Louisa Elliott

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  ‘Mamma! I’m not going far — don’t cry.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m crying for, and you know it!’ Mary Elliott muttered fiercely, and abruptly stepped back into the house.

  Edward saw Louisa’s chin come up, noted the now familiar shuttered expression close in. He turned away, walking slowly until she should choose to catch up. A moment later, as though nothing had happened, she remarked brightly on the fine afternoon, thanking providence that yesterday’s rain had not continued. He stared blankly ahead, neither caring nor seeing the fitful sun which illumined the far side of the street. She was leaving, and a downpour would have better suited his mood.

  After a lengthy pause, he said: ‘Why do you have to do this?’

  Exasperated, she said: ‘Anyone would think I was going to darkest Africa! I’ll be living less than half a mile away – you’ll see me often. Why are you all being so possessive?’

  The sudden anger surprised him. Until this moment, she had managed to preserve a patient and equable front. ‘Is that how it seems?’ he asked. ‘It isn’t meant that way. I — we – are simply concerned, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sighed. Her hand took his arm. ‘It’s just that I need to take responsibility for my own life, make my own mistakes for a change, instead of having them thrust upon me. That way, I’ve only myself to blame. Can you understand that?’

  Edward shook his head; he did not understand, knew only that he would worry about her, living alone.

  ‘In a few days,’ she added gently, ‘I shall be twenty-six. I’d like to spread my wings a little before I’m too old and too afraid to leave Mamma’s cosy nest. It may come to nothing,’ she murmured, half to herself, ‘and perhaps I’ll be back in a month or so, with wings well and truly clipped. But I have to know, first.’

  ‘Is it so important to you?’

  ‘Yes, Edward, it really is.’

  Two

  Perched on the window-seat in Louisa’s tiny sitting room, Robert Duncannon stared out towards the river. It was a mild, hazy day, with leaves falling idly, one by one, like large yellow butterflies. A whole carpet of them had collected in the lane, and two small boys gleefully kicked their way through, leaving a brown wake behind. It was quiet along the river, barges and keel-boats tied up and idle by Marygate Landing, but as the boys’ laughter receded, from somewhere in the city came the sound of two distinct church bells, pealing the call to morning prayer.

  Conscious of a feeling of deep contentment, he yawned and stretched, poured himself more coffee, and reached for his cigars. ‘So, my darling, what shall we do today?’

  In the bedroom, Louisa adjusted her collar, pinning her gold brooch just below the throat. In the doorway she paused, her eyes full of affectionate regret. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I’m expected in Gillygate at one, for dinner.’

  Frowning, Robert shook his head. ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘I thought you were going to be away,’ she reminded him with slight reproof.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. They had a death in the family, so the house party was called off. Tommy’s quite put out — he was making some headway with the Honourable Cecilia, but all that will have to go by the board for a while.’ He looked up at her, his eyes full of unconcealed desire. ‘How I wish it weren’t necessary.’

  ‘What?’ she softly asked, stirred again by his frankness, by that habit he had when they were alone of caressing her with his eyes.

  ‘All this keeping up of appearances. You know I refuse far more invitations than I accept, but every now and then I have to say yes. However,’ he added, and there was suddenly a twinkle in that bright blue gaze, ‘I do have next Saturday to Monday free – no invitations and a late duty to follow. So don’t make any other plans!’

  ‘No, sir!’

  Laughing, he caught her to him, pulled her on to his knee. ‘Do I detect a note of insubordination, Miss Elliott? Let me tell you, it simply will not do!’ She kissed him lightly and made to free herself, but he refused to let go, returning her embrace with playful, half-teasing passion. ‘Come back to bed with me,’ he whispered, delighted by the conflict in her eyes.

  Not far from the house, over Scarborough Bridge, a train gathered speed as it left the new station, and with its passing the house shook. Robert winced, cursing the untimely intervention as Louisa smilingly escaped him.

  ‘You chose this place,’ she laughed as he swore again, and, evading his grasp, began to clear the breakfast dishes.

  ‘I saw that magnificent view across the park and down the river,’ he admitted with a rueful grin, ‘and never so much as thought of the railway. I think the landlord checked the timetable before he agreed to see me.’

  A firm, decisive rap at the door halted Louisa’s reply. She paused, her hands full of dishes, shaking her head at his enquiring glance. Pushing the pots behind the screened area which comprised her tiny kitchen, she gestured towards the bedroom, and Robert stood up, gathering his cigars and jacket as he went.

  Cautiously, she opened the door. The visitor was Blanche, standing with pursed lips a matter of inches away.

  ‘Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ she demanded, as she pushed past Louisa, her eyes raking the room, nose immediately detecting the pungent aroma of cigars. ‘Who on earth were you talking to?’

  ‘No one. I–’

  ‘You were, I heard you. Or should I say,’ Blanche corrected severely, ‘I heard a man’s voice, presumably talking to you.’

  ‘Your ears did not deceive you, Miss Elliott,’ Robert said, and Blanche spun round, her eyes twin beads of shocked astonishment.

  While taking in the fact that Robert had donned both tie and jacket in those few seconds, Louisa inwardly quailed. However much her mother might have suspected, now that Blanche had seen Robert here the secret would be well and truly out. There was little point in making excuses now.

  ‘Well!’ Blanche’s exclamation was eloquent. ‘Captain Duncannon! And what might you be doing here at this hour on a Sunday morning? But perhaps,’ she added with a scathing glance at her sister, ‘I should know better than to ask?’ With a sniff of disgust, she turned on her heel and made for the door, but Robert was there before her.

  ‘Your assumptions could be wrong,’ he said softly.

  She glared at him. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘And no explanations are required?’

  ‘I prefer not to sully my ears, thank you!’

  ‘Yet I’ll warrant you caught a whiff of scandal from somewhere and came to find out if it were true. I’ll even wager you stood outside for a while before you knocked.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Blanche hissed. ‘Stand aside, I wish to leave!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Robert, if she wants to leave, let her!’

  He hesitated, then with a shrug he moved away from the door. ‘I’d appreciate it if you would inform Mrs Elliott that Louisa will not be there for lunch.’

  Angrily, Blanche swept past him, and, without a backward glance at her sister, was gone.

  ‘I disliked Blanche on first meeting,’ Robert said into the silence. ‘Now I know why. She reminds me of my sister-in-law.’

  Blanche went straight to Gillygate with her news, inwardly raging with self-righteous indignation. Robert Duncannon’s accusations had been humiliating. The man was insufferable. So typical of his class to launch an attack as soon as he was seen to be in the wrong. Her visit had been a chance one, a sisterly call before accompanying Louisa to dinner at their mother’s house. She had suspected nothing, or almost nothing; although when she came to think of it, Louisa’s ability to afford that cosy little apartment had been something of a mystery. With a flush of spiteful pleasure, Blanche realized that all was now explained. He paid for the place, of course he did, and she would tell their mother that for good measure. She remembered seeing Louisa in new clothes recently, a similar mystery until today. Tossing her head, Blanche marched briskly into the house; her sister was nothing but a kept woman, and she would
take great pleasure in telling her mother so.

  Distraught and agitated, Mary Elliott wrung her hands. ‘Blanche! How could you say such wicked things in front of Bessie?’

  ‘What does it matter? They’re true. And the whole of York will know about it soon enough!’

  ‘Not if you keep your vindictive little mouth shut!’ Edward declared furiously. ‘You’ve had your say and now be quiet! I’d like to hear Louisa’s side of things before I listen to any more from you!’

  ‘Oh, that’s right, stick up for her! You always did, didn’t you? She could never do any wrong in your eyes, could she? Well, as far as I’m concerned, she’s shown herself in her true colours at long last — she’s a shame and a disgrace!’

  ‘Be quiet, Blanche! You’ve got Bessie weeping in the kitchen and your mother sobbing in here. Haven’t you said enough?’

  ‘Haven’t I said enough? Hasn’t she done enough, more like! You’re unbelievable! Anyone would think it was all my fault that Louisa is living in the lap of luxury and behaving like a prostitute!’

  She reeled as Edward’s open hand cracked across her face. ‘Don’t ever use that word again — not in this house, and never about your sister!’

  She was sobbing as he grabbed his coat.

  Mary Elliott caught at his arm. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Where do you think I’m going? To see Louisa, of course. And you Blanche – don’t you dare leave this house until I get back.’

  Raging inside, Edward marched down Gillygate. He was in sight of Louisa’s apartment within minutes, but all at once his rage gave way to grief. He knew at once that he could not face her like this.

  Turning back to Bootham, he walked on as far as Clifton Green, down to the river and back along the muddy towpath. Ten days previously the river had flooded, leaving a silted tidemark on either bank, but he ploughed on through it, heedless of shoes or spattered trousers. By the time he reached Scarborough Bridge he was calmer, thinking more clearly, even regretting that stinging slap.

  For a few minutes he stood in the shadow of the arch, watching little convoys of leaves floating past. Some were caught by the dead flotsam of a tree branch, others clustered thickly by the bank, obscuring the water’s edge. With an effort, he dragged his eyes away, wondering what he was going to say, how to broach such a subject in front of a man who was a virtual stranger. But no stranger to Louisa, he reminded himself bitterly.

  Suddenly, the full force of Blanche’s words swept over him. Looking back, adding up all the little inconsistencies, he felt he should have known what was going on, that in some way he had failed. Now that his anger was gone, every muscle of his body felt leaden, weighted by apprehension and a terrible, aching foreboding. Finally he forced himself to move, to walk the last hundred yards which led to the house.

  The small garden was neglected. Greying banks of hydrangeas flanked the path, and beside the front door a skeletal rose hung, its single surviving bloom a pathetic memorial to better days. Edward opened the front door and slowly climbed the stairs, his mind blankly refusing to frame even an opening sentence. Numbly, he rapped twice at the door. There was no reply. He knocked louder, but the silence of empty rooms remained within; he knew they were out, yet a peculiar sense of disappointment kept him standing there. He did not know what to do.

  A moment later, a door banged somewhere below; a man came running up the stairs, two or three at a time. Edward turned to see the tall figure of Robert Duncannon come up the last few steps at a slower pace, almost hesitant as their eyes met.

  ‘We saw you from the other side of the river,’ he said quickly, and paused to catch his breath. ‘I ran across the footbridge — didn’t want to miss you. Louisa will be along in a moment.’ He took a key from his pocket, opened the door and stood aside for Edward to enter. ‘We didn’t expect you, but I’m relieved you’ve come.’

  Removing his hat and coat, he offered to take Edward’s, and was halfway across the room when he suddenly turned, laid the coats across a chair and the hats side by side on the table. Edward stood by the open door, reluctant to take the offered seat. With each unconscious act, Robert Duncannon confirmed Blanche’s every word. Although Edward was aware of the other man’s tension, he felt quite numb. Powerless to understand it, he shook his head as though to prompt some return of feeling, and bit the inside of his lip, hard, to test physical sensation.

  ‘Forgive me, but I don’t know what to say,’ the other man confessed, and Edward felt an absurd echo in himself. ‘Except that I love Louisa.’

  ‘Really? And that excuses everything, does it?’ Edward saw those black-lashed eyes close momentarily, hands gripping the chair on which he leaned.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he conceded. ‘But I wish it were possible to tell you how much she means to me. You’d not condemn me then.’

  Wouldn’t I? Edward thought, suddenly seized by an angry desire to voice a thousand condemnations. He passed a hand over his eyes, afraid that once he found his voice, the act of speech would rob him of all self-control.

  He felt, rather than heard, Louisa behind him; turned, and she was standing in the doorway, eyes wide with apprehension. There was nothing brazen about her; she looked unhappy and very frightened, her glance flickering towards her lover and back again. Edward held her gaze, trying desperately, in that one unguarded moment, to convey all his innermost feelings: sorrow, reproach, regret, the anguish of the scene with Blanche; above all, his love, unconditional and unchanged.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears: he saw the unspoken plea. Then suddenly she was in his arms and he was overcome by a riot of emotion. Conscious of Robert Duncannon’s presence in the room, he tried to resist that embrace, but as his arms closed round her, all sense of propriety broke down.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he whispered as her arms slid from around his neck. ‘If only you had told me!’

  ‘I couldn’t, Edward, I’m sorry. And the longer I left it, the more impossible it became.’

  ‘But Blanche, that it should be Blanche!’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t expect her, truly I didn’t.’

  ‘You must have known you couldn’t keep a secret like this?’

  ‘Robert begged me to tell you – he said this would happen. But —’

  ‘You’ve upset your mother terribly…’

  At that the tears overflowed. He squeezed her fingers hard. ‘Enough now – stop your crying. This can’t go on, you know…’ He looked round, but Robert Duncannon was gone; the faint aroma of cigar smoke, the partly open bedroom door, revealed his whereabouts, and Edward dropped his voice. ‘It isn’t right, Louisa. No matter how much he pretends to love you –’

  ‘It’s not pretence!’

  ‘All right, I’m sorry.’ In a gesture of mute appeal, he spread his hands. ‘But tell me this,’ he said at last, ‘if he loves you as much as he says he does, why doesn’t he marry you?’

  ‘He can’t, Edward, it’s not possible.’

  ‘I suppose he thinks you’re not good enough?’ he demanded angrily.

  Before she could find an answer, the Captain returned, his eyes hard with hostility. Crossing the room to Louisa’s side, he slipped a protective arm around her shoulders.

  Cold eyes bored into his, but Edward refused to look away. ‘Well?’ he challenged. ‘Why don’t you marry her?’

  Briefly, the Captain lowered his gaze. A cynical smile touched his lips. ‘And add bigamy to my other sins?’

  For a second, the room seemed to darken and recede; Edward gripped the back of a chair for support. He had to sit down. It seemed incredible that this should be happening, really taking place. How, in the name of God, could Louisa be involved in a situation like this?

  From somewhere, the Captain produced a bottle, poured a generous tot and handed it to him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with unexpected sincerity. ‘That was below the belt.’

  With some reluctance, Edward accepted the proffered glass, and the apology. He drank the brandy like m
edicine, quickly and with distaste, but his wits cleared at once.

  ‘I had no idea, Captain Duncannon, that you were married.’

  ‘No,’ the other man acknowledged in the same conversational tone, ‘it’s been a well-kept secret. One day, if you give her the chance, Louisa might explain.’

  ‘I’d prefer to hear it now,’ Edward said. ‘From you.’

  ‘Would you, now?’ There was a momentary spark of anger, followed by a suddenly weary smile and he poured himself a drink. ‘Well, as I’m not disposed to bare my soul at this precise moment, Mr Elliott, I’ll give you the facts.

  ‘I was married a little over five years ago. I have a daughter aged four. My wife is quite mad, I’m afraid. Were it not for my long-suffering family, she’d no doubt be locked up in a place like your local asylum. No,’ he amended, ‘more like the Retreat, I think. The Quakers are a little more enlightened, thank God.’

  Edward was stunned. There was nothing he could say, not even to question the man’s veracity. Quite simply, he believed him.

  ‘It may perhaps sound a little trite,’ he went on, ‘but knowing Louisa has made a vast difference to my life. Recently, I went back to Ireland and really enjoyed being there. I spent time with my daughter, and had not the slightest desire to see my wife. And before you condemn me for that, let me assure you that not seeing Charlotte is probably the kindest thing I’ve done in years.’ With a wry smile, he raised his glass to Louisa.

  Edward tightened his grip on her hand. ‘And when you leave York, what then?’

  ‘Oh, the odds favour Dublin, I think. The promise of Home Rule is both tantalizing and troublesome, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Edward’s jaw tightened. ‘I meant Louisa. What will she do when you’ve gone?’

  ‘She’ll come with me, of course.’

  Shocked beyond speech, Edward gazed from one to the other, amazed that such blatant immorality could be spoken of so lightly. That they were planning a future together seemed worse, not better. ‘How can you even consider it? And Ireland, of all places! If Gladstone gets his way, there’ll be trouble from the Unionists, and if he doesn’t —’