Ryder turned away, apparently absorbed by the size of the giant hollyhocks which framed the pretty porch of the cottage.
‘That is all in the past, Miss Woodville,’ he said at last.
‘What is in the past? I don’t understand.’
He took his eyes from the blooms and turned towards her. ‘I’m no longer to be married to Miss Brough.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Eliza put a hand to her mouth as though she had been caught out in a lie. Her eyes, which had looked troubled, suddenly seemed to sparkle.
‘Don’t be sorry, Miss. It’s better not to marry than to marry a person you don’t love.’
‘You didn’t love her?’ Eliza gasped.
‘Nor she me, Miss, though it was she who broke off the engagement. I don’t profess to be a gentleman, Miss Woodville, in the way, for instance, that your brother is, but I would never humiliate a lady I had asked to marry me. I hope you understand that. It was her choice – she was in love with another man – but I am glad she chose it. Now do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ Eliza said, and as their eyes met in mutual recognition he thought for a moment that she was going to run to him and embrace him.
Instead she leaned towards him and there was an urgency in her whispered communication:
‘They want to send me abroad at once. I thought you would never know what had happened to me if I didn’t come now. The only time I could get away was at night. My brother and sister-in-law are in Holland making arrangements for my stay.’
‘And your mother?’
Eliza laughed. ‘My mother would never think that even I would dare venture out at night, but she watches me like a hawk during the day. Ryder, may I come in for a few minutes? I’m getting cold.’ Eliza rubbed her arms and gave a realistic shiver. ‘And please –’ she looked at him appealingly ‘– call me Eliza. I feel we know each other well enough for that.’
With a show of reluctance he did not feel, Ryder opened the door and crossed the room to light the oil lamp, which flared into life, making the shadows dance upon the walls. Then he bent down and put a flame to the kindling wood that lay under the logs in the grate.
Eliza knelt in front of the fire. She was still shivering, but she knew it was from fear as much as the cold. Ryder gazed at her in some concern.
‘You don’t seem well to me, Miss Woodville – Eliza. That shivering isn’t natural.’
‘I’m afraid, Ryder.’ She continued to rub her arms and he knelt beside her.
‘What of, Eliza?’
He put his arm around her to warm her and pressed his lips against her cheek.
She snuggled close to him, feeling very peaceful, as though, finally, she belonged.
6
The Heerings were Dutch burghers of repute who lived in a prosperous merchant’s house overlooking the Prinsen Gracht, one of the many canals bisecting the city of Amsterdam. From here Willem Heering went daily to the warehouses where his spices were stored. They were imported in bulk from China, India and the East Indies. From Amsterdam they were shipped to the rest of Europe and the Americas, and to the vast London warehouse – overlooking the Thames by London Bridge – whose intriguing and tantalising odours permeated the maze of tiny streets.
The Heerings had made their fortune in the spice trade as long ago as the seventeenth century; but they were not greedy, avaricious people, just prosperous, God-fearing men of business to whom home and family were also important.
Of Willem Heerings four sons, one was a lawyer, but the others all worked in the business with their father. In the present century the family had extended their interests into banking and other forms of imports such as silk, tobacco and rice, also from the East. They had even acquired a small fleet of ships.
The Heerings had ties of business and friendship with the Martyns that went back many years. Both families were solid citizens; they understood one another and had much in common.
The Woodvilles, however, were a completely different matter. Willem Heering didn’t understand Guy Woodville at all, and even less had he understood his father, Matthew, who had let his family fortune dwindle away to nothing while he sought cures for real or imagined illnesses in all the spas in Europe.
No, Willem Heering had little time for such as the Woodvilles, and would much have preferred his daughter to have married one of the honest, hard-working Martyns, had a male member of the family of the right age been available. He adored his only daughter, and would have sacrificed his soul to see her happy. Instead he did the next worst thing: he sacrificed his judgement, and when he saw she had fallen in love with a handsome feckless man, he allowed himself to be swayed by Guy’s old and distinguished name, two large houses and a thousand workable acres, and did not discourage her.
In the months since the wedding Guy, in the opinion of his father-an-law, had not improved one iota. He was seldom seen in the offices in Threadneedle Street or in the warehouse in Lower Thames Street, and yet he spent money at a prodigious rate. Willem wondered if he drank, or gambled. So far the problem was not serious enough to take up with his daughter. He had no wish as yet to disillusion her about her new husband, with whom she was still clearly enamoured.
There was also the matter of the heir. Willem hoped an heir, with at least half of him full of good Dutch bourgeois blood, would prove a more capable man of business than his father or grandfather.
As for Guy Woodville, he enjoyed very little about his visit to Amsterdam. He considered his in-laws pedestrian and dull, bourgeois to the core, lacking any interest whatsoever.
His wife’s charms palled compared to those of the delectable Lally. Margaret, worthy daughter of a worthy family, had neither the beauty, the innocent wit nor the passion of his little dancer. He knew that Margaret was good, diligent, frugal and rich. She also loved him and did everything she could to please him – though why he scarcely knew, for he was aware that since Lally had come into his life he was cantankerous, ungrateful, like a bear with a sore head.
‘I know you are longing to get back, dearest,’ Margaret said one morning as the two lay together in bed.
Puzzled, Guy looked at her hard, wondering whether she were teasing him; but her face bore a pleasant, even a serene expression. In fact he looked at her twice before once again setting his mouth in a grimace.
‘You will be anxious to return to your business,’ Margaret continued as if in explanation.
‘Well, I don’t like to abuse your parents’ hospitality,’ Guy said, stifling a yawn. ‘And, frankly, my dear, I do find Amsterdam a dull place. Why, it’s hard to find a place to get a decent game of cards, or see a show. I ...’
‘Guy,’ Margaret said with uncharacteristic timidity, putting a hand on his arm. When he looked at her again, her expression was so strange, so diffident and yet, at the same time, appealing, that he was at a loss to understand it.
She repeated his name, and this time her voice faltered.
‘What is it, dear?’ Guy shifted uncomfortably to the far side of the bed.
‘I have something to tell you. I hope you will be pleased.’
From the expression on her face it could only be one thing. His Herculean efforts in this direction were not unrewarded. His face relaxed into a smile.
‘I came to Holland also because I wished to consult my own physician. It was he who delivered me. It is my earnest hope that you will allow him to deliver our child, dearest Guy – the child that I am happy to tell you I am now expecting.’
For once champagne, instead of good Dutch beer, flowed in the frugal Heering household. Guy was toasted, fêted, as if his wife’s pregnancy were a condition he had accomplished solely by himself.
He felt that he could now insist on returning to England, pleading pressing business. Margaret would have liked to stay longer with her parents, but Guy was anxious to be off. Besides, he said, he wished his wife to travel before the autumnal storms set in. It was also arranged that, when the time came, her accoucheur would c
ome to her. It would never do for the heir to the Woodville name to be born a Dutchman.
On their last evening in Amsterdam, after a good dinner, the ladies repaired to the drawing room to entertain one another with chatter, a little singing or sewing. Margaret, in particular, wished to be with her mother; for didn’t a woman need her mother at a time like this?
Willem took Guy into his smoking room, where he offered him a cigar from the Dutch East Indies, imported by his firm, and some fine old Napoleon brandy. He stood in front of the fire while his son-in-law sat in a chair, his legs elegantly crossed, a cigar in one hand, a balloon of brandy in the other. He had a smug, rather self-satisfied smile on his face and he felt a contented man: rich, about to be a father by his lawful wife, with a lovely frolicsome mistress to whom to return.
‘Cheers, Father-in-law,’ he said, holding up his glass. ‘May it be a boy.’
‘Boy or girl, as God wishes,’ Willem said piously. ‘But yes, Guy, I’ll own that a boy first time will be very nice for you, and your family. The succession would be secure. I hope, however, that you will go on to have several children of both sexes. My sons have given me pleasure; but my daughter has given me joy. There is a fine distinction, as you are perhaps aware.’
‘I understand you, sir.’ Guy’s tone was respectful. ‘Both Margaret and I desire a large family.’ He took a sip from his glass then held it aloft again. ‘May I say, Mynheer Heering, how grateful I am that you have entrusted me with the well-being of your daughter? I cherish her, and I always shall.’
‘I’m very glad to hear that,’ Willem said, but there was a note of caution in his voice, and he put down his cigar and glass carefully on a table before resuming his position in front of the fire, hands clasped behind his back. ‘I am sorry, however, to introduce a discordant note into this otherwise happy occasion.’
‘Oh?’ Guy felt a flicker of apprehension as he carefully placed his glass beside his father-an-law’s. ‘And what is that?’
‘It is the rate at which you are getting through Margaret’s dowry, our hard-earned money. That is worrying us all. We are a wealthy family, thanks be to God, but our money is not limitless. There is no bottomless pit. I have taken care of all the bills for the repair and refurbishment of your two houses to a high standard of excellence. That alone cost a small fortune. I would very much like to know, sir, on what you are spending such an enormous additional sum of money.’ His tone was polite; the expression on his face courteous, even kindly, and a little mystified.
Willem Heering was a man of about sixty who carried his years well. He was not tall, but he seemed to gain inches from his erect, self-confident stance. He was prosperous, successful, someone to be reckoned with. Guy, though well aware of his father-in-law’s authority, his wealth and power, was not overawed by it. After all, was he not now a man of wealth and power too, a state enhanced now as the father of this Dutch burgher’s grandchild?
He appeared now to consider Willem’s question at his leisure. Finally he said: ‘There are many small matters of business for which I am in need of substantial funds, sir. These I am not at liberty at the moment to divulge, nor would I wish to. In England a woman’s money belongs to her husband. It is the law, and I am not accountable to you, or anyone, as to the manner in which I spend it. You can be sure it is in good hands, safely invested in property and the like.’
‘I wish I could,’ Willem said, gazing sternly at his son-in-law. ‘Unfortunately I am not so convinced. As I understand it from your uncle, you are seldom seen in our London offices, or our warehouse. In fact you have not been seen for weeks; nor have you been known to undertake any business on behalf of the firm. Therefore I must tell you that I find your explanation unsatisfactory.’
‘I still don’t propose to answer you,’ Guy said loftily. ‘In fact I consider it a gross impertinence on your part to question my integrity. As to where I go, or what I do with my time, is that not my own affair?’ Slowly he rose to his feet, his tall, athletic body by now towering over his father-an-law.
‘Now, I think we should join the ladies, and tomorrow we take our leave. I should inform you, sir, that Margaret is in my care; she is my responsibility and so is her money. She is carrying my child. If you attempt to interfere in our lives I shall reluctantly consider taking steps to curtail your visits. I shall feel it my duty. So take heed sir.’ He pointed a finger at Willem, whose face was plum-coloured as the veins bulged in his neck.
‘And you take heed, sir, and you take care,’ Willem thundered. ‘The money is not limitless. If you continue on your profligate way and get through my daughter’s dowry, there will be no more. As for her rights, there is a move in England to redress these wrongs. You may find yourself in not such a fortunate position in a few years’ time, but accountable to her and to me for money that is no longer there. I have given my daughter’s happiness to your care, Sir Guy. I am answerable to my Maker for it.’
The journey back to England was a difficult one. The autumn winds had turned the Channel into a boiling sea, and Margaret spent the crossing confined to her bunk. Guy was a good sailor and he paced the deck restlessly, enjoying the buffeting of the winds that cleared the cloud of uncertainty and confusion that seemed to envelop his mind.
Conscious of Margaret ill in the cabin below, he almost wished that she would miscarry, lose the baby they both wanted so much. Maybe then he could make a fresh start with Lally, beloved Lally. He would divorce Margaret and make his mistress his wife. In time people would forget her origins.
But they would be penniless. He would be thrown out of the business. Willem Heering might even hound him through the courts to try and recover some of his funds, in his chagrin that they had not produced happiness. Guy sensed that his father-in-law could be a vindictive even vengeful man.
The wind roared, the boat rolled. Guy put his hands to his head: nonsense, it was all nonsense. The wind was making him deranged. He staggered below to make sure that his wife of six months was all right.
Eventually the dreadful journey came to an end and the boat limped into Bournemouth Bay. As soon as the calm waters of Poole Harbour were in sight Margaret recovered, chided herself for her display of weakness in front of her husband, and did her best to put on a cheerful front.
But Guy was all consideration, concerned and even tender, anxious that she had not harmed herself, or her precious burden. She thought he looked unwell himself; he was pale and careworn. But he was quick to reassure her.
‘I am a very good sailor, my dear. It was concern for you that made me anxious. Never mind, here we are.’ He pointed towards the quay. ‘There, my uncle’s carriage awaits us, if I am not mistaken, to take us home, to rest and safety.’
Prosper Martyn did indeed stand on the jetty, his coat fastened to the neck against the cold wind, his hat clasped in his hand. He looked grim, and his face only briefly broke into a smile as he bent to kiss his niece-by-marriage after she was carefully escorted down the gangplank by her husband. His expression worried Guy, who didn’t doubt that his father-in-law’s information about his neglect of his duties as a director of the business came from Prosper, but he made no comment. In any event, Willem had promised to say nothing to his daughter, as long as Guy mended his ways and the mysterious outflow of money ceased.
Margaret was still very pale, but Prosper’s suggestion that they should delay their return for a day or two and stay in Poole was rejected. Guy was anxious to deposit his wife in the care of his mother and make haste to London and the arms of his Lally.
‘As you wish,’ Prosper said. ‘However, I will accompany you back to Pelham’s Oak and make sure you are comfortably installed,’ he looked anxiously at Margaret, ‘especially in view of Margaret’s condition.’
‘There is no need, I assure you, Uncle,’ Guy said testily. ‘Nevertheless, I intend to do it,’ Prosper said. ‘I have a reason which you will understand by and by.’ He refused to say more.
The party stopped at the Martyn house, a large doubl
e-fronted structure overlooking the harbour, for refreshment. Margaret changed her clothes and had a short rest, after which she pronounced herself recovered. The colour had indeed returned to her cheeks, and with a fresh change of clothes she looked perfectly restored. Guy, on the other hand, continued to look troubled and careworn. Margaret put it down to anxiety on her behalf, and her love for her spouse grew deeper than ever. All the way to Wenham she clung to his arm, but he was unresponsive, gazing moodily at the passing countryside, lost in thought.
Prosper too said very little, but stared grimly out of the window on the other side. Clearly he had something on his mind. Guy of course thought it was his extravagance and wondered how much his uncle had told his mother.
Margaret, pleased to be feeling herself again, remained cheerful. She kept up a constant stream of chatter about their stay in Amsterdam until at last the welcome sight of Pelham’s Oak appeared on the hill before them.
Prosper, however, began to appear more agitated than ever and sat at the edge of his seat, straining forward.
‘What is it, Mr Martyn?’ Margaret said, after gazing curiously at him for some time. ‘Have you something serious on your mind?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Mama, I hope?’ asked Guy, suddenly anxious. ‘You haven’t been hiding anything from us, have you, Uncle Prosper?’
For answer Prosper opened the door and leapt out of the carriage as soon as it stopped by the front entrance, before the footman who was hurrying down the steps had time to open it for him. Guy jumped out on the other side and carefully handed Margaret down, while the footman went to the rear to get down the luggage.
Feeling more anxious than ever now, Guy looked towards the house, but of his mother and sister there was no sign.
‘How is Lady Woodville?’ Prosper enquired of the footman as he began to heave the trunks to the ground.
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 13