Emily and her mother returned from market laden with groceries and vegetables. They both commiserated over Louisa’s accident and Moira’s personal tragedy, the continuing story of which had to be repeated for Edward’s benefit.
Immediately after their meal, as if on cue, Edward said he intended to work in his room that afternoon, something he rarely did on Saturdays. Emily announced that she would be going out, having made plans to see her John, and to take tea with his family afterwards. Seeing her mother’s hand in these convenient absences, Louisa felt uneasy, then irritated by the conspiracy. As she carried water upstairs to bathe in her room, she wondered what her mother was thinking of. By the time she was ready to join her in the parlour, Louisa’s nerves were tuned to concert pitch, liable to screech at the slightest clumsy touch.
With a pile of crochet-work upon her knee, Mary Elliott sat by the fire in her favourite wing-chair. She wore her Sunday black with jet jewellery, and beneath a starched lace cap her greying hair was piled into a neat chignon. The furniture bore witness to some ardent polishing, and in the firelight the brass fender and firedogs winked cheerfully. Dancing points of light were reflected from the glazed family photographs, hanging straight and symmetrical as soldiers on the opposite wall. Taking it in at a glance, Louisa sighed and took a seat near the window with her back to the light, hoping her disfigured cheek would be less noticeable.
‘Have you any embroidery I could do? I don’t like to appear to be just waiting for someone to call.’
From her sewing basket, Mary Elliott produced a half-completed table-runner, which Louisa took up without enthusiasm. After a moment’s thought, she spoke again. ‘Did Captain Duncannon say why he wanted to see me? Other than to check on the state of my health, of course?’
‘No. Should there be another reason?’
‘Possibly,’ Louisa admitted. ‘He wrote to me the other week — just after the Bainbridges’ party — and said that there was something he wished to discuss with me, but I put him off. Quite honestly, Mamma, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by encouraging him, and I do wish you hadn’t said he could come here this afternoon.’
With a sigh, Mary Elliott privately acknowledged the error. She had a genuine affection for the man she had nursed and virtually bullied back to life. He had been ill, very ill, but he had not wanted to live, that had been the difficulty. And yet seeing him on the day of her sister’s funeral, she had been amazed by the change in him. It still puzzled her.
‘I couldn’t refuse without seeming rude,’ she replied. ‘Don’t you want to see him?’
Studiously selecting a strand of yellow silk, Louisa considered her reply. ‘I’d have preferred not to,’ she admitted. ‘Oh, I know you think he’s charming, Mamma, but if you’d been in Walmgate with me the other day, and heard what Moira had to say — well, you’d think differently.’
‘I’m sorry, dear, I don’t follow.’
‘Mrs Bainbridge told me he owns estates in Ireland, which I imagine includes hundreds of starving tenants, people like Moira and her family, who had to leave Waterford because it was either that or die. If you could see the conditions those people live in now, in Walmgate — it would horrify you, Mamma, absolutely horrify you.’
‘Surely the Captain…’
‘Probably has no idea what’s going on. Probably doesn’t care. Anyway, if he’s coming here to see how I am, he’s going to get more than he bargained for!’
‘Don’t be so quick to judge, dear, you may be wrong.’ After a moment’s thought, she asked, ‘I wonder what it is he wants to discuss with you?’
‘I’ve no idea. Unless he wants to offer me a job,’ she added grimly. ‘According to Mrs Bainbridge, he’s a widower with a young daughter.’
‘A widower, is he? I hadn’t realized that.’ Suddenly, much of the mystery seemed clear. A young man, recently bereaved: that would explain his reluctance to fight for life. But if he was anxious about the welfare of his child...? ‘Would you accept?’ she asked seriously.
‘What?’ For a moment, Louisa wondered what her mother meant. ‘Oh, Mamma — no, of course I wouldn’t. Look…’ she began, and then broke off; the truth of the matter was far too personal. ‘It isn’t quite proper, I know, but I think it might be as well if I saw him alone.’
Studying the tension in her daughter’s face, Mary Elliott slowly nodded. ‘Very well. I won’t ask you why.’
‘Thank you, Mamma.’
Nothing more was said after that, but Louisa glanced repeatedly out of the window, wanting to see Robert Duncannon’s approach, to be prepared for his arrival; but while she watched so assiduously in one direction, the Captain approached from the other.
Wearing a crisply starched cap and apron, with her sleeves rolled down and neatly buttoned, Bessie answered the front door, showing their visitor into the parlour with just the right degree of deference. Waiting until the formal greetings were over, she asked her mistress whether she should bring tea now, or later.
‘We’ll have tea in a quarter of an hour, Bessie,’ Mary Elliott graciously replied, her eyes alight with pleasure at this opportunity of playing the genteel hostess. Her eyes brightened even more as the Captain presented her with a prettily-wrapped box of chocolates, and gave a posy of early primroses to Louisa.
Her daughter’s tight-lipped acceptance of the flowers caused her to suppress a sigh, and she chattered inconsequentially to cover the awkwardness. While Louisa fetched water from the kitchen, she noted the healthy colour a brisk walk had brought to the Captain’s face. His recovery pleased her, and she felt a quite irrational twinge of regret on his behalf. No matter what his intentions towards Louisa, she felt sorry for him, and wished circumstances could have been otherwise.
As Louisa came back into the room, the Captain’s eyes followed her, his expression betraying more than compassion as he looked at her bruised cheek. He asked about her visit to Walmgate, more concerned by her unfortunate experience than the suffering of those she had gone to visit. ‘You were lucky,’ he said, unconsciously echoing Edward’s words. ‘From what little I’ve seen of the area, I’d say things could have been much worse.’
‘I’m luckier than Moira, that’s true,’ Louisa commented coldly, and her mother’s heart sank. She hoped Louisa was not about to lecture the Captain on what she considered to be his responsibilities.
‘At least I don’t have to live in those dreadful conditions,’ Louisa went on, giving him a hard look. ‘Her parents are from your part of Ireland – Waterford, I believe.’
‘Indeed?’ he said evenly. ‘What name do they go by?’
‘Hanrahan.’
Mary Elliott saw the startled surprise in his eyes and, in her daughter’s, a gleam of satisfaction.
‘You know the name?’
He hesitated, dropping his glance. For a moment, a strange little smile played about his mouth. ‘Oddly enough, I do. But I doubt your girl’s related — it’s a common enough name.’
‘Some people on your estate, perhaps?’
‘Not my estate,’ he corrected. ‘My brother’s.’ He smiled at her expression, at the sudden colour which flooded her cheeks. ‘Did someone tell you I was an absentee landlord, living off the unremitting toil of my tenants?’
Uncomfortably, Louisa studied her embroidery. ‘Not quite in those terms,’ she said primly, and her mother suppressed a smile.
‘But someone intimated I was a wealthy landowner?’ He searched his pockets for his cigar case, begging Mary Elliott’s permission to smoke. She nodded, afraid that the conversation was getting a little out of hand. ‘I wonder who it could have been?’ he mused aloud. ‘It wasn’t by any chance Mrs Bainbridge?’
‘You mean the mother of Rachel Tempest’s friend?’ Mary Elliott asked.
‘The same. A pleasant lady, but talkative, and sometimes a little misinformed, I’m afraid.’
‘Ah, yes, Louisa mentioned that you were at the party, Captain. Wasn’t it a fortunate coincidence? Louisa was so afr
aid she wouldn’t know anyone.’
‘The pleasure was entirely mine,’ Robert insisted.
‘Of course she shouldn’t have gone at all, being in mourning for her aunt — but Mr Tempest would have her go, and she couldn’t really refuse.’
‘A difficult situation,’ Robert agreed, with a glance at Louisa.
It was something of a relief to all of them that Bessie arrived with the tea-tray. The lighter aspects of the party were discussed, the tea and cakes handed round, and then Mary Elliott left them, insisting that there were matters of pressing importance for her to attend to. For the Captain’s sake, she was pleased that Louisa had been proved wrong, but his real reasons for calling nagged at her, and she wished Louisa could have confided more; it might have been possible to advise her.
Fourteen
Pouring more tea for them both, Louisa asked, ‘Why did you want to see me, Captain?’
The tone of voice, her formal address, were not encouraging, but he strove to ignore both. ‘Will you tell me first what Mrs Bainbridge had to say?’
Somewhat taken aback, she handed him his cup. ‘Is it important?’
He nodded, conscious of a sudden dryness in his throat. ‘It’s a beginning,’ he said at last. ‘You were obviously upset that afternoon, and, as I said in my letter, I thought I was to blame. But when I received your reply, I realized that Mrs Bainbridge must have said something silly, something that offended you. What was it?’ When Louisa did not immediately reply, he gave a wry smile and added, ‘She’s a notorious matchmaker. Did she tell you I’d be a good catch?’
Her sudden blush provided his answer. ‘I thought so,’ he nodded. ‘Well, she couldn’t be more wrong. I’m far from wealthy — in fact my personal assets are rather limited. A house in Dublin which once belonged to my mother’s family, and a small legacy which augments my army pay. The estate belongs to my brother, William, but I’m afraid White Leigh eats more money than it produces, in spite of the fact that he’s no absentee! However, enough of my family for the moment. Tell me about Sophie’s mother.’
‘She said you were a widower with a small child,’ Louisa replied, determined to reveal nothing more than that.
He chewed his lower lip, aware of a desperate need for courage. With a heavy sigh, he said, ‘I rather thought she might have said something like that. It isn’t true.’
‘You mean she lied? Why?’
‘Oh, no,’ he said quickly, ‘she didn’t lie. She thought she was telling you the truth. Everyone is under the impression I’m a widower, excepting Tommy. But I’m not. My wife isn’t dead.’
There was a long silence. Outside, a cart rumbled by. The footsteps of passing strangers echoed past the window, and from the kitchen, Mary Elliott’s light laugh mingled with Bessie’s heavier voice. Steadfastly, Robert held Louisa’s shocked gaze, willing her to let him explain.
‘You’re married?’ The question was barely a whisper. As he nodded, she shut her eyes against belief. ‘And I was angry because I thought you owned estates in Ireland,’ she said faintly, a sharp sense of irony cutting through the emotional pain.
The touch of his hand brought her back to reality. He knelt at her feet, his eyes shadowed by self-reproach. Blinking rapidly, Louisa looked away, across the room, seeing her father’s portrait on the far wall, sharply focused by a trick of the light. Not again, she thought desperately; this cannot happen twice. Why? Why me?
She passed a hand over her eyes, shutting out both faces. ‘I’m such a fool, Robert,’ she whispered. ‘I never dreamt you were married.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured huskily. His fingers tightened, and the heavy gold signet on his little finger bit painfully into her hand. ‘I wanted to tell you, that night we first met. You asked about my arm — and I nearly told you. I wish to God I had!’ Abruptly, he stood up, and in short, staccato sentences, began to relate the happenings of Christmas Day. Shocked and confused, Louisa struggled to follow his rather disjointed story.
‘You mean — your wife tried to kill you?’ she asked incredulously.
Distractedly, Robert shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I imagine so.’ With a short laugh, he clenched his right fist and showed her the scars, still pink, along the back of his hand. ‘Scissors did that. A pair of scissors. And if she hadn’t thrown the contents of a bottle of scent in my face to begin with, it might have been my eyes.’
With a sudden quiver, Louisa pictured it, and recoiled; tried to speak and had to clear her throat of a sudden constriction. ‘Robert,’ she managed eventually, ‘I feel very stupid. Won’t you begin again — at the beginning?’
‘The beginning?’ he sighed. ‘It feels like a hundred years ago – and must be all of five.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve got time to listen.’ And the rest of my life to understand, she thought but did not say. As she met his gaze, a sense of loss overwhelmed her; she had expected nothing, had grasped at reasons to dislike him, yet hope had lingered, and with its dying, she felt bereft.
‘Tommy introduced us,’ he said shortly, and looked away. He went and stood before the fire, extending his hands towards the warmth, for he was suddenly cold. As he lit another cigar, he thought about that time, the first ball of the season in Dublin, the crush of guests, violent colours of silks and satins and uniforms, himself on a crest of pride and achievement, recently promoted. And amidst the laughter and the braying voices, the great hilarity which followed what had been a difficult few months in Ireland, there was the small, still presence of Charlotte. Slender, fine-boned, with a mass of silvery hair; that pale, pale skin, and eyes like the shadow of a cloud on water. Young and sentimental then, he had called her his Diana, his Goddess of the Moon. Only afterwards, much, much later, had he seen the true irony: Diana was a virgin goddess.
A cynical smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he began to talk about that evening, to describe the events that followed, and his voice took on a mocking tone, which in spite of being directed at himself, Louisa found unpleasant. She stared into the fire, envisaging the scene, the entire situation, now that Robert was relating it calmly. But the machinations of those people were harder to understand.
‘Tommy, of course, had a head start – his late father was a close friend of Charlotte’s uncle, the Earl, and in fact, they were related by marriage. But I could see Charlotte didn’t much care for him. I think his scars frightened her – she had a horror of anything ugly, disfiguring — and they were recent then. I remember he was rather jealous of my success, although he’s more than thankful now,’ he added with a bitter smile.
From then on, Robert had found that he was seeing Charlotte often, at balls, concerts and receptions; no discouragement was offered, and he was even invited to the Earl’s Dublin home, which had been tantamount to a seal of approval on the courtship.
‘I was quite besotted by her beauty,’ he admitted. ‘Even by her quietness. She had a curiously remote air, which I thought romantic and mysterious at the time. I kept congratulating myself on my good fortune,’ he said sardonically, and although Louisa made no comment, he begged her to understand. ‘Imagine – she was wellborn, beautiful, and of a wealthy family. In fact, she was due to come into a small fortune at the age of twenty-one, although I was not aware of it at the time. It never struck me as odd that her family should welcome me so hospitably. If I thought anything at all, I assumed they were genuinely pleased that a little happiness had come into her life.
‘One of the aged aunts told me about her parents. They were killed – murdered, in fact – during riots in Ulster. Charlotte must have been about fourteen then – an only child, at a very impressionable age. Apparently she was inconsolable for months.’
‘No wonder.’
‘Yes, it was tragic. But, sadly, not unique.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I should have paid more attention to that old lady — it’s possible she was trying to tell me something, trying to warn me. I don’t know. Oh, Louisa, when I think of that time, I wince at my naivety and sheer conceit
! I was twenty-five, and thought myself a man of the world. I’d achieved my captaincy and was so puffed up with my own self-importance, so blinded by infatuation, I never asked the obvious questions. Such as why this titled family with vast estates and business interests should welcome me, the almost penniless younger son of an undistinguished family.
‘Now, of course, I see it all too clearly — I had no money of my own with which to fight them, and no influence. And by the time Charlotte inherited her fortune, it was too late to use it. We were well and truly married by then, and with a child to prove it.’
‘What age was she then?’
‘Eighteen when I first met her.’ Robert paced up and down before the hearth, unable to meet Louisa’s eyes. ‘Nineteen when I married her. I asked her uncle for her hand, and he agreed — with just the right amount of reservation, the attitude of a concerned guardian, bestowing youthful innocence upon an impetuous young man!’ Robert laughed, but the sound was harsh. ‘He did it very well, Louisa, very well indeed.
‘Still, there were problems. I had to have permission from my commanding officer. Marriage is forbidden to subalterns, and hardly acceptable under field rank. Well, that’s how it was, officially at least. Now, there are quite a few of us married. So, my first application was turned down. I was treated to a lecture on the duties and loyalties of a young officer to the regiment, told that the regiment must always come first, must be as wife and family to me while I served within it. If a wife was more important to me, then I must seriously consider whether the Royals truly needed my services! In other words, that I must choose between them. To my credit, I did think twice, more than twice. The regiment was, and is, my life. I never wanted anything else – and I could not have given it up simply to idle my life away on Charlotte’s money!
‘But instead of letting the whole thing drop, I discussed it with Charlotte’s uncle. He advised me to apply again. Within the month, I did so – and my application was accepted without a word. Even in the light of what happened afterwards,’ Robert continued, ‘I hold no ill-feelings towards the Colonel. He was just a pawn in the game, part of the Earl’s efforts to dispose of his niece in the most civilized and respectable manner. She would then become my responsibility, and he could wash his hands of her while pretending complete and utter innocence. But he must have known,’ Robert said bitterly. ‘Even allowing for the fact that her illness was slow and insidious in those early years – he could not have had her under his roof for almost five years without knowing that something was very wrong.’
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