Jenny stared at him, her eyes shining. 'Would you? Oh, Max, could you bear it? They'd be awfully cross.'
'I think I could endure that,' he said solemnly, and Jenny threw her arms round his neck and kissed him, then burst into tears. 'Hey, what's this?' he demanded, holding her away from him. 'Jenny, don't cry.'
'It's from relief,' she reassured him. 'Oh, that sounds dreadfully impolite, and I do like you, Max. Very much. It's just that you're so old – that is, so much older than I am, and I'd rather – that is, well, you see – '
'You'd rather marry someone else, is that it?' She laughed, relieved he understood. 'Then I'll tell your parents we have decided we really wouldn't suit?'
'They'll be furious, they were so counting on us getting married.'
Jenny was a nice kid, but too young for him. She was dutiful. She'd been brought up with the idea of marrying Max and wouldn't dream of resisting her parents. 'They can blame it all on me, and I think my back is strong enough to bear it. Then they'll be so relieved to get you off their hands they'll jump at this Romeo. And if anything goes wrong you can always run away to me.'
*
For a week Jack behaved quite normally, and Rosa was beginning to believe it had all been a bad dream. He barely commented on the new waggon and horse, and seemed to have given up his attempts to break Satan to harness. Rosa was far more preoccupied with her feelings for Max and Adam.
Adam visited almost every day. He always had some scheme, a visit to a Birmingham theatre, or local cinemas, a dinner dance or a meal out. She found it increasingly awkward to maintain her refusal.
She hadn't made excuses when Max invited her out. She missed him dreadfully. Adam wanted to marry her but she didn't want him: Max had no intention of marrying her and she wanted to be with him. This was perverse. Did she love Max? Did she feel safer not having to make up her mind.
Then she had a letter from Celia. Her sister was not the best of correspondents, writing only to tell of anything of overwhelming importance to herself. This was to announce she and Gilbert were married and ask if they could spend Christmas with Rosa and Jack.
'We are rehearsing for a new play which opens in the middle of January, and have a few days off,' she wrote. 'It would be so lovely to be together.'
Winnie was delighted, exclaiming that now Celia would be looked after properly, but regretting they hadn't been invited to the wedding. Rosa immediately wrote back to welcome them. They would arrive on the twenty-third. Rosa had been rather nervous after her impulsive invitation to Max. It would be easier in a large party.
A few days before Celia and Gilbert were expected, Jack announced he had business in London. Before Rosa could question him he left for the station. Wearily she went to find Fred White, their former driver who occasionally helped out, wishing that Jack would have the consideration to give her more warning. Fred, his wife told her when she knocked on his door, was in bed with a bad attack of bronchitis. She was sorry, but he couldn't help, much as they could do with the extra money. Rosa tried one or two other men who had driven for them in the past, but they were all busy. She turned back towards home. The deliveries this week, of goods people wanted for Christmas, and many presents people were sending, had to be made. She must drive the waggon herself.
She changed into the warmest skirt she could find, a long old-fashioned one which had belonged to her mother. It was snowing, bitterly cold, and warmth was more important than fashion. With her riding boots, three woollen jumpers and a thick coat, she found it difficult to move quickly but knew she'd be warm enough. She wrapped an old shawl round her head, and a big muffler round her neck, pulled on leather gauntlets and clambered into the driving seat. Dobbin, the new gelding, was old and staid, and Rosa had driven him back from Henley. She knew where she had to make deliveries, and hoped there would be people there to help lift the heavier items. Reassuring Winnie and Sid, she flicked the long whip and set off.
*
Jack looked at the papers on the hotel bed. He'd done it! There were several gaps but they weren't important. No one could deny his proof for lack of such insignificant information. Carefully he gathered the papers together and rolled them up, then put the roll into his suitcase. He began to rehearse what he'd have to say. The problem was, when would be best to do it? Christmas Day, he decided, when the whole family was there, including Celia and her smooth husband. The fellow had a right to be informed of the imminent changes in the family fortunes. Meanwhile, he would stay in London until Christmas Eve, away from the temptation of revealing his surprise prematurely.
*
The trains were delayed because of the snow, so it was late in the evening when he arrived. Celia and Gilbert were sitting in the parlour with Rosa, and as Jack opened the door he heard Celia give a peal of laughter.
'Rosa, how incredibly awful. You simply drove about the countryside pretending to be a carrier?'
'I'm not pretending,' Rosa began indignantly and then became aware of Jack standing silently in the doorway. 'Jack? Oh, thank goodness you're home, we were so worried about you. Where've you been?'
'It needn't concern you,' Jack said haughtily, and Celia exchanged a startled look with Gilbert. Rosa's account of Jack's odd behaviour hadn't been exaggerated.
'Well, you're home for Christmas,' she said gaily. 'And both Max Higham and Adam are coming for lunch, if they can get here. It's still snowing hard. Isn't that nice? It will help us to forget it's our first Christmas without Father.'
Jack was staring at her in a way which, she later confessed to Gilbert, made her shiver with apprehension.
'Adam Thorn? What right has he to make himself at home here?'
'The right of a friend. And he at least has been here trying to help me while you vanish without a word to anyone,' Rosa said angrily.
Jack seemed about to make an angry retort, and then he shrugged, and without a further word turned and left the room.
Rosa fumed. 'He's becoming impossible. He hasn't had a civil word for Adam for months now.'
'What does he have against the poor man?' Celia demanded.
'He sounds jealous,' Gilbert suggested, puzzled.
Celia gave a sudden spurt of laughter. 'That's it. Rosa, you're a dark horse. Adam always wanted you. Have you finally succumbed to Adam's entreaties?'
Rosa's cheeks flamed. 'Of course I haven't. But if I had it's none of Jack's business.'
Celia chuckled. 'With both Rosa's suitors languishing here tomorrow, and Jack glowering at everyone, we're going to have a wonderful Christmas.'
'Max isn't my suitor,' Rosa insisted. 'I asked him because otherwise he'd have been lonely, so far from his family.'
'Tell Adam that. I wonder if he'll believe it?'
*
Max knew he was being a fool. Every time he saw Rosa he wanted to kiss her again. And yet even now he was no longer engaged to Jenny he still didn't know what he wanted with Rosa. He ought to leave Stratford. He should have spent Christmas in London. There had been other invitations but he hadn't wanted to accept them. Yet now he concluded that a lonely Christmas in an impersonal London hotel would be better than being close to Rosa during the festivities.
He needed gifts. He spent an afternoon in Birmingham's largest stores. Lace handkerchiefs for the women and ties for the men were easy if uninspired, but for Rosa he bought a pair of the softest kid gloves he could find. John Shakespeare had been a glove dealer, and Rosa had told him how the Oxfordshire Woodstock was famous for its gloves, having presented a pair to Queen Elizabeth on one of her progresses. Perhaps they would remind her of their first day out together.
Fearing the roads might be blocked because of the blizzard Max took a train. He arrived early enough to attend morning service at Holy Trinity, and saw Rosa and Celia, with Gilbert but not Jack, in a pew towards the front of the church. Afterwards he joined them as they greeted friends, and they trudged back to Rother Street together through the deep snow, cheerfully avoiding children's snowballs. Adam had just arrived, ridi
ng because, he explained, a horse was less likely to flounder in a snowdrift than a car.
They entered the kitchen and found Winnie, her face red with exertion, returning the goose to the oven. 'You must have a glass of sherry in the parlour,' Rosa insisted, and they swept Winnie in with them. Jack was seated beside the fire and nodded morosely to the guests, but as Gilbert and Celia appeared determined to tell stories about their theatrical experiences, capping each one with more and more laughter, Jack's silence could be ignored even though everyone was aware of it and apprehensive as to the cause.
Winnie had produced a feast. By the time they left the ruins of it in the dining room and returned to the parlour the winter dusk was upon them. Rosa drew the curtains, and explained to Max they often used lamps in the evenings, since they gave a softer glow than the electric lights her father had installed.
'We sit in the firelight and tell ghost stories,' she warned him. 'I hope you don't frighten easily.'
'I'll take a bet we have better ghosts in America than you do,' Max challenged, and that was enough to set them all cudgelling their brains for increasingly spooky tales.
After an hour Jack, who had not taken any part in the fun, stood up abruptly. 'That's enough. I have something to say to you, Rosa and Celia. And to you, Gilbert, since you are now part of the family, in whatever way that was contrived.'
Max glanced at Adam and raised his eyebrows slightly. 'Do you wish us to leave?' he asked Jack quietly. 'If you have family affairs to discuss I'll make my farewells, and thank you for a wonderful time.'
'Don't go,' Rosa said, distressed. 'Jack, do you have to be so rude to our guests?'
'I don't care in the slightest whether your Yankee Lothario stays or not. Nor Adam, for – '
'Take that back.' Max, who had risen to make his farewells, took two strides across the room and loomed over Jack. 'You may insult me, but when you slander Rosa you have me to answer to. I'll ask you to apologise.'
'Out of line, there, old chap,' Gilbert said, and with his actor's grace moved swiftly to seize Jack's hand just as Jack bent down to grab the poker. 'Drop it,' he ordered, and Jack, looking astonished at the strength in Gilbert's slender wrists, was forced to let go.
'I think an apology is called for,' Adam said quietly. 'Then we can all forget the matter.'
Jack glared round. 'That's what you'd like, isn't it?' he sneered at Adam. 'If we forgot inconvenient truths you could go on enjoying the money and land you and your family stole from mine years ago. But no more, Thorn. I've proof you can't deny. Proof you and your father and grandfather have usurped my family's position for a hundred years, and you're not going to get away with it any more!'
'What the devil do you mean?' Adam demanded.
'You pretend you haven't known all your life?' Jack asked, sneering.
'Frankly I think you're talking rubbish, but perhaps if you explain we'll begin to understand.'
'If that's the way you want it,' Jack snapped, and sat down in the fireside chair. Max found a chair at the side of the room, out of the light, and watched as the others, looking puzzled and apprehensive, sat down again. Celia and Gilbert sat together holding hands, and Adam pulled a chair closer to Rosa's. They were all facing Jack.
'Well?' Adam asked quietly.
'I have papers upstairs to prove it, and I'll show them to you later. Did you know that grandfather Greenwood's mother's maiden name was Henshaw?'
'For pity's sake,' Celia exclaimed. 'What has that to do with anything?'
Jack ignored her. 'She was an only child and inherited her father's money, and a small farm which had come to him from his mother. That was Arabella Fordham, our great-great-great grandmother. Arabella had a sister Maria, who married Jonathan Thorn. She is Adam's great-great-great grandmother. That makes us some sort of distant cousins.
'I knew there was some family connection many generations back,' Adam said. 'My grandfather once told me of it.'
'But I don't suppose he told you Arabella was the older sister, and should have inherited her father's property. That's Thornley Grange, which ought by right to belong to us.'
'No, he didn't, and I know nothing about it,' Adam replied. 'There could be any number of reasons, if what you say is true, why the house went to Maria and not Arabella. What sort of proof do you have?'
'I've been looking in the church registers. Arabella was born in 1748, and Maria in 1750. I found a copy of the will their father made and he left Thorn House and most of his property to "my beloved elder daughter and the heirs of her body", and Manor Farm, which was the one the Henshaw family had, to his younger daughter. So Thornley Grange should have come down through our branch of the family, and I want to know why you've stolen it from us!'
Adam was looking bemused. 'There's a whole trunk full of old papers in the attics at home, but I've never been interested in them. If what you say is true, isn't it possible that my family bought the house from Arabella at some time? There are all sorts of possibilities. You can't just pluck a stray fact out of nowhere and from it claim that you own all my property.'
'I knew you'd try to wriggle out of it. I have all the proof I need. I own your house, your estate, the farms you rent out, and the people you employ. I should be living there as lord of the manor, not scraping a miserable pittance in a menial job because we were cheated.'
'Jack, that's no real proof,' Rosa exclaimed.
Jack glared round at them all and then stood up, passing a hand across his eyes. 'It satisfies me, and I intend to put it in the hands of my lawyer. Now I'm going to bed.'
The others were silent until he'd left the room, and then Celia began to laugh. 'This is priceless. Do you think Jack's been imagining himself the local squire? Oh, Rosa, perhaps that was why he tried to have his wicked way with poor Bessie. Droit de seigneur and all that nonsense.'
'It doesn't explain everything he's done,' Rosa said thoughtfully. 'He can't believe it on such flimsy evidence. And how did he start to even think about the possibility?'
'Mother was always telling stories of our glorious ancestors,' Celia recalled. 'One of them was a founder member of the Shakespeare Club over a hundred years ago. She had a little book full of notes about them, and she'd tried to find a link with Shakespeare. She knew a lot about her own family and Father's.'
'Where's the book now?' Max asked.
The sisters shook their heads. 'I've never seen it,' Rosa told him.
'She showed it to me once, but I was only about eight and I wasn't interested,' Celia said.
'Perhaps Jack has it,' Max suggested. 'He said he had papers, but not what sort.'
'He'll have to show us,' Adam declared. 'Employing lawyers is a costly business, and neither Jack nor I can afford to throw money away. I don't for a moment believe he's right, but until I see what so-called proof he has I can't deny it.'
'I'll ask him in the morning,' Rosa promised. 'If he can't show that his Arabella was the elder daughter nothing else can follow. Even if she was he'd have to prove she inherited the house and neither she nor anyone else sold it to Adam's family.'
'I don't envy you trying to convince Jack of that,' Celia said with a shrug. 'He was always a little odd, but in the last few months he's got worse.'
***
Chapter 10
'He's just crazy, Rosa.'
'How can you say that about your own brother?'
Celia shrugged. 'Perhaps, living here, you've become accustomed to odd behaviour, but he's much worse now.' She went on thoughtfully, 'We could have him committed to an asylum – '
'No! How can you even think it?'
'Because it's true. Rosa, don't hide from it! Jack is mad, judging by that idiotic claim on Adam. He's violent, he's unpredictable, and he often can't remember what he's done.'
'He's ill. It's delayed shell-shock.'
Celia laughed scornfully. 'You never can see what's under your nose, can you? Like Adam and Agnes.'
Rosa looked puzzled, then shook her head. 'Jack's ill. He needs help.'<
br />
'Rosa, why not let a doctor decide? Jack's dangerous, his rages are so unpredictable, he might kill someone and then how would you feel?'
'Of course he won't. I'd be betraying him to even consider – no, I won't say it.'
'Rosa, you're not thinking straight. He'd be well looked after by proper people, he'd be safe. And we'd be able to control the business.'
Rosa's lips curled contemptuously. 'Is that what you want? You aren't interested apart from the money it brings you.'
'And you, don't forget. And if you don't snap up Adam soon, you'll have lost him. The courts would give us some sort of power to control the business, and we do own half of it.'
'It's impossible.'
'Ask Adam's advice? He'll say the same. It's what Gilbert advises, and men have a better understanding of business than we poor females.'
'That's utter rubbish. And though as your husband Gilbert might have a right to give his opinion, what has Adam to do with it?'
Celia smiled. 'He wants to marry you, doesn't he?'
'But I haven't said I want to marry him.'
'You may not get the chance for much longer. Haven't you seen how Agnes has stopped hanging round after Jack? She knows he's crazy. She's making a play for Adam, and if you don't watch it she'll have him.'
*
Max studied the drawings of the shortlisted designs for the new Memorial Theatre. He didn't like any of them. There were three American designs, but they were all, in his view, too decorated and fanciful. The English entries were plainer, but only one from an unknown junior partner in a small Hampstead firm had thought much about the needs of actors or audience. He tried not to feel resentful, but if there had been more time he felt sure they could have done better. The basis of his design was a better all-round building. He wondered briefly whether Rosa would act in it. Since Christmas Day many villages had been cut off by snowdrifts so he'd had ample excuse to avoid Stratford until now, when he was visiting a client. He was in turmoil. He wanted to help her, but was cautious, after Jenny, not to raise hopes he had no desire to fulfill. He had not seen his uncles on his recent trip home. One had written that without meeting Jack he could not help. When he met her in Bridge Street Max could say nothing to relieve Rosa's anxiety.
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