“The Colonel arrived while we were at breakfast,” Giselda explained, “and invited his Lordship to sit in the stage box with Captain Somercote.”
She smiled before she continued,
“It will be rather exciting for them because they will be almost part of the play. The Colonel joins them at the end of the Second Act and is shot by one of the actors on the stage.”
“You cannot go with them – you are dining with me,” Julius said almost fiercely.
“Yes, of course. I have not forgotten that and actually the Colonel did not include me in his invitation. There would not be room for me in the stage box.”
“Even if he had done so, I should have held you to your promise.”
“Which I would not have broken.”
She saw the gladness in Julius’s face and thought she was not mistaken in thinking that, even if he was going to ask her to marry him for her money, he also had a slight, even if it was very slight, affection for her.
She was just about to hand him her glass saying she had finished her water, which she was quite convinced was nastier every time she drank it, when unexpectedly there was a woman standing beside Julius.
“I want to speak to you, Mr. Lynd.”
The woman spoke abruptly, but there was something in the tone of her voice that commanded attention and Julius, turning to face her, gave a noticeable start.
“I want to tell you,” the woman went on, “that I am leaving Cheltenham this afternoon.”
It was then that Giselda guessed who she was.
There was no mistaking that the woman was extremely unprepossessing and middle-aged and she was certain it must be Emily Clutterbuck.
She was in fact positively ugly and yet, because of that very ugliness, Giselda could not help thinking there was something rather pathetic about her.
She was expensively dressed, although her gown was not in good taste, her bonnet sported too many green ostrich feathers and the jewels round her neck and on her wrists were valuable but ostentatious.
Giselda could not help noticing that the cosmetics with which she tried to hide the roughness of her skin were not skilfully applied.
Perhaps because she was agitated, the salve on her lips was smudged and it was easy to realise she was in fact very nervous.
“If you are leaving this afternoon, then I must wish you goodbye and Godspeed,” Julius said.
He had recovered from the start he had given at the sight of Miss Clutterbuck and from seeming for the moment tongue-tied.
“There is something I want to say to you.”
Julius glanced uncomfortably at Giselda, but there was nothing he could do to prevent Emily Clutterbuck from continuing,
“When I came here,” she said, “you had raised my hopes in a – manner which I now realise was only part of my imagination and yet because you made me feel for a short time at any rate – that I was a woman – like other women – I want to thank you.”
“To – th-thank me?” Julius stammered.
There was no doubt now that he was acutely embarrassed.
“Yes, to thank you,” Emily Clutterbuck said. “I have not had much happiness in my life, but this last month I have been happy. Although I know it was foolish of me to expect any more, I shall at least have some – memories – memories of you, Mr. Lynd, and all the – wonderful things you said to me.”
There was an unmistakable sob as she spoke the last words.
Then, bending her head with its tasteless array of ostrich feathers, she turned and walked away.
For a moment Julius stared after her in a bemused fashion, then turned to Giselda to say in a loud blustering voice,
“Well, really! I cannot imagine anyone could be so insensitive, so – ”
Giselda put out her hand and dug her fingers into his arm.
“Go after her,” she said insistently. “Go after her and say something nice. Give her something to remember. Be kind – be really kind. It will not hurt you, but it will mean everything to that poor woman.”
For a moment she thought he would defy her and refuse to do as she asked.
Then, as her eyes met his and he saw how much in earnest she was, he turned on his heel and strode after Emily Clutterbuck who by this time was some way down the long walk.
Giselda saw them standing talking together in the shade of the overhanging trees. Then, as if she felt it was something too private to look at, she took her glass back to the counter.
She realised as she put it down that her hand was shaking and she knew that she was not only moved by the pathos of Emily Clutterbuck, but also that she hated Julius with a violence that surprised her.
She not only hated, but also despised him.
How could a man – any man – behave as he had behaved to that poor ugly creature who could not help looking the way she did, but still had feelings and emotions just like any other women?
Giselda could imagine how Julius, handsome and elegant and coming from such a noble family had seemed when he appeared in her life like a meteor flashing across the sky.
Of course she had come to Cheltenham hoping that the protestations of interest and affection he had made to her would be translated into a tangible proposal of marriage.
She would have thought of him all day, Giselda told herself, and dreamt of him at night.
She was certain without being told that Emily Clutterbuck would never before have met a gentleman of Julius’s standing.
There was no doubt, if one did not compare him with the Earl or indeed for that matter with Henry Somercote or the Colonel, he was definitely prepossessing.
Then suddenly, like a blind being drawn over a window, he had ignored her and concentrated, as the Earl had intended him to do, on a richer and definitely better-looking heiress.
‘How could anyone be so despicable?’ Giselda asked herself.
Then she thought that her part in the drama was almost as reprehensible.
Julius had pretended an affection he did not feel for Emily Clutterbuck, but she was pretending to be someone she was not, merely to receive him and because the Earl wished to prevent his marriage to that poor unhappy creature.
It was useless for Giselda to tell herself that the suffering Emily Clutterbuck would have endured once she was married to Julius would have exceeded anything she was feeling at this moment.
She knew only too well that love was not always the happy ecstatic state that novelists depicted.
It was pain, it was misery and it was a yearning for the unattainable, which she was feeling now. In her mind she linked herself with Emily and knew that they both felt the same.
They both loved a man who was out of reach. They both looked towards a future that was dark and empty without light or hope.
Giselda was so intent on her thoughts that Julius startled her when she heard his voice and realised that he was beside her again.
“I did as you asked me.”
There was a sulky note in his voice, which told her it had been an uncomfortable moment.
“Thank you.”
They automatically began to walk back from the Pump Room.
“Will you come driving with me this afternoon?”
“I am afraid that is impossible,” Giselda replied. “I have some books to change for his Lordship and various other things to do.”
“He will be resting if he intends to go to the theatre tonight.”
“He may wish me to read to him.”
Giselda spoke without thinking and it was quite a shock when Julius said,
“I really do not see why you should do all these things for my cousin. After all, he has a mass of servants in attendance.”
She had forgotten for the moment that she was the rich Mrs. Barrowfield, who need wait on no one and now to gloss over the fact that she had made a mistake, she said quickly,
“I assure you I am only too willing to be of assistance. After all, the Earl received his wounds in battle and none of us can do too much for the men
who fought for us against the tyranny of Napoleon Bonaparte.”
Julius merely looked even sulkier and she knew it was because he had not gone to war.
“Besides,” Giselda said, elaborating. “I wish to go to Williams Library and try the weighing-machine. I hope to have put on a little weight during my stay at Cheltenham and I think I may have succeeded. Anyway, I shall know it for a fact after I have been there this afternoon.”
“But you will dine with me tonight?”
“Of course. I am – looking forward to it.”
It was an effort to say the words and yet Giselda made herself say them.
How could she let down the Earl by showing Julius all too clearly, as she wished to, what she really thought of him?
As if he felt some explanation was necessary, he said after a moment,
“I once had some business with Miss Clutterbuck’s father, that is how we met. Of course women of that class misinterpret ordinary politeness as something very different.”
Giselda felt herself freeze.
If she had hated him before, she hated him even more at this moment.
How dare he refer to Emily Clutterbuck as ‘a woman of that class’ when, if it had not been for the Earl’s intervention, they would doubtless at this moment be announcing their engagement?
“I am afraid the lady in question seems very – unhappy,” she remarked after a moment.
“I am sure she will soon get over it,” Julius said lightly, “and I assure you, if she does not, it is not my fault,”
The words she longed to say trembled on Giselda’s tongue. Then she was thankful they had reached the end of the walk and Julius’s phaeton was waiting for them.
“Is there anywhere I can take you before you return to German Cottage?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
She felt she could not bear the proximity of him any longer and they drove in silence until, upon reaching the Cottage, Julius drove the horses up the short drive with an almost theatrical flourish.
“Shall I call for you this evening?” he asked.
“I am sure I can arrange for one of the Colonel’s carriages to convey me to The Plough,” Giselda answered. “It’s only a very short distance.”
“Then I will be waiting eagerly until you arrive – very very eagerly!”
He raised her fingers to his lips and she had the greatest difficulty in not snatching them away.
She walked into the house and went into the sitting room without taking off her bonnet or shawl.
The Earl, as she expected, was seated on the terrace just outside the French windows reading a newspaper.
She walked towards him feeling as if she needed the comfort of his presence and some part of her noted automatically how handsome he looked and how much at his ease.
He looked up at her approach, but did not rise and she walked to stand beside his chair thankful to be with him, and yet finding it impossible for the moment to find an excuse.
“What has upset you?” he asked after a moment.
“Is it so – obvious?” Giselda enquired.
“It is to me,” he replied. “Sit down and tell me what has happened.”
“It is Mr. Lynd.”
“I presume he has offered you marriage?”
“No – it is not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“We went to the Well,” Giselda explained, “and while we were there Miss Clutterbuck came up to him to say goodbye.”
“And that upset you?”
“She was so unhappy – and yet – so brave.”
Giselda drew in her breath.
“She thanked Mr. Lynd for making her, for a very short time, feel like other – women.”
There was no mistaking the note in Giselda’s voice. She seated herself on a chair beside the Earl and now she looked away across the garden trying to prevent the tears from coming into her eyes.
“I warned you that Julius was a young swine!” the Earl said.
“It would not have mattered so much if she were not so very – ugly.”
The Earl did not speak and after a moment she went on,
“It is cruel and wrong that we should judge people by their external appearance when inside they feel the same emotions as everybody else, and suffer perhaps even more acutely.”
“It is impossible for men and women to be equal,” the Earl said quietly, “except of course in the sight of God.”
“I cannot help feeling that is very little consolation in this world,” Giselda replied.
The Earl picked up a small silver bell that stood on the table beside him and rang it.
“I am going to give you a drink and something more palatable than the water you have been drinking. This has upset you, Giselda, and I understand and respect you for it. At the same time I have no wish for Julius’s behaviour to add to your own troubles.”
“I cannot help it – can I?” Giselda sighed.
A servant appeared and the Earl gave him an order and, when they were alone again, he suggested,
“Forget Miss Clutterbuck, forget Julius for that matter! It is useless to waste your thoughts on him.”
“This morning I told you not to be bitter about him. I thought it might hurt you – but now I hate him! I hate him in a way that I know is – wrong!”
“Forget him!” the Earl repeated himself. “Take off your bonnet, Giselda, and enjoy the sunshine.”
She obeyed him, putting her bonnet down on an adjacent chair and raising her hands to tidy her hair.
“Your hair looks very lovely,” the Earl said, “and quite different from the way it appeared when I first saw you in that disfiguring mobcap.”
She looked at him in surprise and he went on,
“Your hair was starving like your body. Now it is shining with new lights and there is a buoyancy about it that was not there before.”
“I have noticed it – but I am surprised that – you should have done so too.”
“I notice everything about you, Giselda.”
Giselda felt a little tremor of warmth run through her at his words, then the servant appeared with an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne.
As it was being opened, Giselda told herself that the Earl was speaking impersonally. He was just producing her for a part as the Colonel produced his actors on the stage.
It amused him, because he was ill and had nothing to do, to invent a character like Mrs. Barrowfield from Yorkshire, to deck her out in smart clothes, to teach her the lines she must say and watch the reactions of the other players.
‘That is all I mean to him,’ she told herself.
And yet, while to feel that was true was a depressing thought, she could not help feeling excited because she was beside him and because he was prepared to listen to what she had to say.
When he handed her a glass of champagne, her fingers touched his for a moment and she felt a little thrill run through her almost like quicksilver.
‘I love him!’ she told herself. ‘I love him completely, with my heart, my mind and my very soul. He is everything I dreamt a man should be! Even if I never see him again, he will always be there in my heart.’
“This is excellent champagne,” the Earl was saying. “Drink a little more, Giselda, it will do you good.”
Obediently Giselda, who had put down her glass after a few sips, took it up again.
‘Champagne is like the happiness I feel at this moment,’ she told herself, ‘effervescent, but something which will not last! Yet for the moment it makes everything seem golden and glorious – as if there are no shadows waiting for me in the future.’
*
Giselda dressed early for dinner because she wished to see the Earl before he left for the theatre.
She was, however, so early that she went downstairs before seven o’clock to find the Earl in the salon having a glass of wine and waiting for Henry Somercote.
They were to dine at the Cottage and the carriage was ordered for them at a
quarter to seven.
Giselda entered the room, conscious that she was wearing yet another new gown and hoping that the Earl would approve of it.
It was of rose pink tulle with little touches of silver and diamante like dewdrops glistening in the pink magnolias clustered in the lace around the hem and on the bodice.
But, as she walked towards the Earl, she was conscious not of herself and her own appearance, but of his.
She had never seen him before in full evening dress and now she wondered if it would be possible for any man to look more impressive or more magnificent.
His black satin knee-breeches and his closely fitting long tailed coat became him even better than anything else she had seen him wear.
His cravat was a masterpiece and, although on other occasions she had never seen him wear jewellery, tonight he had a gold and emerald fob hanging beneath his satin waistcoat.
“Very pretty!” the Earl approved as she drew near to him. “Madame Vivienne is a genius – there is no doubt about that – and this gown becomes you better than anything else I have seen you wear!”
Giselda’s eyes lit up.
“I am so glad you approve, my Lord.”
“If it does not bring Julius to the point – nothing will!” the Earl said abruptly and almost, Giselda thought, unpleasantly.
“I wish I did not have to go to dine with him,” she said without thinking.
“Perhaps this is the last occasion you will have to endure his company.”
“I hope so.”
“I have decided that Henry and I can drop you at The Plough on our way to the theatre,” the Earl said. “ I do not like to think of your travelling alone even such a short distance.”
“Thank you – that would be very kind, my Lord.”
Even a few minutes more with the Earl meant more than she could say.
She had been thinking this afternoon that every passing hour that she could be with him was precious.
She had the feeling that the sands were running out and soon, perhaps sooner that she dared to anticipate, he would have left Cheltenham for Lynd Park and she would no longer be able to see him.
“Will you have a glass of Madeira?” he asked and she had to force her thoughts back to the commonplace.
“No thank you,” she answered, “I think I have had enough to drink and doubtless Mr. Lynd will have ordered wine for dinner.”
The Mysterious Maid-Servant Page 12