Eliza was by far the youngest person present, and young ladies were not supposed to drink alcoholic beverages. She sipped barley water while her elders drank champagne. The constant movement and the murmur of voices began to get on her nerves, and she wondered how people could exist in such an atmosphere so often, as they had to do in town. She thought of Lady and the valley below Pelham’s Oak, and suddenly unbidden in her mind’s eye there rose the image of the strong, athletic figure of Ryder Yetman standing on the roof with his fair hair shimmering against the deep blue sky. It had been like an apocalyptic vision that kept returning to haunt her.
‘My dear Eliza,’ her aunt’s voice broke into her reverie, ‘I want you to meet Lord Thornwell, who is a friend of both your uncles and also knew your father. Harry, may I present to you my niece, Eliza Woodville?’
‘How do you do, Miss Woodville?’
Lord Thornwell smiled at her and bent his head over her hand. She stared as if mesmerised at the thatch of iron-grey hair on his lordship’s head. When he looked up his calm grey eyes were friendly and he kept her hand in his; but although quite handsome his cheeks were withered and she knew he was old. He was an old man.
‘I’ve heard so much about you, Eliza. May I call you Eliza?’ he enquired pleasantly.
‘Of course, sir.’
‘And I’m Harry.’
Harry – Harry Thornwell. He was tall and distinguished looking, his face immensely kind; but he was as old as her uncle, perhaps even older. As he saw her expression his eyes clouded momentarily. Well, he should have known it would not be an easy task to attract a beautiful, aristocratic young girl.
‘I’m so sorry I missed the wedding of Guy and Margaret,’ he said conversationally. ‘That way we might have met before. But I was in Italy. Did you enjoy the wedding?’
‘Very much,’ Eliza replied woodenly. ‘Did you enjoy Italy?’
‘Very much.’ His tone was enthusiastic. ‘I have a villa near Genoa. Do you know Italy at all?’
‘Not at all. I’ve never been abroad.’
Lord Thornwell kept his voice deliberately casual.
‘I must say your brother looks astonishingly happy,’ he remarked.
‘Doesn’t he?’ Eliza glanced at Guy. She too was puzzled by how happy he was.
‘He is obviously rapturously in love. Lucky man.’
Had he gone too far? Lord Thornwell was about to explain himself when the butler appeared and announced dinner.
‘My dear Harry, would you take in Eliza?’ Gwendoline murmured at his elbow, giving her arm to Guy, while Margaret was partnered by Edgar.
‘Gladly.’ Lord Thornwell offered his arm to Eliza, who put three fingers through it. She felt very nervous, even rather giddy.
The procession seemed to form itself naturally to go into the dining room, led by Edgar and Margaret, who already seemed to have struck up a rapport. As a mature woman Margaret had learned to overcome shyness.
‘Such a pleasant woman, your sister-in-law,’ Lord Thornwell said. ‘I found her most charming.’
‘She is.’
His arm seemed to press intimately against her. He patted her fingers in an avuncular manner. Yet she knew that he knew: this was not a chance encounter. By no means. How could he presume to think she could care for a man of fifty or more, even though he had a seat in the House of Lords and large estates? What did she care about wealth or status? Guy might have had to sell himself to a woman older than him, but she didn’t. Slowly her anger began to mount at the presumption, the indignity that had been forced upon her. She was to be sold, as Guy had been sold, and no one had told her! Was there no end to the rapaciousness of her mother and uncles? Were they all in this conspiracy?
In front of her the dining room glittered with gas lamps on the walls and candles in silver candlesticks on the table. There were black-coated servants everywhere, and a string trio played Schubert in the corner.
It was a grand occasion, and as Lord Thornwell’s wife there would be many of them – any number. She would be stifled by them. She would hate them. She would have to arrange them and invite all these pompous, stuffy people, who would ogle her or fawn upon his lordship’s young bride.
A footman showed them to their places at table. As he drew back her chair, a feeling of panic rose in Eliza’s breast and the faces round the table, all of whom seemed to be smiling at her, swam and once again she felt giddy.
She looked at Lord Thornwell who, still smiling, was pointing to the chair beside him and preparing to sit down.
Eliza looked at the seat, at the face of the footman, which appeared puzzled, at Lord Thornwell, who now showed traces of concern, and then at her aunt who, at the head of the table, was smiling encouragingly at her.
It was a trap, a carefully planned, cunningly laid trap from which she would never, ever be able to withdraw. She must do it now before the painful clamps fastened round her ankles. Suddenly Eliza seized the back of her chair and flung it away from her.
‘No,’ she cried, ‘no, no, no.’
Then, gathering up her skirt, she ran helter-skelter from the room.
4
Maude Brough stood in the centre of the playground while her small charges swirled about her, each little girl holding on to the hand of her partner. Round and round they went, their high voices raised in unison:
‘Ring a ring of roses
A pocket full of posies
A tishoo a tishoo
They all fall DOWN!’
The last syllable was uttered in a shout as they collapsed on the ground, their skirts billowing in the air, and their waving legs, encased in blue woollen stockings and black shoes, looking like the feet of tiny beetles.
Maude had worked for two and a half years as assistant teacher at a small private school for girls run by Mr and Mrs Pope in their large family house in a village near Yeovil. It could accommodate up to fifty young scholars and was set on high ground which afforded a beautiful view of the Somerset countryside, with its deep valleys and wooded hills. As a school it was well equipped, and its extensive grounds enabled its pupils to participate to the full in all kinds of outdoor activities. The Popes were very keen on the benefit to mind and body of rigorous exposure to the open air.
Mr Pope had formerly been a master at Eton College and he was well qualified as a teacher and disciplinarian. He only took pupils up to the age of eleven, after which they transferred to a bigger school with every expectation of doing well, as Heather Hall School imbued most of its girls with the foundations of a good academic education. Mrs Pope, herself a mother of four, supervised the domestic side.
Maude was grateful for the opportunity that had enabled her to rise above her station and become a professional woman, and thus advance several steps up the social ladder. All five children of the miller of Wenham had been ambitious, but Maude, the middle sister of three, was the only one to become a professional teacher.
She was, however, always torn between her aspirations and her love for the town where she was born, especially the sleepy river that rolled past it, and the mill which, it was claimed, ground the best flour in the district, on the bank near the bridge.
It was this maybe, as much as her fear of remaining a spinster, that had made her agree to marry Ryder Yetman. He was a man of the town, his love for it as deep as her own.
Moreover, Ryder, as an older man who had been abroad, was attractive to a woman who had never been further east than Southampton. For a short time she was swept off her feet by Ryder, but that mood of elation did not last long.
In a very short time she had realised that their temperaments were incompatible.
‘Maude dear –’ Mrs Pope appeared at her side, a bell in her hand, ‘– have you forgotten that recreation should have ended five minutes ago? You are dreaming, Maude, dreaming.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Pope,’ Maude said colouring and, taking the bell from the headmaster’s wife, she gave it a vigorous ring. Immediately her little charges obediently formed t
hemselves into a docile line in front of her.
It was not like Maude to daydream. Mrs Pope frowned. Their favourite teacher had become engaged, was due to leave them in the summer. While they regretted the fact, they were happy about the cause; yet that perceptive mother of four was sure that all was not well. Maude had never introduced them to her fiancé, and seldom spoke about him.
She certainly did not act like a woman in love.
‘Maude, we are having a little soiree next Tuesday,’ Mrs Pope said as she accompanied Maude and the line of children back to the school. ‘Would you like to bring Mr Yetman?
‘Oh no thank you, Mrs Pope,’ Maude said quickly.
‘We would love to meet him.’
‘Well, you will ... one day.’ Maude’s voice trailed off lamely.
‘But why would you not like to bring him next week, Maude?’
‘I’m sure he would not be free, Mrs Pope. Besides, he does not really enjoy those entertainments. Not like Mr Westwick ...’ Maude gave a deep sigh.
Mr Westwick was a man of great sensibility, delicacy and education, as unlike Ryder as it was possible to be. He taught mathematics in the school and had been educated at Cambridge. It was, of course, a position far beneath his capabilities, but he had a tendency to chest complaints and had been told not to strain himself.
‘You like Mr Westwick, don’t you, Maude?’ Mrs Pope was a woman who did not mince words.
‘I think everyone likes him, Mrs Pope.’ Maude smiled. ‘It would be hard not to like him.’
‘But I think you like him particularly.’
‘Mrs Pope, I am engaged to be married,’ Maude said primly.
‘Then we must talk about your replacement,’ Mrs Pope murmured, and with a little wave she turned off in another direction.
From the window of his room Samuel Westwick watched Maude Brough deep in conversation with the headmaster’s wife. As they ushered a line of small girls back to the house they looked like two mother hens with a brood of chicks. He was the only male member of the staff to be resident, because he was a friend of the family – a fellow student of one of the Pope boys at Cambridge – and was here as much for his health as anything else, to take advantage of the beneficial effects of the pure Somerset air.
Suddenly Maude looked up and their eyes met. Samuel waved and tapped his finger urgently against the window pane. Maude shook her head and smiled, giving a meaningful glance towards Mrs Pope.
Samuel felt his heart flutter in his breast. His breath came in short gasps and he put his handkerchief to his mouth, inspecting it anxiously for tell-tale signs of blood.
Eliza gazed round at the members of her family who surrounded her. Their expressions registered various degrees of disapproval. Her mother looked the most angry. Margaret seemed to feel sorrow rather than anger, to show a degree of compassion that might be to Eliza’s advantage on another occasion. Guy carefully studied his nails, rarely looking at his sister and yawning from time to time as though to indicate his embarrassment.
It was Guy, nevertheless, who, as head of the household, spoke first. He finally finished examining his nails, gave them a polish on the lapel of his coat and stood up.
‘You know, my dear Eliza, how upset the family are at your outburst the other evening, when only the best was intended.’
‘Only the best!’ Eliza exploded. ‘To marry me off to an old man.’
‘Tusk, dear,’ Henrietta said reprovingly. ‘He is my age exactly. I do not consider myself old.’
‘But still old enough to be my father, Mama.’
‘Nevertheless your behaviour was inexcusable,’ Guy intoned, and, raising his chin and putting his hands behind his back, he fixed his eyes sternly on Eliza. ‘You might have sat through the dinner and been polite. Nothing you did not wish would have been forced on you.’
Yes, it was completely inexcusable, rude.
Eliza, momentarily crushed by her family’s united attitude, hung her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘I don’t know what came over me.
Although the family knew what was behind Eliza’s sudden exit – and probably Lord Thornwell did too – it remained a mystery to most of the other guests, except for the inexplicable cry: ‘No, no, no!’ That had done most damage. The obvious explanation, the one most people accepted, was that Eliza had felt unwell; the unaccustomed heat had made her rush from the room. Lord Thornwell had sent flowers. Although kindness itself, he had the wisdom not to make a personal enquiry. Doubtless he had correctly divined the expression in Eliza’s eyes as she’d looked at him.
‘You know perfectly well what came over you!’ her mother burst out. ‘A sheer wilful display of bad manners. Poor Gwendoline. She prides herself on her successful parties. The shame and humiliation of the evening will take her weeks, if not months, to recover from.’
‘Yes, I’m particularly sorry about Aunt Gwendoline.’
‘It need never have happened, Eliza,’ Guy went on censoriously. ‘For a girl of your breeding, quite unacceptable ... so we have decided ...’
At the last minute his nerve seemed to fail him, and he looked to his wife for support.
‘We thought it might be in your interests, Eliza dear.’ Margaret quickly took up her cue. ‘You must believe us when we tell you we only have your interests at heart.’
Eliza was about to make a rude retort when she changed her mind. She divined that Margaret, after all, meant well. She had no axe to grind, unlike her mother and brother. She wished to get on with her sister-in-law rather than antagonise her. So she stayed silent, though her expression was still rebellious.
‘I have, as you know, family in Holland,’ Margaret continued. ‘Your mother and brother and I have discussed the matter with your Uncle Prosper and my father. We think...’ Margaret’s voice faltered under Eliza’s gaze but, with a quick glance at Guy, she went on: ‘We think that in your own interests, with your welfare at heart, you should spend some time in Holland.’
‘Holland!’ Eliza gasped. ‘But I don’t want to go to Holland.’
‘It is a very good opportunity,’ Henrietta butted in. ‘There is an academy in Amsterdam, a finishing school for young ladies. There is the kind Heering family to stay with ...’
‘A finishing academy!’ Eliza could not contain herself. ‘You think I, who have been free to do what I want, ride my horse over the countryside at will, would want to go to a finishing academy ...’
‘Only for a year.’ Guy tried to sound reasonable.
‘A year!’ By now Eliza was slightly hysterical. ‘Have you all gone mad, taken leave of your senses. A year!’
Then, running her hands wildly through her hair, she turned her back on her family and, as she had done a few days before, stormed from the room, banging the door after her so hard that the large, well-built house appeared to shake.
Guy found he was trembling, whether with anger or nerves he wasn’t sure. It was an ordeal to confront Eliza, whose temper was well known. Margaret had gone very pale, and Henrietta got up and began to pace around the room, her small, trim figure quivering with indignation.
‘This is too much.’ She raised her finger in the air. ‘That rebellious child will have to be disciplined. If she were not younger and capable of overpowering me I would beat her. Guy...’
‘I shan’t beat her,’ Guy said quickly, stepping back with a nervous laugh.
‘You must go and talk to her, put some sense in her head. You and she have always been close. Tell her that if she does not do as we suggest ...’
‘Yes?’ Guy asked as his mother seemed to hesitate.
‘Well, she must do as we suggest,’ Henrietta concluded lamely. ‘She is a minor and she has no choice. Put the truth to her, and do it forcefully, Guy.’
‘Yes, dear,’ Margaret said, giving him an encouraging smile. ‘Do as your mother asks.’
It was true that, despite the difference in their ages, Guy and his sister had always been close. They were both instinctively rebels, though as the man,
and now the head of the family, Guy invariably got his own way. He was six years older than his sister, two other children having died in infancy in between, victims of the same bronchial weakness that had afflicted their father. Maybe it was the fact that Guy and Eliza had survived that had drawn them together.
Now Guy walked slowly along the corridor, his head bent in thought. He stopped and knocked at the door.
‘Eliza,’ he said softly.
He said her name again, this time louder, and then again, but there was no reply. He turned the handle, but the door was locked.
‘Let me in,’ he whispered, his face close to the door. ‘I only want to help.’
He stayed there for a few seconds more and was about to walk away, when the door was flung open without warning and he nearly fell into the room. Eliza stood in front of him, her face stormy and streaked with tears. ‘How could you?’ she cried. ‘How could you let them send me to Holland – to that awful, stuffy, pious family?’
‘My dear sister.’ Guy put out his hands placatingly. ‘Just allow me to come in and talk to you.’
Eliza stood back, and Guy walked into her bedroom, observing the crumpled bed where, doubtless, she had flung herself in a fit of weeping. Momentarily he was overcome by pity for his sister, and as he turned round he opened his arms and she ran into them, leaning her head against his shoulder.
‘Oh, Guy. I wish I were a man.’
‘You’ve always said that, my dear,’ he whispered, stroking her hair back from her brow and looking tenderly into her eyes. ‘Believe me, it isn’t always the advantage it seems. Don’t forget I have had to do something in which I had very little choice. I had either to marry Margaret or face selling this house. Ruin was just round the corner. We would have been destitute had I not done so, Uncle Prosper made that very clear to me. How do you think I feel about that?’
‘I hate Uncle Prosper sometimes.’ Eliza broke away from him and banged her fist into her palm. ‘All he thinks about is ... position ... influence ... money.’
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 8