by Lorna Gray
It was already getting quite late when the ponies were all finally put to bed, a tired but smiling Charlie had been packed off home and I had set the pot on the fireside hotplate to heat for Freddy’s tea. My hair had to make do with a hasty wash in lukewarm water and a careless air dry as I rummaged in my drawers for stockings and delved into the wardrobe for the one dress which was smart enough for a dance. The simple frock was a pretty dark green and at some point it had endured my clumsy alterations to make it fit my rather slimmer form now that I could no longer lay claim to the feminine curves that I had enjoyed in my teens. Somewhere I had a sash which would cover the uneven seam at my waist.
Always quick to heal, the bruises about my wrists had faded, and on my right it was so pale as to be barely noticeable. But on the left, the unsightly stain was still vivid enough that finger-marks were clearly visible and there was no way I would be able to pass it off as an incident with a horse. I sat down on the edge of the bed and cupped the bruise in my hand for a moment, examining it and feeling a peculiar mixture of emotions at the way my week had been shaped since that day. Then, crossly reminding myself to stop wasting time when my driver was likely to arrive at any moment, I rummaged in my drawers again and pulled out an old heavy bracelet to clasp it about my wrist. All I needed then was to twist my unfashionably long – and rather too straight in a spends-to-much-time-under-a-woollen-hat kind of way – hair up into a loose bun at the base of my neck, add a flash of red lipstick and I was ready.
I need not have hurried as it turned out. John was half an hour late and seemed harassed as I climbed into the car beside him. He was suitably complimentary about my appearance, however, and it was only as he swung the car into yet another bend with far too much vigour that I finally spoke up.
“Are you all right? You seem a little stressed.”
“Sorry,” he said, allowing the car to slow down. “Was I scaring you?”
“Not at all, I like hanging on to my seat by my fingernails.”
“Sorry,” he said again, casting me a little sideways glance. “It’s just the usual joy at the impending return of the prodigal son, you know how it is.”
“Oh dear,” I said sympathetically. John was in the unfortunate position of being the younger of two sons and I knew full well just how uplifting an experience it was for him when his father and brother got together.
“Oh dear indeed. If Dear Papa mentions one more time how he wishes I could have gone into the army too, because then he’d have two sons to be proud of, I shall do something reckless.”
I laughed. “Don’t do that. I’ll never be able to visit you in prison.”
“I’ll try to control myself,” he replied soberly.
The house looked spectacular in the heavy dusk, with light blazing from the great latticed windows and a steady stream of cars drawing up before the porch on the wide gravel driveway. Music and chatter drifted out in waves from the open doorway and before we had even entered I could pick out the carrying boom of the Colonel’s loud guffaw. John tried to take my arm but I pretended to fuss with the wrap around my shoulders.
We received our greetings from Sir William and his wife and passed through into the hall to join the crush of people that had gathered around the perimeter of those who were already dancing. The band was playing all the old favourites – by that I mean the really old tunes which were tame enough to avoid offending the sensitive tastes of the older guests – but the sweating musicians did at least seem to be inspiring enough enthusiasm in the younger generations to keep them from becoming restive. The loud chatter from those who preferred to linger around the edges consisted almost entirely of indistinguishable nothings about the contradicting forecasts for the morrow, quite as if two months of very little else ought not to have been enough to satisfy even the English appetite for talk on the weather.
Never one for idle conversation, however, John barely even allowed me enough time enough to deposit my wrap on a bench before whisking me onto the dance floor. He seemed to have developed an unprecedented enthusiasm for the exercise and I wondered what had inspired it until I spotted the Colonel bearing down on us with all the subtlety of a bull rhinoceros. He was deflected however by the determined attentions of an elderly widow who appeared to have rediscovered her coquettish streak. Amazingly, she actually seemed to be attempting to flutter her eyelashes and to my intense amusement, the Colonel’s normal shade of puce deepened considerably.
I will admit at this point that I was not entirely insensible to the charm of gliding about the floor in the arms of a confident man. I had not been to a dance in years and I couldn’t help laughing as John navigated an intricate path between the jostling and bumping couples. We turned and span, and all the while, the complex pattern of our movement was accompanied by the lively rhythm of the music. Gradually however, I began to develop a faint suspicion that it was not just chivalry that motivated John to hold me close as he whirled me about the chaotic room. He seemed to be giving me the full high-voltage benefit of his piercing blue eyes and kept holding me much more tightly than I liked, but I am afraid I just laughed and pushed him away. He pouted but then grinned and loosened his hold.
We danced for a good few numbers before thirst drove us to the drinks stand. The brief moment of alarm caused by a hint of overstepping the established platonic bounds of our friendship had already faded beneath the happy glow of dancing and under the easy comfort of his conversation, it became increasingly likely that the only fault had been with my imagination. But then, whichever way John’s intentions transpired to have truly been, I swiftly came to the realisation that the Colonel had no doubts. And equally clearly he was seriously displeased.
The Colonel had successfully extricated himself from the lady’s enthusiastic conversation and now cornered us by the punch bowl where we had no chance of salvation. As soon as he even opened his lips, I knew that I had been extraordinarily naïve in hoping that our evening would be allowed to pass in simple uncomplicated friendship. I watched helplessly as John’s mouth settled into a petulant frown and then my heart sank. If this was a sign of how the evening was going to progress, I thought, looking about me futilely for some hope of escape, it was going to be fun.
The two Langton men were eyeing each other with what could only be described as a deep-seated distrust and I quietly sipped my drink wondering if the bonds of long-term friendship meant that I shouldn’t just slip silently away. But before I could even formulate a plan, the Colonel had turned to me and, fixing me with a stern look, said:
“Well, well, Miss Phillips. You managed to leave your animals alone long enough to dress up, did you?”
I really couldn’t be bothered to be offended. I laughed instead as if he had made a particularly witty joke and said with a cheerful smile, “It was close, but thankfully John was held up so I had just enough time to run in and brush the straw out of my hair.”
Unfortunately I then developed a horrible suspicion that I had somehow dropped John in it because the Colonel’s frown deepened and he fixed his son with a penetrating stare. “Held up, were you?”
John smiled but his eyes were wary. “Just tidying a few loose ends.”
I realised then that the cause of his earlier mood had been more than just the imminent return of his brother; they must have had a blazing row and, knowing John, it was probably about money. At best their relationship was always rather thorny and if John’s various frustrated outbursts over the years were anything to go by, his father appeared to consider him nothing more than a steward to the family estate in the stead of the heir apparent, rather than the hard-working and much loved younger son that by rights he ought to have been. Whether or not the Colonel truly believed him to be little better than a failing employee I could not say, but certainly he was now glaring at his son with the full spectrum of emotions that paid tribute to his own unique grasp of parenting skills; disappointment, contempt and a startlingly intense dislike.
I felt a rush of protective care for my
friend. “Lovely room this, isn’t it?” I said brightly, but I needn’t have bothered. It was as if I did not exist except as an accessory to their quarrel and the Colonel was not to be deflected.
“Loose ends, eh? Well, if you kept your mind on your job,” the Colonel said sternly, “and didn’t waste your time chasing about on every whim of some cheap baggage, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Apparently I was her. He couldn’t have made his meaning more clear than if he had come straight out with it and accused me of being a gold-digger. Well it didn’t suit me to play a bit part in some family feud, particularly when one of the main players felt he should put his arm around my waist and vehemently defend my honour.
“Look here, Father. Ellie and I …”
“Are just good friends,” I interjected smoothly. I really didn’t want anyone hearing him bracket my name with his. Tongues would get wagging in an instant and I had experienced quite enough upset from people gossiping about me as it was. “Is that Sophie Green? I haven’t seen her in years. Excuse me would you? I’d better go and say hello.”
I set my glass down and turned to make my escape, but my way was blocked.
Oh joy.
“Ah! Miss Phillips,” said Sir William, smiling genially down at me. His gaze drifted beyond me and clouded slightly as he took in my two frowning companions but the smile only grew more beaming as he looked to me again. “Tut, tut, eh, Miss Phillips? What say you and I leave these two dogs to have their quarrel alone?”
To my intense surprise, he held out his hand. Even more surprisingly, his offer was apparently serious and I had to rapidly blink away my disbelief before my hesitation could extend into insult. With a nervous laugh to John which was met by a stony glare, I swallowed my puzzlement, reached for the proffered hand, and allowed the old man to lead me back out onto the dance floor.
Sir William seemed oblivious to the curious stares he was attracting by this unusual choice of partner and instead authoritatively led me straight into a waltz with square-backed precision. Trying very hard to pretend that this kind of honour was a perfectly unexceptionable occurrence, I concentrated on keeping the conscious blush at bay and my feet to the rhythm, and determinedly ignored the weight of his heavy hand at my back.
“So, my dear,” he finally said in his distinctively lazy tones, rolling an amiable eye down at me as we wove our way slowly across the dance floor. “We get to have our chat at last.”
“Our chat, Sir William?” I was distracted by the sight of a familiar pair of eyebrows in the crush at the edge of the room but before I could confirm my suspicions, the dance had swept me onwards.
“You like my nephew.”
Were all the Langton family made of the same mould? Friend to my father or no, this went beyond any normal claims on politeness and when I spoke it was with managed reserve. “He is a good friend, Sir William.”
“Ah.” Whatever he wanted from me, this was clearly not the reply he had been seeking. He changed tack. “I was surprised to hear you were riding out alone the other day. Weren’t you afraid?”
“No. Should I have been?”
My partner appeared to be waiting for me to say something more and with a considerable effort I applied my mind to his recent question. I wondered what he had been told about my encounter with the Turford brothers and thought I might pursue my own subtle lines of enquiry. “I had their apologies, Sir William, I don’t think it needs to go any further.”
There was a barely perceptible pause before Sir William said mildly, “Eh? Oh, you mean those fellows at Warren Barn … John told me that you’d been asking about them – labourers you know; just doing a few odd jobs on the Estate.” He dismissed the topic with his customary ease but, I thought with a sharpening of interest, he had at least understood the reference.
“But no, dear girl, I didn’t mean them.” He fell silent as he led me in a languid turn past a rather flamboyant couple, then added, “I meant with that man on the loose, what’s his name …”
“Matthew?” I offered distractedly as a face loomed through the crowd and I had my fears confirmed. Our turn had brought the Inspector into sight once more but thankfully he appeared to be deeply engrossed in conversation with a woman I faintly recognised from the next village and I clung to the hope that he wouldn’t see me. If reports of the anticipated conclusion to my intimacy with John had reached his ears as I thought, my dancing with the uncle could only be seen as a confirmation … Although why the thought of the Inspector believing this should matter even more than my normal loathing of gossip I did not know. But it did. Very much.
“You can call him by his name? After what he’s done?” Sir William’s stark tone brought my mind sharply to heel and my eyes to his face.
“Force of habit, Sir William,” I said quickly with as much careless ease as I could muster. “I did very nearly marry the man, after all.”
“And thank heavens you didn’t, eh?” He took my agreement for granted and I suddenly realised just how peculiar it was to be dancing close to this old man after all I had seen and heard in the past few days. He was familiar to me, a man who had been present throughout my entire life and yet, apparently, not someone I could be confident I knew. Like all the Langton men, he must have been a handsome man in his youth, with the same blue eyes as his nephew – although now faded through age. His cheeks still held the strong structure typical of the family but unlike the Colonel’s his complexion was not marred by purple rage. The lines and creases of his face were softer with an implied joviality that matched the lazy warmth of his eyes; and those eyes were now fixed in almost paternal concern upon my face:
“But since you’ve mentioned marriage, it reminds me of something I wanted to say to you.”
“What is that, Sir William?”
For the first time in my life, I saw him look a little uncomfortable and, for a very fleeting moment before he mastered himself, something that could only have been distaste flickered across his face. He said, “Your father has been dead for what, five years?”
“He has,” I confirmed cautiously, wondering where this might be going. We made another sedate turn and unconsciously my gaze fell upon the crowd again but the man and his eyebrows were gone.
“And you’re finding it hard to manage alone, aren’t you? Your house is falling apart, things are wearing out … and it is getting worse, isn’t it?”
I do not believe I had ever heard him speak so bluntly before.
“Who told you that?”
He flushed and blustered a little at the sharpness of my question, adjusting his hold on my hand. “My nephew did, but you mustn’t be cross with him, my dear, you have nothing to be ashamed off.” The ill-concealed quiver to his mouth said otherwise and I had to bite my lip to suppress the retort that might have followed. “Only last week I heard him say that he was shocked to see what deterioration has occurred in recent months. Cupboards falling off the walls, furniture collapsing and a general air of mouldering decay … it concerned him … and it concerns me too. Why I quite look upon you as part of the family you know." Geniality returned with a rush, "And there is a very simple solution to this little embarrassment of your deteriorating circumstances …”
“And what is that, Sir William?” I had myself under control again by now and there was nothing in my tone that could betray the heat that burned within.
The old man was too well bred to be vulgar so he hinted by allusion. A fleeting reference to care and comfort passed his lips. A suggestion of safety and security, and of protection from loss. Gratitude featured too, but the overwhelming message was of wealth and financial succour – with the power and might of the Langton family at my back, what heights of glory might I not achieve?
So I was to be cast as the gold-digger after all. It didn’t seem to occur to him that the trivial little matter of love might in any way influence me in this arrangement, or that money might not be as much of an inducement as he supposed.
“Any woman would, I am sure,
be proud to be welcomed into the Langton family,” I said carefully, “but I do have to wonder what incentive there is for that dignified family to overlook my – how did you put it? – deteriorating circumstances?”
Sir William was wise and decided to be frank with me. The grey eyes were all at once very unsmiling as we made a slow graceful loop across the room. “My brother is a stern man but he’s no fool. He’ll come round very quickly when he sees what a positive influence you are; particularly when his son’s, shall we say, youthful excesses and exuberances are tempered under your improving influence. And when you are secure under the protection of the Langton family, and have learnt to hold all its concerns as near to your heart as your own …” here we get to the crux of it, I thought, “… Any doubts you may have fostered in the wake of that unpleasant little incident you experienced at Warren Barn the other day will have dwindled into insignificant memory. Regardless of who is asking the questions.”
Ah.
So wealth for me and silence for them, and any other unpleasant little incidents such as the trial and execution of an innocent man would pass us by unnoticed in a haze of unrepentant marital bliss.
Sir William’s beam widened once more, as warm and confident as ever. “I can see that you are an intelligent young woman, and I am sure that you’ll make the right decision. All you have to think, my dear, is what would your father say?”