The peal of an iron bell dancing on its hook startled and excited her. She sat very still, scarcely daring to breath as Hannah’s heavy tread went to answer it. Hannah was a sort of general factotum now, though supplementary staff would be employed as soon as they could be obtained. One would never have imagined that it would be so difficult to persuade servants to work at Carrion House.
Then his voice … and his step … and Hannah opening the white-and-gilt door and saying, ‘Mr Acland, Ma’am.’ The use of his name confirmed how free they now were. It had been a discreet cough and ‘A visitor, Ma’am … ’ in the old days. Or sometimes, ‘Your visitor’ or ‘The gentleman … ’
She rose, trembling. He looked exactly the same, though she wished he would come nearer instead of remaining at a distance. ‘The syllabub, Hannah,’ she said, but he waved the woman aside and, once she had gone, moved to a side table and poured Madeira without invitation. That surprised her, but she took it as a good sign that he should feel so much at home.
Then he moved to the opposite side of the fireplace. She patted the pink satin seat beside her, a similar chaise longue to the one on which she had awaited him in the old days, but he chose an armchair a few feet away. The dear man is shy, she thought. He is afraid to come too close, as yet.
She burst out, ‘I’ve missed you! Oh, how I’ve missed you!’
‘So young Drayton has told me.’
‘So I have told you. Dear Roger, why didn’t you come to me?’
‘I couldn’t,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’ve been having business troubles.’
‘Oh, my dear, you must let me help!’
‘That’s what I’m hoping for. Why I’m here. I couldn’t approach you when you were living with your husband. I heard of his return, of course. News travels fast. But now he has set you up so well
‘Comfortably,’ she said. ‘I can’t complain. I’m not rich, of course … ’
‘You couldn’t live in a place like this if you weren’t. Your husband has been generous.’
‘So he should be. I will never part with this place, and so long as I own it, he must finance its upkeep. We could use it in conjunction with your own.’
He made no answer to that. After sipping his Madeira, he asked, ‘What of your daughter’s prospects?’
‘My daughter’s? What has Olivia to do with things?’
‘She’s a handsome young woman and I suspect she’d have a fair dowry. The old couple at Tremain Hall idolise her, I’ve heard.’
‘From whom?’ she asked stiffly.
‘Young Drayton. Your nephew, Lionel. Very forthcoming is that young man, when he chooses to be. Wasn’t Olivia in line to inherit the Tremain fortune at one time?’
Tautly, Phoebe answered, ‘She is so no longer. Nor is Lionel. My husband is heir to Tremain, and his illegitimate son after him.’
‘So the rumours are true? I’d heard whispers about that, and that the boy’s birth had been legalised — ’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she cried. ‘Is this what you came to talk about? My daughter’s prospects, indeed! Olivia wants only to become a female potter and life holds no greater prospects for her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I remember noticing her once, and thinking how well a man might fare, married to her. Is she living here with you, or has she had the good sense to stay at Tremain?’ The bewildered expression on her face amused him. ‘Come, Phoebe, let’s be realistic. You may have your own household now, but you are no more free than before. Less so, in fact. Earlier, we could be together without the hovering presence of an unwanted husband. Now, we cannot. You’ll have to mind your P’s and Q’s if you don’t want your overtaxed spouse to get rid of you. He could, you know.’
‘Overtaxed! Max!’
‘You’ve taken him for every penny you could, and obviously mean to continue. Giving nothing in return is overtaxing any man. So be careful if you want to save your well-preserved neck. Do you think any husband wouldn’t seize any opportunity to get rid of an alienated wife? Why should he continue to support her if another man is conveniently in the offing? Well, my love, I don’t propose to be that man. I’ve been patient. I’ve danced attendance. I’ve humoured and indulged you and in some ways quite enjoyed it. I’ve waited, too, but over the years I’ve become used to that. Waiting to hit back at the Freemans and the Draytons has almost become my life’s dedication.’ His eyes narrowed, his lips tightened. ‘If they think I’ve forgotten their patronage and their slights, they’re wrong. First your brother’s, and then your father-in-law’s — ’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know what you’re talking about!’
‘Of course you don’t. Nor do you know what it feels like to be a poor relation, a really poor relation, which is why both families treated me with contempt as a youth.’
‘You were no relation at all!’
‘Close enough to make Ralph Freeman feel under an obligation of sorts. I was the step-son of his distant cousin, Edith, who married my widowed father and hit on the idea of sending me to visit Tremain, claiming a relationship, when he died. The whole idea was to set me up, to marry one of the daughters, but you know how that turned out. Freeman’s sense of obligation deserted him when I hoped to become his son-in-law. Not that I was in love with Agatha, but some wealthy aunt had left her a tidy fortune. The woman I was in love with was your twin sister — ’
Phoebe’s hand went to her throat. She swallowed hard, tried to speak, and failed. He laughed and said, ‘Good God, Phoebe, didn’t you guess, all those years ago? That wasn’t Kendall’s child she bore. It was mine. Here, have some more Madeira. You look as if you could do with it.’ When she thrust out a hand blindly, pushing the glass aside, he drank the contents himself. ‘The Freemans are a tight-fisted lot,’ he continued, ‘and the Draytons not much better. I found your father-in-law a hard nut to crack — in fact, I couldn’t crack him at all, he sent me packing when I asked for Agatha’s hand — but that brother of yours, the Master Potter as he then was, at least coughed up something. Two hundred pounds to get out of Jessica’s life. I took it, and it served me well; bought me a share in a profitable business for awhile, but now, alas, that’s all over. The man who started it died, and somehow — well, I got in a mess, trying to carry on.’
‘Why,’ she whispered, ‘you’re nothing but a fortune hunter!’
‘That’s not a nice way of putting it. And rather silly, at your age. You don’t imagine I went to bed with you because I loved you, surely to God? You can’t expect romantic love in middle-age, my dear. And you’re a tepid mistress, I’m afraid.’
She sobbed, ‘Then why did you pretend?’
‘Every man pretends when it suits his book. You would have suited mine very well, officially widowed. Marrying you would have had more advantages than one. It would have given me a foot in the door of both clans, the Freemans and the Draytons, and it would have solved my current financial problems. But you were too damned stubborn to press the issue. You could have had your husband’s death officially recognised and your widowhood too. Married, we would have retained every penny you were entitled to and precious little could Maxwell Freeman have done about it when he returned. You’re not listening, Phoebe. Your attention has wandered. What are you thinking about?’
‘Jessica. How could you have fallen in love with her?’
‘Very easily.’ Bitterly, he added, ‘She’s landed on her feet, I hear.’
‘Far too well, for such an immoral creature.’
‘Immoral, perhaps, but warm and sincere and kind of heart. We used to meet in a gazebo within the Tremain estates. She would walk from Medlar Croft to Merrow’s Thicket, and I’d be waiting for her. And who are you to call her immoral, when you’ve welcomed me in your bed and were plainly expecting me to tumble into it tonight? You’re a bloody hypocrite, Phoebe. What’s more, I’ve been brought here on a wild goose chase and an expensive one. Wooing you has been expensive all along. You owe me something in return. A fe
w of those rubies wouldn’t come amiss.’
Her hand flew to them. ‘Don’t you dare?’
‘I wouldn’t be such a fool. I’d never get away with it. But you’re not going to get away with bringing me here for nothing. You are the one with money. I am not.’
‘What of your prosperous merchant’s business?’ she choked. ‘What of your thriving West Country schemes, your fine house — ?’
‘All gone, alas. The West Country schemes died when the builder I joined up with died. As for the house, that had to go too. Travelling here these past months has been costly. Even a night at Burslem’s Red Lion is more than I can currently afford. Your brother Joseph paid me compensation for getting out of Jessica’s life. What are you going to pay me for getting out of yours?’
‘Nothing! Nothing!’
‘Then perhaps I should appeal to your husband?’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Dear lady, a man who needs money would dare anything — short of stealing rubies he’d find hard to dispose of. A thief would have to get out of the country with those; he wouldn’t dare try to sell them here. Cash is what I want. You wouldn’t be the first middle-aged woman to pay a lover for his services, and mine have been good. You haven’t been so flattered since you were a girl. Now let’s be practical. Values have increased since your brother forked out a couple of hundred. You keep considerably more than that tucked away in corners. At the last count, I made it almost a thousand. It’s a good thing you have a trustworthy maid who doesn’t help herself to the secret hoards in your boudoir and elsewhere. Perhaps small hoards present little temptation, but small hoards add up. Very admirably I, too, left them there, though I had ample opportunity to remove them when you so conveniently slept after making love. Shall we see how much we can collect now, together, starting with this room and then proceeding elsewhere? After that, I shall trouble you no more.’
‘Until you need more!’ she cried, her face twisting with anger and grief.
‘Don’t look like that, Phoebe. It cracks your carefully painted mask. I have never seen you without that mask, even asleep. I avoided looking at you then. Smeared and smudged, any woman looks ugly.’ Opening a nearby drawer he finished, ‘I’ll start here, I think, but if you want to get this over quickly, you’ll lead me to every cache without delay. Otherwise — ’ He tipped the contents of the drawer onto the carpet. ‘Do you want the whole place reduced to a mess like that?’
*
Passing his mother’s door, Lionel saw a light shining beneath and, on an impulse, he knocked. He’d been neglecting her lately, what with dancing attendance on Caroline.
He scarcely waited for his mother’s summons before entering. That was a mistake. She sat there, like a large pink blancmange draped in his father’s Chinese robe.
It was years since he had caught her in such a moment, but she looked so comical that he burst out laughing.
‘God’s teeth, what are you up to? Mourning my father after all these years? You’ll catch your death in that thing. It scarcely meets round you. Here — ’ he tossed her a coverlet from the bed and she covered her great fat legs with it, trying to look arch and failing miserably.
‘What are you sniffing for?’ he asked.
Her reply was a louder sniff and a heavy sigh. ‘Even after all these years, I miss him, though I confess I sometimes I hated him. You didn’t know that, did you? He used to talk down to me, mock me, ridicule me. That was cruel, for I was a very good wife to him — and of course,’ she added hastily, ‘he did have his tender moments — ’
‘Such as the time he made the special beaker for you? The one you dropped on his coffin as a farewell gift? At least, I take it was a farewell gift, though why you smiled when you did it, I don’t understand.’
‘How do you know I smiled? You weren’t there. You weren’t even born. And he, dear man, never knew you were going to be.’ She added unexpectedly, ‘How did you know about the beaker?’
‘I heard about it. Can’t remember when. Stories get handed down. Was this one true?’
‘I did drop it onto his coffin, yes.’
‘Because you wanted him to have something that belonged to you, something that had some personal meaning between you? And if you want to know how I learned that, dear Mamma, I’ll tell you. Martin Drayton has written it all down. A sort of diary over the years. It’s all going into the story of the Draytons. Amelia is compiling it.’
‘And she showed you her husband’s private diary? How deplorable! Deplorable of him, too. He shouldn’t keep such things. And I don’t suppose for one moment that he recorded the truth.’
‘Only that he warned you not to drink from it. Any idea why?’
‘He had this ridiculous notion that it had too much lead in the glaze, and that lead is dangerous.’
‘He still believes that. I’ve heard he has banned its use at Drayton’s.’
‘Quite unnecessarily. Every country in the world uses lead in high gloss glazing.’
‘But my dear Uncle Martin believes they shouldn’t, that some day it will be legislated against, or at least controlled. That’s in his diary notes, too.’ He patted his smother’s plump hand. ‘Off to bed with you, my poor Mamma. You’re feeling mournful. Broody. That’s bad.’
‘But it was what he did that was bad — your father, I mean. You see, he’d done it to his own father. Or so Martin accused him. “Don’t drink out of that beaker, Agatha,” he warned, and told me why. It seems that the items Joseph glazed — a beaker and platter Martin had made as a birthday gift for his father, and which Joseph wouldn’t let him glaze because he hadn’t advanced that far — contained an exceptional amount of lead. It was necessary to get the very high gloss, he said. But Martin had been reading something, somewhere — I don’t know where — something about deaths amongst Chinese potters, all traced to lead, and the symptoms occurring here in the potteries though no one had recognised them, as yet. Nor do they still, I believe. But the symptoms were all those George Drayton had suffered during a period up to his death … and … ’ Agatha’s voice sank to a whisper. Lionel stooped to hear it. ‘ … and they were the symptoms I suffered from too, after I used that special beaker regularly … sickness … stomach pains … all sorts of unpleasant things … and all identical with George Drayton’s. When I drank my chocolate from something else, the symptoms disappeared. “Nothing but imagination,” Joseph would declare. “You suffer from indigestion because you’re greedy. If you had any faith in me, you would drink from that beaker every night.”’
She turned pathetic eyes toward her son. ‘Then came his death … and the old doctor and Pierre never knew that I heard how he had been found naked in that garden house. A man is only naked if he’s with a woman, or waiting for one. I was outraged. Then, very wickedly, I thought it served him right to die, and after that the horrible beaker became a symbol of all the things I’d grown to hate about him. I wanted to taunt him with it — ’
‘ — so you dropped it on his coffin in mockery? No wonder you smiled, dear Mamma. I would have smiled, too.’
‘Oh, not you, dear boy. You have never done an unkind thing in your life, or thought an unkind thought. You make me ashamed of the things I have thought — such as suspecting that he was trying to kill me.’
‘But why should he want to? Poor Mamma, you imagined it all.’
‘Perhaps — but not that he married me for my money. I never suspected that. Everyone thought a thriving Master Potter didn’t need money and therefore couldn’t be after mine. Even my father thought that. The truth was that though he didn’t need more, Joseph wanted it — but didn’t want me along with it. I soon realised that he thought me fat and stupid, tiresome and in the way … ’
‘Here, here, enough of that, old lady! I don’t believe a word of it, and you mustn’t either. Off to bed you go. You’ll feel better in the morning.’
He helped the lumbering figure into bed, still clad in the Chinese robe — wearing it as penance, as sack-cl
oth, or a sensual reminder? He didn’t dwell on that. He had other things on his mind. After his stimulating time with Caroline he was ready for a gambling spree in Stoke, for which he needed ready money. He kissed his mother affectionately before mentioning that his pockets were to let, and she smiled at him indulgently and told him where her purse was and that he could help himself. He did so, very liberally, and went on his way.
The route to Stoke took him down into the valley and past Carrion House again. Were those two middle-aged lovers in bed together, or had Roger Acland taken a satisfied or disappointed departure? He had a strong suspicion the man was after his aunt’s money, and more fool she if she parted with it, but he also thought that unlikely since she clung like a leach to anything she possessed, especially valuables … which reminded him of the rubies and his total disbelief in her claim not to have them.
It would be interesting to find out if he were right. Useful, too, because Caroline Fletcher’s anxiety to get away from him had left him with the uneasy feeling that she might be going to drop him. She needed firm handling, for he recognised that she was unscrupulous enough to cut anyone out of her life, once she tired of them. He marvelled that Damian Fletcher had managed to hold her at all, but would he have been able to without legal ties?
That wasn’t his concern, so he dismissed it. What he couldn’t dismiss was the recollection of her stormy departure, her almost desperate desire to escape from him. What if her unpredictable nature made her pack her bags and go back to Georgia, leaving him in the lurch? He would follow, of course, but for that he would need more than his Tremain income, which was always overdrawn. Something substantial to fall back on would be useful, something to turn into ready cash. Appeals to his mother would no doubt yield results, but financial help might take long to reach the Colonies in the present political climate.
So thinking, he reached the gates of Carrion House and, on an impulse, turned through them. From the front, the place was dark, but the gaudy reception room of which Phoebe was so inordinately proud was situated at the back, and curiosity drew him there. Lights glowed, slicing the curtains so that he was able to put his eye to a gap. It was rewarding. There sat his aunt, alone, weeping, but all he saw was the ruby necklace glowing at her throat.
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