The Hawthorne Heritage

by The Hawthorne Heritage (retail) (epub)

  The communication between them was by no means one-way. Almost as interested in her way of life as she was in his, he encouraged her to talk of it. She told him of MacKenzie and of Lucy, of life at New Hall, of her friendship with Robert and – finally and painfully – of Edward’s death.

  Danny cocked his head, listening to the distant waters of the weir. ‘That must have been very sad for you all.’

  ‘It was awful. Mama still cries, I think. Edward was her favourite.’

  ‘But – now? A wedding in the family? Surely, all will be well again? Life has to go on, Mouse.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Thought of the coming wedding never particularly cheered Jessica. Even the prospect of being the chief of Clara’s maids did not really ease the odd disquiet the thought of Giles and Clara always brought to her.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘You don’t approve?’ He was always interested in her opinion, having discovered long since that, child or not, her eye was remarkably clear.

  It had not occurred to her to look at it in those terms. She thought for a moment. ‘It isn’t that. It’s just – the whole thing seems so – so odd to me. I thought that when people were in love they – well, they held hands, and kissed and things – you know.’ She had suddenly flushed bright as a poppy. ‘Well, that they were kind to one another—’

  ‘And they aren’t?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ She stopped, biting her lip in perplexity. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t say that? I mean – how do I know how they act when they’re alone? Not that they hardly ever are – they don’t seem particularly to want to be – oh, I don’t know – it’s just that it seems to me that something’s – well, wrong—’

  He had stopped working and was regarding her, surprised interest in his eyes. ‘Wrong? How, wrong?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t explain. And I suppose I really shouldn’t be talking about it. It isn’t my business, is it? Please – tell me some more about your grandparents’ house in Florence—’

  * * *

  For several reasons, some more obvious than others, Jessica kept this new friendship very much to herself. She was as certain as she could be without putting it to the test that if her parents – or anyone else at New Hall – found out about it they would find some plausible adult reason to put a stop to it. Yet beyond that was something else; Danny, for this short time, was hers, and shared with no one. She had never had such a private and singular relationship before – even Robert was Clara’s brother, his parents’ son, an approved friend of the family. And of course the very secrecy of their comradeship added spice to it. They met usually in the church, though on rare occasions she would go to the cottage where he would sit at the table with wine – which she had long since noticed with some degree of admiration he drank in copious quantities – and bread and cheese whilst she sipped at a mug of milk that somehow always tasted better than the milk she drank at home. They never seemed to stop talking. With no concession to her youth and inexperience Danny talked with indiscriminate and undisciplined intelligence of anything that came into his head; of religion, of art, of the passionate and idealistic ideas of his Republican father. That his mother had died because of these very passions had not passed him by and his general attitude to politics was cynical in the extreme. ‘They’re all after something, little Mouse, mark my words. Never believe any of them. If you want the truth look into the hearts of your friends—’ he grinned and lifted his flask of wine ‘—or in the bottom of one of these—’ They discovered a shared love of words that delighted Jessica, and when she shyly brought to the church a book of poetry he insisted that she read to him as he worked. For Jessica these were perhaps the happiest hours she had ever spent, reading aloud to him, stumbling occasionally over unfamiliar words or ideas, filled with happiness when he took the trouble to explain or discuss them. It was obvious that his education had been as unconventional as everything else about him. For ten years after his mother’s death he and his father had moved from city to city, living always in colonies of artists, artisans and craftsmen. Inevitably these communities had grown up usually in the poorer parts of the towns but their lack of affluence and physical comfort was more than countered by the warmth, colour and variety of the life they led. Danny’s father, despite his feckless inability to stay in one place, had been devoted to the child and had passed on to him both his own passion for stone – and to a lesser degree the carving of wood – and his not inconsiderable store of knowledge and appreciation of all the arts. A well-educated man himself he had, until the day three years before when he had been killed in a drunken brawl in a Southwark brothel, made sure that their gypsy life did not deprive his son of learning. That there were great and intriguing gaps in Danny’s education – Jessica was delightedly scandalized to discover he knew nothing whatsoever of the kind of arithmetic without which, in MacKenzie’s opinion, it was impossible to live – made him all the more interesting to her. Sometimes the strength of her feelings for him disturbed her. A day that passed without their meeting was a tragedy, the prospect of seeing him more exciting than anything she had ever experienced. Too young to recognize either infatuation or the growth of true passion she only knew that she could not bear the thought of being parted from him. And so she kept her secret.

  July brought a heatwave. The countryside shimmered, day after day, beneath cloudless skies and a blazing sun. Dust lifted from the grassland of the park and the green was bleached from the landscape. In the fields of the estate sweat ran in dusty rivulets down the faces of the haymakers despite the protection afforded by the wide brims of their straw hats. Even the lofty, usually cool rooms of New Hall were not immune. With all the windows open the silken summer curtains hung like rags in the still air and the atmosphere was stifling. Tempers grew short. Caroline drifted about, gossamer clad and still contriving to look cool as a cucumber, declaring herself to be quite expiring from the heat. Giles’ brow furrowed as days turned to weeks without rain. Even Jessica’s energy deserted her a little, though nothing would prevent her regular trips to the church and Danny. He was working now on the lovely ancient wooden rood screen, his fingers deft and sure and loving as they patched and polished the ornate wood. In point of fact St Agatha’s was probably at this time the most comfortable place on the estate, and it was with relief that Jessica would enter the cool dark interior and settle herself to watch Danny work.

  It could not, of course, last. Such a secret, in such circumstances, was certain sooner or later to be discovered.

  It happened on a blazing hot July day. There had been, over luncheon, some talk of a trip into Long Melford – Lavenham being thought too far to travel in the sweltering heat and the dust of the roads. Jessica needed some slippers and her sister, who already owned more bonnets than Jessica could believe she knew what to do with, had expressed a need for another, a need which could wait neither for the Scotchman nor for an order to London. Lately she had been affecting a charming simplicity in her dress, a stylized ‘milkmaid’ look which suited her well – uncharitably Jessica had once or twice been tempted to remind her of the fate of Marie Antoinette not so many years before. No firm agreement had been reached about the trip however and, assuming her freedom, Jessica had collected Apple and Bran from the stables and ridden to the church. Danny looked up, smiling, at her entrance. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp and his shirt clung wetly to his body. ‘I’ve been for a swim in the lake,’ he said, in answer to her questioning look. Bran bounded to his side, flag tail wagging. Danny patted him affectionately before reaching for the stone bottle that stood on the table, tipping his head and drinking. ‘It’s too damned hot to do anything today.’

  ‘You shouldn’t swim this end of the lake,’ Jessica said automatically. ‘It’s dangerous unless you’re a really strong swimmer.’

  He shrugged and his teeth flashed again. ‘I am,’ he said, modestly. He took another mouthful of wine then put the bottle down and tapped the cork back into place. ‘Jessica Hawthorne
– little Mouse – I hereby declare a day of rest. I’ve got bread and cheese. Let’s go and eat them by the river.’

  She clapped her hands. ‘What a lovely idea!’

  He led the way outside. She took Apple’s rein and, Bran trotting beside them, walked beside him down the river path.

  ‘There’s a place along here – ah, there. Will this do, my lady?’

  The bank of the river here sloped gently away from the path, from which a natural screen of hawthorn hedge hid it. Downstream a willow dipped graceful, drifting fronds into the slow-running deep water. Even the grass, this close to the water, was still emerald green and untouched by drought. On the river two swans sailed, snow white and graceful.

  ‘Lovely!’ Jessica tied Apple in the shade of a tree. Bran ambled on a half dozen steps then flopped down, one eye closed, the other devotedly upon Jessica.

  Danny threw himself, long and limber, upon the grass, stood the wine flask carefully on the uneven ground and unfolded the kerchief he had been carrying. Courteously he offered bread and cheese to Jessica.

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve eaten, thank you. I couldn’t manage another mouthful in this heat.’ She dropped down beside him, took off her wide-brimmed sunhat and tossed it onto the grass. ‘Blessed thing!’

  He grinned through a mouthful of bread and cheese. ‘You’ll end up brown as a berry if you aren’t careful. Then what would your Mama say?’

  ‘Just at the moment I don’t care a fig, so there!’ She laid back, staring through the still, laden branches above her to the vast, endless blue of the sky beyond. The river rippled gently and musically against the bank. Bran snored.

  ‘Jessica? Jess-i-ca!’

  Jessica started bolt upright at the sound. Danny stopped, the wine jar poised halfway to his lips.

  ‘Jessica!’

  Caroline’s voice, impatient, from the path above. Jessica scrambled to her feet. Apple, innocent traitor, lifted his head and nickered at the familiar voice.

  ‘Oh, there you are! Jessica, really, what a dance you’ve led me—!’ Before Jessica could move to cut her off Caroline had appeared above them, dressed in palest pink, golden hair piled beneath a wide brimmed hat that was laden with pink and white roses and was tied beneath her chin with a wide silken bow. Winsome curls had escaped confinement and strayed around her long white neck. She stood, perfectly poised, her wide blue eyes taking in the scene before her. Danny had not moved; he sat as if struck to stone. Bran lolloped to his feet and went to Caroline, sniffing her skirt, tail swishing. She ignored him. Her eyes were upon Danny.

  Slowly and with grace he stood. From the moment she had appeared his eyes had not left her flushed and lovely face.

  ‘Well, well,’ Caroline said, thoughtfully. ‘What have we here?’

  Jessica looked from one to the other.

  ‘Mama sent me to find you,’ her sister said, addressing Jessica whilst her eyes still clung to Danny’s. ‘We are to go to Melford after all.’

  Jessica said nothing. She stood awkwardly, hands clasped childishly in front of her, rank misery rising in her heart. She looked at Danny’s lifted, burnished face, lit to angel’s glory by the sun, and child though she was she saw the blinding of his eyes, saw too the expression on her sister’s face as she looked down at him. For a truly terrible moment she felt as if she herself must have vanished or become invisible, for neither of them glanced at her, so absorbed were they in each other.

  ‘It’s my fault, I fear,’ Danny said quietly, ‘I’ve kept Miss Jessica talking.’

  Caroline inclined her head. Her eyes flicked to her sister. ‘Jessica?’ she prompted gently, and her eyes returned to the dark, admiring face of the young man who stood so gracefully assured before her.

  ‘I – oh – this is D-Danilo O’Donnel,’ Jessica stuttered. ‘He’s restoring the church for Clara’s wedding. Danny – this is my sister Caroline.’

  And in the brief, telling silence that followed the introduction she knew, surely and beyond doubt, that she had lost him.

  Chapter Four

  Jessica’s first fear – that Caroline would betray her friendship with Danny to their parents – was unfounded. Her second – that the appearance of her sister upon the scene would change and in some way diminish that friendship – was not. She was not surprised when, the next time she met Danny, he questioned her closely and with undisguised eagerness about Caroline. She did not tell him that Caroline had shown almost the same degree of interest in him. ‘He looks foreign – is he?’ and then, pensively, ‘Florence. How very romantic. What a sly little thing you are! How long have you known this young man? How did you come to meet—?’

  Danny was more direct. ‘She’s very beautiful, your sister.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Suppose?’ His eyebrows winged in exaggerated astonishment. ‘Oh, come, Mouse! She’s like – like a flower. No. With that hair – those eyes – she’s an angel – a delicate, golden angel—’

  That hurt surprisingly much. Jessica pulled Bran’s ear and the mongrel cocked an injured eye at her. ‘She’s betrothed,’ she said shortly, with truth but no charity, ‘to the son of a baronet.’

  ‘But of course, yes, she must be.’ His dark face was only a shade regretful. ‘Such beauty cannot have gone unclaimed. Oh, but I should like to model her. As Diana, perhaps, goddess of the moon—’

  ‘She was a huntress, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jessica shrugged, ill-temperedly. ‘Caroline couldn’t hit the side of Five Acre Barn from ten yards distance.’

  It was inevitable that they should meet again. Sweetly, and quite clearly with the unspoken threat of betrayal beneath the suggestion, Caroline offered to accompany her sister to the church the following afternoon. ‘—I’m interested to see what this young man has done. Poor old St Agatha’s has been allowed to decay so – I wonder he takes it on at all—’

  With resignation and no comment Jessica accepted her sister’s sudden interest in things artistic, to say nothing of her willingness to walk a distance that normally would have brought on a fainting fit, and agreed.

  ‘Don’t sulk, Jessica dear,’ Caroline said, lightly as they walked the woodland path. ‘It really doesn’t become you.’ She flashed a swift, enragingly lovely smile at the small figure beside her. ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to give you away.’

  ‘Give what away?’ Jessica affected indifference.

  ‘Oh, come now – you know as well as I. This – friendship—’ the gleaming blue glance was sharp, ‘—is hardly one of which Mama and Papa would approve, would you say?’

  Jessica did not reply.

  ‘However—’ Caroline smoothed the dainty, wrist-length gloves she had insisted upon donning despite the heat, ‘I’m willing to meet the young man again and judge for myself. For this once I’m sure we can chaperon each other, little sister.’ Her pretty laughter pealed through the woodland, starting a flock of small birds from the branches of a nearby bush. She was dressed in blue, a fine, ankle-length gown of pale silk, the low scoop of the neck trimmed with dark pansies, as was the bonnet that framed her face. Gloves and slippers – as unsuited to woodland walking as any Jessica had ever seen – were dark blue also, and a tiny sapphire glimmered upon a fine golden chain about her neck. She looked, Jessica had to admit, quite astoundingly lovely.

  Danny obviously thought so too. After the first affectionate greeting to Jessica his every glance, his every word, every scrap of his attention was for Caroline. Poor Jessica could not have felt worse had a door been slammed in her face. Miserably she watched them. There could be no denying that they made a splendid pair, the darkly handsome young man and the slender, lovely girl, deep in conversation. Caroline was inspecting the figure of St Agatha, now completely restored, and to Jessica’s astonishment all artifice, all self-conscious posing had gone. There was even the faintest charming trace of shyness in her manner as she admired the work and listened to Danny’s self-deprecating account of how it ha
d been done. From the statue they moved down the church to the rood screen, and Jessica could not help but notice that the courteous hand that Danny extended to help his guest down the shadowy altar steps lingered in hers for a full moment too long. A faint blush of becoming colour stained Caroline’s cheeks, and she bent her head, apparently absorbed in the intricacies of the ancient screen.

  ‘It’s very old,’ Danny’s oddly musical voice echoed quietly into the silence, ‘probably many hundreds of years. And in its way it’s as lovely a thing as I’ve seen anywhere – even in Florence—’ His ardent eyes were not upon the screen, but upon the flushed face half-hidden by the shady brim of the blue bonnet. Caroline lifted her eyes, her lips parted to speak, then stopped, apparently struck to silence by what she saw in the dark face above her.

  Unnoticed, Jessica slipped from the pew where she had been sitting and wandered dejectedly out into the fierce sunshine, leaving them together.

  * * *

  She rarely saw him alone after that, and on the few occasions she did it was never as it had been before. She could not help but notice the wandering of his eyes beyond her as he waited for that other figure to appear, the lifting of his head halfway through a sentence as he strained his ears to hear that other footstep. The light in his eyes when Caroline did come, the swift happiness of his smile, cut Jessica to the heart, though she never betrayed it. For strangely, after the first wrenching unhappiness that the sharing of Danny’s friendship caused her, she found herself sympathizing not only with Danny but – astonishingly to her – with Caroline too. For as the endless summer days with their evenings of lingering sunshine followed in slow succession one upon another, Caroline, under the influence of Danny’s warmth and laughter, changed. In Danny’s company the petulance disappeared, and the vanity, and in their place stood a clear and shining happiness whose power was impossible to resist even for one who had lost by it. To see the two of them together caused in Jessica the strangest mixture of happiness and heartache; an almost welcome pain that she was perfectly ready to endure as the payment she had to make to remain a part of Danny’s life, however small. As the days moved on they met more and more frequently. It became an accepted practice that, after a little while in their company, Jessica would leave them alone together and take up station somewhere not too far away, joining them again when it was time to leave. That they met alone also she knew, for she it was who carried their messages, written and verbal. She, with freedom still that Caroline did not possess, was their link, and without realizing it was becoming as fast caught in the web of their growing passion as were they. So she acted as their go-between and guarded their secret, for nothing and nobody would make her betray Danny, and if he were happy then she would do anything in her power to keep him so.