by Anne Hampson
An exasperated sigh portrayed Michael’s impatience, but his next words impressed themselves deeply upon her.
‘You love him, and yet you’d condemn him to a life with a woman of Delia’s character?’
‘Condemn?’
‘He’d find her out in no time at all. It’s my bet that once married to him she wouldn’t trouble to keep up that pose—she couldn’t anyway. No one can live a lie for very long. At present he’s safe from Delia, but were you to release him you could be condemning him to a life of misery.’
‘I never thought of it like that.’ She looked up, and suddenly her eyes glinted with the light of determination. ‘I’ll do as you say, Michael. I’ll stay engaged to him for as long as I can—and I might even have an opportunity of letting John know what she’s really like.’
‘Good girl,’ he applauded, giving her a broad smile. ‘Something’ll crop up. She’ll give herself away one of these days, you can take my word for it.’
‘Life will be pretty uncomfortable,’ Kathryn put in. ‘John can be—be very—’ She broke off, unwilling to talk about John in this vein of disloyalty. Michael finished the sentence for her.
‘Difficult, to say the least, eh?’
She nodded unhappily, but her determination remained and was even strengthened as, passing the entrance to the Slades’ house on her way home, she was greeted with a sneer of triumph from Delia who, sitting at the wheel of her car, was waiting to turn out into the lane.
To Kathryn’s surprise John was in when she arrived back at the Hall; his car was in the drive and Kathryn experienced a little sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach as she visualized the coming scene. After putting the car in the garage she entered the house, intending to go up to her room quietly, in order to compose herself and think out clearly the method with which she would handle the situation. She was half way up the stairs when he came from the Library and called to her. She turned, white-faced and trembling, her hand gripping the banister rail as if for support.
‘I’ve been looking for you, Kathryn. Where have you been?’
She cleared her throat nervously.
‘I went to see Michael.’
‘Michael?’ he echoed sharply. ‘You’ve spent the whole day with him?’
Kathryn glanced at the clock; it was a quarter past four.
‘I stayed a long while, yes. We had lunch out and then went back to the shop—’
‘You just took the day off?’ His brows lifted; in her overwrought state Kathryn saw him again as the impersonal employer, arrogant and superior.
‘I felt the need of company, John,’ she returned in a voice scarcely above a whisper. ‘You’d gone out and Emily said you wouldn’t be back all day. She said you had business in Manchester.’ Kathryn sent him a questioning glance which, to her surprise, he avoided.
‘I was back earlier than I expected,’ was all the information she received about that, but he went on to say he wanted to speak to her, and would be in the small sitting-room when she came down. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he said, and went back into the Library.
What did he want to say? He meant to break the engagement, obviously.
Kathryn went upstairs, unlocked her door and entered the room. Perhaps a wash and change would give her confidence. Her eyes wandered round the room, noting the disorder, and then they came to rest on the letter, neatly folded, which lay on the silver tray. John had been looking for her ... Had he tried her door? It was more than likely, she concluded, and heaved a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been able to get in, as he would obviously have read the note. Walking over to the dressing table, she took it up, scanning its contents and picking out bits here and there. ‘—I saw by your face that you believed Delia, and so any denials on my part would be wasted; indeed, some of the things Delia said I could not in all honesty refute ... there have been many misunderstandings, and I know I’m to blame for them ... were our engagement based on something stronger than necessity, perhaps I could explain ... I’m leaving the presents...’ Slowly she folded the letter up and then, slipping it into a little Chinese potpourri jar, she replaced the lid on the jar and began hastily to put the room into some sort of order.
Ten minutes later, wearing her ring; she went downstairs again. Might as well get the whole thing over and done with, she decided, although she did wonder how she would find the courage to defy him, should he tell her to go. Should he tell her? There was not much doubt about that!
It was an exceptionally dull day with low clouds hanging; the oak-beamed room was dark, but the glow from the fire sent a rosy light on to the walls, giving them an added warmth and softness. From a huge bowl of chrysanthemums in the corner a subtle perfume emanated to mingle with the slightly pungent smell of pine logs burning. John stood at one side of the chimneypiece, his arm resting along the mantelshelf. In the dim light his face looked incredibly hard and grim, but in the slight protrusion of his lower lip there lay the suggestion of an inner tenseness that seemed to detract from that first impression of harsh inflexibility. The idea was fleeting and as his eyes flickered over her Kathryn saw only cold contempt and bitter accusation. It would be easier to accept his decision, she thought, her courage threatening to desert her. But she would not leave him free to marry Delia, and so rain his whole life! Her love was too strong to allow her to falter in her resolution. His blue eyes kindled; she felt instinctively that he was about to speak, to tell her to go, that he was finished with her for good. And she knew she must speak first, say what she meant to say before John could begin, otherwise her courage would fail and she would find herself meekly accepting his decision. And owing to her haste her voice sounded cracked and harsh, and her eyes flashed defiance at him.
‘I know what you’re going to say, John, but I’m having my say first. I’m engaged to you and I’ll never give you your freedom! I know that after what you were told last night you must hate and despise me, but you’ve asked me to marry you and I’m not giving you up!’ Ever afterwards she wondered just how she had managed to bring her words out, for she was trembling with fright. Could John see she was trembling? She didn’t want him to know of her fear, because then he might browbeat her into submission to his will. But perhaps he would conclude that her trembling resulted from anger, she thought, watching him hopefully. ‘I’ll never give you up,’ she went on, as if to strengthen the impression of anger and defiance. That should convince him she wasn’t afraid. Nevertheless, she was tempted to add, just for good measure, ‘And there isn’t a thing you can do about it!’
‘You—!’ For a moment he looked more stunned than angry, and Kathryn stared at him with a mixture of bewilderment and surprise. But the expected outburst was merely being delayed; she saw that almost at once, for his eyes suddenly became frozen pools of wrath, and little white patches crept into his jaw. He took an involuntary step towards her and her heart thudded against her ribs. ‘You’d stay here—force me to marry you even though, as you’ve just said, I hate and despise you?’ His voice was vibrant with fury and Kathryn wondered why she made this effort to fight; he must defeat her ... he must! She could not speak and he went on, his eyes raking her contemptuously, ‘You’d hold me to my promise—after what I’ve learned?’
‘I’ll never give you up!’ she retorted, with far more defiance than she felt.
Silence followed her words—the silence of incredulous disbelief. And then his yes bored into her as he said, in a very soft tone,
‘You’re fully aware that I want to end our engagement?’
‘Yes, I’m fully aware of that,’ she replied through whitened lips.
‘And yet you insist on continuing with this farce?’
‘I’m not giving you up,’ she said stubbornly.
‘You really believe you can force me to marry you?’ He laughed harshly and Kathryn winced. ‘You can think again, my girl!’
‘I can’t force you, of course not. But—but if our engagement’s to be broken, then it’ll be you who’ll break it.’
‘You’d have me marry you, knowing as I do that you deliberately trapped me into this engagement? That you took advantage of circumstances to bring about a situation which would so embarrass me that I’d have to offer you marriage?’ His narrowed eyes swept contemptuously over her. ‘It has occurred to you, I suppose, that I can end this engagement—now?’
‘Naturally it has; but there’ll be considerable gossip—’
‘Do you think I care about that?’
‘You cared before,’ she reminded him.
‘I see ... So this is another ace you hold—or think you hold.’ His fury died, but Kathryn saw an expression even more terrifying enter his eyes. ‘Very well, Kathryn, we’ll stay engaged—’ He came close, to stand threateningly over her. ‘Yes, we’ll stay engaged—but you’ll regret it. Believe me, you’ll rue the day you ever kept me to my promise!’ And with that he strode to the door and was gone.
Sinking into a chair, Kathryn put trembling hands to her temples. She felt utterly drained of energy. She had succeeded in preventing his immediate engagement to Delia, but had she really done any lasting good? He would never marry her, Kathryn—and she couldn’t go on being engaged to him indefinitely. People were already expecting the wedding date to be announced and if it were delayed for any length of time there must inevitably be murmurings. And what of her parents? Impatiently ridding herself of that intrusion into her thoughts, she tried to concentrate on what had obviously been a threat on John’s part. She would live to regret this day, he had vowed—and he meant it. What was he intending to do? But he couldn’t inflict any real injury on her, she told herself; he had spoken in anger and bitterness, and as with her, words had been uttered which he probably did not mean.
Gradually her nerves settled, but her thoughts reverted to that night on the moors, when they had lain so close. And now this bitter angry scene, this disunion which must remain with them for ever, the icy contempt and hatred that John now felt for her—all these, after that intimacy, that sense of oneness that had come to them in the threat of a danger which they both knew could so easily have overtaken them. How strange, she thought, that whereas she herself had been profoundly affected by what happened on the moors, it had touched John not at all. He had felt no different about her after the adventure than before. Suddenly Kathryn’s thoughts reverted to Michael, and what he had said about not being convinced that John would end the engagement. Kathryn frowned. Why should she think of that now? But even as she asked herself the question she saw again that hint of tenseness about John as he had stood by the fireplace a short while ago; momentarily it had softened him, dispelling the impression of hardness effected by the grimness of his features and the icy contempt in his eyes. Had John been going to inform her the engagement was at an end? In her eagerness to put in the first word she hadn’t waited to see. Supposing he had been going to ask for an explanation? Kathryn’s whole body began to tremble as she dwelt on this possibility. Why hadn’t she waited? Sudden dejection flooded over her again. What was this wishful thinking? If John had desired an explanation he would have insisted on one despite her swift assertion that she had no intention of giving him up. Besides, his every word had conveyed the impression that he had wanted his freedom.
‘You’re fully aware that I want an end to our engagement?’ he had said, and a moment later he had called it a farce.
No, Michael was very mistaken. John believed Delia and, in consequence, had no further desire to marry Kathryn.
They met again at dinner; John was frigidly silent throughout the meal. Coffee was brought to them in the sitting-room and immediately she had finished it Kathryn said she was going for a walk.
‘You’ll stay here with me.’ The curt order took her by surprise. She had expected him to be relieved at the prospect of being left alone; he could not really want her with him, she knew, so what was his idea?
‘I feel like some fresh air,’ she began, rising from her chair.
‘You’ve had plenty of fresh air today. Sit down.’
Kathryn’s eyes flashed; his intention had not yet dawned upon her and she said defiantly,
‘I’m going out, John, and you can’t stop me.’
‘Can’t I?’ His eyes were points of ice. ‘You’re engaged to me and you’ll obey me. Should I wish to take a walk later, then you’ll come with me—otherwise, we stay here until bedtime.’
His intention did then become perfectly clear.
‘I see.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘Is this what you meant when you said I’d live to regret keeping you to your promise?’
‘This is nothing, my dear Kathryn,’ he returned on a half sneer. ‘Obeying a small order like that’s a mere trifle compared to what you will do.’
Kathryn sat back in her chair, but although she contrived to appear calm, she dwelt fearfully on that threat, trying to visualize what he had in mind. But again she told herself he could do her no real harm. Orders he might give, but if she made no move to defy him he would soon realize it was all ineffective and abandon the idea of revenge.
He read all the evening, while Kathryn just stared into the fire. But eventually she could tolerate it no longer and she rose from her chair.
‘I’m going to bed, John,’ she said firmly. ‘Good night.’
He stood up, stifling a yawn.
‘Yes, I’m tired too.’ With a lightning move he took hold of her and before she could even guess at his intention she felt his mouth close upon hers. Struggling violently, she managed to turn her head away, but her face was instantly seized in a hurtful grip and jerked round again. This time she was helpless, and after admitting the futility of her struggles she desisted and stood there, passively enduring the brutal pressure of his lips. At last he released her; she just stared up at him, her lovely eyes dark with pain and disbelief. And yet hadn’t she concluded a while back that he could actually be cruel?
‘You’re beautiful, I’ll give you that,’ he sneered. ‘And most desirable.’ He flicked his finger across her cheek. ‘You don’t appear to have enjoyed my kisses.’ Kathryn’s mouth moved convulsively, but no words came and John went on, still in the same sneering tones, ‘You’ll have to get used to them, I’m afraid—’ He held her away from him and a hint of mockery entered his eyes. ‘I’m within my rights in taking what I want ... for we are engaged.’
‘I understand, John,’ she whispered and then, in a low but dignified voice, ‘May I go now?’
Black anger touched his brow and Kathryn half expected him to strike her.
‘Don’t speak to me in that tone,’ he warned softly, ‘or I might retaliate in a way which would be even more undesirable than my kisses. Yes, you may go now.’ Roughly he thrust her from him. ‘Good night,’ he said, and added in tones of sardonic humour, ‘Sleep well, Kathryn—and pleasant dreams.’
CHAPTER IX
Just two more week-ends and then the house would be closed until the spring. Kathryn stood by the window in the Fitton bedroom, gazing out across the low hills to the two prominent features of Shutlinslow and the Cloud of Bosley. A spinning mist was coming down and a frown crossed her brow as a flash of memory took her back to that day on the moors, and the change in her life resulting from John’s desire to see a little of the country around him. The change ... Never would she have believed she could endure treatment such as John was meting out to her. And yet her determination never wavered. Were she to give him up now he would instantly become engaged to Delia; Kathryn had never been so sure of anything in her life, because he and Delia were always together. And so she stuck stubbornly to her resolve, though the cost was high, and life at times became so unbearable that, up in her bedroom, she would resort to the relief of tears. Despising herself for this weakness, she would then half decide on some form of retaliation. But to defy John was only inviting trouble, and she had quite enough of that already. For her mother was asking when the wedding was to be; visitors were also inquiring about it. Michael was anxious because he had guessed what was happen
ing, and even Andrea had put forth a tentative question, asking if anything were wrong.
‘Wrong?’ Kathryn had echoed lightly. ‘In what way, Andrea?’
‘Oh, nothing—really. You’re pale these days and—and, Kathryn, forgive me for this, because I’m sure it sounds interfering, but the way John speaks to you at times—and in front of people—’ She broke off and added, ‘I’m terribly sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. After all, it’s nothing to do with me—or anyone else for that matter.’
Or anyone else ... Were people talking? But yes, they must be, for John never missed an opportunity of humiliating her, or giving her orders, in the presence of others. She knew this was a calculated plot designed to weaken her resolve. It had been going on for nearly a fortnight, and even though she did her utmost to avoid him, whenever they did come into contact Kathryn invariably suffered some indignity; but as none of this affected her feelings for her fiancé, her determination remained as strong as even.
She stiffened as she heard him in his bedroom, which was across from the Fitton Room. He knew she was in here, for she had mentioned her intention of changing the covers on the bed, and Kathryn waited for him to come in to her, steeling herself for any insult to which he might feel inclined to subject her.
She had not long to wait, and she turned as he entered, having to bend low to come through the doorway. His glance moved to the new cover, folded neatly on a chair by the bed, and then to Kathryn’s slender figure, outlined against the window.
‘Haven’t you finished in here yet?’ he inquired, not in the attractive drawl, but in a voice curt and clipped, the voice with which she had become so familiar in the beginning when he had been no more to her than the cool impersonal employer.
‘I haven’t started yet.’
‘Then please do so at once. I have work for you to do downstairs.’
‘Work?’ She threw him a questioning glance. ‘It’s almost lunch time, and this is my afternoon off.’