She held out for two days more but on the third when they would soon be expected, she wrote the note that must destroy all her promises, and directed that a man make the journey, taking it to Greatoaks by hand.
‘Lyneth and me feel much better this morning,’ said Christine the next day.
PART II
CHAPTER 12
MISS TETTERMAN HAD WORN, in a suitable modesty, her quiet greys and sepia browns. Lady Hilbourne made no change in her dress: richer materials, certainly, but that was all, and very stiffly and grimly as the years went by did she move through her days. No embargo was placed any longer upon the children’s meetings with others of their age: comings and goings were frequent between the Manor and Plas Dar up on the hill across the stream; Lawrence Jones and their cousin Arthur, who spent most of his holidays there, were their constant companions. With Sir Thomas and Lady Jones, she was on terms of cool civility, she exchanged calls with such neighbours as must one day provide backgrounds for the girls’ entry into society.
Beyond this, she had no friend or acquaintance in the world. To pained reproaches from Greatoaks Park at the time of the cancelled visit, she had replied that promises had been broken not by her own wish or will; but that since she appeared yet again to have lost favour in her ladyship’s eyes, she would give up the unequal struggle, and that should be the end. She locked away in a drawer the loving gifts of the sad old man, the ‘regard’ ring, the small box with its enamelled forget-me-nots: with a face like iron, tore across and across the long-hoarded letters and threw them away. These fingers are not mine, she thought, as she wrenched at the folded pages: other hands direct my hands. I need make no apology. I am not in my own power.
‘I foresee that a day will come,’ Hil had said to her, ‘when you will betray us—when you will destroy us all.’ Little knowing what she did, she now clung, with all her terrified heart, to what seemed the only redeeming feature in the breakdown of all her true personality, which she seemed powerless to prevent—her selfless devotion, her love for the two little girls.
That fatal love.
Meanwhile, however, a sort of alliance grew up between herself and Madame, arising from this subject of company for growing-up little girls. ‘Ce pauvre Edouard, c’était une idée fixe, que les petites seront élevées en solitude. Mais, enfin, ce n’est pas naturelle, il faut avoir des amis, comment faire de bonnes manages quand le jour est arrivé…?’
And what more exquisite relief to that urban heart, than to embark upon the dressing and grooming and polishing of so enchanting a pair of dolls? So a conspiracy was entered into, as to party frocks for little girls, for growing-up little girls, for young ladies ‘arrived’; as to music teachers to be introduced, and dancing masters, art masters, all the rest—the lessons of Greatoaks had not been lost upon one now committed to the launching of pretty young husband-hunters into such world of fashion as existed in the great houses in the beautiful country on the borders of beautiful Wales. Orders went to the estate office for new carriages, for horseflesh capable of longer journeys; Ebony and Ivory must give way to larger ponies, supplanted at last by a pair of thoroughbreds suitable for elegant young ladies to go riding with their compeers. Tante Louise actually undertook a journey to Paris in search of the just-right dresses and bonnets and boots and little kid gloves. A lady’s maid replaced simple Bethan, equipped to accompany her mistresses, once ‘out’, on over-night visits for parties and balls; fine uniforms were designed for Owain, promoted to head coachman now, and a footman, to place carriage rugs and open doors, to deal with bonnet boxes without turning them upside-down; both groomed by sharp lessons from her ladyship in conducting themselves correctly on the box of the carriage, or in servants’ halls other than their own…
And so at last a day came…
‘Oh, Tetty, I know I told Tante that I wanted the white lace dress to be mine—but now, tonight, I would rather have the one with the flounces. Christine, you have the frilly lace one and I’ll let you have the rose-wreath with the pink ribbons that was supposed to be worn with the other…’
‘But it belongs with it, Lyn. It would be all wrong to separate them. And we did agree that I should have the lace dress.’
‘Oh, darling, but I love it, I adore it—just for this once, just on our coming-out night, let me have my own way!’
‘It’s my party too,’ said Christine.
‘Oh, Tetty, do ask her!’
‘You must make up your own mind, Christine.’
‘Tante Louise—?’
‘Well, but Lyneth…Mais, encore—for that matter, Christine, les—comment on dit?—les frills on you would be so pretty, ma chérie. And then, yes, with the frills will go so very nice the little wreath avec des roses, Lyneth is so kind to give you this. And the small little one with the flowers made of feathers, that will suit Lyn, it go with the dress quite all right. Come, Christine, it is nice to make the little sacrifice, non? And always you are so kind…’
So spineless, thought their stepmother. Why can’t the foolish child stand up for herself? But when Christine fought back in the matter of the pink satin slippers to match the rosebuds in the wreath, she came down in judgment on the side of their being worn with the white feather headdress. ‘If Lyneth comes downstairs all in white without a touch of colour, good heavens, they’ll think she’s a ghost—’ She corrected herself quickly, ‘—a bride. And that reminds me, darlings—not more than two dances with Lawrence, Christine! And not more than two for you, Lyneth, with your cousin Arthur! It is not comme il faut.’
‘I don’t want more than two with Arthur,’ said Lyneth, pettishly. ‘I’d much rather dance with Lawrence.’
‘Well, well, my pets, Lawrence and Arthur aren’t the only two young men in the world. There’ll be queues lining up to fill in the programmes of the Belles of Aberdar.’ She glanced rather anxiously, nevertheless, from one sweet, lovely face to the other. For one of the Belles of Aberdar, she knew all too well, there was only one young man in the world: and what Christine wanted today—already Lyneth was beginning to lay claim to.
Dancing, dancing in his arms—in the lacy white dress with the little wreath of pink roses perched on her shining head…‘Oh, Christine, I could dance like this, holding you in my arms, for ever!’
‘Oh, Lawrence…!’
‘Would you get tired of it, Christine, would you grow weary of it—dancing only with me? Dancing through all this evening, only with me?’
‘Not just for this evening, Lawrence. I’ll never be tired of you.’
‘Christine—if I could ask you! But my father… You are only seventeen, my father says that’s too young for any girl to make up her mind.’
‘Your father doesn’t know much about girls,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘I made up my mind when I was six years old.’
‘I think I did too. Well, when I was ten, perhaps. Except that, you and Lyn being so much alike, when one was a little boy it was difficult to know…’
Did he know now? ‘Oh, Tetty,’ she said, subsiding on to one of the little gold ballroom chairs, leaning her cheek for a moment against that stiff, unyielding shoulder which yet was a haven to the two only beings in the world she cared for, ‘do you think he loves me? He says that when he was little, he couldn’t make up his mind between me and Lyneth. But Lyn has Arthur, Arthur loves her and she has so many other admirers.’
‘So have you many admirers, my dearest; quite as many as Lyn.’
‘I don’t want other admirers, I just want Lawrence.’
‘Well then, you must put up a fight, Christine, mustn’t you? A man, your Aunt Louise would say, will always want what is not easily available: he wants the peach that grows highest on the wall. You shouldn’t place yourself where he may just reach out his hand and take you.’
‘But so he may reach out his hand and take me. I can’t play silly girls’-games, not with Lawrence.’ But she glanced across the room to where the handsome dark head bent over the fair head with its coronet of whit
e feathers, and felt her heart lurch in her breast. ‘Tetty—you don’t think Lyn is playing such games with Lawrence? She isn’t playing at being the peach highest on the wall?’
Was Lyneth playing games? Lyneth who had always wanted what Christine wanted, only because Christine wanted it. And what Lyn wanted… But this is going too far, she thought. It means too much to Christine; Lyn can have any man she wants, she must leave Lawrence alone. He didn’t really know his own mind, he was still such a boy; but she must see to it—however much she might wish for her favourite to have her own way—must see to it that for a jealous whim, Christine’s faithful heart was not broken for the rest of her life.
Christine’s hands were clasped around her arm. ‘Tetty—if you could speak to Lyn, if you could tell her, now, tonight, before it’s too late! Not plead with her, that only makes her want things even more: but just tell her, forbid her to tease Lawrence and flirt with him… Lyn can always get her way, with everyone. But if you were just to tell her: she’d obey you—you know she would.’
Yes, she knew. Here was the moment—one word from her now, call Lyneth over and tell her quietly to behave herself… Lyn would obey. What, then, prevented her? What but that force which from somewhere outside her, that chill hand across her heart that over the long years still impelled her to the resistance which must spell disaster. For in the terrible days to come, she knew that even before Christine spoke, the wrong, the cruel decision had been made. Christine saying, blindly pursuing her own inward thoughts, ‘Hil thinks so too; he said quite sharply to Lyneth that she shouldn’t play games and try to take Lawrence away from me—’ And she broke off, frightened. ‘Oh, Tetty, I’m so sorry! I know I shouldn’t mention Hil.’
Her mouth went stiff. ‘Oh, but of course, my dear—if Hil has the matter in hand, let him speak to Lyneth.’ And she detached her arm from the beseeching hands and moved sharply away. And the moment was gone.
Dancing. Dancing with Lyneth. ‘You are as light as a feather, Lyn, in these little pink shoes. I feel as if I could dance with you like this for ever.’
‘I have strict instructions, Master Lawrence, not to dance with you for ever. Not, in fact, more than twice. Besides, my cousin Arthur—’
‘Oh, confound your cousin Arthur—!’
‘With all my heart. But there is also Sir Edwin Groome on my programme, and a splendid young blade called—Lord Something—’
‘He is merely the Honourable James; not a Lord at all!’
‘Well, the no-Lord Something then. How Tetty would exult, would he but make me a no-Peeress! Because even a no-Lord becomes at last a yes-Lord: doesn’t he?’
‘Do you care that he should? But you don’t—you say all this just to make me jealous.’
‘And are you jealous?’
‘No, of course not, you ridiculous girl!’ said Lawrence, stoutly.
‘Oh, Lawrence!’ A tear like a dew-drop twinkling in each lovely blue eye.
‘For goodness sake, Lyn, you don’t care a row of pins whether or not I’m jealous! Your heart is set on far greater heights than ever I could offer you. What price, for example, your future yes-Lord?’
‘It’s her ladyship’s heart that is set on the yes-Lords; and Tante Louise’s. There is no rein,’ said Lyneth laughing, ‘to their ambitions for the Twin Belles of Aberdar.’
He said with a sudden sinking: ‘You mean—Christine—?’
‘Why not Christine? She is full as much a belle as I am. And with much the same—ambitions.’
‘She speaks to me,’ he said slowly, ‘in a rather different key. She has almost let me believe—’
‘Good heavens, Lawrence, do you still not know when Christine and I are teasing you? We’ve been teasing you all our lives.’
‘Including this evening?’
‘Especially this evening—evidently,’ said Lyneth. And, joining her sister, sitting close under Lady Hilbourne’s wing, she said laughing, ‘I do believe Lawrence Jones is growing up at last! Positively, he has been flirting with me. He and our cousin Arthur, I dare say, have been rehearsing pretty speeches to recite to their various partners.’ She looked down complacently at the pink satin shoes peeping out from beneath the white flounces. ‘Imagine his exclaiming that he wished he could dance with me for ever!’
Their step-mother had been right, perhaps, in feeling impatiently that really Christine should put up more of a fight for herself. But the guileless heart confided, aside, to her sister: ‘Did he really say that to you? He said the same to me and I—Lyneth, I believed that he meant it.’
‘I’m ashamed to confess to you,’ said Lyneth, biting on her under-lip, ‘that I thought that he meant it to me, too.’
‘How pale that child has grown,’ said one of her neighbouring dowagers to Lady Hilbourne. ‘They so easily get over-tired, these very young girls, especially with all the excitement of their own first ball. Do you think the time has come for me to gather my party and take them off home, and so start an end to this delightful evening?’
And certainly you have contrived it all very well, she thought, eyeing the stiff figure in the plain dress of heavy grey moiré with its matching shawl of magnificent heavily patterned Lyons silk, the severe coiffure, the absence—despite so much wealth—of any touch of jewellery. I suppose she learned her manners in the days of her governessing, and the Parisian aunt has added a bit of polish all round. Nevertheless, what a poker she is! However, poker or not, it was prudent to keep in with the upstart; the girls would be immensely rich and one had grandsons and cousins, and the grandsons and cousins of friends and indeed the welfare of all the County, to be considered. Heaven send that the boy from Plas Dar across the river, hadn’t captured already the heart of the heiress, as some were suggesting. Though for that matter, there he went with the sister on his arm… Or was it the sister?—yes, the elder twin was the one with pink roses in her hair. Seen together, it was not so difficult to mistake them; the other had a gentle, sweet expression—this one looked a proper little huzzy.
‘Young Mr Jones looks much épris with his pretty partner?’ she suggested, tossing a trifle of Stardust into the eyes of the presumably gratified step-mama.
‘I hope the same may be said for other eligibles also,’ said her ladyship, not batting an eyelid. ‘Lawrence is a close neighbour; of course, they would be good friends.’ To the offer of a move to end the ball, she responded, rising, ‘Your ladyship is most kind but you may trust me to bring matters to a close when I judge the time ripe.’ Stiff as a ramrod in her tight corseting, hooped skirt swaying, she moved calmly away.
‘Put firmly in my place!’ said the dowager to her neighbour, leaning across the vacated chair. ‘You’ve got to respect her!’
‘I daresay our respect will satisfy her,’ said her friend. ‘She is one who does not look for love.’
‘And I daresay never has. Though it’s faded now, in her youth that scar must have repelled all comers. May not that have embittered her? It must have ruined her life.’
‘I know one or two who would be happy to have their lives ruined to the extent of a Hilbourne title and the manor of Aberdar,’ said the other, laughing. ‘And they not penniless daughters of some obscure curate, either, reduced to jumped-up nursery-maid.’
‘Have a care—she may yet be step-mother-in-law to your grandson or mine—or to both,’ said the dowager, laughing too.
But in fact their grandsons were quite safe from any such fate.
They were coming very close, very close. ‘Tetty,’ said Lyneth, ‘do you think the guests are warm enough? The whole house seems cold tonight.’
Echoes of a dream, unremembered and yet closing in with wisps of half-knowledge in the guilty heart. She said irritably: ‘The house is old—it’s a cold house. Fires have been lit and I’ve enquired, everyone seems comfortable.’
‘Tante Louise says so too. But then she never feels the cold. Not this kind of cold. I suppose it’s just our special kind of cold.’
‘Nonsense, Lyn, you
’re tired, that’s all. You’ve been dancing too much.’
‘Oh, yes, and it’s all been so wonderful!’
‘Yet you still must have something to grumble about. Considering all that’s been done for you—’
Christine, pale and fagged-out, trying to find her way back into favour. ‘Oh, no, it’s been perfect, Tetty, you’ve contrived it all so beautifully, you and Tante Louise…’
‘Yes, well as to your aunt, she does what she’s asked and is paid well enough for it.’
‘But she does it so beautifully,’ said Lyneth with a naughty wink at her sister. ‘Without her, we shouldn’t have been half so successful. Everyone is saying it’s the best managed ball of the season.’
‘Perhaps she had better take on the management of the whole house?’
‘Well, she does have the management, doesn’t she?’ said Lyneth, all innocent-eyed.
‘Why do you tease her?’ said Christine, as her ladyship walked away with an angry flounce. ‘She’s tired too, I think, and I’ve been a fool and offended her. And she’s done so much for us.’
‘She’s so jealous of the poor old Walloon!’
‘Only when you praise her. You know you’re her pet, why should you want to upset her?’
‘And talking of pets,’ said Lyneth, ‘there goes Lawrence, the Plas Dar party must be going home. I must rush and say goodnight to him…’
Was it only the strangeness of the cold, that filled the little sister’s heart with dread?
They toiled off up the path next morning, to tell Hil all about it. Nothing was said as to these expeditions; since their childhood declaration that they would accept no curtailment of their relationship with him, it had been tacitly accepted; his name never spoken between themselves and their step-mother.
Hil was middle-aged now—as, for that matter, Tetty was growing middle-aged, thirty-six years old and he moving towards forty: a tall, gaunt man with a haggard face and all the sweet colour gone from his red-gold hair. But they loved him still. What had happened at the time of their father’s death, they had never understood—in recent years had come to suppose vaguely that there had been, perhaps, some understanding between himself and Tetty, which had been destroyed by the death-bed marriage. Why Menna had so precipitately disappeared had also remained a mystery—at the time, overwhelmed by all the events in the house, by their father’s death, the over-throw of Tante Louise at the hands of a suddenly imperious new ladyship, they had scarcely had time to dwell upon the loss of beloved Menna. Nor would anyone speak of her and, in the total re-adjustment of the household at the decree of an ex-governess, overnight promoted to rule over them all, The Walloon bustling about her new business in a resentful savagery of re-organisation, dismissing and hiring without sentiment, crashing like a hippo through all the old comfortable routines—there had been little time for anyone to think of the past, of sweet Menna with her easy, kindly ways.
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