‘And what is her bidding, Aunt Tattie?’
‘It is, Portia dear, that now you are old enough you are to go to London next Season to be presented.’
The fact that Aunt Tattie was totally opposed to the notion did not mitigate the seriousness of the threat. Portia realized that only too well as she sailed her dinghy across the Broad for what she prayed was not her last sailing lesson of the year. She was allowed to make the short crossing alone now, with Mr and Mrs Plumb left behind to shop and take tea in the nearby village while Richard and Mr Perrott took charge of her for the rest of the afternoon, so although she had her hands full navigating her passage to Brueham House due to a strong cross wind blowing in from the sea Portia still had time to think of the implications. The very last thing she wanted was to leave Bannerwick and go to London to do the Season and be presented at Court. She had no interest in Society and none at all in being sent to the capital in the hope of attracting a rich and titled husband. As she neared the creek leading up to Brueham House and lowered her sail, preparing to row the dinghy the last couple of hundred yards to the jetty, she reflected that even if a certain person did not yet feel about her quite the way she had begun to feel about him, and even if they did not sail around the world together and end up happily ever after as she had so often fondly imagined they might, she knew that she would far prefer to remain single and sail the seven seas alone rather than marry some rich and idle half-wit.
For once there was no-one in sight in the gardens of the house and no activity down by the water’s edge. Mandrake lay at her mooring unprepared for any activity, her sails furled and tied. Even the normally omnipresent Rug was absent although as Portia tied up her dinghy she could hear him barking somewhere the other side of the house. After a moment she had spent wondering what to do, Mr Perrott appeared from the boathouse wiping his hands on a large rag. Within Portia could see an upturned punt, the hull of which Perrott had been busy covering with a thick layer of pitch.
With a look on his face which told her he was surprised to see her the handyman said everyone was up in the house. Portia hesitated, uncertain as to whether she quite wanted to be received by the family dressed as she was in her usual makeshift sailing costume. But then as Perrott returned to his labours within the boathouse she found herself with little alternative. Either she could get back into her dinghy and return home or else she could brave it out and go up to the house, hoping against hope that Richard would be on his way down or would catch sight of her coming up the lawn and intercept her before she had to enter Brueham House and have her presence announced.
Neither such eventuality occurred.
No-one saw her approach and Richard failed to appear. Even the row of straw chairs which generally contained the family pug dogs was empty so that Henry and Portia’s advance went completely unnoticed. Rug had stopped barking now, giving Portia reason to believe that he was locked away in one of the stables where he usually spent his time when not being allowed the run of the gardens, and since none of the pugs had heard their progress up the lawn she imagined they too must be shut away in the boot room to where they were often banished when visitors were being received.
Sure enough as Portia reached the corner of the house and climbed the few steps which led up to the terrace she could see people in the drawing room. Picking Henry up in her arms and whispering to him to keep quiet, she ducked behind a large walnut tree which grew in front of the terrace in order to try to espy who was in the house. She decided if it was just family she would swallow her pride and make her presence known, however absurd she might feel in her sailing rig compared to the Ward girls in their finery, but if there were strangers there then she would cut her losses and hope to sneak back unnoticed to her dinghy.
The first people she saw were Richard’s two sisters, both dressed it would seem in their best. They were seated sideways on to the French windows but attending to what was going on within the room. For a moment that was all that Portia could see, until she caught sight of Lady Ward who emerged from an unseen part of the room to come across and address herself to her daughters who subsequently sprang to their feet, straightening what was indeed their finery while awaiting their next move.
At that moment she saw Richard. He was dressed not to go sailing but in a suit, looking very much a young man of destiny. He was smiling politely at something that was being said by someone still unseen, who then also came into Portia’s view, an extremely elegant woman in a cream full-sleeved dress and a dark brown broad-brimmed hat trimmed at the back with a small spray of feathers. Portia wondered who she might be and why the Wards were receiving her, particularly Richard, when he had promised Portia that he would be free that day to go sailing. Yet there was the family all dressed up in their best receiving a guest who judging from the activity Portia could witness going on next door in the dining room was about to stay to luncheon. All she could imagine was that perhaps before the party moved to table Richard would be excused and hurry out to find her and make his apologies for the unexpected delay.
At this moment another guest appeared from behind Richard and the moment Portia saw her, although she had no reason to know why, her heart sank. The guest was a girl about the same age as herself, the difference being that whereas in looks Portia was considered plain but characterful this young woman could only be described as having the look of angels. She was considerably smaller than Richard, who was six foot tall at the very least, in fact she was probably not very much taller than the diminutive Lady Ward, and even from where she was hidden behind the walnut Portia could sense as well as see the fragility of the young woman’s beauty. She was dressed to perfection too, in the very palest of pink dresses topped with an elaborate mutton-sleeved bodice made of claret-coloured and embroidered velvet, fashioned so that it revealed a triangle of the dress above its wide and intricately fashioned waistband, a triangle which was broadest at the waist and narrowest at the point where it disappeared back under the bodice which in turn was tied at the waist with a small bow, a tie which was repeated at the neck only much larger and made of white lace. Crowning all her fashionable glory and worn slightly to the back of a head of lightly curled fair hair the young woman sported a dragonfly headdress made of what Portia supposed must be chiffon and lace. The whole effect was utterly entrancing, which was obviously how Richard was feeling to judge from the warm and loving smile he turned to bestow on the young woman as she came to stand by his side.
Afraid that were anyone to come to the window and look out with any real interest at what was outside Portia quickly and without being seen slipped out from behind the trunk of the walnut tree to hide instead around the corner of the house, a place overlooked by no window from the drawing room. As she did so she felt as though she were in a play, the sort of melodrama she had been sometimes made to rehearse with Miss Collins and Mr Swift playing the main parts of the Doomed Lovers. Also there was something quite dreadful about witnessing something which you were not intended to witness, and although the scene to which Portia was privy at the moment was a perfectly decorous one she still found herself to be embarrassed. All she wanted to do was to run, to get back down to her dinghy as fast as possible and set her sail for the distant shore, but she knew if she moved now she would be seen.
And then to her horror she could hear the noise of the windows being pushed open and the sound of voices and laughter floating out from within.
Hugging Henry to her and pressing herself even closer to the wall Portia held her breath and prayed for the young woman to turn away and for the family to go in to lunch. She knew that as soon as they left the room she would have enough time to bolt across from where she was hiding to the path behind the high box hedge which ran most of the way down the south side of the lawn and that once there she would be safe and quite able to make her way down unobserved to the jetty.
‘It’s such a perfect day,’ the young woman was saying. ‘I should love a short stroll around the gardens before we eat, Mr Ward. Is t
here really not time?’
‘Mamma?’ Richard’s voice called. ‘Do I have time to walk Miss Cecil around the top lawn before we dine? I haven’t heard the gong sound yet!’
Lady Ward’s reply was not intelligible to Portia where she stood hidden but whatever she said it was obviously not a summons for the pair to come back in, because to her further horror Portia saw them appear around the corner of the house, not ten feet from her hiding place.
Fortunately Portia had chosen her hiding place well since above her hung a thick vine still in full leaf, affording plenty of deep shade, into which she now pushed herself and her armful of strangely quiet dog. Luckily, too, Richard and the young woman both had their backs half turned to her, Richard standing a little in front of his guest with the young woman no more than a foot away. As Richard called something back to his mother Portia saw the young woman stretch one slender-wristed hand forward to take hold of the fingers of one of Richard’s hands which he had clasped behind him. It was a simple, unaffected gesture but probably the most intimate one between a man and a woman that Portia had ever seen, so much so that she almost gasped aloud. The young woman kept hold of Richard’s fingers without saying anything while Richard stood exactly as he was without reacting, all the time keeping up a conversation with his unseen mother and sisters. Finally, when the gong had sounded and Portia could hear the voices inside the room becoming fainter, Richard called out that they were coming too. Yet instead of moving back into the drawing room he lingered for a moment, and then turned to face the young woman behind him. He said nothing and neither did she. They simply stood looking into each other’s eyes for a long moment and then, just as the young woman made to move inside, Richard leaned forward and kissed her softly on the cheek. The next moment they were gone, she with an almost bewildered look in her eyes, and he with the smile of someone who thinks he has found the key to paradise.
Portia waited for a moment, unable to think let alone breathe. Henry wriggled in her arms, but she held him tightly to her, her only grip on reality, while she wondered about what she had just seen and what she must do. The house was silent, the party having vacated the drawing room to make their way down the corridor to the dining room which lay one door further along, immediately past Admiral Ward’s study. If she was to make her escape unseen then she must run, yet she did not, so rooted was she by her anguish.
She pressed the top of her little dog’s velvet soft head to her face and hugged him as tightly as she dared, making him wriggle from the discomfort of her too close embrace.
‘Oh, Henry, what shall we do?’ she asked him.
But the question was academic because Portia knew what they must do. They must run as quickly as they could for the cover of the box hedge and then take flight. That was all they could do. Any further delay would almost certainly spell discovery.
Yet still Portia remained hidden in the shadows, almost as if she felt that if she stayed concealed so in its turn would the reality she knew lay beyond the dark of her hiding place.
Then suddenly she was gone, plunged into headlong, frantic flight. Ironically enough, had she waited one moment longer she might have heard the French windows of the dining room being thrown open and if she had then she might have been spared the humiliation which lay in wait for her, but the fates decided otherwise, dictating that she should take her flight the very moment before Lady Ward instructed one of the maids to let some fresh air into a room which, positioned as it was, caught the full warmth of the midday sun. As the girl was throwing open the outside doors Portia had all but made her intended sanctuary, and just when it seemed she was safe, one flying foot caught the edge of a flowerbed and her ankle turned and she found herself thrown to the ground. As she fell, Henry jumped free of her embrace and in full knowledge of where he was turned for the house and trotted towards it, head in the air, tail curled and extending his trot exactly like a carriage horse doing dressage. Portia watched in horror as she picked herself up under cover of the multitude of tall herbaceous plants in the border.
‘Henry!’ she hissed. ‘Henry-come-back-here-this-minute!’
But the little dog ignored her, now almost at the terrace steps where it stopped to stare up at the house, probably in the hope of seeing the resident pugs coming bounding out to greet it as they normally did.
‘Henry!’ Portia hissed again, trying to stand on her now painful ankle. ‘Henry, will you please come here at once!’
It was too late, for the maid who had just finished bolting the French windows open looked up and noticed the little dog standing at the top of the lawn. For a moment she stared, then as she realized who the dog was she suddenly smiled and turned around to say something to the party within. Realizing this was her last chance Portia hobbled out from the border as fast as she could to try to scoop Henry up before anyone else noticed, but just as she had all but reached him her damaged ankle turned again and once more Portia found herself face down on the grass. When she looked up there was more than one face staring down at her from the house. Behind the maid she could see both Richard and Victoria staring at her in amazement.
But before they could say or call anything, Portia grabbed hold of Henry, got up and ran as fast as she could for the jetty. She couldn’t help moaning from the pain of her injured ankle but instead of slowing or stopping she gritted her teeth and ran even harder. As she fled she could hear voices behind her floating down from the terrace.
‘Portia?’ someone called, that someone she thought being Richard.
‘Who is it?’ That had to be Lady Ward.
‘Portia!’ A laugh, most probably Marie-Louise, who Portia suspected had always found her secretly amusing. ‘Look, it’s Portia!’
‘Portia?’ That sounded like Richard again, but Portia wasn’t stopping to find out. She was heading hard for the jetty, intent on getting Henry in the dinghy and casting off.
‘Who’s Portia?’ A faint unknown voice, which had to be the voice of the beautiful young lady.
‘She’s a little friend of Richard’s,’ said another voice, this time Victoria’s. ‘Lives over at Bannerwick . . .’
‘Richard’s been teaching . . . sail . . .’
‘Frightfully sweet but . . . complete tomboy . . .’
Hubert was in the dinghy before Portia even saw him. She had just dropped Henry in over the stern when the next thing she knew someone appeared from behind her and jumped in with her, just as she was pushing off.
‘Hubert!’ she cried when she realized who it was. She reached out to grab the ring on the end of the jetty but the dinghy had swung out too far. ‘Hubert – what on earth do you think you’re playing at?’
‘It’s all right,’ Hubert said calmly, in the way children do when they can see absolutely no reason for any fuss. ‘I’ve had my lunch and Nanny said I could come out and play. Then I saw you.’
‘You can’t come with me, Hubert,’ Portia said, grabbing the oars and fitting them into the rowlocks. ‘I’m going home.’
‘You can take me to the point, Porsher. I can walk back from there along the path.’
‘I can’t, Hubert. I’m in a hurry.’
‘Yes you can, Porsher. I’ll help you row.’
As Hubert expertly slipped one oar in place Portia’s reluctance to take him with her disappeared. He was such a sweet-natured boy that at that particular moment she knew his presence would only be beneficial, so giving him a brief smile she slipped her own oar in place and together they began to row away from the jetty in silence.
No-one came down the lawn. By the time the dinghy was under way Portia saw that all the party bar one had returned inside the house. That one was Richard, who stood for a moment watching her go before he too disappeared back inside.
That was the last time she ever saw him.
‘Why did you come across today, Porsher?’ Hubert asked.
‘Because your brother promised me one last lesson. Before you all go back to London.’
‘That was tomorrow, Pors
her. That was on Saturday.’
‘No it wasn’t, Hubert,’ Portia replied, with a sinking feeling that the little boy was right. ‘We always sail on Fridays. We’ve been going sailing on Fridays practically all the summer.’
‘Yes I know you have. That’s why I know it was Saturday this week. Because it’s been fixed up for ages. The Cecils coming over to lunch, I mean.’
Portia stopped rowing and for a moment the dinghy started to turn in a circle until Hubert put his oar back in the water to steady it.
‘I remember now,’ Portia said slowly. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘I was there when Bro said so, Porsher. We were all mucking about by the boathouse, and just as you were sailing off Bro said don’t forget – see you in four days’ time.’
‘Yes, I remember now,’ Portia repeated. ‘But for some reason – I don’t know why actually. For some reason it didn’t sink in. Perhaps he didn’t make it quite clear.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t,’ Hubert agreed. ‘That would be Bro. He’s always doing things like that. Muddling up days and things. And taking things for granted. Least that’s what Nanny says. Here—’ He took the oar from Portia. ‘Can I now?’
Portia moved to the stern and taking Henry on her knee let Hubert row them slowly down the little estuary. ‘Who are the Cecils?’ she asked as casually as she could, after a long silence. ‘Are they old friends of your family?’
‘Not really,’ Hubert replied. ‘Bro and my sisters went to this dance when we were last down here at Brueham House. That’s where they met.’
‘That’s where who met?’
‘You know Bro and Miss Cecil. The girl who’s come over to lunch with her mother.’
Portia let Hubert row on a little bit further while she collected her thoughts.
‘You did look funny when you fell over,’ Hubert volunteered before she could say anything further. ‘And when you ran off down the lawn. Why did you? I mean why didn’t you stay and have lunch?’
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