between both of hers, trying to reassure her. It was strange, she thought wryly, Harriet could arouse her sympathies almost without trying, just when she had thought herself immune.

  After a moment her aunt recovered herself again, but she retained her grip on Sara’s fingers as she looked up at her. ‘You do understand, don’t you, darling?’ she asked appealingly. ‘I was young, and foolish. I thought James intended to get a divorce or I would never …’

  ‘Please.’ Sara made a dismissing gesture. ‘Let’s not talk about it any more. It’s nothing to do with me how—how you choose to live your life.’

  ‘I knew you’d see it my way.’ Harriet visibly relaxed. ‘How could you not when I know you find Rupert just as attractive as I did his father!’ She paused, giving Sara a moment to absorb this unexpected development, and then went on: ‘Only you’re luckier than I was. Rupert’s not married. And when he came to see me this morning, he made it perfectly plain that he’s interested in you.’

  Sara straightened her spine. ‘Rupert came to see you this morning?’

  ‘Yes.’ Harriet was matter-of-fact. ‘He’s been to see me a couple of times since the night of the party.’ She smiled conspiratorially. ‘I rather think he wanted to sound out my feelings about his association with you.’

  ‘His association with me!’ Sara knew she must sound rather stupid, but so far as she was aware, she and Rupert had had no association, at least, not yet.

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re not aware of his interest in you,’ Harriet asserted a trifle impatiently, as Sara continued to look blank. ‘He tells me he’s phoned you on several occasions since the party.’

  ‘Well—yes. Yes, he has. But we haven’t met.’

  ‘I know that. He explained that you’d told him that with me here in the hospital you didn’t feel you could make any arrangements.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, I want you to.’

  ‘You want me to what?’

  ‘Don’t be obtuse, Sara. I want you to accept Rupert’s invitation, next time he rings. There’s no earthly need for you to worry about me. As you say, I’m on the mend. And I’ll mend all the sooner if I know you’re out enjoying yourself.’

  Sara sat back in the chair beside Harriet’s bed. ‘You want me to go out with Rupert?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But he’s practically engaged!’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I can’t remember now. Venetia, I think.’

  ‘She would.’ Harriet snorted. ‘Elizabeth Carthew is her best friend. She and her father have done everything in their power to push Rupert to propose.’

  ‘And you want to throw a spanner in the works,’ murmured Sara thoughtfully, unconsciously paraphrasing what Venetia had said, and Harriet’s expression convulsed.

  ‘Who told you that?’ she demanded. ‘Oh, don’t tell me, I can guess. Jude has been talking to you, hasn’t he? I wonder what other lies he’s concocted for your benefit!’

  ‘It wasn’t Jude,’ Sara heard herself defending him, even though she guessed Harriet would not believe her. ‘It—it was just the impression I gained, that’s all. And—and if I do go out with Rupert, won’t I be doing just that?’

  Harriet’s brows formed a suspicious line. ‘Your friendship with Rupert is your affair, yours and Rupert’s. It has nothing to do with anyone else. Not Venetia, or her father, or Jude. And especially not Elizabeth Carthew!’

  Sara knew herself backed into a corner, but still she looked for escape routes. ‘Nevertheless, I wouldn’t like to upset anyone—–’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. The only person you’ll upset if you persist in this is me! Good heavens, girl, you’re far more suitable to fit the role of lady of the manor than that insipid Carthew creature!’

  ‘Now wait a minute …’ Sara had to protest then. ‘Harriet, I know he was sweet to me at the party, but there’s no question—–’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not?’ Sara looked aghast. ‘Why, because it’s too soon to even consider such a thing! I hardly know him. And he doesn’t know me—–’

  ‘He likes you. He likes you very much.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘You discussed me with him?’

  Harriet looked smu
g. ‘I didn’t have to. He couldn’t wait to tell me what he thought about you.’

  Sara shook her head. ‘I—I think you’re exaggerating—–’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Harriet leant forward to squeeze Sara’s hand now. ‘Isn’t it exciting?’ She smiled, and the girl wondered why she could not respond. ‘Just imagine—my niece could be the next Lady Hadley! Have you thought of that?’

  Sara thought about it all the way home, and contrary to Harriet’s expectations, she found the whole idea rather unpalatable. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Rupert. On the contrary, she had found him quite a pleasant young man. But for Harriet to be considering marriage, at a time like this, left her with the unpleasant suspicion that Jude’s warnings to her had not been as self-indulgent as she had thought. Yet why was Harriet doing this? What on earth could she get out of it? And after the way James Hadley had treated her, it hardly made sense!

  Rupert rang that evening, and when Janet called her to the phone, Sara went with an uneasy mind. Right now, the last thing she wanted was to get involved with anybody, but with Harriet’s words ringing in her ears she felt obliged to be friendly.

  It was easier than she had expected. Ruper. was so understanding. When she cried off from his invitation to have dinner with him later in the week, he immediately suggested walking over the following evening, and Sara had no objections to his joining her for a drink.

  In fact, Sara found Rupert rather a pleasant young man, away from his home and his father’s influence. It was true his main interests seemed to be horses and other sporting activities, and his conversation was liberally dispersed with frivolous comments, but Sara welcomed his inconsequential chatter after the strained atmosphere that prevailed at Knight’s Ferry. What did it matter if he was brash and a little immature? Just because he and Jude were much of an age it did not mean she had to make comparisons between them. Rupert was much less complicated, and she ignored Janet’s scowl of disapproval when she asked if they might have some coffee.

  After that evening she accepted Rupert’s invitation to have dinner with him in Buford two days later, and when she told Harriet, as she was obliged to do, her aunt was suitably gratified.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ she exclaimed, giving a smug smile, and Sara wished she felt more enthusiastic, and less like a manipulated doll. Somehow, no matter how much she might enjoy Rupert’s company when she was with him, she couldn’t forget why she was doing this, and she determined that once Harriet was home from the hospital she would make her decisions for the right reasons. Indeed, it might be easier for all of them if she returned to London, as Jude had once suggested, and a letter from Laura seemed a significant omen.

  The other girl, however, was feeling rather low. An attack of influenza had left her without much energy, and unable to return to her job at the hospital until she was completely recovered, she was finding her days long and lonely. Reading between the lines, Sara guessed Laura would have welcomed an invitation to spend a few days in the country, and had Harriet been at home and in good health she would certainly have broached the subject. But she couldn’t invite anyone here while Harriet was in hospital, particularly not when she and Jude were barely on speaking terms. The alternative was for her to visit Laura, but how could she leave Harriet until she was home?

  It was a problem, and it stayed with her throughout the next couple of days. Even her outing with Rupert did not help to ease her troubled thoughts, and she was afraid she was rather short with him when he suggested coming in for a drink after bringing her home.

  ‘Not tonight, Rupert,’ she exclaimed, extricating herself from his arms after permitting a salutory goodnight kiss. ‘I’m tired,’ she added, using that hackneyed old cliché, and his mouth turned down sulkily as he had to let her go.

  ‘I’ll ring you,’ he said, without confirming the suggestion he had offered earlier in the evening that he might show her round his home at the weekend, and Sara was glad to agree. If Harriet was put out that she was not to see Rupert any more this week, it was just too bad, and at least Rupert would hardly be likely to complain about his own lack of success.

  Locking the outer door behind her, Sara pushed her coat into the cloakroom and climbed the stairs. The house was in darkness, apart from one lamp which illuminated the landing, and she guessed Rob and Janet had gone to bed, knowing she had her own key. It reminded her of that other occasion when she had thought herself the only person awake; but Jude had been there in the library, and their forbidden relationship had begun.

  She shivered, and as she did so a door opened below her, and a shaft of light appeared. She paused, half prepared to meet Janet’s growing hostility, and found Jude looking up at her from the entrance to the library. He was in his shirt sleeves, and his eyes looked shadowed, as if he had been working, but the glass in his hand seemed to deny this. He looked dark and brooding, and dangerously angry, and her fingers flexed and unflexed against the polished wood of the banister.

  ‘Come down here,’ he commanded, gesturing to the library behind him. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you,’ declared Sara, keeping the tremor out of her voice with difficulty. She couldn’t imagine what he might have to say to her, but whatever it was it could wait until morning. ‘I’m tired,’ she said, using the excuse she had given Rupert. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’

  ‘I’m tired, too,’ he retorted, taking two steps across the hall. ‘However, I intend having this out with you tonight, whatever state of health you may be in.’

  Sara quivered. ‘Whatever you have to say to me, I’d rather you said it in the morning, when you’re—less—less—–’

  ‘—–intoxicated?’ he demanded harshly.

  ‘Angry,’ Sara replied. ‘As—as you haven’t opened your mouth to me for the better part of a week, I can’t see that a few hours more or less will make any difference.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ He had reached the foot of the stairs now, and was looking up at her with cold malevolence. ‘Do you come down, or do I come up? It’s all the same to me.’

  Sara hesitated. She didn’t know what to do. She had no wish to have a conversation with him in this mood, and she couldn’t quite believe that he would do as he threatened and follow her upstairs. After all, he could hardly follow her into her bedroom—could he?

  She licked her lips. ‘If it’s to do with Harriet, I saw her earlier—–’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Harriet. At least—–’ he shrugged, ‘not in the way you mean.’

  ‘Then it can wait till morning,’ exclaimed Sara tightly. ‘As—as a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you. About a letter I had from a girl friend. I—I suggest we meet for breakfast—–’

  ‘Now,’ stated Jude uncompromisingly, and with a jerky expellation of her breath Sara shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said, keeping her voice firm and deliberately turned and walked up the rest of the stairs.

  Any fears she had had that he might come charging upstairs after her were proved groundless. Although she was sure he watched her as she mounted the last few stairs and walked across the landing, he made no move to follow her, and she breathed a sigh of relief when her door closed behind her. She had made it. It was only a pity there was no key to lock her door, although perhaps that would have been rather silly.

  Stripping off her evening dress, she padded into the bathroom, sluicing her face thoroughly under the tap and cleaning her teeth with rare fervency. But the small activity helped to keep her mind blank, and she refused to consider what revelations she might have to face in the morning. She glanced at her reflection before re-entering the bedroom, her expression twisting wryly as she recognised that look of nervous agitation. Good heavens, she thought, what was wrong with her that she couldn’t have a conversation with Jude without becoming emotionally disturbed? He was a man, that was all, just a man, a man moreover who seemed to think he had only to speak for any woman to jump to his bidding.

  Shaking he
r hair loose from the clasp that had held it at her nape, she came back into the bedroom, only to stop short at the sight that met her startled gaze. Jude was lounging on the turned-down bed, still fully dressed, but obviously determined to make her eat her words.

  Immediately her hands flew to her breasts, and her face suffused with colour at the realisation that her panties were scarcely a covering. Made of silk and lace, they were a concession to decency, no more, and she had removed her tights earlier, before going to the bathroom.

  ‘G—get out!’ She almost screamed the words in her horror, but Jude made no move to obey.

  ‘I have seen your breasts before, you know,’ he remarked, with cold emphasis. ‘Now, do stop behaving in that girlish fashion, and listen to what I have to say.’

  Sara would listen to nothing. She was humiliated and outraged, and the sight of him lounging on her bed filled her with anger and indignation. ‘Will you get—get out of here?’ she choked, clinging to her attitude, and Jude’s mouth compressed impatiently as he viewed her helpless frustration.

  ‘So much fuss,’ he exclaimed in a bored voice. ‘For heaven’s sake, Sara, grow up!’

  ‘Grow up?’ Sara nearly choked on the words. ‘You—you force your way into my bedroom—–’

  ‘Correction, I knocked, and when you didn’t answer I opened the door,’ Jude inserted, but she ignored him.

  ‘You force your way in here—you—you lie on my bed, and—and then have the nerve to tell me to—grow up!’

  ‘Oh—–’

  He said a word Sara would not care to repeat, and then swung his legs to the floor. But her hopes that he might be going to leave her were unfounded. Instead he lifted the cotton wrapper that was lying on the foot of the bed and advanced towards her with it in his hands.

  ‘Keep—keep away!’

  Sara could not take her hands from her body to hold him from her, but she kicked out with her legs and caught him a glancing blow on his shins. She was sure it hurt her toes more than it hurt his leg, but the simple incident seemed to incite the anger which had briefly been smouldering. With a smothered oath he flung the wrapper aside and reached for her, hauling her close against his hard body, and in the ensuing struggle Sara lost all hope of retaining her dignity.