by Jane Jackson
‘Not won’t, Grace. Can’t. No drawing, no painting. Not ever again. I’m …’ She stopped. She wouldn’t say the word. She wasn’t blind. Not yet. Tilting her chin, seeking to salvage a few shreds of dignity, she said quietly. ‘I am losing my sight.’
‘Oh no.’
‘I want your word of honour you will not tell anyone.’
‘But –’
‘Not anyone, Grace. John Ainsley knows, but no one else. I particularly do not want your father told.’
‘But surely, if he was aware –?’
‘He would change his mind?’ Grace shrank under Dorcas’s bitter smile. ‘No. He has made his choice. Let’s leave it at that. The very last thing I want is pity.’
After Grace had given her promise and gone, Dorcas stood in the doorway, her eyes closed, her face lifted to the afternoon sunshine. The heat on her skin could not reach the chill in her soul. Why go on? What was left?
Shivering she went back inside. As the sun sank lower and the light faded she huddled in the armchair sifting through the wreckage for some shred of comfort. Not only had the shattering news abruptly altered her perception of her future, it forced her to re-evaluate the past, to look again at everything she had believed solid and secure. Everything she had assumed would last until either Henry died or she did. Why had he not come and told her himself?
She looked again at her own attitudes: her independence, her lack of involvement in village life. Had they been her choice? Or had her isolation been dictated by her involvement with Henry and the necessity of protecting his family.
It was too late now for regrets. Her life had not been easy, but whose life was? She had much to be grateful for. She had known one great love. She and Henry had adapted to each other’s needs. She had been blessed with a fine son who was making his mark in his chosen world. Hers had not been a conventional life but it had been a productive one. Though she did not consider herself wicked, perhaps she too had been guilty of selfishness.
She could not tell Henry about her sight. Not now. It would smack too much of emotional blackmail. Thanks to Hal she was financially independent and her home was safe. Painting had given her life meaning, and a purpose beyond her role of mistress and confidante. So now what?
Eventually she lit the lamps, rekindled the fire in the range, boiled the kettle and made herself some tea.
But as days passed and he still didn’t come, her grief and hurt hardened into a protective scab of anger.
Bryce stood slightly aside from the three men studying one of the cold frames. Some were first attempts at growing from seed species never before seen in this country. Others were hybrids so new their characteristics would not be revealed until they flowered. All were unique, sought-after by other enthusiasts, and cause for delight and celebration.
While Richard and head gardener Percy Tresidder responded to Colonel Hawkins’ desire to hear every detail concerning the development of different varieties, Bryce found it impossible to concentrate. As an aching tooth attracted a probing tongue so his thoughts kept returning to the hotel in Falmouth and sickening realization that his naive attempt to placate the child would look anything but innocent when the plates were developed.
The all-too-possible threat of blackmail dried his mouth so that swallowing was painful. Flooding anxiety made the blood roar in his ears and his head swim. What if the family found out?
Richard’s nudge made him start and he realised the colonel was looking at him, brows raised, his short hair and bushy beard gleaming silver-grey in the sunshine. There was no point in pretending. The colonel was no fool.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t catch that.’
The blue eyes were amused. ‘Been burning the candle at both ends, young man?’
‘No, sir.’ Bryce knew his tone and expression were wooden. He had to make more effort if he was to avoid arousing curiosity that would lead to questions he could not possibly answer.
‘It’s an auriculatum hybrid,’ Richard indicated the row of tiny seedlings. ‘These are the first that Percy has managed to propagate from the seed we sent back during our second year.’
The colonel’s eyes crinkled as he beamed. ‘Well done, Percy.’
‘Thank you, sir. We’re hoping for a dwarf habit but with good-sized flowers, white flushing to rose pink, and a sweet fragrance.’
‘When will it flower?’
‘Ah,’ Percy grinned. ‘That’s the best bit. All being well it should be June and July.’
‘So we’ll have species in bloom from January to mid-summer. Capital!’ Colonel Hawkins sighed with pleasure. ‘What of the re-potting programme?’
‘Coming on fine it is. Keeping these two busy anyhow.’ Percy tipped his cap back, scratched his head and re-settled his cap all in a single movement. ‘Colonel, about that letter from Kew? I picked out five specimens. If you got a moment to choose which you want to send, I’ll mark ‘em.’
‘I’ll be with you in just a moment.’ As Percy touched his cap and stumped away, Colonel Hawkins turned to the twins. ‘I have strict instructions from my wife, who is convinced I am working you too hard, to invite you both to stay to dinner. Your acceptance would not only delight my daughters, who also consider me a slave driver, it would afford me an opportunity to express my gratitude for the sterling work you’ve been doing since your return.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Bryce saw Richard’s face flush with pleasure at both the invitation and the unexpected opportunity of spending an evening with Sophie. ‘That’s most kind. I’d be delighted to stay.’
Bryce shook his head. ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. It’s very kind of you, but I –’ As Richard caught his eye he deliberately averted his gaze. ‘I already have an engagement.’
Colonel Hawkins inclined his head. ‘Then you must join us some other time. I wish you a good afternoon, Bryce. Richard, I’ll see you later at the house.’
After he had gone Richard turned to his brother. ‘What engagement? You never mentioned it.’
‘No, well, we’ve both been busy.’
‘Do you have to go? I mean is it important?’
‘Yes, it is. Besides –’ he broke off, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘I’m not very good company. I feel a bit off.’
‘I guessed there was something. You’ve hardly said a word all day. Oh well, your loss. Mrs Hawkins keeps a wonderful table.’ He half-turned then added as an afterthought, ‘Alice will be disappointed.’
Bryce swung round, tension exploding into anger. But he managed to keep his voice low. ‘For God’s sake, Richard, I’m not interested in Alice. I never was and never will be. If you and Sophie really care about Alice, take her out and introduce her to other men. Just keep her away from me.’
‘I’ve already said as much to Sophie,’ Richard replied calmly. ‘I wasn’t teasing, just stating a fact.’
‘Yes, well, there’s nothing I can do about it.’ Bryce’s rage evaporated as fast as it had erupted. Drained, guilt-ridden, he wanted to make amends. ‘Rich, I haven’t got another engagement. It’s just – I couldn’t stand her making sheep’s eyes at me all evening, wanting something I can’t give.’ He shrugged helplessly, wanting to say more, to share the dreadful burden. But how could he? He turned away. ‘I’ll go and carry on with the re-potting. Several of the tender varieties really ought to be –’
Richard caught his arm. ‘If they’ve survived four years they’ll manage a few more minutes.’ His normally cheerful features were taut with concern. ‘Bryce, what’s wrong? It’s obvious something is. Don’t tell me it’s mother’s death. I know it’s more than that. You haven’t been yourself since we came home.’
Seeing his brother’s anxiety, his desire to understand, to help, to comfort, Bryce looked away. He was closer to his twin than anyone – except Tarun. Tell Richard what he was? What he had done? The very thought stabbed like a blade.
‘What’s wrong is too many people interfering in my life. Why won’t you all just leave me alone?’
> Richard gazed at him for a long moment. ‘OK. If that’s what you want.’ Then he turned and started down the path between the cold frames.
Fists clenched, Bryce watched him go clamping his lips tight to stop himself calling his brother back to apologise, confess, and beg for help. The urge was almost irresistible. But he couldn’t, didn’t dare. Because once Richard knew the truth …
He turned away, eyes burning, throat stiff, imagining the changing expressions on his twin’s face. First there would be disbelief. Then shock would be followed by disgust that would finally, inevitably, harden into rejection. He couldn’t bear it. Shuddering, he stumbled blindly along the gravelled path towards the nursery. What was he to do?
Chapter Eighteen
As the train puffed and rocked down the main Truro to Penzance line towards Hayle, Henry Damerel realized he was smiling. Gazing out through the carriage window at the passing scenery: small villages surrounded by a patchwork of farm fields; weathered granite hills shrouded in gorse and bracken, tree-lined valleys, old mine chimneys, and barren red-stained soil strewn with abandoned rusting machinery, he was happy. He relished the sensation. He had forgotten how it felt.
After all the pressures and difficulties of the last few years at last things were starting to look up. Of course there were still a few problems. One in particular was Mary’s lawyer who seemed to be dragging his heels.
He had not intended seeing her before the weekend when she would be joining him and the rest of the family for dinner and they would announce their forthcoming marriage. The refusal of Mr Williams at the Bank to advance any further money had forced him to alter his plans and call on her. Thank God she had been at home. Rising from her chair at the walnut bureau she had come swiftly towards him, hands outstretched in welcome.
‘Henry, this is a delightful surprise! Can you stay to lunch?’
‘I regret not. I have to –’
‘A drink, you have time for that.’ Dismissing the maid who had shown him in she moved towards the sideboard. A polished silver tray held three crystal decanters whose contents were identified by an engraved silver label on a fine chain. Opening one of the doors she took out a crystal tumbler. Pouring a generous measure of whisky she took it to him.
‘There you are.’ Indicating the bureau she pulled a face. ‘I was making another list. I seem to have done little else lately. Henry, there are one or two pieces of furniture I would really like to bring with me. Do you think – ?’
‘Of course.’ He curbed his impatience. ‘Naturally you will want some of your own things around you. You must make whatever changes you wish.’
‘And not bother you with domestic matters,’ she smiled. ‘You are a man after my father’s heart.’ Crossing to a large comfortable sofa upholstered in faded chintz she sat down at one end, folded her hands in her lap, and gazed around her. ‘I’ve been thinking about selling this place.’
Wondering how to raise the subject he had come to discuss Henry was instantly diverted.
‘Of course it’s not as big or imposing as Damerel House,’ Mary said. ‘Very few houses in this area are. Yet it’s an attractive property and doesn’t require an army of staff.’
He nodded, making rapid mental calculations. ‘If you’re sure that’s what you want to do.’ Considering its size, location, and delightful gardens Mary that had designed herself, it would probably realise a handsome sum.
‘It’s what I’d like to do.’ She sighed. ‘Unfortunately, after making enquiries I’ve learned that I can’t.’
Damn. Forcing a smile Henry shrugged. ‘Don’t tell me. It’s entailed to some distant male cousin who has never even seen it?’
‘Not exactly.’ Mary’s cheeks turned pink. ‘It would only go to another branch of the family if I don’t have children.’
This time Henry was able to smile far more naturally. ‘Then I’m afraid the distant cousin is going to be disappointed.’ He watched, astonished and amused, as she dropped her gaze and her face grew pinker. This woman whose shrewd and ironic comments on the activities of their mutual acquaintance enlivened any dinner table, who had always appeared cool, calm, and totally in command of herself, was blushing like a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl.
Pressing one hand to her flushed cheek and darting him a wry look she indicated the sofa beside her. ‘Sit down and tell me why you’ve come. Considering all the things you told me you planned to do this week it must be important.’
Henry sat down, angling himself towards her as he cradled his drink. ‘What could be more important than seeing you?’
A smile flickered across her mouth as she shook her head. ‘Henry, we’ve known each other a long time. I’m aware of your priorities.’ She raised her brows encouragingly. ‘So?’
Admiration evolved into a renewed tug of attraction. Henry lifted his glass in acknowledgement as the corners of his mouth tilted upward. ‘You’re no fool.’
‘Why thank you,’ she murmured dryly.
‘You know what I mean.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve got a cash-flow difficulty. No, difficulty is not the word. Disaster is the only way to describe it. It is always a pleasure to see you. I wish that was my only reason for coming. But the truth is I need to know what’s happening with the financial arrangements.’
Mary’s gaze flicked heavenward. ‘You know what lawyers are.’
‘You did impress upon them the importance of releasing at least some of the funding as quickly as possible?’
‘Indeed I did. Mr Bartlett promised to give the matter his personal attention. Apparently it takes time to liquidate assets and sell shares. He wasn’t at all happy about making the transfer before the wedding. In fact he did his best to persuade me to wait until after the ceremony.’
‘Did he indeed?’ Instantly defensive, Henry felt his hackles rise. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear, but I understood that Bartlett, Mabey and Pearce are paid by you to carry out your instructions. Mr Bartlett’s personal opinions are –’
‘Of no consequence.’ Mary’s calm deflected his aggression and soothed his anger. ‘Nor was he voicing them. His reluctance is for purely professional reasons. Whatever legal arrangements he makes now will be negated the day we marry. As a matter of courtesy Mr Bartlett wished me to be aware that doing everything twice would double the cost.’
‘Ah. I see. Well that’s different.’ Henry hesitated. It was no good. The wedding was still weeks away. To wait until afterwards was out of the question. ‘The thing is –’
‘You need money now. I understand that, Henry. I told Mr Bartlett that while I appreciated his concern my instructions were unchanged. He is to go ahead and complete the transfers as quickly as possible.’
Draining his glass Henry set it down too heavily on a gleaming rosewood side table. He turned to her his voice thick with relief. ‘Mary, you’re a gem. You just wait. I’m going to make Wheal Providence a force to be reckoned with. The lodes are rich and with proper investment I can make Providence the most profitable mine in Cornwall. You’ll see.’ Visions of all the improvements he wanted to make tumbled through his mind. Moved by a sudden surge of gratitude he took one of her hands between his. ‘I know we haven’t seen much of each other lately.’
Mary waved his apology aside. ‘Grace told me that you’ve been travelling the length and breadth of Cornwall. Did you find what you were looking for?’
Her complexion was rosy, her eyes bright with interest. She was past the first flush of youth but then so was he. Seeing his own enthusiasm reflected in her smile he realised he always felt better in her company. Not only was she surprisingly intelligent for a woman, she didn’t waste time on small talk but went straight to the point. Though it had taken a bit of getting used to, he liked it. Nor had she changed since their agreement to marry. He had been afraid she might. Women did. They became obsessed with domestic trivia.
Louise’s world – when she wasn’t confined to her bed – had centred on her children and her garden. She had never shown the slightest inte
rest in the mine, despite it being the foundation of their comfortable lifestyle. It was the mine that had paid for her wardrobes full of expensive clothes, servants to run the house, manage the grounds, tend the gardens, and look after the horses.
If it hadn’t been for Dorcas – At least she had been prepared to listen when he wanted to talk. Sometimes she had seemed more absorbed in her painting than in his problems. Yet on balance it was better that she had an interest. Without it things could have been difficult, especially after Hal went. Women needed something to keep them occupied. She was probably out in the garden right now, sitting at her easel in her favourite spot. God knew when he would find time to get round to see her. She would understand the mine had to come first. Thanks to Mary’s money he had a future. One he could look forward to.
‘Have my trips been successful? They have indeed.’ He caught her hand. ‘I owe it all to you, Mary. You’ve changed my life.’
‘Just as you have changed mine,’ gently she pulled free. ‘I – I have something for you.’ Crossing to the small walnut bureau standing against the papered wall she picked up a drawstring bag of embroidered blue velvet trimmed with cream lace. As she came towards him he saw her fingers were shaking as she loosened the braided silk cords. ‘Hold out your hand.’
Intrigued, he did so and she laid a roll of paper money on his palm.
He stared at it for a moment, speechless as he realised the thick roll was made up of £100 notes. Shock tingled along his nerves. He had to clear his throat before any sound would come out.
‘How? Where – ?’
‘From my account at the bank.’ She moved her shoulders. ‘It seemed more sensible to put it to good use than have it simply sit there. Obviously it won’t be enough to buy all the machinery you need. But if you can put down a deposit …’
‘The compressor, I’ll get the compressor. And a new pump.’ Seizing her shoulders Henry kissed her startled mouth with such enthusiasm that their teeth clashed. ‘Mary you really are – God, this is just –’ Releasing her, he brandished the money like a talisman. ‘Look, I hate to – but if I go now I can probably catch the two o’clock train. I can be down at Harvey’s by four.’