‘How did you find me?’ she asked at last.
He shrugged again. ‘Easily. I simply perused every passenger list of every ship that was leaving for Europe. Sooner or later you had to be here.’
‘Ah.’ She looked down at her hands, pretended great interest in a fierce and voluble argument that was taking place just beneath them. ‘Might I ask why?’
There was a very long silence. ‘I have a letter,’ he said finally. ‘I thought you might like – that is, I felt you ought – to see it.’
She turned in honest surprise. He held out an envelope, identical to that other that she had seen him hold that night on the Horus.
Hannah took it from him. Her eyes passed quickly over the first few sentences of guarded surprise and pleasure at hearing from him, then:
‘You ask about your father,’ Mattie had written in her clear, positive hand. ‘I can only say, as I tried once before to tell you, that he was the bravest and kindest of men, and one who, in honour and with dignity, bore a cross that would crush most of us to the ground. The accident of race and of circumstance that oppressed and finally killed him was not of his making; it is his strength and his courage in overcoming it that you must understand and trust, and of which you should be proud. I have wished so very often to say to you that, if you must apportion blame, if you must hate, he of all people does not deserve your anger. He was the innocent. He the betrayed. If blame there is, then blame me, for I loved him, and was his death. Then I loved you, and in my fear of hurting you, I lied – and so, perhaps deservedly, I lost you. But Harry, no matter what society might think – and how evil is this hypocrisy that claims to champion the rights of all men but in fact condemns them for their race and their colour – his blood is no disgrace! He was a fine, intelligent man – as you are. His life was blighted by his parentage – as I fear, my dear, yours has been. But I say again, of all things, be proud of him. Now I shall seal this letter, and send it swiftly – for assuredly if I read it through it will be consigned, as have so many others, to the fire. My dear Rupert is sitting, watching me, his eyebrows quirked like question marks – the poor soul, as you may imagine, has much to bear – yet I must say that he manages, in charity, to pretend to contentment! Jake ate my best hat last week, wicked thing! Do you remember when he tore your best breeches to ribbons? How cross I was! I need not tell you, I think, how very much I long to see you. Until the day, I remain, your loving mother –’
Hannah slowly and meticulously folded the letter and handed it back to Harry. ‘Jake?’ she asked, her voice schooled to steadiness.
‘My mother’s dog. She calls them all Jake. She treats them as if they’re all one animal. It can be a little disconcerting. The one who tore my breeches must be three or four back. I was – oh, eight years old, I’d say.’
‘I see.’ She looked intently out across the minarets and domes of the city. ‘I very much like the sound of your mother,’ she said, and then, a small piece of the puzzle clicking into place, ‘You’re travelling on the Mauritius?’ Her voice showed no sign of emotion, she might have been addressing a new acquaintance met whilst strolling on the upper deck.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
He raised dark brows, half-smiling, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘The ship’s going to England, isn’t it?’
‘Eventually, yes.’
‘Well, so am I.’
Hannah glanced at the letter. ‘You’re going home?’
‘Yes. For a while, anyway.’
For the first time she allowed herself to look at him, steadily and long and without guard. ‘I’m so very glad. It will be good for you, I think. And it will mean a very great deal to your mother.’
Harry shrugged slightly; his turn now to study the city as if it were the most interesting sight in the world. ‘Perhaps.’
Hannah watched him. ‘There’s no perhaps. She loves you. She’s always loved you. You know it.’
He held out for a moment longer, then his head ducked, a little tiredly. His hair had grown too long, it curled unkempt and dusty about his ears and neck. ‘Yes. It’s quite terrifying, isn’t it, the capacity some women have for loving, through everything, a man who deserves it not at all?’
She lifted her head a little, sharply and warily.
He smiled then, his sudden, perilously beguiling smile as he turned to her. ‘And then there are those who have more sense. Hannah – I’m sorry – I disappointed you.’
She shook her head.
‘Oh, yes, I did. And I find that you made me face an uncomfortable fact: I disappoint myself. I know what you were saying; you wanted me to say, yes, I will repay Abdo by acknowledging, with pride, the blood and the heritage we share. A life for a life; it would be just. And for my father too, and my mother who loved him; it would be just. But –’ he shook his head, the ravages of these last difficult and gracelessly self-indulgent months clear upon his face ‘– I can’t,’ he said as he had said before, ‘Hannah – I can’t.’
‘I know. It was wrong to ask it of you.’
‘Not yet. Not now. Perhaps not ever – I don’t – what did you say?’ His face was almost blank with surprise.
‘I said, I know. I said, it was wrong to ask it of you.’ She put an impatient hand to her face. ‘Oh, goodness, wouldn’t you think that a woman of my age could prevent herself from bursting into entirely unsuitable tears at peculiar moments?’
Harry had pushed himself away from the rail, was watching her intently, his face puzzled.
‘I didn’t know it then,’ she continued, ignoring the tears, ‘but I do now. I knew it, in fact, almost as soon as you left; but then it was too late. I knew I had lost you.’ She almost laughed at that, and could not prevent the self-mockery. ‘If I’d ever had you, that is, which I understand is doubtful. But one thing I did know: I’d angered you and lost your friendship, and it served me right –’
‘Hannah – no!’
‘Yes. I was wrong. I had absolutely no right to try to force you – to provoke you – into facing an emotional predicament that was completely personal. I had no right to attempt to impose on you my own thoughts and feelings. What has it to do with me? I’m glad that we’ve met again; it gives me a chance to do something I’ve been badly wanting to do; to apologize. What a self-righteous harridan you must have thought me!’
Harry regarded her for a long time and very thoughtfully. ‘A self-righteous red-headed harridan, actually,’ he said, at last.
‘I can’t help the red hair.’
‘No.’ He grinned again, swiftly. ‘I know you can’t. But you seem to have learned to live with it.’ He smiled openly, finally, and with the old ease. ‘Any tips you could pass on?’
The tears threatened her again. ‘Oh, it’s not difficult,’ she said, lightly, ‘you just ignore it and get on with something else.’
He appeared to think about that, nodded soberly. ‘That sounds like good counsel. Do you have any more to offer?’
She shook her head.
He laughed outright at that, and gave her his arm. ‘Penance, my dearest Hannah, doesn’t become you at all! I’ll lay a guinea that it won’t last beyond the week!’ She laid a repressive hand upon his arm, and he covered it with his, looking down at her. ‘If it does I’ll have to do something perfectly outrageous, to bring you to your senses.’
‘Oh, dear. What a threat.’
Harry turned her to face him, suddenly sober. ‘You told me, in Aswan, that you loved me.’
Hannah bent her head, deep colour lifting in her cheeks.
‘Hannah, did you mean it?’
The sudden intensity in his voice brought her head back up, an odd defiance in the gesture. ‘Harry Sherwood,’ she said, her voice level, her colour still high, ‘I may say things that are opinionated; I may say things that are ill-judged. But I never – never! – say things that I don’t mean.’
‘You said you loved me but that you were going to marry Leo.’
She sniffed in a far from la
dylike fashion. ‘Why, so I did.’
‘Did you mean that?’
‘When I said it?’ she asked, carefully. ‘Yes.’
‘And now?’
She hesitated. ‘I – don’t know.’
‘Well, that’s a start.’ He tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm, and began to stroll along the deck. ‘Tell me, have you ever been known to change your mind?’
‘Occasionally.’
A few more paces. Then, ‘Lucky chap, Leo,’ Harry said. ‘I wonder if he knows what a narrow shave he’s had? But he’ll be all right; no red-headed harridan for him. He can live the rest of his life in peace, fortunate chap.’
‘Harry!’
He smiled benignly down at her. ‘First stop Brindisi, I believe?’ He put on a look of acute puzzlement. ‘What does one do in Brindisi?’
‘I’ve no idea. Harry –’
‘Good. We can find out together. You speak Italian?’
‘No.’
‘Neither do I.’ He stopped, took her fingers in his, brought them to his lips in a parody of flirtatious courtesy that had her snatching her hand away from him in exasperation. ‘So I suppose that means we’ll just have to spend the time talking to each other?’
Chapter Twenty
‘The last summer of the nineteenth century.’ Mattie tossed a crust of bread onto the slow-moving waters of the river that ran along the western boundary of the garden of Coombe House. Several ducks piloted their swift way towards it, squabbled over it with noisy ill manners. ‘What a very strange thought that is. It’s quite hard to believe, isn’t it? Here, you silly things – there’s plenty more.’ She tossed more crumbs onto the water, and more argument ensued.
Hannah, strolling beside her, nodded. Willows trailed long and graceful fingers in the river; in the depths beneath one of the trees, a fish jumped with a small splash. Earlier there had been a shower, but now the afternoon sun shone warm, and grass, flower and leaf glittered with diamond drops. The shaggy dog who trotted at Mattie’s heels uttered a sudden gruff bark and dashed into a wet thicket.
‘Jake! Come back here! Jake!’
The undergrowth rustled. Jake barked again, happily.
‘One word from me,’ Mattie said, with tranquil self-ridicule, ’and I’m afraid that animal does exactly as he wants.’
Hannah laughed. ‘My mother used to say the same about me.’
Mattie slanted a smiling and observant glance at her. ‘I’m not surprised.’ She paused, and laughed a little. ‘I hate to think what any mother might have said about me. I fear I always considered myself to be lucky never to have had one. Isn’t that awful?’
The smile that Hannah returned was affectionate. Since these two had met there had been nothing but understanding between them. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘Mind?’
‘Me. And Harry. I’m well aware that I’m not every woman’s idea of an ideal daughter-in-law.’ It was Hannah’s turn to sound wry; laughter gleamed in her eyes.
Mattie turned her head a little, smiling. ‘It’s not every woman’s daughter-in-law who can also be counted a friend,’ she said, softly. ‘And certainly not every woman’s daughter-in-law who is as brave as mine is!’
Hannah stopped for a moment, eyebrows raised in laughing question. They were of a height, these two, and not unlike in build. Mattie’s thick silver hair was piled on top of her head in a coil that had suffered a little, as it often did, from her habit of gardening whilst walking; wisps had detached themselves and dropped softly about her face, a small twig sat like an ornament in the silver strands. She was dressed in a cotton shirt and serviceable brown skirt, which swung about her ankles as she walked and in no way inhibited her stride or prevented her from dropping frequently to her knees in the muddy flower beds.
‘Brave? How – brave?’ Hannah asked.
‘Why, taking Harry on in the first place, of course! My dear, you must have been the very tower of courage to even have contemplated it!’ Mattie smiled with the beguiling honesty that Hannah loved. ‘He’s mine, and I love him, but I’m well aware that he’s not the easiest of men.’
‘Perhaps,’ Hannah said, turning to watch the ducks, the slight tightening of her fingers the only sign of tension. With a sudden breath she took the plunge. ‘Perhaps fatherhood will change him? I hear it does happen?’
The silence was absolute.
Hannah waited for as long as she could bear, then faced the other woman.
Mattie was staring at her. She opened her mouth to speak, cleared her throat, tried again. ‘Hannah! You – you’re having a child?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know –?’ Mattie stopped.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, my dear girl. My dear, dear girl!’ Mattie opened her arms, flung them about Hannah, hugging her, rocking her. ‘What news, what wonderful news!’
‘We waited until we were sure.’ It was not entirely the truth, but in some ways close enough. Hannah’s smile was suddenly brilliant. ‘You missed the wedding. I thought you might like to plan the christening?’ She and Harry had been married one stormy morning on the deck of the Mauritius as she battled across the Bay of Biscay; the place and the conditions, Hannah had often remarked since, a perfect omen for a union between chalk and cheese.
‘When? When is the child due?’
‘Next spring.’ Hannah laughed as Jake bounded out from the bushes, wet and bedraggled, shaking himself boisterously all over them. ‘As you said, a child of the twentieth century.’
Mattie took a breath. ‘The twentieth century,’ she repeated, and looked back at Hannah, suddenly sober. ‘And what will it bring for him?’ she asked.
Hannah shook her head, equally thoughtful. ‘Who knows? Freedom, I hope. And understanding. Change, at any rate. Change for him and change for us.’
Mattie well understood the reference. ‘You’ve been to more meetings?’
‘Yes. Mattie, you should come! It isn’t just women, you know – there are many men, well-educated, sensible men, who think that women should have the vote.’
‘Perhaps I will.’ Mattie raised a finger, ‘But not for a while, young woman! Modern you may be, but child-bearing is no easier now than it was thirty years ago. You must be careful!’
Almost unconsciously Hannah’s hand rested upon her still-flat stomach. ‘Oh, I’ll be careful. I promise.’ She grinned. ‘And the battle against stupidity and prejudice that the suffragists are fighting will take a lot longer than a few months. They won’t miss me for a while. And then, who knows,’ she tapped her stomach again, lightly, ‘we might have a new recruit!’
‘Two new recruits,’ Mattie said. ‘I think you’re right. I ought to be there too. Why not? Why shouldn’t the new century hold some excitement for us grannies?’
They resumed their walk, both for a moment absorbed in their own thoughts. Across the lawns the old, ramshackle house, rambling and homely, basked in sunshine, its wet tiled roof gleaming. On the terrace two figures stood, Harry tall, slender, dark as a shadow, Rupert portly, happily dishevelled and puffing contentedly on his pipe. ‘Harry’s happy?’ Mattie asked at last, softly.
Hannah was quiet for a moment. Then, ‘Yes,’ she said, and looked up with clear, honest eyes. ‘With reservations.’
Harry had been furious when she told him; furious and frightened, and angry at himself for being so. It had taken all her skill, all her own firm and determined hopes, to calm him.
‘It isn’t certain that the blood will show.’ Mattie’s voice, not without effort, was crisp and sensible, the words blunt. ‘It doesn’t in Harry – well, I suppose if one knew, and looked for signs –’ She stopped, then in a burst of unexpected fury clenched her hands and her jaw. ‘Damn the world!’ she said, very quietly. ‘Damn this unfair, ignorant world!’
‘Not all of it,’ Hannah said, calmly. ‘Not all of it is like that. And it will change. I know it will.’
Her mother-in-law stopped walking, turned to face her. Dark eyes held pale for
a long moment, the one gaze sympathetic, but unconvinced, the other level and hopeful. ‘Ah, Hannah,’ was all Mattie said, a little sadly.
They began to walk again. Hannah slipped an arm into Mattie’s. ‘It will be all right.’
The other woman’s mood lightened; she smiled warmly. ‘Of course it will be. Of course.’
‘Harry’s making a great success of the stables – Mr Dodgeson said something about a partnership.’
‘Really? Now that is good news. How strange to think of my poor, wild Harry a husband, a father, a respectable breeder of horseflesh.’
‘His ambition is for the stables to be known for the best hunters in the south of England.’
Mattie crooked a graceless eyebrow. ‘Is that all?’
‘And providing he doesn’t break his silly neck first, then I see no reason why he shouldn’t do it. I’ve never seen a man ride more recklessly!’ There was a tinge of wifely irritation in the words.
Mattie glanced at her. ‘He has to do something recklessly, my dear.’ Her smile took the edge from the words. ‘It’s the nature of the beast.’
Hannah laughed aloud, acknowledging a motherly half-rebuke. ‘That’s true.’
They turned back towards the house. Mattie stopped to deadhead a rose. Jake pushed off into the undergrowth again. Mattie pocketed her secateurs, shook her untidy head a little. ‘A baby!’ she said, softly. ‘Gracious me! A baby!’
The men were waiting on the terrace. Hannah’s heart gave the familiar yet still strange little lurch as Harry turned to her. Rupert heaved himself out of the wicker chair in which he had been sitting. ‘Champagne,’ he said, beaming. ‘I hear there’s cause for celebration!’
‘Splendid idea.’ Harry had come to Coombe House on that first, undoubtedly fraught occasion some months before determined to dislike his stepfather. Hannah smiled at the thought of it now; no-one could dislike Rupert. It simply was not possible. He was as wise, as kindly and as good-tempered as Mattie had described him; one might just as well try to dislike one’s very favourite uncle. He would make a wonderful grandfather. She glanced at Harry. Please God, she prayed, make him the kind of father I know that he can be.
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