‘Then it is your arrogance! You turn up in London after all this time and expect me, a married woman, to fall into your arms.’
The anger in his eyes had turned into a blaze of triumph. ‘You wanted to fall into my arms. You did fall into my arms.’
‘Only in the first joy of seeing you, the remembrances of home that the sight of you brought me.’
‘And that is why you permitted me to kiss you? Why you responded to my kiss? Because you were reminded of your happy childhood days?’
‘It ... it was a foolish impulse. It meant nothing.’
‘No, that is a lie,’ he shouted. ‘It was your heart speaking. Admit the truth.’
‘What happened was the weakness of the moment,’ she insisted, ‘And I will not allow it to happen again.’
‘You think we can meet together and merely talk, without expressing our love? That is no more possible than sprouting wings and flying to the moon.’
‘Then we must not meet any more,’ she said, hardening her voice. ‘I don’t want to see you again.’
His eyes burned with reproach. ‘If I held you in my arms, Marianna, how quickly you would change your mind.’
‘No, no! Well, if that be so, then it is all the greater reason why we should not meet again.’
‘I will never agree to that, not now that I know you love me. You accused me of using you as a stepping-stone. Yes, Marianna, I did use you — to make myself as good as you. To make myself worthy of you. Was that so wrong of me? In my love for you, I refused to admit the unbridgeable gulf between us.’
She was choked with tears and could not speak.
‘And then you married that man and went away,’ he said bitterly. ‘I vowed then to prove to you that I could be the equal of Mr William Penfold in wealth and position.’
‘If you love me,’ she said on a sob, ‘then for pity’s sake go away and leave me be.’
He shook his head. ‘I would die for you, Marianna, but I cannot stay away from you. I shall come here again, next Sunday, at the same time.’
‘No, I cannot meet you — it is impossible. Goodbye, Jacinto.’
She turned and walked away from him, heading for the house. He made no attempt to follow her, but called, ‘You must come.’
‘I will not.’
‘I shall be here, waiting for you.’
* * * *
It would soon become gossip in the neighbourhood that young Mrs Penfold was turning into a recluse. During the ten days of her present stay in Hampshire, she had sent excuses by the servants whenever anyone called and she paid no visits herself. Her single appearance in public had been at church; otherwise, she went riding or walking alone, or stayed indoors sketching. She was in a state of turbulent indecision — one moment as certain in her mind that she would meet Jacinto again as the next moment she was resolved upon doing no such thing. It was impossible, unthinkable ... inevitable.
Early on Saturday evening she was sitting with a book in the drawing room, old Cato lying at her feet, when she heard the sound of carriage wheels. She went to the window and discreetly held aside the curtain. To her dismay it was Ralph, descending from the station fly with another man. By the light spilling from the open front door — for a servant had heard their approach — she saw the two men looking up at the house’s frontage, Ralph apparently pointing out its architectural features. Marianna did not recognize his companion. She judged him to be in his early thirties; slightly built, with a thin, aesthetic face, his clothes and bearing having the unmistakable stamp of high breeding. Then the two men ascended the steps to the front door.
Nervously Marianna resumed her seat and re-opened the novel, of which she had hardly read more than a page or two all day. What did this unannounced visit presage? Already her mind was leaping ahead. If the men intended to stay overnight, as surely they must ... if they were still here tomorrow afternoon, how would she dare to keep her assignation with Jacinto?
She could hear their voices, their laughter, but she had to wait several minutes, with growing agitation, before they entered the room. Both men were immaculate in evening dress. These days Ralph’s youthfully handsome face had gained in maturity, assisted by a small waxed moustache. His companion fell short of handsomeness in that the aristocratic features were almost too even, the bone structure too perfectly moulded.
‘So here you are, dearest stepmama,’ said Ralph, with insincere affability. ‘Allow me to introduce my very good friend, the Marquis of Amberly. Monty — Mrs Penfold, the pater’s wife.’
Marianna caught a waft of cologne as he bowed over her hand. ‘I am charmed to meet you, dear lady.’ There was an irony behind his extravagant manners and Marianna wondered what Ralph had told him about her, what coarse jokes they had shared at her expense.
‘I must arrange about dinner for you,’ she said. ‘I myself was merely going to have a tray brought to me in here. Or have you perhaps instructed Jenson already?’
‘What?’ Ralph guffawed. ‘Interfere in my stepmama’s sacred province? You ought to know that I wouldn’t dare to tamper with any of the servants.’
Marianna marvelled at his effrontery in referring to the incident, however obliquely. It had happened shortly after she had assumed control of the domestic arrangements, following Harriet’s departure to India with the newly-married couple. Late one evening at Cadogan Place, when William was away on business overnight, she had gone down to the library in search of a book. Entering quickly, she stumbled upon a scene that in the first startled moment bewildered her, then sickened her. She fled back to her bedroom, whence Ralph pursued her a few minutes later, his face scarlet.
‘Look ... hang it all!’ he stammered. ‘It was just a game, a bit of larking about. It’s not worth you getting in a tizzy over.’
‘I find you and two of the kitchen maids... like that … unclothed and you were touching them … and you dare to suggest that it’s nothing? You disgust me!’
‘I suppose a woman like you can’t be expected to understand.’
‘No, I don’t understand,’ she said with cold fury, ‘and I don’t wish to. Let me tell you this, Ralph, if ever such a thing occurs again in this house, I shall immediately inform your father.’
An empty threat? Could she have brought herself to tell William? And even if so, how would her husband react? He would probably find some way of blaming her for the incident. But mercifully the threat to Ralph sufficed, although his dislike of her became from that moment a fierce, burning hatred.
Marianna rose from her chair and rang for a servant. ‘You will want rooms, of course. How long are you intending to stay, Ralph?’
‘My, my! What a frightfully cordial welcome, stepmama. As it happens, Monty and I will be off again directly after breakfast. I just wanted to pop down and show him our country seat. Come on, dear chap, let’s have a look round the ancestral home before dinner — though I warn you, it’ll seem like a cottage after that damn great castle of yours in Yorkshire.’ At the door, Ralph paused and snapped his fingers at Cato. But the old mastiff did not stir, hardly even lifting his head. ‘Confound you, dog, come here!’
‘Why not leave him be?’ said Marianna. ‘He’s old now and he likes to stay by the fire.’
Ralph gave her an ugly look and repeated his command to the dog in a threatening tone. But still Cato did not respond, sinking into sleep again. The Marquis touched his arm. ‘Come along, Ralph, dear fellow. You and I don’t need canine company, what?’
Marianna’s anger at their unwelcome visit was as nothing compared with the singing joy of knowing that the two men would depart in the morning. She could surely endure Ralph and his aristocratic companion for a single evening — it was unlikely to amount to more than an hour spent over dinner and perhaps another hour in the drawing room afterwards. All that mattered was that tomorrow afternoon she could go in safety to meet Jacinto. Secure in that knowledge, she told herself that Ralph had no power to hurt her.
But Marianna was to be proved wrong. Next m
orning, as she went downstairs ready for church, she heard the report of a gun from somewhere near at hand. Glancing out of the staircase window, she saw Ralph and the Marquis emerging through the archway from the stableyard, and Ralph was carrying a shotgun under his arm. Fear stirred in her and she hurried out to meet them.
‘Why were you shooting, Ralph?’
His slow smile was triumphant. ‘I’ve put down that damned dog.’
‘Oh no!’
‘He was old and decrepit and past being any use.’
‘How could you be so cruel?’ Marianna’s voice trembled with anger. ‘Cato was quite happy; he wasn’t suffering.’
‘You may regard yourself as the mistress here, dear step-mama, but I’ll remind you that Cato was my dog. I don’t have to give you any explanations or excuses.’
‘You did it through jealousy, through spite,’ she accused him. ‘Just because the poor creature had turned to me for the affection he failed to get from you.’
Ralph threw back his head and gave a callous laugh. ‘Well, he won’t be turning to anyone for affection now, will he? Come on, Monty.’
The incident set the final seal on their mutual hatred. Marianna’s loathing for Ralph was now quite as intense as his for her. Heartsick, she could not face the morning service; instead, she went straight to her room and did not appear to bid the two men goodbye. And when, later on, she met Jacinto down at the bridge, he could tell at once that something had upset her.
‘What is it, cara?’ he asked with concern. ‘What has happened?’
Marianna had not intended to speak of this personal sadness in the precious time they had together, but the story came tumbling out. Jacinto’s face grew dark as he listened.
‘My poor darling! You have enough to bear without a wanton act of cruelty like this to add to your distress.’
The tenderness in his voice turned a key that unlocked her tongue. Marianna found herself pouring out all her unhappiness and the shameful secrets of her life as William Penfold’s wife. She was filled with a sudden need to tell Jacinto everything, to hold nothing back. With her face averted, she spoke of those first days of her marriage — the shocked discovery of her husband’s nature, which in her innocence she had not at first understood to be abnormal. The humiliating demands he made on his child bride; the reproaches he invariably heaped upon her, afterwards, for his own carnality.
Jacinto held her in his arms and she clung to him.
‘I knew that you were deeply unhappy, my dearest one,’ he said. “But not this! Thank God I have come to England. Thank God I am here now and can take you away.’
Hope soared in her, and died in the same instant. With shame she realized that she had revealed far too much; she had eased her tortured mind only by placing an unfair burden upon Jacinto’s shoulders.
‘I should not have told you these things,’ she said. ‘I cannot think why I did.’
‘You told me, querida, because you love me.’
She looked up and met the steady gaze of his dark eyes. In helpless resignation, she whispered, ‘Yes. Oh yes, I love you, Jacinto;’
It had started to rain, a fine penetrating drizzle that was becoming heavier. If they did not seek shelter they would soon be soaked to the skin. As Marianna led the way to the boat-house fifty yards along the river bank, she was under no illusion. This simple wooden hut would become their love bower. She knew that, and she rejoiced in the fact.
The moment the door was closed, Jacinto took her into his arms once more and they embraced with a passionate intensity, murmuring soft, sweet words. The passing of time had no meaning now; they were locked in an eternity of love and longing. Their couch was a slatted bench on which Jacinto spread his greatcoat, and Marianna accepted him as her lover joyously. She welcomed the thrust of him within her as an enrichment of her soul, instead of the defilement of her body that each and every union with her husband had been.
Afterwards, as they lay still, she had no thought for anything beyond the fulfilment of their love. Until Jacinto shattered the fragile moment by speaking about the future.
‘You must leave your husband at once, querida, and come to me. I cannot offer you the luxury to which you are accustomed, alas, but I will find somewhere clean and decent for us to live.’
‘No, no! There can be no question of that.’
‘You mean that you do not want to come to me?’ The note of hurt reproach in his voice betrayed Jacinto’s lack of self-confidence, his vulnerability.
‘You don’t understand,’ she said quickly. ‘Naturally I want to come to you. Above everything in the world I long to be with you. But it is impossible.’
‘Why is it impossible? You cannot feel bound by marriage vows to such a man as he.’
‘No, it isn’t that. But William would never permit me to leave him. If I were to come to you, Jacinto, he would destroy you. I know my husband. He would destroy you utterly.’
‘Let him try!’
‘Believe me, he would succeed. Don’t forget that the law is always on the side of the husband.’
‘Then we will go back to Madeira. We shall be safe from him there, my darling.’
Marianna shook her head. The golden prospect he held out was a torment. ‘You do not appreciate the extent of William’s influence. He would leave no stone unturned to seek us out. There can be no escape for us.’
Jacinto protested angrily; he threatened that he would confront her husband, challenge him, demand that William release her. But Marianna was adamant, refusing to be persuaded by such wild impracticality. Though she hardly cared what happened to herself, she could not permit the man she loved to be the object of her husband’s vengeance. And at long last, Jacinto was forced to accept the brutal truth of her argument.
‘But one day,’ he vowed, ‘one day I shall be as powerful as William Penfold. Then I shall take you away.’
With a flurry of panic Marianna realized that the early winter dusk had crept upon them unawares. Hilda would be concerned by her long absence, perhaps even now was sending menservants to look for her mistress in case any harm had befallen her.
‘I had no idea it was so late,’ she said, getting quickly to her feet. ‘I must return to the house with all speed.’
Jacinto nodded sombrely and rose too. He picked up his greatcoat from the bench and put it on. In the doorway, he caught Marianna to him in a final passionate embrace; then releasing her, he whispered, ‘Next week, beloved?’
She did not hesitate an instant. ‘Yes. Yes, next week.’
Chapter 12
Marianna sorely missed the soft padding of old Cato’s footsteps following her everywhere around the house. On this Sunday morning, the last day before William was due home from Canada, the last time that she and Jacinto could be together in the boathouse for a brief hour of happiness, she found herself strolling in the corner of the grounds where the old mastiffs body had been buried.
A bent old man was standing beside the mound of brown earth, and Marianna saw that it was Dawson, Hilda’s grandfather. He pulled off his Sunday best cap as she approached,
‘I were just a’thinking, missus, come springtime and I’ll plant a little laurel tree here. To mark the spot, like. I’ve got some nice cuttings coming on.’
‘That’s a happy thought, Dawson. Old Cato used to love lying in the shade of the laurel bush by the end of the terrace, didn’t he?’
‘Young Hilda telled me how upset you was about the dog, missus. A crying shame, it were! But Master Ralph, he ain’t got no time for old uns, eh? Reckon he’ud put me down too if the fancy took his mind.’ When Marianna made no protest at this, Dawson went on, “He were allus the same, even as a small lad. Born with a cruel streak in him, you might say. I come across him once — would you believe it, he’d pricked out the eyes of a little sparrow he’d caught, and he were laughing at the poor creature flitting about all blinded and knocking into things. And another time he’d tied a cat up by its tail and he were poking it with a red hot stick from
the bonfire, and—’
‘Please!’ Marianna protested, sickened, and the old man cocked a rheumy glance at her, afraid he had gone too far in criticizing a member of the family. She managed a faint smile and hurried on her way.
It was a morning of crisp winter sunshine, the air so crystal clear that a clump of beech trees on a distant hill was sharply silhouetted against the soft blue sky. But this past couple of weeks Marianna had made it her habit to go walking or riding at least once every day, regardless of the weather. Otherwise, she feared that if it should prove to be inclement on one of those Sunday afternoons when she was meeting Jacinto, her outing might give rise to unwelcome curiosity.
‘I feel I must have fresh air,’ she had explained to a puzzled Hilda, ‘It does me good to get out of doors each day.’
Last Sunday had been a most anxious time for her, with a thick November fog closing in. She was afraid there would be delays on the railway and that Jacinto would be unable to reach their rendezvous. But to Marianna’s great joy he was there on time, having taken an earlier train from London as a precaution. Once they were safely united in the boathouse, the blanketing fog seemed only to add to their closeness. Their loving had not been overshadowed, as it would be today, by the pain of knowing that their last precious hour together was fleeting away.
This final afternoon, as she lay cradled in Jacinto’s arms, Marianna found she had a need to unburden her conscience.
There is something that I must tell you,’ she whispered. ‘I do not want to tell you, but I must. It’s about Tereza.’
“Tereza from home, you mean?’
‘Yes. She did not steal my locket, Jacinto. She was no thief. I took it to her room and hid it beneath her mattress, to get Tereza into trouble.’
‘But why? I do not understand.’
‘Because of you. I had seen you kissing her in the garden that evening and I was jealous. So I did what I did to get Tereza into trouble. It was a dreadfully cruel thing to do, and now that you know, you must despise me for it.’
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