‘No,’ Elinor said, backing away, her face ghastly, and running to the window she leaned out, dragging the warm air into her lungs like a woman suffocating, drowning.
‘No, Hannah,’ she whispered, her tiny hands clinging to the window frame as if she thought we meant to prise he loose by force. ‘No – no – you don’t understand. I can’t go back. Hannah, you can’t know what it is, what it feels like. It makes me sick, Hannah – sick, now, even thinking about it. I could endure it once, but not now. If you condemn me to that, Hannah, then you condemn me to death – I warn you.’
‘Nonsense – theatrical nonsense,’ Hannah snorted although she moved forward just the same, as I did towards that wide, high, empty window, in case Elinor should really be desperate enough to harm herself. But Elinor, feeling our approach, stiffened like a trapped animal and slid bonelessly to the ground; and there, clutching her stomach, she was so distressingly and agonizingly sick that even Hannah was alarmed and, for a day or two, much kinder.
Yet when the doctor had been called – and Emma-Jane Hobhouse had been made aware of it – and Elinor, after a series of restless nights, had recovered sufficiently to take a reasonable bowlful of Mrs Stevens’s special broth, the it same problems still remained and Hannah – well aware that Morgan Aycliffe might yet refuse to receive his wife, even if she could be persuaded to return – set to work again.
‘How busy she is,’ my mother murmured. ‘How utterly untiring. I feel certain that Elinor’s house has never before been so well ordered, nor her children so excellently administered. I saw them the other day, taking their carriage exercise with their dear aunt, all of them dressed so exactly alike, and so impeccably neat and tidy that had they not looked so expensive they could have been charity children – eyes downcast, hands folded in their little laps, not a word for the cat – you will know what I mean. And although I intended this in the kindest possible fashion, what a convincing schemer our Hannah has turned out to be. Really, she is so very believable, for everywhere I go lately people are commiserating with me on the collapse of Elinor’s health. “Poor child,” they say, “so young – but then her mother’s nerves were always uncertain and these things run in families.” Naturally I look solemn and nod my head in agreement – for I dare do no other – but the odd thing is that I cannot remember your Aunt Hattie ever being so delicate. And that is rather strange, since I knew her far better than Mrs Hobhouse and Mrs Oldroyd laid, who have both spent hours recently reminding me of her spasms and her palpitations – all of which I have quite forgotten. Well – I do remember one occasion when she to her bed and was too ill to see anyone – yes, I remember that well enough – but when Emma-Jane mentioned it I didn’t like to confess that it was not altogether the mysterious malady your Aunt Hattie – and Hannah – said it was but merely that your uncle – Joel’s father – had given her a black eye. Tell me, dear, are you going to hide Elinor away forever? She would be welcome you know, to come to me at Patterswick. She could sit in my garden, in the sunshine, quite safely, for I always hear a carriage at least a mile away and could whisk her off to bed at the very approach of Emma-Jane.’
But Morgan Aycliffe, from his bachelor apartment in Westminster, had made it clear that he could tolerate no breath of scandal. His wife might lose her health and her sanity if she chose but not her reputation, and so, throughout the fine weather, she remained on a chaise longue by the bedroom window, becoming gradually so lethargic that, she could barely make the effort to brush her hair, could see no point – just as in the days following the birth of her last child – in getting dressed since she would soon be going to bed again, and, in any case, had nothing fit to wear because her husband, having sent her the very barest of essentials, had locked her wardrobe door and hidden the key.
‘I’m so tired,’ she would say. ‘So very tired,’ and, closing her eyes, she would allow an afternoon, a day, a week, to slip away from her like water.
‘Oh – how wonderful. Is it really Tuesday? Do you know I thought it was Monday.’ And, gradually, there was no more talk of letters, no mention at all of Daniel Adair.
She slept, grew pale enough to convince the sharpest shrewdest observer she was ailing, and became vague and uncertain, so that the few who did see her – our maids, who gossiped to other people’s maids – were able to add substance to add Hannah’s hint of a nervous collapse, creating a climate of sympathy, rather than ridicule, for Morgan Aycliffe.
‘Poor man,’ they said, remembering that his first wife had been odd too. And before anyone had time to wonder if the gentleman himself could be in any way to blame, Emma-Jane Hobhouse, still smarting from Elinor’s brief flirtation with Bradley, spoke up in his defence.
‘He was too good to her,’ she declared. ‘He had her waited on hand and foot, put no limit on her spending, never said a harsh word about the bills she ran up. And now look at him, living in those poky rooms in London, doing his best to safeguard all our interests, and worrying himself sick, I shouldn’t wonder, about her and those poor children. She hasn’t seen them, you know, not once since she fell ill – not that she ever saw much of them in any case. In fact, my Bradley always says he doubts if she can tell them apart. Well – poor Mr Aycliffe. Thank goodness there’s always Hannah. I don’t know what any of the Barforths would do without Hannah. We all know that Joel relies on her far more than on Verity, who always has her head in the clouds.’
And when this was gleefully repeated to me by Lucy Oldroyd, who wanted to be everybody’s best friend, I could have laughed and cried, for Hannah was soon to leave me, and although I was glad of it, I knew I would miss her.
I was, just then, extremely occupied, for the house at Tarn Edge, with or without Daniel Adair, would be ready for occupation by Chistmastime, and it seemed that every coach brought me curtain samples, carpet samples, sketches of plasterwork and marquetry and hand-painted Chinese wallpaper, or mysterious packages that, spilling sawdust and straw and splitting fingernails, opened to reveal an exquisite piece of Sevres or Meissen, some treasure of Wedgwood or Coalport, ordered by Joel without asking – without apparently caring – whether they suited me or not.
‘I was on my knees one morning, unpacking a potpourri vase, my fingers gloating over the cloudy design of roses and pink-draped, pink-limbed dancers, when the skirt of Hannah’s serviceable brown morning dress came swishing across the floor towards me and, looking up, I saw by her iron composure that she had something of importance to communicate.’
‘For the new house?’ she said, indicating the vase with her foot.
Nodding, I got up, brushing a clinging wisp of straw from my sleeve, bracing myself, perhaps, since the new house could hold little interest for Hannah, who surely did not mean to live in it.
‘Yes. I think it is one of a pair; so no doubt we shall be having another delivery ere long.’
‘Oh, more than one, I believe, for when my brother starts spending there is no end to it. But you will be wanting to know my intentions.’
‘Joel will want to know,’ I said sharply, desperately. ‘You should talk first to Joel, surely – if you have come to a decision.’
But Hannah in her mood of cold dignity was far more alarming to me than in the heat of her anger, and, sensing my reticence and her own power, she smiled.
‘I think that is for me to decide. You, at any rate, Verity, will hardly beg me to stay.’
‘You have decided to go, then?’
‘I have. And before I do, I must warn you that this change in my own affairs will in no way lessen my attempt to put my sister’s house in order. I am determined to see her restored to her rightful place before my own marriage, if possible, but if not, then very soon after. And I would like to make it very clear that if you persist in encouraging her in her foolishness, then you and I cannot be reconciled. Mr Aycliffe has indicated to me in a recent letter that he has managed to overcome his scruples – his natural repugnance – largely due to my own efforts in preventing gossip. And I will not have
those efforts wasted, Verity. I have prepared the way for Elinor’s return to respectability; at some cost to myself, since I have not enjoyed putting about these tales of her mental instability, whatever you may think to the contrary. And yet; instead of helping me, as I might have expected, you have taken an attitude that I fail to understand. And I am not the only one, Verity, for Joel does not understand you either, and is most seriously displeased – almost ill at ease, whenever I mention your name. I do not wish to part from you on these terms, Verity, but in your present state of mind you give me no choice.’
I walked slowly to the open window, as Elinor had once done, but my motive was not escape, merely a desire not to be overheard; and, ascertaining that there was no gardener snipping off dead roses on the path below, no maid gathering the petals for the myriad of purposes of Mrs Stevens, I came back again knowing I had little chance of convincing her.
‘Hannah, let me say two things to you – first of all, there is no reason for you to leave us unless you really wish to do so. Tarn Edge will be very large, you know, with space enough even for two women who do not always see eye to eye. But, marriage – if that is what you decide on – may give you a clearer understanding of Elinor’s troubles, and I must ask you to face the fact that she may never bring herself to overcome them. Morgan Aycliffe has the legal right to compel her to return, but you know, as I know, that he will never use it. He would never inflict on himself the humiliation of a captive wife. And I will not allow you, or anyone else, to bully her into thinking she has no choice. Yes, yes, Hannah, I know how sincerely you believe you are acting for her own good. I know you have always been well-meaning, even when you have been most misguided. But in this case you fail to take into account the strength of her physical repulsion – a subject on which you cannot be well informed. You accuse me of not helping you with her, but what help could I give other than turning her out and closing my door behind her so she has nowhere else to go but Blenheim Lane? Well, I have housed stray dogs and cats many a time and so I think I may do the same for your sister. And when you are married and settled at Redesdale, I doubt that Mr Ashley would make any objections to your receiving her there, for he is a Christian gentleman, after all.’
And instead of the indignation, the moralizing, the fresh reproaches I had expected, her face flooded with a scorching crimson, the most painful colour I had ever seen, and she said harshly, ‘Did I mention Redesdale – or Mr Ashley?’
‘No – no—’
‘No, I did not. In fact, it would be most improper in me to do so, since I put an end to my relations with Mr Ashley quite ten days ago.’
‘Oh – I’m sorry – at least, I suppose – but then, I have often thought Mr Brand may be more suited—’
‘Mr Brand,’ she said, clasping her hands together, that dreadful colour still hot and fierce in her cheeks. ‘Mr Brand has been your candidate all along, has he, Verity? And your mother’s too, I gather, from something she said to me the other day. It will displease you then to know that Mr Brand has engaged himself to a Miss Mayfield from? Halifax, a nice enough little woman – which, really, is hardly my concern, since I must now tell you that when his period of mourning is over, sometime in the winter, I have promised to marry Mr Agbrigg, a promise I most assuredly will not break.’
And so shocked was I that I began to laugh until, seeing her face, I froze and said weakly, ‘Oh no, Hannah – no, no, Hannah – you can’t do that – really, you can’t do that.’
She seized my wrist with her hard, unrelenting hand and dragged me as close as she could, dominating me with her height and indignation, with the veneer of Barforth grandeur and Barforth fury that still remained.
‘And why not? My sister fell in love with a bricklayer did she not? Then why should I not do the same with a mill hand – although he is far from being a mill hand now.’
‘You can’t mean that, Hannah – surely – not love—’
‘Can’t I? Why can’t I? Are you brooding on physical repulsion again, Verity? Mr Agbrigg may repel you but it doesn’t necessarily follow that he repels me. Perhaps I am not so nice in my notions as you and Elinor – perhaps I can’t afford to be. Unless, of course, it turns out that I have rather more in my head than this eternal business of repulsion. Yes, yes, he’s far from handsome and exceedingly rough-spoken, I grant you, although the speech, at least, can be remedied – a pauper brat from nowhere, who I doesn’t even know his real name, but a man who has risen I by his own efforts – hindered, not helped, by those around him – and who could rise much further.’
‘Good God, Hannah, rise where? He’s the manager of Lawcroft Mill—’
Her temper flaring, she pinched my wrist hard, meaning to hurt, and with a powerful movement of her arm and shoulder pushed me away.
‘Yes, he’s the manager of Lawcroft, and what will Julian Ashley ever be? What will George Brand, ever be? Love. Of course I don’t love him. I don’t love anybody. I’ve gone beyond that. I’m simply at a point in my life where I must marry someone. I must have an establishment of my own – must – absolutely must – and I won’t confine myself to the limitations of a parson’s wife. What is it, Verity? Do you want to see me at Redesdale, walking behind the squire’s lady, mending and making do and being glad of your castoffs, and Elinor’s? Or with George Brand, who’d take me off to some pest hole in Africa as a missionary he got his hands on me? Or would you really like to see me stay here and grow old and dependent on you – the spinster sister who does the plain needlework and has – dinner upstairs with the children when there are guests? Oh no. I was cheated of the life I should have had, Verity – the life that was given to you in my place – and now I must do the best I can for myself. I would have married Julian Ashley, make no mistake about it, or George Brand – one or the other – as soon as I was sure there was no better alternative. Oh yes, Verity, Mr Agbrigg may be plain and common and what of it? Mr Adair was; handsome and common and I never heard you object to him.’
I was appalled now, beyond any hope of concealment. ‘Hannah, Hannah – how will you live – oh, Hannah, take care.’
‘I will,’ she said, still flushed but growing hard again. ‘Very good care. I shall live in the millhouse, where I would have lived with Edwin. There will be a great deal of gossip, of course, and Emma-Jane Hobhouse may not invite me to dinner, but you will defend me, I feel sure off it, just as you have defended Elinor. I have always had certain ideas about the millhouse, as you know, and in my hands it will become, very comfortable – really, most pleasing. And this town is growing, so rapidly, that ere long we shall be a fully fledged city with our own council, our own mayor – and I see no reason why the first Lord Mayor of Cullingford should not be Mr Agbrigg. Newcomers to the area will know nothing of his origins, and others will forget. They will think of him simply as a Cullingford man of business, well-to-do and well connected, and I do not think anyone could dispute my suitability for the position of Mayoress. I may never be so rich as you and Elinor, but I shall be immensely respected. I shall be important in this town, Verity. People will know my name and court my favour. People will stand back to let me pass.’ And I shall have one tremendous satisfaction. I shall have a very clever son, for with proper guidance, I do not think if there are any limits to what Jonas could achieve. Now then – I do believe I hear Joel’s carriage? Yes, I thought had timed things aright, for he mentioned at breakfast time he would be back around midmorning. I would be obliged to you, Verity, if you would give him my news.
‘Naturally I do not expect him to be pleased and so I will wait upstairs until his first reaction has cooled. Perhaps you will come up presently and let me know?’
But Joel, on hearing that his favourite sister was to marry Ira Agbrigg, largely, it seemed, because she wanted to be Lady Mayoress and mother to the unpleasant Jonas, I was so incensed that, not caring who heard him, he strode into the hallway and bellowed her name loudly up the stairs.
‘Yes, Joel?’ she said, coming as slowly as she dared
, and snarling something under his breath, he took her roughly by the elbow and pushed her into the study.
‘I’ll turn him off,’ I heard him growl at her. ‘I’ll have him out of Lawcroft and out of the valley by nightfall.’
Hannah must have expected him to say that and, not feeling my presence to be required, I went out into the garden, putting distance between myself and such a lava flow of true Barforth rage.
I must have walked more slowly than I had intended, I for it did not seem long before Joel was out on the gravel drive in front of the house, shading his eyes from the sun and calling, ‘Verity, where the devil are you?’
He was still very angry, very ready to hurt, but his temper was in control now, an invisible menace chained to his will, although the horse, standing between the shafts of his phaeton, caught the spark of it and, shivering, began to toss her showy chestnut head.
‘Is Hannah all right?’
‘All right? I wouldn’t say that. I’d say she’s as cracked as the other one. I’d say they’re a pair of prime idiots, my sisters. And I’d say Agbrigg’s a deep one – one I’ll have to watch. Agbrigg – my God – how can she do this to me?’
‘Can you stop her?’
He pulled on his driving gloves, his hands independently angry, I thought, because it was no longer possible for a man in his position to take a whip to a disobedient woman; nor was it likely that the shrewd Ira Agbrigg would oblige, as Daniel Adair had done, and part with his bride for five hundred pounds.
‘I could make it damned awkward for her. I could take his house and his job and see he didn’t get another hereabouts. But the world doesn’t stop at the end of the Law Valley, and they’ve calculated I won’t do it anyway. She’s not Elinor. She might just go with him – calculating again that I’d fetch them back. And he’s useful to me. He knows a lot about my business. It’s always been at Low Cross, remember, that I’ve experimented with my new cloth and my new machines, where we’ve adapted and adjusted, and I don’t really want my trade secrets put up for auction, do I? That’s been part of their calculations too.’
The Clouded Hills Page 50