The Price of Beauty

by McCabe, Helen

  Who could hate such a frail old stick, whose head, clad in the tasselled nightcap, shivered like a grass by the river?

  Caleb had been expecting the hostile look which usually characterised his reception but, that day, it was absent. The old man’s face was vacant and devoid of feeling. He appeared to be gazing through Caleb, not at him.

  “You sent for me?” asked Caleb briefly. He had much on his mind.

  “Harry Vyne!” Caleb shivered as the keen wind blew along the corridor and under the door.

  “Caleb,” he corrected, walking nearer. He’d suspected for some time that the old man’s mind was wandering. Stretton was staring at him from cunning eyes, which had almost disappeared under wrinkled pockets of skin. He’d been a hard brinemaster in his time and it showed!

  “You wanted me?” Caleb repeated.

  “Keep away from her!” his grandfather hissed. Caleb stood back from the bed, surprised by the violence in the tone.

  “You are mistaking me, grandfather, for someone else!” he said. But the old man was shaking a palsied fist at him.

  “Keep away or it’ll be the worse for you! Keep away from Lavinia, I’m warning you!” The old man’s breath was fast and the veins were standing out on his forehead. Caleb was unsure whether to remonstrate or not when the door of the bedroom opened and his grandfather’s servant entered without even a knock.

  “How long has he been like this, Preece? He doesn’t even know who I am!” questioned Caleb. “Yet he sent for me.” The manservant went over to the bed and felt for the pulse in the old man’s wrist.

  “Racing. We should call Dr May.”

  “You take much upon you, Preece,” barked Caleb.

  “Aye, master, that I do. But he’s ordered me to call on the doctor whenever I will.”

  “Then do so, Preece, but leave me out of it,” retorted Caleb. “Inform my mother so that she may come to him. For myself, I have better things to do than being insulted in my own house!”

  Caleb had not shown his temper to anyone since his last disagreement with Charlie, but there was something in his grandfather’s tone which was particularly irksome! Old and crazed he might be, but Caleb had had enough of sneers. He knew his hasty temper was his most unpleasant trait but, at that very moment, he was ready to let it fly.

  Instead, he controlled himself and strode out of the room.

  It was only later when Dr May and his mother were still upstairs with his grandfather that he was relenting. It was quite likely the old man had taken him for his father. In the one portrait of Harry that remained hanging in Lavinia’s closet, Caleb recognised every feature as his own!

  When the doctor came down alone, his expression was troubled.

  “Come in, doctor, and take some wine. It’s cold outside and you have other calls to make.” Dr May didn’t remonstrate, but took the goblet from Caleb with enthusiasm. “I take your expression to mean all is not well upstairs?”

  “Far from it, Mr Vyne!” The doctor looked round and sighed. “This house has seen some trouble in its time and will see more. His heart wearies, sir, and my diagnosis is he has not much time left. And he should not be excited.”

  “I infer from that you mean my visit?” challenged Caleb. “Believe me, Dr May, I was unwilling.”

  “Caleb, Caleb,” said the elderly doctor, “I brought you into the world, remember. Do not be sore with me.”

  “But he took me for my father!”

  “Did he, by Jove!” The doctor stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Small wonder, I suppose, seeing you are so like him.”

  “He hated him, did he not? As he hates me!” Caleb drained his own goblet then poured himself another. The two men regarded each other silently.

  “Have you - ever spoken about this to your mother?” Caleb was astonished at the question.

  “Then you agree I’m much maligned? I can tell you, doctor, I have not. My mother and I have never spoken ill words to each other - and I have borne enough of those on my back in this house.” He gazed around gloomily. Then, recollecting himself, he added decisively, “And, now, I suppose I must speak my mind.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “My wastrel of a half-brother is hiding out somewhere in Ireland and my brutish stepfather is about to follow him!” The doctor looked startled. “Oh, yes, Dr May, he is busying himself for that. And I will not lift a finger to stop him.” The doctor could see Caleb’s fine lips quivering with the hurt he was feeling.

  “I prize my mother’s love, doctor, and soon it may be mine alone. Do you grudge me that? You understand the Sheridan character very well and know his worth! She is better off without him.”

  “Caleb, I realise that you mean every word you say and, doubtless, you are right. But you cannot make your mother’s choices for her.”

  “I can and I will in this matter, doctor. She is unwell and his behaviour towards her daily is sending her to her grave!” Caleb spoke so passionately that Dr May laid a restraining hand on his arm.

  “She is certainly not well and getting weaker. She has never recovered from bearing Charlie so late in life, albeit twenty years since. She always had a delicate constitution.” Privately, the doctor wondered how Lavinia Sheridan had lasted in the atmosphere at Raven’s Mill.

  “I fear,” he added, “that she can take no more shocks of the kind to which she has been subjected of late. And, now, if deserted --”

  “She’ll not be deserted,” retorted Caleb, “I shall be here to care for her.”

  “And what of your grandfather?”

  “I cannot tell,” Caleb replied, shaking his head. “I don’t know what he wants from me. I have worked hard for Strettons all my life and given him not the slightest pain and this is how I stand. Why does he treat me so?” The doctor looked into his goblet and drained it.

  “I can tell that neither. But you have nothing with which to reproach yourself. I suggest you speak to your mother.” He put on his hat. “I have prescribed a sedative draught for your grandfather - and something for your mother. She has retired to her bed. Go up and see her soon. And, Caleb, as a friend rather than your doctor, I urge you not to interfere in their marriage.”

  “I will take your advice as a friend,” Caleb replied, “but I won’t see my mother hurt any more by that scoundrel.” He ushered Dr. May to the door and watched him ride away.

  Then with a deep sigh, Caleb Vyne closed the heavy door of Raven’s Mill and went upstairs to his mother, but she was already sleeping.

  *

  Believing it to be his secret, Billy Sheridan rode off just before midnight. He had a ticket booked on a Liverpool package boat and intended to be in Ireland post-haste. He took with him large sums of money and most of Lavinia’s jewellery.

  With the proceeds of this, he intended to meet up with his son and cross to Holland as soon as possible in the hope that he and Charlie could lose themselves in the wildness of the Continent...

  Caleb listened to the horse’s hooves thudding away. He was letting the thief creep off with a glad heart. Billy Sheridan’s departure represented more to him than the plunder of the Stretton bank account. It symbolised the stealing of his youth! It was worth the loss of any money. Caleb had endured twenty-one years of slights at the blackguard’s hands - almost as much as his mother. He might have to account to the shareholders but that was a little matter set against the benefit of the Irishman’s absence.

  Throwing on his robe, he walked along the corridor with his candle wavering in the draught. His mother’s door was closed; she and Sheridan slept together no more, nor had done for years.

  Then, under the stern gaze of his Stretton ancestors, Caleb walked quietly on to the chamber his stepfather had occupied. The door was ajar.

  Caleb looked in. The man had made a good job of it, emptied the wardrobes and drawers, taken everything he thought he owned. Caleb set down his candle, sat on the untouched bed and, closing his eyes momentarily, sighed in relief.

  After a time, he descended the dusty
staircase and, entering the echoing drawing-room, stretched out his long legs on the faded rug in front of the fire, which was banked up with slack for the morning. Charlie’s once favourite spot was now his!

  In the quiet of the night, with the wind blowing about the eaves, he reflected on his unnatural behaviour, but it was still a pleasant feeling. Caleb was allowing himself to savour being the only master left.

  It was then he rehearsed telling his mother. It must be gently. She had suffered so many blows - his father first, her illness, Sheridan’s cruelty, his slights and the knowledge of Charlie’s evildoing. But now she was free! And she would know nothing of the trial, when it came about.

  There was no doubt Charlie would be brought to justice. Caleb hoped also it would be before Sally Shrike gave birth. Since poor Sam’s death, the whole family had been plunged into gloom and would have gone hungry if Caleb had not sustained them.

  Whoever judged Charlie would, at least, make him admit to fathering her child and charge him for it... Then Caleb started to come to his senses. The rooms around him were huge and cold, their glory faded. The doctor had just given him bad news of his mother’s health. How could he tell her that he hadn’t tried to stop Billy Sheridan leaving? And what would be the effect on his ailing grandfather with both Sheridans gone?

  Caleb was twenty-eight years old and had no woman’s love to sustain him, except for past brief liaisons for which he cared little.

  Lydia Annesley, whom he admired with all his heart, was most surely lost to him. How was she faring? He had heard gossip about her sufferings and of her imprisonment. She, too, would have read of Strettons’ misdemeanours and known them to be true! What did she think of him now?

  The precious day when she had come running into his arms was long gone indeed. When he had wrapped her in his cloak for comfort and laid her on the dray! The thought of that moment made his loins ache as much as when he had first seen her at Fern Hill Heath.

  Suddenly, Caleb dropped his head in his hands and closed his weary eyes. Surely, wasn’t living at Raven’s Mill more than any ordinary man could bear?

  CHAPTER 13

  Lavinia Sheridan greeted Caleb with a smile. He was glad of it; she had smiled little since her son, Charlie had been branded a cowardly criminal and had taken off to Ireland.

  Caleb knew she had prayed for his worthless half- brother; he had seen her kneeling one night and heard the words of pleading. His rage had boiled up then and he’d vowed once more to make Charlie pay for hurting all those who were dear to him.

  “Good morning, mother!” Caleb kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve brought up your chocolate instead of Hannah!”

  “Wonderful, my love, but --” she glanced at his day attire and a slight frown chased the smile away. “-- why aren’t you at the salt sheds? There has been no mishap, I hope.” Caleb sat down on the bed and took her thin white hand in his. He was saddened to feel her fingers which had been roughened by housework.

  “No mishap but --” he hesitated, “-- you should brace yourself, mother, for some news.”

  “What news?” Her face was paler than ever. “Bad? I can tell by your looks, Caleb. They’ve found Charlie!”

  “Would that be bad news, mother, after what he’s done?” He was sorry to utter the words.

  “He’s still my son,” she cried, “whatever felony he’s committed.”

  “I know, mother, I know,” he replied, putting a strong arm about her. “No, Charlie is free still. But --” he sighed, “-- Billy -- is gone.”

  “Gone? Billy?” Lavinia was holding on to him tightly. “Where? Have you sent after him?”

  “I haven’t, mother.”

  “Why not?” Her eyes were studying his face. “Is it for long?”

  “I don’t know, but he’s taken everything. I think he plans on a sojourn somewhere other than Raven’s Mill.” He held her to him, wondering if it had been the right way to tell her but, as a forthright man, he knew no other fashion.

  After some time holding her, Caleb felt his mother’s body relax against him. They sat on for a while in silence and then he lifted her face up to his. Tears were coursing down her cheeks as she sobbed silently for Billy Sheridan.

  “He’s left me, hasn’t he? He won’t come back.” Her voice was dull.

  “I think so, mother, but - you have me still.” She put up her hand and stroked back his dark curls. There was pain in her eyes!

  “Caleb, Caleb, what you mean to me is more than I can tell you but - Billy going - it’s a terrible thing to be a deserted wife!” Her breaths were short and Caleb remembered Dr. May’s words the night before that she could take no more shocks!

  “It’s worse to be abused,” Caleb broke out. “Mother, think of what you’re saying. Every day he has done ill to you. I’ve seen it, remember. All of it!”

  “Don’t be angry, Caleb,” she begged. “If you rage at me what will I do?”

  “I am not,” he said, rising from the bed, “but I cannot understand your concern for the man. He was a villain. You’ve been in fear of your life.”

  “Only when he was drinking.”

  “And that has been always.” She lay back on her pillows, trembling and closed her eyes. Then she opened them with shock:

  “My son and my husband. Folks will say I drove them away!”

  “Then folks are mad. And, mother, if they had not gone, I should have.” She was looking at him with frightened eyes. He hadn’t meant to say such cruel words, but his exasperation was great.

  If his mother still loved Billy Sheridan, then it was the worse for her. She was wrong in this. The man was a fool, a bully and a blackguard - and all those qualities he’d passed down to his son.

  Caleb was losing patience. He loved his mother greatly but a woman’s reasoning was beyond him.

  “You’ll not leave me, will you, Caleb?” Next moment, she had the hem of his coat fast in her fingers. He reached down and released then from the cloth, sat down again and held her to him.

  “I’ll never quit Raven’s Mill. Nor you. I promise. And you must not leave me.” She sobbed again and he heard her muffled words.

  “You hate this place, don’t you? For they were bad to you. All of them. ’Tis not your fault, Caleb. ’Twas mine.” He disengaged her from him.

  “How yours? No, mother!”

  “Your grandfather does not favour you. That is my fault.”

  “How so?”

  “Oh, Caleb, the story is long. I’ve never told it for fear of hurting you. Your grandfather favours your brother - and I admit Charlie has such little good in him. I know you have wondered why.” Caleb waited, his patience returning. At least, he was doing as the doctor bid him. Hadn’t he told him to question Lavinia?

  “Your grandfather was hard set against me marrying your father, Harry Vyne. To think, the whole of Upwych loved him, except my own father. Harry had given him no cause to be against him. There was only one impediment.” Lavinia’s breathing was shallow. “Grandfather wanted me to marry someone else.”

  “Who, mother?”

  “Bertram Annesley!”

  “Grandfather wanted you to marry an Annesley?”

  “Yes. He wanted Bertram for me. He had a notion that a great salt fortune would be made. It was the only chance Annesley and Stretton had of friendship. The only time they were agreed on anything.”

  “Indeed,” she added, frowning, “your grandfather tried to force me into it. But I ran away. With Harry Vyne. And he’s never truly forgiven me. Nor you.”

  “And my father loved you?”

  “To distraction. Better than any woman was loved before. I could not come home after until Bertram himself eloped with another. And then my father and his father saw that the match would never have worked.

  “Bertram didn’t want me either!” she added. “I suppose in our hearts we were still Stretton and Annesley. There were too many generations of hate between us. They say he was happy with the girl, as happy as I with Harry. And we had a son!�
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  “And Bertram?”

  “A daughter. The one whom Charlie - but I shan’t speak of it. It’s all too shameful.”

  “Lydia.”

  “Aye, Lydia Annesley, whose coming here has caused as much pain as all of us to each other.”

  “It was not her fault, mother, no more than it was mine. Nor yours!” defended Caleb,

  “Maybe you’re right,” replied his mother, “but, between our two families there has been too much suspicion. And all because of salt. Your grandfather shuns you, Caleb, because you remind him of Harry and the denial of all he planned for me.” Lavinia stroked back Caleb’s hair, underpinned with streaks of red.

  “Harry had hair just like yours and the face to go with it. Charlie looks like the Strettons. He has my features and his grandfather’s ways. How nature conspires to seal our lives!” She shook her head, sighing. “When your grandfather heard of the new young heiress, doubtless it was in his mind again for Charlie.”

  Caleb’s heart lurched at the thought:

  “Lydia Annesley was not for Charlie, mother. He has treated her foully. She’s a girl of spirit and beauty, who any man could be proud to pay court to in the proper manner!”

  “Well, my son,” said Lavinia, her eyes dry at last and staring at him curiously, “the feud will go on until one day, when the old folks are gone, some good will come out of it. But not in this time of mine. And, you are paying for my sins.”

  “No, mother, no sin in what you’ve done. But sin in letting yourself be ruled by a man like Sheridan. Listen. I promised you once when I brought you the snowdrops that I would take you out!” he smiled. “This we will do. You’ll be seen in Upwych again. Things will be different here. You’ll have nothing to fear. And you’ll feel a new woman.” He smiled at the thought of cosseting her.

  But Lavinia had a look on her face, he didn’t understand. As though she were a great distance from him.

  “Now drink up your chocolate,” he said, “before it goes cold.” He handed her the cup but she didn’t notice. She was staring up at the window.

  “You know, Caleb, you can hear the water from here.”