by Jean Plaidy
She smiled.
They are very charming,” she said.
“I have seen them driving with their governess.”
From under his bushy eyebrows he looked shrewdly at her. What did she mean by that? Was she telling him she knew about his relationship with Jennifer? She was clever of course, this girl; clever as Bess had been. And he had never been sure what Bess might be thinking; why right up to the end he had believed she was going to marry him, and all the time she must have had it in her head to run away with that actor fellow.
Women knew a lot about each other though. Harriet had said the girl was coquetting with him, leading him on. He liked to think that. He liked being led on. Cool and virtuous, holding him off, telling him she couldn’t bear him, just to get him hot enough to offer marriage. He had offered marriage; and she was still holding him off. She had been brought up in London Town where they were devilishly sly, and clever too and, by God, he liked them for it! There were plenty of country wenches ready to fall into his lap; but Kitty was apart from that. Kitty was Bess, and Bess had haunted his life. Now here was compensation he couldn’t have Bess so he would have Kitty.
Sitting beside her, it was all he could do to hold himself in check. She had changed now; not the spitfire any more; calm, sad. wistful… womanly, you might say. She appealed now to something sentimental in him, as well as to his senses.
“I’ll get rid of the woman!” he said, just in case she was jealous of Jennifer.
“She was never much good as a governess.”
“Oh! She looks capable enough.”
Disdainful! It is nothing to me if she is your mistress! That was what she meant, confound her! He wanted to slap his thighs with delight. He knew the signs; he was like a small boy looking up at luscious fruit just out of reach, with the knowledge that sooner or later its very ripeness would make it fall right down into his hands.
“Capable__oh, yes. But why bother ourselves with servants on an afternoon like this!”
“Now, Kitty …” His arm slid along the seat, but immediately she stiffened. He let his arm drop. No sense in rushing things; after all, he was not wholly sure that Harriet was right.
“Well, what about this visit of yours to Haredon?”
“You would have to arrange that with my aunt, would you not?”
“Why, of course, Kitty, of course!” His face was screwed up with delight.
Harriet came across the lawn. Her lips were pursed; they were always like that in repose. Peg followed her with the tea tray.
“A lovely day, George!”
“A perfect day,” said George.
Daintily Harriet poured the tea. George took his and pressed his back against the seat. He was amused at himself, sitting here drinking tea with two women. He could have done with a pint of good ale. Still, here he was, doing the polite, and pretending to like it. He looked at the stiff figure of Harriet poor woman! From her his gaze turned to Kitty and his eyes were glazed with desire. But soon the fruit would fall into his hands; so much of the rebellion had gone out of her that it seemed as though the branch was already bending down to him. But he must go cautiously; he would say nothing now about this visit she would pay to Haredon. She was full of whims and fancies; she might refuse yet!
He sought for a topic of conversation.
“Lawyer Grey is in a fine to-do about that nephew of his!”
Kitty sat up straighter, but neither Harriet nor the squire noticed that.
“So I heard,” said Harriet.
“A few years at sea will do the boy good. Roughing it never hurt anyone.”
“I do agree,” said she; ‘but will not Lawyer, Grey try to do something about it?”
The squire laughed.
“What can he do? Fight the press gang? No! Mark my words, the young man’s well out at sea by this time.”
“He’ll come back a man,” said Harriet.
“If he comes back at all,” said the squire.
“There are dangers enough to be met with on the high seas.”
Kitty lay in her bed and stared helplessly up at the ceiling. She was not thinking of Barrel] now; she could think of nothing but the girl whom Aunt Harriet had whipped almost to death.
This could not be… not in addition to everything else! When she had heard them talking so callously down there in the garden, she had said to herself: I will wait for him! I will wait! And she had meant that if there were to be years and years of waiting, still she would wait. But those years had to be lived through, and how could she live through them, penniless, with a baby to care for?
How cruel was life! Darrell had been so anxious that no harm should befall her and it was only because they both believed so fervently that they would ride to London together that he had released his passion; and once he had done that he had been unable to stem it. She was shivering, but when Peg and Dolly peeped in to see how she was, they found her unnaturally flushed.
“Why, bless you, Miss Kitty, you have a fever.” said Peg. She cried in panic: “Do not mention to my aunt that I am not well.”
She got up and bathed her face. It was a good thing that Harriet, who had never been ill in her life, did not believe in illness. Unless it was a leg that was broken or a wound that she could see, she thought it was sham.
Kitty went about her tasks outwardly calm, inwardly in a tumult. She was forgetting her love for Darrell in her fear for herself. A terrible thing had happened to Darrell; but a still more terrible thing had happened to her.
If only her mother were here, she would know what to do. Nothing would ever turn her mother from her. She talked to her mother in her thoughts. You see, Mother, we loved each other so much, and we were going to London to be married. If only he hadn’t gone to Exeter! If only he had stayed here, I should be married to him; we should be with his Uncle Simon in London, and we should be so happy because we should be going to have a child. But now there is no one to help me, Mother. Aunt Harriet is cold and distant, just as you said. She would never have done this thing which I have done; therefore she would think me wicked to have done it. There was a poor little girl from the workhouse, and she almost beat her to death. But what happened to her afterwards … when Aunt Harriet turned her out! That is what I think, Mother; that is what I cannot stop thinking.
And the very thought of her mother’s face, lovely though ageing, and full of lazy kindness, soothed her. She would have understood; but she would have been practical too. She would surely have said: “We must find a husband for you, darling.”
“Mother! Mother!” prayed Kitty.
“Do something for me. Help me! Give me some sign that you know what has happened to me, and tell me what I can do.”
She asked Peg and Dolly about the girl who had loved a groom. They had not known her but they had heard of her.
“Tis a terrible thing to happen to a girl,” said Peg; and she and Dolly were silent for a long time thinking what a terrible thing it was to happen to a girl.
Kitty wanted to shout: “It has happened to me!” Something restrained her; she thought it was her mother, watching over her, restraining her. No one must know__yet… no one at all.
She and her aunt went to Haredon for a few days; the squire had sent the carriage for them.
A lovely house, Haredon; it had been built by a Haredon in the reign of Queen Anne. Harriet sat, lips pursed, as the carriage turned in at the drive. The gracious elms, the grey walls of the house had always filled her with pleasure. She thought of the land round Haredon, and especially the orchards; she thought of the staff of servants and the joy of running the place.
The squire came out to meet them, and from a window Jennifer Jay watched them.
Colour burned in Kitty’s cheeks; her eyes were brilliant. Never, thought Squire Haredon, had she looked as beautiful as she did here in the setting which would soon be hers. She liked the house; perhaps she liked it so much that she was ready to take him, since he went with the house.
You wait! he thought. You wait, my be
auty! And his fingers itched to seize her; and as they walked into the house he put his hand on her shoulder and gripped it hard; she turned her head and smiled at him, with her lips parted and a look of promise in her eyes. His hand slipped to her waist and touched the warmth of her bosom. She did not move away from him, and as they entered the house she was still smiling.
Dolman, the butler, brought drinks into the library. The squire touched her glass with his; she could see the veins standing out on his forehead knotted they were, and blue, as if ready to burst. She felt more comforted than she had since she had lost Darrell, and it seemed to her then that this visit was her mother’s answer to her prayers.
“I want to show Kitty round the place,” said the squire, smiling into his glass.
“I am proud of Haredon, Kitty.”
“And rightly so, George,” said Harriet with no trace in her voice of the wistfulness she felt; ‘it is a place to be proud of.”
“Thank you, Harry. Now, Kitty!” He smacked his lips and licked the wine from them, and his eyes never left her.
“Come now.”
They left Harriet in the library with the squire’s eldest cousin who had come to play hostess, and went over the house alone. It was indeed a beautiful place, so big that Kitty felt it would be easy to lose oneself in it. There were tall windows, ornate ceilings and deep window seats. Now and then Kitty heard the sound of footsteps hastily scurrying away; once a mob-capped serving maid, unable to escape in time, blushed hotly and dropped a deep curtsy; and in his free and easy way the squire made her stand before them, and he introduced Kitty as though she had already agreed to share his home. He seemed younger then, and she liked him better than she had ever liked him before. This was his castle and he was the king; he was a showman watching the effect on her of his treasures.
“Do you like it, Kitty?”
“It is very grand!”
“Big though. Big for one man to live in… all alone.”
She could laugh at that.
“As far as I can see, you are far from alone … here.”
“You pick me up sharp, Kitty!” And he looked as if he liked being picked up sharp.
They were in the galleries, looking at portraits of the Haredon family.
“Do you think I take after them, Kitty?” he wanted to know, thrusting his face close to hers.
“I can see you better, not so close,” she said, and he laughed and drew back. Wasn’t that just the sort of thing Bess would have said! It was like having Bess here again. He thought of gripping the girl’s shoulders and kissing her, and hurting her hurting her for all the years he had been unable to forget Bess.
“Yes,” she went on, ‘there is a resemblance.”
“Ah!” he said.
“That’s how it is with families; you are the spit of your mother, Kitty. There was a time, you know, when I was very fond of your mother.”
“Most people were fond of her!”
That was the trouble, Kitty! That was the trouble.” He narrowed his eyes. He thought, by God, if you try any tricks with me, I’ll well nigh kill you! Bess fooled me I’ll not stand for that treatment twice in a lifetime.
She said: “I want to see the children.”
Jennifer stood up as they entered. She had been by the window, stitching something. He could see how violently her heart was beating under her tight bodice: she must learn to behave; more tantrums and out she would go; she gave herself airs because once he had found her amusing.
“Where are the children?” he asked curtly, and he wanted to give her a slap on the side of her face for her insolence.
She jerked her head towards the playroom, and his eyes looked straight into hers, cold and contemptuous. Kitty went forward. Jennifer almost barred his way; he pushed her aside without looking at her.
The children sat side by side on a window seat. The boy had a book of pictures on his lap, and the little girl was looking over his shoulder. She was a sweet little thing, thought Kitty; not yet three, she had large eyes not unlike the squire’s but hers were blue and lovely and innocent. She smiled up at Kitty through dark lashes, and Kitty stooped and kissed her, feeling a sudden rush of tears to her eyes; for the first time she was not afraid of this thing which had happened to her; she thought only of how wonderful it would be to have a daughter of her own.
The squire looked on, surprised. Real tears in her eyes, and all for little Margaret! He put out a hand and touched the child’s shoulder; he felt suddenly happy. Now, after years of dissatisfaction, everything was going to be right for him. He had lost Bess, but he could laugh at Bess now. She would be getting old if she were here too fat, the bloom all gone. In her place. Bess’s daughter! Bess again, only young, just as Bess would have been had he married her all those years ago. They would have children; he would no longer be troubled by his desire for any attractive woman who came near him: he was convinced that he could find complete satisfaction with ‘this girl, just as he would have found it with her mother. Now he would marry her, and he would grow into that squire he had always wanted to be. They would respect him hereabouts; they would love him. That was what he wanted; he wanted to be loved; to be a father to them all. Had he not often seen to it that deserving people in his domain did not starve so long as they were deserving? He could be relied upon to give a man work and food, even if he did seduce his wife or daughter at the same time. Oh, yes, in the hard times, he had been a good squire! It was just that waywardness in him that he had been unable to control, but here was Kitty to subdue that… just as he had meant Bess to do. He had not been so near complete happiness since the day when Bess had said she would marry him. They left the children and went on with their tour of the house.
The next day he asked Kitty to marry him, and she accepted.
Throughout the great house serving men and maids hurried here and there; there were so many preparations to be made, for the wedding must take place at Haredon. The squire was not a man to stick to conventions and the bride’s home was not a grand enough setting for his wedding. Where would the guests be lodged? Where would the food be prepared? He was determined on a great feast. The neighbours should remember his wedding to the end of their days. It was the greatest day in his life; it should be a red letter one in theirs. He himself planned meals with the cook; he discussed beef and lamb and venison, cakes and pies, and wine and mead and ale. He was in a rare humour those days before his wedding. He felt his servants warm to him; he entered into an easy familiarity with them; already he was becoming their squire, their father and their friend. Only Jennifer did not come within the range of his friendship; he avoided her, and she had the good sense to keep out of his way. The servants said she brooded in her room, planning evil, for there was something of the witch in Jennifer Jay.
She did sit alone in her room, cursing her fate, looking into her mirror at the lines round her eyes and the thickening of her neck. She cursed the squire, cursed herself for her folly, cursed Kitty, and longed for the power to wreck this marriage. It was ironical that her best loved dream had been the marriage of the squire. This was like a nightmare, for he was marrying the wrong bride. As soon as he had seen that girl Kitty he had wanted her; she reminded him of her mother, sentimental fool that he was. Once she, Jennifer, thought of trading on that sentimentality, turning it to her own advantage, but now it had defeated her and here she was, living under his roof, the nursery maid who had been elevated to mistress and then reduced again to nursery maid. And possibly worse to come; because it was very likely that malicious people would whisper to the squire’s bride of the place Jennifer had once occupied, and she, naturally enough, would send the nursery-maid-mistress packing very quickly. That was obvious; obvious to the squire, obvious to Jennifer, obvious to the lowliest serving maid in the place. They were laughing at her now, she knew, and she was fearful for herself and sick with envy of Kitty whose future seemed now so secure.
She need not have felt envious, for Kitty was far from happy. The day before the wed
ding she and Aunt Harriet, with Dolly and Peg, had set out for Haredon, and as Kitty went up the avenue in the carriage the squire had sent for them, as she entered the big house and was greeted by the squire and his elderly cousin, she felt as though she were entering a prison from which she would never escape. The exhilaration she had experienced when she had accepted the squire’s proposal of marriage as a way out of her trouble was giving place to melancholy. For what would happen when he discovered the truth? The squire would never turn his wife out of his house, whatever her misdemeanour; but his wrath would be terrible. She thought continually of her mother. She was superstitious, and she fervently believed that her mother had shown her this way out of her trouble, for the-suggestion that marriage with the squire would help her out of her difficulty had come to her suddenly, just as though it had been whispered into her ear by someone watching over her.
The wedding-day came a hot September day with an early mist that promised more heat. Peg and Dolly dressed her. They squealed with delight over her beauty, and they wiped surreptitious tears from their eyes, for they knew that she did not love the squire; because she was beautiful as a princess and had shown them the first real kindness they had ever known, they wished everything to be perfect for her. And when, just before it was time to go downstairs and leave for the church, Peg threw herself on to the bed and began to sob bitterly, Kitty was very distressed.
She must not do this, she said. It was an evil omen. And why, she asked anxiously, did Peg cry? Peg murmured incoherently that there was something sad about weddings, beautiful though they were. But when Kitty put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and looked into her eyes, she knew that Peg was not crying because of all weddings, but only because of this wedding. And Kitty who had gone out each evening to meet her lover in that knowledge of the fearful things that could happen to women, and though she said nothing she was thinking of the who had loved the groom; and perhaps too she was thinking Kitty who had gone out each evening to meet her lover in wood.
She knows! thought Kitty in panic. How long before others know?