An Embarrassment of Riches

by Margaret Pemberton

  The answer was so spellbindingly obvious that he couldn’t imagine why he had never thought of it before. He sprang up from the window-ledge. His plan would need Genevre’s full co-operation, but he knew that she would give it. She loved him just as much as he loved her. All he had to do was to have a few minutes private conversation with her in order to tell her of his near imminent departure, and his plans for both of them before he left.

  ‘You’re leaving when?’ Genevre asked incredulously, her face whitening.

  ‘A week today.’ They were standing on the sidewalk outside the house of Genevre’s singing teacher. The Hudson carriage was waiting for her only yards away and Alexander was thanking his lucky stars that William Hudson was not ensconced inside it.

  ‘We have to be able to meet alone before I leave,’ he said rapidly, aware that one or two passers-by had recognized him and were regarding his tête-à-tête with prurient interest. ‘Let me tell you what I want you to do …’

  ‘I can’t believe how easy it’s been,’ Alexander said euphorically, his hands crossed behind his head as he lay on Genevre’s silk-draped bed.

  ‘But we might still be discovered!’ Genevre hissed, wringing her hands in anxiety. ‘If my maid should hear …’

  ‘She’s out enjoying herself, glad of an unexpected few hours of freedom.’

  ‘But Papa …’

  Alexander removed his hands from behind his head and pushed himself up on to one elbow, regarding her sternly. ‘You said yourself your father never disturbs you when you are in your room. Now stop panicking. We don’t have long and I haven’t taken this risk in order for you to stand near the door wringing your hands like a poor man’s Lady Macbeth and I lie here, yards away, on my own.’

  Genevre ceased wringing her hands and clasped them in front of her tightly. She had been as eager as Alexander that they spend time alone together before his departure, but the reality of their sudden privacy, and of Alexander’s frankly declared intentions, had unnerved her.

  Seeing the apprehension in her eyes Alexander swung his legs from the bed and crossed the room towards her.

  ‘Don’t be scared, Ginny,’ he said huskily, taking her lovingly by the hand. ‘I’m not going to do anything to hurt or harm you. I just want to hold you, and love you, and make you truly mine.’

  Her hand tightened in his. ‘That’s what I want too, Alexander. Only …’

  ‘Only nothing,’ he said gently, leading her towards the bed. ‘It’s going to be nearly a year before I see you again, Ginny, and I’m going to miss you so very, very much.’ His lips brushed her hairline, her temples, the corners of her mouth.

  She leaned pliantly against him, not protesting as he lifted her on to the bed. He lay on his side beside her, looking down at her, knowing that somehow he had to control his raging impatience. Ginny wasn’t one of the girls at Josie’s. A display of sexual virtuosity was the last thing she needed from him. What she needed was gentleness and tenderness and loving self-control.

  He ran his fingertips lightly over her cheek-bone, the curve of her chin, the long, lovely line of her throat. ‘Trust me, Ginny,’ he said hoarsely as his hand moved lower, cupping a softly rounded breast.

  ‘Alexander, I …’ Her eyes were dark with apprehension and then, as his thumb brushed her nipple, she gave a long, shuddering sigh. ‘Oh!’ she whispered, ‘oh, I do love you, Alexander. I love you with all my heart and for all eternity!’ and slowly, her eyes never leaving his, she began to undo the buttons of her bodice with trembling fingers.

  Only afterwards, as he made his way along the long corridor towards the back staircase, did he realize the enormity of the risk he had run, and was still running. Genevre had descended the main staircase minutes earlier and was contriving to keep the household staff away from the upper floors and the back staircase on the pretext that she had mislaid a small piece of jewellery and needed to speak to them together in order to ask that they keep a vigilant eye out for it. About her father she had been able to do nothing. William Hudson was in his study and if he should take it into his head to venture into the region of the bedroom corridor or the rear staircase then the consequences would be catastrophic. Not only would he be horse-whipped, both by William and by his own father, but Genevre, too, would suffer terribly.

  The corridor remained clear, the stairs remained empty. With an unsteady sigh of relief he let himself out by the tradesman’s entrance and minutes later was safe and sound amid the hurly-burly of Fifth Avenue.

  It had been worth it. If the risks had been a hundredfold more dangerous it would still have been worth it. From the moment Genevre had begun voluntarily to undo the buttons of her dress all restraint had been abandoned by both of them. It had been true love-making, love-making as he had never ever known it. ‘Poor Charlie,’ he said to himself, thinking of Charlie’s loveless and mercenary fornications at Josie’s. ‘Poor chump.’

  The iron-rimmed wheels of a horse-drawn hansom cab clattered deafeningly past him. Thinking of Charlie reminded him that he hadn’t told him yet about his imminent departure and that as he was approaching the corner of 18th Street, now would be as good a time as any to do so.

  ‘Christ! That’s a bit precipitous, isn’t it?’ Charlie said, sprawling on a sofa and tossing a cigar in Alexander’s direction as Alexander flung himself down in an adjacent armchair.

  ‘My bringing up the subject of enlistment probably sparked it off,’ Alexander said, lighting up and inhaling deeply. ‘That and Genevre.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Charlie said with genuine interest. ‘Genevre. Are you still going to marry her, come what may?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He didn’t elaborate. Much as he liked Charlie he had never talked at length to Charlie about Genevre. She had always been too special. Talking about her to Charlie would have been to put her on a par with the girls at Josie’s, girls the two of them had often spent long hours discussing.

  From the very moment of their meeting at Leonard Jerome’s he had known that he would never discuss Genevre in such a manner. Not with Charlie. Not with anyone. Their relationship was too precious. Too sacred.

  Charlie blew a smoke-ring into the air and tried to conceal his irritation. ‘Do you think she will wait for you?’ he persisted. ‘Ten months is a long time and I’ve heard Ma remarking on the oddness of William Hudson not seeming to care that his daughter is nearly twenty and still unmarried. You can bet your life that the minute you’re out of the way, William Hudson will abandon all hope of your father coming round to the idea of you and Genevre marrying and he’ll be doing his darndest to snare another multi-millionaire son-in-law.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Alexander said non-committally. ‘But he’ll be wasting his time. Genevre won’t marry anyone else. Only me.’

  Speaking her name it was impossible not to remember their love-making. Suddenly he no longer wanted to be with Charlie. He wanted to be alone in order to remember to the full. He stubbed his barely smoked cigar out in a marble ashtray and rose to his feet. ‘I have to go, I’ve a lot to do before I leave.’

  ‘But you’ve only just got here!’ Charlie protested, pushing himself up into a sitting position. ‘I wanted to tell you about the new girl at Josie’s and about …’

  With his own rapturous love-making with Genevre still filling his mind the last thing Alexander wanted to hear about was one of Charlie’s sordid encounters. ‘Sorry, Charlie,’ he said unequivocally. ‘I really have to go.’

  Charlie tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. ‘Bon voyage!’ he said with forced cheerfulness, knowing that he was going to miss Alexander’s companionship far more than Alexander would miss his. ‘Give my love to the girls of Europe.’

  ‘I thought you’d already done that quite adequately yourself,’ Alexander said with a sudden surge of affection and a lapse into their old, bantering camaraderie.

  Charlie tried to look sheepish and failed and they both burst out laughing.

  ‘’Bye, Charlie,’ Alexander said, giving
him a playful blow on his shoulder and a quick, bearlike hug. ‘See you sometime next year.’

  ‘You bet,’ Charlie responded enthusiastically, and this time his cheerfulness was genuine.

  To Alexander’s stunned surprise William Hudson refused to allow Genevre to accompany him to the docks. A pulse throbbed at the corner of his jaw as he stood on deck, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his brown velvet coat. Leaving would have been so much easier if Genevre had been there to wave him goodbye.

  He turned away from the sight of other well-wishers waving from the dock-side to friends and relatives. Genevre. How was he going to survive the long months ahead without her? Why on earth had he agreed to leave?

  As the Persia began to ease its way into the big, bright, breezy bay he gained comfort from thinking about their coming marriage. When he returned the war would be over, the victory Lincoln’s; he would marry Genevre and they would live all year round at Tarna. It was an idyllic prospect. Immensely cheered he looked out over the deck-rail in the direction of Europe, a dark, handsome, lithe young man, optimistically confident of what the future held for him.

  Chapter Five

  Maura knew that she would never forget the horrific carriage drive home as long as she lived. As Lord Clanmar had pitched forwards, clutching at his heart, both she and Isabel had screamed and sprung to their feet in order to help him. At the sudden noise the horses had taken fright and broken into a headlong dash and it had been long minutes before the coachman had brought them under control.

  During those minutes, with the carriage rocking and swaying violently, they had dropped to their knees at either side of Lord Clanmar’s prone figure.

  ‘Grandpapa! Grandpapa! Please don’t be ill!’ Isabel had sobbed hysterically. ‘Please open your eyes! Please speak to us!’ There had been no movement of eyelids, no sound of reassurance.

  As the terrified coachman reined in the horses, Maura shouted at him to whip them into a gallop. He had taken one swift look behind him and had done so with frenzied alacrity.

  For the rest of the nightmare ride Maura had cradled her benefactor’s head in her lap while Isabel had continued to weep.

  ‘He isn’t dead, is he?’ she had gasped between sobs. ‘Perhaps it’s the heat! Should we ask the coachman to turn round and to take Grandpapa to his Dublin doctor? Should we take him to Dr Pearse in Rathdrum? Oh, what should we do, Maura? What should we do?’

  Maura’s one instinct was to get home as quickly as was humanly possible. One part of her brain had registered that Lord Clanmar had been dead even before he had hit the carriage floor, but the rest of her brain would not allow her to believe the monstrosity.

  ‘Tell the coachman to drive past Dr Pearse’s. If he’s at home we can take him with us to Ballacharmish. If he isn’t, word can be left for him that he’s urgently needed!’

  Dr Pearse had not been at home. With the horses nearly dropping with exhaustion they had skirted the Round Tower at Glendalough and raced towards Killaree.

  Maura was barely aware of the cabins and the startled gazes that followed them as they stampeded along the valley floor amid clouds of choking dust. With the horses foaming at the mouth they bore down at last on Ballacharmish’s high white walls.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ Isabel sobbed, clasping her grandfather’s hands tightly in hers. ‘We’re home now, Grandpapa! Everything is going to be all right!’

  Rendlesham had taken one look at Lord Clanmar’s green-pallored face and had immediately spun on his heel, running for help. Seconds later a terrified footman and Ballacharmish’s handyman were helping him to carry Lord Clanmar’s body into the house.

  It was then, as they laid him on the nearest chaise-longue, that Maura finally allowed herself to accept the fact that he was dead. Numbly she arranged for word to be sent to Kieron; for Isabel’s maid to bring her salvolatile; for a fresh carriage to be immediately sent in search of Dr Pearse.

  She waited for its return dry-eyed. She was too stupefied with shock and with grief to be able to cry. For several weeks she had suspected that he was not in the best of health but never once had it occurred to her that there was anything fatally wrong with him And now he was dead and she would never know his loving kindness or his intelligent companionship again.

  In a nearby chair Isabel was crying softly. Kieron had arrived and after feeling for Lord Clanmar’s pulse had been about to cover his face with a handkerchief. Rendlesham, with a meaningful look towards Isabel, had stayed his hand. After what had seemed an eternity Dr Pearse had arrived and it was he who had sombrely covered the dead man’s face.

  Isabel had collapsed utterly. In caring for her Maura found a measure of comfort for her own grief. They still had each other.

  They were not utterly bereft. It was Kieron who sowed the first seeds of alarm in her breast.

  ‘Does Isabel have any idea of the terms of her grandfather’s will?’ he asked her quietly, the morning of the funeral.

  Maura shook her head, her heart too heavy to want to be bothered with such details.

  ‘Then she doesn’t know who he has stipulated should be her future guardian?’

  Maura stared at him. ‘No. Will a guardian have been stipulated?’

  It was Kieron’s turn to stare. ‘Ye gods, child. Don’t tell me it hasn’t occurred to either of you that you can’t continue living here as you’ve been used to! Isabel is barely sixteen – of course she will have to have a guardian.’

  Tiny wings of fear began to beat in her chest. ‘But there isn’t anyone. Her maternal grandmother is far too old and infirm and besides, she would never want to leave her home in Oxfordshire to live at Ballacharmish …’

  As she saw the expression in Kieron’s eyes her voice died away. ‘Oh God!’ she said, her face whitening, realization finally dawning.

  Kieron took her gently by the hand. Their conversation had taken place in the garden and he led her towards a white-painted wrought-iron garden chair, sitting her down in it.

  ‘I don’t believe what you’re implying,’ she said sickly. ‘You can’t mean that Isabel will have to leave Ballacharmish?’

  He nodded, his strong-boned face grave. ‘And not only Isabel,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Have you any idea what provision may have been made for yourself?’

  She shook her head, her eyes holding his, her fear growing so that she could hardly contain it. Seeing the depth of the alarm he had aroused, he said belatedly, ‘Don’t panic, sweetheart. Lord Clanmar knew how attached you and Isabel are to Ballacharmish. I’m sure he will have made suitable provision.’

  ‘And if he hasn’t?’

  He said wryly, ‘Then the future will be an unknown for both of us.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘But surely you’ll remain here as land-agent? Whoever the new Lord Clanmar is, he will need a good land-agent.’

  ‘He may, and he may not.’ He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. ‘For all we know, he may want to appoint a new land-agent – or he may want to sell the house and estate.’

  Maura had made no reply to him. She had been beyond speech.

  ‘… and so the new Lord Clanmar is appointed Lady Dalziel’s guardian,’ the Dublin solicitor said, his relief at concluding the reading of the will obvious.

  Isabel and Maura looked across at each other in bewilderment.

  ‘Is …’ Isabel hesitated, not easily able to refer to her grandfather’s cousin and heir by the title that had been her grandfather’s. ‘Is Lord Clanmar going to take up residence here, at Ballacharmish?’

  The solicitor looked uncomfortable. It was always a ticklish business reading a will when the hereditary heir was unable to be present. ‘I cannot say, Lady Dalziel. As you know, the new Lord Clanmar does not enjoy good health, hence his inability to be here today. As for yourself, his instructions are that you are to join him in London accompanied by your grandfather’s friend, Miss Marlow.’

  ‘And Maura?’ Isabel asked tremulously. ‘Is Maura to accompany me as well?’

 
The solicitor had carefully avoided looking at Maura and, mindful of his last conversation with the late Lord Clanmar and of the new will that he had drawn up which had remained unsigned, he continued to avoid looking at her. ‘That I cannot say, Lady Dalziel. Naturally Lord Clanmar has been informed of the circumstances that exist here … that you have a companion …’

  He found himself unable to continue. Her companion was her half-sister and she did not know it. He, alone, knew of their sibling relationship. His dilemma, when he had been informed of Lord Clanmar’s death, had been acute. Unless he spoke out neither girl would ever know of the blood tie that existed between them. Yet how could he speak out? He had no proof, no documentary evidence. After hours of painful reflection he had decided that his only course was to keep silent. Lord Clanmar had had many years in which to make his granddaughters’relationship known to them and to the world. He had not done so and there was an end of it. The burden had been the dead man’s. It wasn’t his. Recovering his composure, he continued, ‘I have not, as yet, received any instructions regarding Miss Sullivan, but I will make enquiries as to his lordship’s wishes regarding Miss Sullivan.’

  Later, at twilight, as they walked from the house to the small family graveyard where Lord Clanmar had been buried, Maura said bleakly, ‘Even if the new Lord Clanmar asked me to accompany you to London, I could not do so, Isabel. I could not possibly leave my mother.’

  Both of them thought of Kitty and Ellen who spent so much time nursing her mother, and both of them wondered how soon that care would now come to an end. Neither of them spoke of it. They could not bear to, for when Kitty and Ellen were ordered to spend no more time with Maura’s mother it would be because their old way of life was finally over. Ballacharmish would no longer be their home. Even worse, they would no longer be together.

  They had taken armfuls of roses to replace the stiffly formal, wax-white lilies that had been laid on the grave that afternoon. Both of them remembered the happy, carefree days when the three of them had planted them with Kieron’s help. There would be no more such days. No more discussions of Mr Darwin’s theory or the progress of the American Civil War. No more companionable walks on the slopes of Mount Keadeen and Mount Lùgnaquillia. Tenderly they kissed the flowers and laid them down and then turned, walking back to Ballacharmish as the sun sank blood-red beyond the rim of Lough Suir.