‘Oh, my dear.’ She rubbed her cheek up and down against his sleeve, then asked, ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Well, I could do with something to eat. I’ve been travelling since eight this morning when they let me out.’
‘Oh, Manuel, you mean to say you’ve had nothing since then? Look.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Stay there, I’ll be back. Now promise me you won’t move.’
‘I promise you.’ His voice was weary sounding, but he put his arm around her waist and buried his head between her breasts, and she trembled as she held him. Then kissing him tenderly now, she said, ‘Lie down, rest and you’ll have a meal within ten minutes.’
And he lay down, and he rested, but as he waited for her coming words began to whirl round in his mind, the same as they had whirled back there in prison. But with one difference; then the whirling words had said, ‘Will she come with me?’ but now they said, ‘She will come with me, she will come with me. They can’t keep her. She knows her own mind, she’s a woman, she’s a woman at last.’ And on this thought his body slumped and he fell into a deep sleep . . .
Back at the cottage, Annabella was again confronting Rosina. ‘Will you allow me to take him a meal?’ she said somewhat stiffly, and Rosina, her face twisted with her inner anguish, murmured, ‘Oh, Annabella, of course.’ Then she added, ‘I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry, but you see it’s the habit of a lifetime.’
‘It’s quite all right, I understand.’
‘I don’t think you do, but . . . but tell me what are your plans?’
Annabella remained silent for a moment, her gaze straight. She did not want to hurt Rosina but there must be no prevaricating, she must speak the truth. ‘I’m going with him in the morning,’ she said. ‘As I’ve already told you, Mr Carpenter will welcome us.’
‘Oh, Annabella!’ Rosina was now pressing her fingers across her lips to still their trembling, but when she spoke the trembling staggered her words. ‘I had . . . I had great plans; I was going to speak about them to you very shortly. I, I had discussed them with Uncle James and they were all for your benefit, and, and let me’ – she drooped her head to the side – ‘let me be truthful, for my own interest also. But, do you know what I had in mind, Annabella?’
‘No . . . Mama.’
‘Well, I thought of turning the House, or at least the Old Hall into a glass works: trade, they say, is picking up again and, as you know, you can build a glass works anywhere. And, and I went over the building only yesterday and I could see the possibilities. You see, you said that you had nothing to do, nothing to hold your interest, and I thought that if you were prepared to work in this Mr Carpenter’s glass works, then surely you would be able to work in your own.’
Annabella looked into the pleading eyes; then her own lids drooping heavily downwards, she muttered in real anguish, ‘Oh, Mama! Oh, Mama!’
‘Will, will you stay and consider it?’
The lids lifted. ‘No, Mama. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart for such a great gesture, but I can’t stay anywhere where Manuel is not welcome.’
‘But, child, what you don’t understand is that it is not only I who would not welcome Manuel, it is the neighbourhood, in fact the county; your position would be untenable, you wouldn’t be accepted . . . ’
‘Have I been accepted without Manuel? Have I been accepted over these last months? Who has called, Mama? Tell me, who has called on you once while I’ve been here? You said you had been very lonely without me, but you’d be more lonely with me, for not once have your friends visited you, or you them. How many invitations have you had to go to tea? Not one, not while I’ve been with you. As you say, the position would be untenable.’
‘I don’t want other people, Annabella.’ Rosina’s voice was deep and heavy now. ‘I want no-one but you. I didn’t do much visiting before all this happened. Outside people are of no interest to me, they make no difference to my life, but they will to yours because you are young; you are only beginning to live; you are only eighteen years old, Annabella, you are hardly on the threshold of life yet, so many wonderful things could happen to you . . . ’
‘One already has, Mama. If only I could convince you of that; one already has. I’ll never meet anyone who I think will be more wonderful than Manuel. And Manuel will not always be as he is now; he will rise, I know he will. I mean him to, not for my satisfaction but for his own. He’s very quick to learn. He learned to read and write in one-tenth of the time that it would take an ordinary person. When he cares, when his interest is aroused, he is quick to imitate or adopt a manner. Oh, I have no fear, Mama, but that Manuel will rise. But even if he didn’t he would still have my love as it is today. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I . . . I will get him something to eat.’
She was trembling with anxiety as she approached the caravan; she had been away so long – more than half an hour. What would he be thinking? When she opened the door and saw him stretched out, relaxed, breathing even, the tension left her body. Setting down the tray that had almost snapped her arms in carrying it, she now lowered herself on to the floor by the side of the bunk and, resting her head on its edge, she sat gazing at him. She sat there until she, too, almost dropped off to sleep. Cautiously rousing herself, she put a match to the fire that was already set in the little iron fireplace, then put on the kettle to make some tea.
It was as she laid out the cups that he stirred, and she turned swiftly and when he opened his eyes she was sitting beside him, her hands cupping his face. He stared up at her in wonder for a moment as if he were in a dream, and then, his arms coming round her, he pulled her on to the bed and pressed her close to him, then lay perfectly still savouring the moment.
Her body was filling with an excitement which would, she felt, at any moment burst from her when he said softly, ‘Did I see you brewing tea?’ The rising excitement was checked. She opened her eyes and stared at him, then drew in a long breath, saying, ‘Yes, dear, I’ll get you some. And your meal is here. You must be very hungry.’
‘No, not really.’ He was holding her face now, staring into her eyes. ‘There’s only one thing I’m hungry for, but that will come . . . later.’
She felt the blood rushing to her face and bringing sweat out of her pores, for as he spoke he looked deep into her, and his eyes spoke even plainer than his words.
When he released her she got up hastily and poured out the tea, then said softly, ‘I have your belt safe. It’s under the top board of the bed.’ And to this he said simply, ‘Good.’
Uncovering the tray now, she said, ‘Come and eat.’
At one point during the meal he made her laugh. ‘Hare,’ he said, as he took a mouthful from the plate. ‘Quite good.’ He nodded as a connoisseur might. It was then she began to laugh, and her laughter rose as he went on, ‘But not quite up to the taste of the billy-can jugged.’ He was referring to a hare he had trapped and cooked in the black can after they had left the Fairbairns’ farm. At the height of her laughter she spluttered, ‘You must tell that to Cook, she will appreciate it, in fact you must show her how you did it.’
‘I will an’ all.’ He was laughing with her but not so loudly, and his laughter had no hysteria in it.
It was their laughter that partly muffled the first knock on the door, and when it came again they stared at each other. Then Annabella took the three steps down the caravan, opened the painted panel and looked at Rosina standing at the bottom of the steps.
‘May . . . may I come in?’
Annabella checked herself from turning her head to look at Manuel and said, ‘Of course, of course.’ Then she put out her hand and assisted Rosina up the narrow steps.
‘Good afternoon, Manuel.’
Manuel was on his feet. ‘Good afternoon, Ma’am.’
There was a moment’s silence before he indicated the narrow form on which he had been sitting
and said, ‘Won’t you take a seat?’
‘Thank you.’ Sedately, she seated herself, having to press down the front of her gown so it wouldn’t protrude over the little table; then she looked from one to the other and said most courteously, ‘Please, please, do continue with your meal.’
A little over an hour ago she had said, ‘You cannot expect me to eat with Manuel,’ but now she was expecting Manuel to eat with her; and he did just that. He sat down and with apparent calm continued his meal.
Annabella, too, sat down, but she was far from calm. She was searching in her mind to fill the awkward yelling silence that had settled upon them.
It was Rosina who broke the silence. Looking from Annabella to the stove and back to Annabella again she smiled thinly as she said, ‘You have tea made? . . . Do you think I may have a cup?’ Annabella swallowed deeply, opened her mouth slightly, then closed it, got to her feet, looked almost wildly round her for a moment. They possessed only two cups and saucers – and both had been used. Now, picking up her own cup and saucer from the table, she dipped them into a bucket of water standing within the doorway, then dried them and took them to the stove and, about to pour out the tea she looked at Rosina and said, ‘I’m afraid it’s strong.’
‘I don’t object to it being strong.’ It was as if they were in the drawing room.
‘There is no milk or lemon.’
The thin smile on Rosina’s face widened a little to hide her distaste of black tea, but she said, ‘That is all right, I sometimes prefer it black, It has the same effect as coffee then, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, yes.’
There followed another silence. This was dreadful, Annabella thought. She was right after all. It would be quite impossible for the three of them to exist together. Perhaps that is why she had come, to demonstrate the impossibility of it. If so, her effort was succeeding. Annabella looked down into the black tea. She knew that Rosina had never drunk black tea in her life. She could run to the cottage and get some milk but that would mean leaving them alone together. But perhaps that was the thing to do, leave Manuel alone with her; without herself being present Manuel might be less tense and talk, and if he talked as he could talk he would charm even her. It was a chance and she took it, saying, ‘Oh, I can’t let you drink this without milk. Look, I’ll run to the cottage and get some.’
If she had expected a protest from Rosina none came. What Rosina did say was, ‘Would you? Well, that will be kind of you, Annabella. Although I can take it without milk I prefer it with. Or better still, bring lemon.’ Her thin smile took on a touch of humour as she added, ‘You won’t spill that if you run.’
The underlying meaning of these words did not of course reach Manuel, but Annabella knew that she was being chided for running.
She did not look at Manuel as she hurried out of the caravan but his eyes were on her and remained on the door after she was gone.
Again it was Rosina who broke the silence between them. Looking at his bent head as he continued with his meal, she said, ‘I have never thanked you, Manuel, for taking care of Annabella.’
Slowly he placed his knife and fork on the plate, not at right angles, but close together as Annabella had taught him. Then he looked at this woman, at this cold-faced woman. But no, he could no longer call her cold-faced, the eyes that were looking back at him had a straight glance, but deeply, deeply sad and their expression could only be described as pleading. Yet her back was straight, her hands folded one on top of the other on her lap, her whole deportment refusing to recognise that she was sitting in a caravan and not in the drawing room. As he stared at her he knew that no matter how forbidding she appeared he would give her nothing but the truth. She was no longer his mistress, she had no control over him. He was not afraid of her manner or what she might say. Looking back into her eyes he said quietly, ‘You’re not grateful to me, Ma’am, for my association with Annabella; in your heart you consider it a disgrace, especially that I should have married her. And if it was in your power you would, as Mr Dorcy-Grant said, have the whole thing severed.’
The expression in her eyes had changed slightly. It was as if she had uncovered a stone and found not a slug but some touchable creature. She said softly, ‘You are right, Manuel; I cannot deny what you say.’
There was a short silence again before he answered, ‘You cannot stop her coming with me, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Manuel, yes, I know that. I cannot stop her, but you can.’
They were staring at each other, their eyes wide, unblinking; and then she went on, in a hurried way now, ‘I wanted this opportunity to talk to you. I . . . I didn’t think it would be so easy, I mean Annabella leaving like that. She is determined to come with you, but I feel, and I must say this to you, that her whole reaction is emotional. She is still a very young girl, Manuel . . . ’
‘She’s not a young girl, she’s a woman.’
Her eyelids flickered downwards for a moment before lifting to his again. ‘I hope, Manuel,’ she said, ‘that she is still a young girl.’
Again they were staring at each other, and then he said, ‘In the way, Ma’am, you mean, she’s still a young girl, but in her outlook she’s a woman. There’s no more connection atween her and the young girl that left here than there is atween me and Disraeli, so to speak.’
‘You may think that, Manuel, you may wish to think that, it is natural, but environment, early environment has a telling effect. Annabella is still the child I brought up, the young girl I trained into a young lady. She is still that young lady, and in your heart you know this.’
‘What are you saying to me? What are you getting at?’
‘I am saying to you, Manuel, that without the emotion, without the pity, without the romance of . . . of you coming out of prison, and I am not misplacing my words when I connect romance with prison, because there is something romantic about a woman waiting for a man who has done a term of imprisonment, and in her defence. I am showing you the picture through Annabella’s eyes. She may not recognise it herself but it is a true picture, and if you give it a little thought you will surely come to this way of thinking.’
He had no need to give it thought to come to this way of thinking; deep down in him this had been the substance of his thinking for months past. Yet he would tell himself that she had married him, hadn’t she? Yet again the reasoning answer would come back, but under the romance of adversity, because there was something about an adversity shared that created this feeling that this woman was putting over to him. Oh, oh, he knew it; there was no need for her to press the point home. But that made no difference, Annabella was coming with him. It would be the years ahead that would prove who was right and who was wrong.
‘Will . . . will you do something for me, a great favour?’
‘It all depends what the favour is, Ma’am.’
‘Will you give me a week’s grace?’
‘A week’s grace?’ He screwed up his eyes at her now, uncomprehending.
‘I’m going to ask you to leave her here for a week longer, just one week, and you go away without explanation, just to go away for one week and then if she’s of the same mind . . . ’
‘No, I won’t do it.’ He was on his feet. ‘She knows her own mind now and a week further on is not going to change her.’
‘You have just come out of prison, Manuel, you are free. Her thoughts now will not be about a man incarcerated behind walls, which very fact, as she said, was a torment in itself. When she thinks of you now she’ll think of you as a free man able to go where you wish, no longer fettered in any way . . . ’
‘I am fettered to her for the rest of me life, whether you like it or no.’
‘That may be so, Manuel.’ Her head leaned a little further back on her shoulders and she paused before she said, ‘But do you think that she will remain the same? She i
s only eighteen years old, you are twenty-eight, I understand; you are settled in your mind, you are not going to change, but she is still an impressionable girl, yes, I repeat a girl. But should she be of the same mind at the end of a week after she has had time to ponder on the fact that you are free and can go where you like, then I’ll put no further obstacle in your way, I’ll accept that this’ – she drew in a deep breath – ‘is God’s will.’
He was staring down at her. Then his lips moved from his teeth in what could have been a smile, but the sound he made in his throat had no laughter in it, and he said, ‘If I had the command of big words I could explain all that is in me mind, I could explain that I understand your little plan, but at present my words are limited. All I can say is that it sounds too simple, too childish to succeed.’
‘Well then, if you think so little of it, it shouldn’t be hard for you to do.’
Christ Almighty; it shouldn’t be hard for him to do. His wedding night, to be torn from her for the second time, and after all these months of agony, mind-searing agony. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. Not for this madam or God Almighty. There came a long blank pause in his thinking as he continued to stare at her. Then his thoughts moving on again said, But if he didn’t do it all the rest of his life this woman’s words would plague him, and he would wonder if she had come to him out of pity and a romantic feeling, the latter which dies as every man knows, and was she still, underneath her changed exterior, Miss Annabella Lagrange, the girl playing at living?
She was waiting for his answer, but whatever he would have said was taken from him by Annabella bursting into the caravan, the lemon in one hand, a jug of milk in the other, saying, ‘I thought I’d bring them both.’ She looked from one to the other apprehensively. Manuel’s face was stiff and grey looking, but Rosina looked as she had done when she had left them, composed, calm.
The Glass Virgin Page 42