Marianna

by Nancy Buckingham

  He was first to speak, in a slow, affected drawl. ‘Well, pater, this is quite a surprise you’ve sprung on us,’

  ‘Your aunt has explained to you, then? In that case, introductions would be superfluous. Ah, Jenson. So here you are with the tea at last. Come and sit on the sofa here, Marianna dearest, and we will all get to know one another.’

  Miss Fielding presided, the butler stationed at her side ready to hand round the cups. There was an uncomfortable silence, and Marianna sought in her mind for something fitting to say. Remembering that all the young women she had known in Madeira were only too delighted to discuss their romances, she diffidently addressed Eunice on that subject.

  ‘I gather from your aunt, Miss Penfold,, that you are engaged to be married. When is the wedding to take place?’

  Eunice made no response other than to give her a disdainful glare. William laid a reproving hand on Marianna’s shoulder.

  ‘Miss Penfold, indeed! We cannot have such formality within the family.’

  ‘How are Eunice and I required to address our father’s new bride?’ asked Ralph lazily.

  ‘Why, by her given name, to be sure.’

  ‘Would that not be disrespectful of your children? Don’t you think, to mark the great gulf between us, It had better be “stepmama”?’

  ‘Very droll,’ his father observed. ‘I suggest you save such witticisms for your own coterie. They might appreciate them more than we do.’

  Marianna realized, though, that William’s thrust was casually made and signified no particular displeasure. The real exchange in the room was between William and his daughter. It was something palpable, tangible. They seemed to be conducting a secret and bitter conversation without any need for words.

  * * * *

  Seated before the triple mirrors of her toilette table, listlessly tucking in stray tendrils of hair, Marianna froze into stillness as she heard an urgent whisper in the corridor outside, beyond the closed door. It was Harriet, her voice ragged with an edge of hysteria.

  ‘William, I must speak to you. I will speak to you. Now!’

  She heard quick footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing, then a low murmur of voices in William’s dressing room next door. But she could not discern what was being said.

  William had brought her upstairs just a few minutes ago, ushering her with pride into what he called her ‘pretty nest’. It was a graciously-proportioned room and handsomely furnished, but the varied shades of pink were somewhat overwhelmingly predominant in the decorative scheme. The large bed was draped with pink muslin, which was tied back with bows of ruching in a darker hue, and the satin quilt was patterned with moss roses. Pink and white brocade hung at the two French windows, and a similar fabric covered a day-bed positioned before the marble fireplace, filled now with an arrangement of ferns and feathers. Clearly, this had been the first Mrs Penfold’s boudoir. So far Marianna had learned two things only about her predecessor. Her name had been Ruth and she had been an invalid for some time before her death. And thirdly, it seemed, she had been inordinately fond of pink.

  Shortly after William had left Marianna to ‘settle in’, a maidservant had presented herself, a plump, bouncy, freckle-faced country girl who gave her name as Hilda.

  ‘Mrs Thorpe says as how I’m to be your personal maid for the time being, ma’am, until you get a proper one,’ She added diffidently, ‘I hope I’ll suit.’

  Marianna smiled at her. ‘I’m sure you will, Hilda. Mrs Thorpe is the housekeeper?’

  ‘That’s right, ma’am.’

  ‘And how many other staff are there at Highmount?’

  Evidently Hilda had never added them up. ‘I can’t rightly say, ma’am. There must be nine or ten of us. Thereabouts, anyways.’

  ‘That would be the indoor staff?’

  ‘Oh yes, ’course ma’am. There’s them in the stables, too. And the gardeners. My old grandpa who’s more than seventy now, he’s been a gardener here all his life. Since he was ten years old.’

  ‘Fancy that!’ Marianna was tempted, by a few artfully casual questions, to elicit something more about the role played by Harriet Fielding at Highmount. But she decided it would be imprudent to display too much ignorance of the household arrangements. Instead, she instructed Hilda to unpack from her trunks just the gown she had decided to wear for dinner, which would be in need of pressing. Then she dismissed the girl, desirous of being alone for a while.

  The whispering voices in the dressing room next door were obviously angry, rising and falling in tone. Marianna tiptoed to the communicating door and put her ear to a panel, but she could only pick out the occasional word.

  A rustle of breeze through one of the windows gave her a thought. Quickly she crossed the room and stepped out onto the balcony, then crept stealthily along to the next window, which also stood ajar to the afternoon air. Here, as near as she dared go, she had no difficulty in overhearing everything.

  Harriet was saying, her voice tense with emotion, ‘I’ll tell you this, William. I have never ceased offering thanks to God that my poor sister, young and frail as she was, succeeded in bearing you two healthy children before she was taken. Ralph and Eunice have been an infinite comfort to me, especially dear Eunice. And, heaven knows, I have needed something to give meaning to my existence these past few years.’

  ‘You’ve not done too badly for yourself, Harriet, living a life of ease with nothing stinted, looked up to and respected.’

  ‘Respected! As the spinster sister without means, given a home out of charity.’

  ‘My God, woman, what more could you expect?’ he demanded irritably. ‘I couldn’t have married you, however much you might have wanted it. The law doesn’t permit a man to wed his dead wife’s sister.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, William. The fact of the matter is that you should never have married Ruth in the first place. She was no more than a silly, infatuated child, scarcely out of the-schoolroom. Why father ever permitted it, I shall never understand. She was in no way ready for what it entails to be a man’s wife.’

  ‘And you were? That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it, my dear? I should have chosen you and not Ruth.’

  ‘Is it not the truth?’ she asked bitterly. ‘And there was a time, after poor Ruth died, when you turned to me again. Oh, I was perfectly well aware that it could never lead to marriage, but I thought — if he needs me, then it is reward enough. Yes, William, I was ready to risk my reputation for your sake – but you spurned me. Worse! You came to my bed once, twice, then never again! And not one word of explanation, of apology, of regret. Now, after all these years, you bring a new wife here — another child. It is an insult to Ruth’s memory, William, an insult to your children. And above all, an insult to me.’

  ‘Quite a little speech!’ he said unpleasantly. ‘But damn it all, a man has a perfect right to marry a second time. As for her tender years ... would you have preferred it if I’d chosen a woman nearer your own age? How would that have suited you, my dear Harriet?’

  There was a small silence. Then she burst out, a sob in her voice, ‘You can afford to be cruel to me, because whether I think well or ill of you, it evidently doesn’t matter to you in the least. But what about your daughter? You love that child, I have seen you shower your devotion upon her. Yet now you contemptuously produce as Eunice’s stepmother — yes, her stepmother — a girl even younger than herself. You will make her despise you, she will turn from you in disgust.’

  ‘Eunice had turned from me already,’ he interrupted thickly. ‘Her silly head is filled with that idiotic young man of hers.’

  Marianna heard, distinctly, the sharp hiss of Harriet’s indrawn breath. ‘So I have touched a raw spot! You could not bear to lose your daughter to another man. And so, out of spite, out of sheer malice —’

  ‘Be quiet, woman!’ ordered William in a rage. He took rein on himself, but there was an underlying threat in his voice as he continued, ‘I’d advise you to watch that acid tongue of you
rs, Harriet, Many a woman would envy you the position you enjoy in my household, so do not abuse it! This subject is at an end, do you understand? And now get out — before the wretched servants begin to speculate about what keeps you so long in my dressing room, with my new bride waiting for me in her boudoir next door.’

  Harriet muttered something in an undertone, almost as if she dared not speak it aloud. Then William said forcefully, ‘Marianna is my wife and she will be treated as such, by you and everyone else. Those are my orders.’

  Harriet must have left the room, for Marianna heard the door slam shut. With sudden alarm she realized how exposed was her position, should William step to the window. Turning to make a hasty withdrawal she found that her legs were trembling so much they would scarcely support her. One hand against the wall, she stumbled back to her own window and gained the safety of her room just in time. Hidden behind the filmy voile drapery, she watched her husband emerge on to the balcony and stand at the balustrade, gazing across the lawns and pleasure gardens to the farmland beyond. After a moment he took out his leather cigar case and selected a cheroot. Then he seemed to change his mind and put it away again. Turning round, he looked thoughtfully at Marianna’s window while she shrank back out of sight. With a brisk decisive movement he recrossed the balcony and disappeared into his dressing room. A moment later she heard his knock on the communicating door.

  ‘Yes ... ?’ she faltered, quickly stepping further from the window.

  All trace of William’s anger had gone, except for a slight flush which gave his face a florid appearance.

  ‘Have you missed me, my sweetheart?’

  ‘Er ... yes, William, of course I’ve missed you.’ There had been no time for her to consider what attitude to adopt, how much to reveal of what she had overheard. For surely he must be aware that she had heard the clash of raised voices, at least? But in the instant of facing him, Marianna knew that she would say nothing whatever, not now. And probably never would. She had already experienced a brief flash of her husband’s anger directed against herself, and she dreaded provoking it again. Forcing herself, she eased her lips into a welcoming smile.

  ‘I was half expecting to find that my angel had taken the chance of a little nap,’ he remarked benignly. ‘You must be fatigued after so much travelling.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, William, I couldn’t rest.’

  ‘You are too excited, I presume, with everything so new.’ He came and took her hand, pressing it tenderly to his lips. ‘While it is so lovely outside, darling one, let us take this chance to explore the grounds. Go and fetch your hat. Or no ... it is a pity to cover your beautiful golden hair on such a warm evening. I expect we shall find a sunshade downstairs that will do instead.’

  Which they did, in a tall porcelain container in a corner of the entrance hall.

  ‘A blue one to match your pretty frock, my little love,’ William said, patting her fondly on the cheek. A footman appeared from a doorway and bowed respectfully, but Marianna caught the man’s smirk of amusement as he turned away. Did all the servants, like him, find their master’s marriage to someone so young a source of mirth? But even if they did, it was of small account beside the abhorrence and fury of William’s family.

  Passing out through a rear door, they strolled a wide gravel path beside a herbaceous border that was colourful with dahlias and michaelmas daisies. A bent old man was hoeing among the plants, and for the sake of something to say Marianna inquired of her husband if that would be Hilda’s grandfather. When William looked blank, she explained, ‘Hilda, my maid.’

  ‘Oh, I see! Quite possibly, for aught I know. The servants’ hall is a hive of relatives.’

  They turned through an arched gateway into a walled orchard, with peaches, plums and apricots neatly trained on wires. William led her to an old apple tree, laden with red-flushed fruit, where a swing seat was suspended from a bough.

  ‘Here is something you will enjoy, my sweet- that is, if the ropes are not rotted. Eunice used to be vastly fond of this swing. She would beg me not to stop pushing her until her poor papa’s arms were aching intolerably.’ He gave the two ropes a few sharp tugs and pronounced them safe. ‘Amply strong enough, my angel, to bear your featherweight burden.’ Shaking out a large silk handkerchief, he spread it on the seat for her. ‘There now, come and try. I shall push you.’

  Marianna hoped that she would like the experience and not feel giddy. In fact she found the sensation of floating through space quite exhilarating.

  ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ she laughed, diverted for the moment from her sombre thoughts. ‘I never had a swing, William.’

  ‘If my little sweetheart likes it, I shall have a brand new one made for her,’ he promised. ‘Ah, what a charming picture you make, sitting there so demurely under your pretty sunshade. You should wear your hair down, my lovely, all streaming out in the breeze and garlanded with flowers.’

  Marianna glanced at him uncertainly. ‘But it would scarcely be fitting to have a swing made for me.’

  ‘Whyever not, precious?’

  ‘Swings are for children.’

  ‘And my Marianna is so grown-up and solemn and serious, I suppose?’

  William assisted her out of the seat, his fingers almost girdling her small waist. He stood looking at her for a moment, bending to touch his lips to her hair, and Marianna could feel his entire body trembling. Then he stepped back with a breathless little laugh.

  ‘Now I have another surprise, beloved. Come with me.’

  They left the orchard, skirted a shrubbery of massed rhododendrons and descended a curving flight of weather-worn steps to a small belvedere. There were a couple of carved stone seats here, and between them stood a telescope upon a raised dais. William removed its leather cover and lowered the stand, then bent and peered through the lens, making adjustments.

  ‘There, that should be about right for you, my pet.’ He drew Marianna forward to look, putting his arm about her slender shoulders. ‘Now then, you have to turn this brass knob until the focus is right, and you swivel the telescope like this to point it in the direction you want. Can you see the sea glinting in the sunshine? That is near Southampton, where we docked this morning. And those hills in the distance are on the Isle of Wight. The Queen’s favourite residence is on the Isle of Wight — Osborne House. I daresay Her Majesty is there at this very moment.’

  In awe, Marianna gazed at the outline of distant hills, which the telescope brought so vividly near. She could almost imagine that if she were to call out, the Queen would surely hear her.

  ‘Which way is Madeira, William?’ she asked, after a moment.

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t see Madeira from here, little one, even looking through the most magnifying telescope in the whole world. It’s fifteen hundred miles away.’

  His words brought a chill to Marianna, accentuating her home-sickness, her sense of isolation from everything she knew and loved. But she rebuked herself sternly. Trying to match her husband’s own brand of playful humour, she said, ‘I just thought that if I knew the right direction I could give a wave to papa and ... and all the other people there, and ... and pretend that they could see me.’

  He chuckled. ‘Yes, well then, Madeira is in much the same direction you are looking at present. So give everyone a wave, my treasure. But come now, there is still a lot more that I want to show you.’

  They took a downward path that led them through a small piece of woodland to the river. Quite unlike the rushing, rocky streams of Madeira which often dried up completely in the summer, this was a wide stretch of limpid water flowing so gently that as Marianna leaned against the rail of a little rustic bridge, she could watch individual twigs and leaves drifting slowly nearer and disappearing beneath her feet. When she had the opportunity she would come here with her sketch book. The river with the little boathouse on its bank would make a charming subject for her pencil, like so much else she had seen today at Highmount. How very fortunate she was that, having left M
adeira, she had come to live in another such lovely place.

  William said abruptly, in the way he had of taking her by surprise, ‘On Monday I have to go to London.’

  Marianna turned quickly to look at him, uncertain as to his meaning.

  ‘Are you saying ... without me?’

  He frowned. ‘You cannot expect me to spend my entire time with you, child. I have business matters to attend to.’ Then, seeing her dismayed expression, he added teasingly, ‘Where do you think the money would come from to buy my little Marianna lots of pretty things, if I did not go off and earn it? I shall only be away for a day or two, though.’

  Marianna was desolate at the thought of being left alone with her husband’s son and daughter, and Harriet Fielding—at their mercy, so it seemed to her.

  ‘Could you not take me with you, William?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not this time.’

  Even more than her desire not to be left alone at Highmount, Marianna was surprised at her keen disappointment that she was not to see the metropolis.

  ‘Please William, I wouldn’t be any trouble to you, truly I wouldn’t. I am so longing to see London.’

  ‘I said no,’ he repeated and the look of stern displeasure on his face held her silent, resigned to her husband’s ruling. But then his expression softened and he smiled. ‘Another time, dearest one. Quite soon, I promise, I will take my little sweetheart to London and show her all the wonderful sights.’

  They dined, the five of them, at a long table beneath a chandelier that blazed with the light of twenty candles. Marianna scarcely noticed what she ate beyond the fact that it was lavish fare. Throughout the meal the conversation was stiff and artificial. William was falsely jovial, Harriet barely polite, while Eunice sulked and Ralph grew increasingly tipsy. To mark his wife’s first evening at Highmount, William announced that he and his son would forgo their port and withdraw with the ladies.