And with the coolest air in the world, she came to Tilly, bent her head and kissed her cheek in a most nieceish manner and went out of the room with her elegant gown swaying almost insolently as she walked. And Tilly could say not a word as she watched her go.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TILLY HAD NEVER been more grateful for the amount of work she had to do to keep Quentin’s running smoothly than she was that day. She had no sooner re-established her composure after Sophie’s insolent departure from her private room than Eliza had arrived at her door full of complaints about the delivery from the market garden and begging her to come and arbitrate between herself and the man. The resultant heated discussion of how much of the mud which clung to potatoes could justly be charged in the overall weight of a delivery, and whether or not the outer leaves of the cabbages Eliza wanted were merely crushed or, as Eliza swore, frozen in a way that would indicate the inner part of the vegetable had been similarly damaged and would therefore be uneatable, occupied Tilly’s mind totally.
She spent the next hour in the kitchen, planning the meals for the remainder of the week, and inspecting some of the extra preserves that Eliza had put up, including pickled red cabbage and beets, onions and nasturtium seeds (to stand in for capers to dress winter mutton) as well as a special pickle made of large lemons, of which Eliza was inordinately proud.
‘I found the receipt in a book of Eliza Acton, Mum,’ she said. ‘And I followed it that careful, and don’t it look good! They’ll be fit to eat this time a twelve month, for they take a long time, but well worth waiting for.’
‘Yes,’ Tilly said, looking at the plump sunshine-bright lemons, scored from end to end and stuffed with spices, bobbing about in their briny vinegar, and tried to show enthusiasm, but it was difficult. It was strange to remember how little Eliza had known of cooking when she had first come to Quentin’s; almost as little as Tilly herself. Where would I be without her now? she thought and looked at Eliza, whose face was rounder and whose waist was thickening noticeably under her large apron, and was suddenly afraid. In another few months there would be a baby between herself and Eliza; and although Eliza had sworn she wanted Tilly to adopt that baby and that nothing would change in her attitude after she gave birth, Tilly remembered perfectly well how much her feelings had altered after Duff had been born. She had been concerned for her unborn child, but it had been a pallid concern, a feeble love she had felt when compared with the way she responded when she looked into Duff’s infant face lying in the crook of her elbow. Then her feeling had almost alarmed her by its intensity; her need to protect as well as love him had been savage in its strength. Surely the same would happen to Eliza? Surely she would cling to her baby, and decide to move on to make a new life for them both elsewhere where no one would know of the shame of her child’s fathering? It was a dreadful prospect, and Tilly could not bring herself to contemplate it. So she hurried through the rest of the kitchen tasks and then left Eliza to get on with her bread baking, while she escaped upstairs to check her linen cupboard and to make sure that Miss McCrasky had finished the new sheets to her satisfaction.
She was sitting on the floor of the cupboard in a manner that was hardly elegant but decidedly convenient, since the new sheets were piled on the lowest shelf, and was checking their hems when a shadow fell across the open doorway and she looked up. Her belly lurched and she felt sick.
Duff was standing there looking down at her and because the light was behind him and rather bright, for all it was a winter morning, she could not see his face clearly. But she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was in a mood that was both apologetic and truculent. This was going to be a disagreeable meeting.
‘Good morning, Duff,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘I must check the last of these sheets and then I shall –’
‘There is no need to disturb yourself, Mamma.’ His voice was tight and a touch high with tension and her heart melted; she wanted only to jump up and hug his unhappiness away, but she could not. And it was not entirely because she was encumbered with a lap full of heavy linen sheets. It was important, she knew, to maintain some air of disapproval until she could be sure. She did not, of course, believe Sophie’s version of last night’s events. There was no doubt in her mind that it had been Sophie and not Duff who had taken all the initiative in their ‘amatory adventure’ but she had to be just (or so she told herself with some energy, as she continued to look at the sheets, ostensibly inspecting the stitching of the hems) and give Sophie some benefit of doubt. ‘I wished only to say that I regret disturbing you last night.’
‘Disturbing me?’ She squinted up at him, irritated by the difficulty of seeing him clearly, an irritation that sharpened her tone. ‘Is that the best description you are able to make of what occurred?’
‘Well, Mamma, what did occur?’ he said and his voice was tighter than ever. ‘I was escorting Miss Oliver to her door, after we had sat up far too late talking of various subjects. We had not noticed the time – and we did not wish to disturb the household, so that was why we did not have a candle or a lamp. I wished only to see her safe – and then you come creeping along and make such a brouhaha that Silas has to come and – and –’
‘Oh, Duff, please,’ Tilly said wearily, and put the sheets on the shelf and got to her feet. ‘Do not compound matters by creating a tissue of lies – I saw you! You were – were not dressed and she was in her nightgown. I am not such a fool as you think.’
‘Oh,’ he said blankly and then caught his breath. ‘Well, I wished only to save your face. For, after all, Mamma, what does it signify? So, I was flirting with Sophie – is that a crime? You make it all so – so sordid, creeping about so and spying on us and –’
‘Spying!’ Tilly gasped. ‘Oh, that really is the outside of enough! I heard a noise and feared that I was being robbed. I have been in the past, you will recall, by fleeing guests who chose not to pay their bills! I would be a poor sort of householder if I had not come to investigate unexpected noises.’
‘Well, anyway, it was all hateful!’ Duff burst out. ‘You spoiled everything, appearing like that – I was so – so –’ He shook his head and now she could see his face it was clear that he was on the edge of tears. ‘It had all been so sweet and – and romantic and – and then you were there and it became a shabby business, a scrabbling about in the dark that I – oh, pshaw! We did but talk a little and then I went to bed and slept not at all, and then this morning I am told she has gone to Leicestershire ahead of me and – I am so wretched I could – oh, Mamma, how could you!’
‘How could I – oh, now Duff, this really must stop! I will not be blamed and made to feel the guilty party when it is you who should apologize to me for behaving so under my roof. I cannot control all your life and nor would I wish to. I am well aware that as a man you may follow some sort of behaviour that I would not admire – but I think you must learn, young as you are, that there is a time and a place for all things, and this your home is not the place for dalliance with the likes of Sophie Oliver!’
‘How do you mean, the likes of?’ He almost spat it at her, standing there in the hallway outside the linen cupboard with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets and his eyes glaring at her, a little red-rimmed over a shadow of unshaven stubble. Not a lot, for he had not been shaving for so very long, but enough to make him look rather wild. ‘She is the dearest girl in all the world and I will not have you speak harshly of her. I know you hated her mother, but then so does she and –’
‘Please, Duff!’ She put her hands out and set them on his shoulders. ‘We must not quarrel like this. It is not our way, it never has been. I have been distressed by all that has occurred and do not trust Sophie, but we need not quarrel, need we? I hate quarrelling above all things. I – when I was younger I suffered the hearing of so much of it that now I shrink from disagreements with pain.’
‘But I thought you were angry with me!’ he said blankly, staring at her.
‘I was,
I am – but it is possible to be angry and hurt and anxious without exchanging hot words, surely? That makes any distress so much the worst, I believe. Let us simply talk as sensible people.’
‘I cannot be sensible about Sophie,’ he said. ‘I do love her so, Mamma!’
It was like a cry of physical pain and she could have wept for him and let her hands slide down his arms so that she could hug him close, and though at first he resisted, he softened eventually and let her hold him. And then straightened up and shook his head at her.
‘I shall have to go to Leicestershire early as well, Mamma. I can’t let her be there without me to take care of her.’
‘She’s well able to take care of herself,’ Tilly said. ‘And no, don’t look so stormily at me. I was not making a criticism but speaking simply a fact. She lives without the benefit of a parent’s guidance although she is young enough to need it, and –’ She stopped then and stared at him. ‘What was that you said about Sophie and her mother?’
‘Eh? Oh, that you hated her and blame Sophie for –’
‘No – that is not quite true. I mean, I don’t hate her precisely, but – no, I meant what you said about Sophie and her mother.’
He looked embarrassed. ‘I’m not supposed to speak of what she tells me. We are close and share so much and we must be loyal to each other – it is the most important thing. We both agreed it.’
‘It is not disloyal to tell me of matters which affect her welfare,’ Tilly said after a moment. ‘If she has no parent to care for her and lives here, then I must surely take some responsibility for her – and anyway, you said it. That she hated her mother as I did?’
‘Something like that,’ he muttered.
‘Then they parted in anger – it wasn’t because of Dorcas going to prison,’ Tilly said, almost to herself and he lifted his chin and gaped at her.
‘What did you say?’
She bit her lip and looked at him for a long moment and then sighed. ‘I had not intended to speak to you of this. Why should I? But now – well, when I was seeking information about Polly’s father, I found out that Dorcas had been up before – in the same court and sent to prison for two years. She is due for release very soon – and – well –’
He was silent for a long time and then took a deep shaky breath. ‘Mamma, I am going to Leicestershire as soon as I may. I shan’t worry about hunting clothes – Patrick will take care of that and lend me what I need, I dare say, for he’s a good fellow. But I must be with Sophie. If she does not know this about her mother, then hate her though she might, she will be, I’m sure, desperately unhappy when she does hear of it. I might have to be the one to tell her. I must be with her in case – well, I shall go today, Mamma. I insist upon it. I will not be stopped. It is too important to me.’
‘I think you are mistaken to run after her in this way, but I shan’t try to stop you,’ she said quietly. ‘I know I will fail. I say only to you to beware. That I am certain Sophie knows perfectly well where her mother is and why, and that’s why she lives alone as she does and why she worked at the Opera House and –’
‘I prefer not to discuss her, Mamma,’ Duff said with dignity that once again affected Tilly deeply, filling her with a strong desire to hug him again and soothe him but knowing it would be foolish to attempt it. ‘I wanted only to say to you – to say, well I am sorry you were disturbed last night, but there, it had to happen, I suppose. After all, if I am to marry Sophie –’
‘Marry her?’ Tilly said. ‘Marry – but Duff, you have no income, no career – you are barely seventeen! How can you speak of marriage?’ She could not believe that he had allowed himself to become so deeply embroiled with Sophie; that he was attracted to her and wanted to have, as Sophie had put it, an amatory adventure was understandable, but marriage? The very idea made her feel cold.
‘I know that,’ he said, his face suddenly red with anger. ‘Do you not think I have worried and worried over that? But she will wait for me, I know she’ll wait for me. I will think of a career of some sort and work hard and one day – one day we shall be wed. But I have to take care of her now.’
‘Oh, Duff, please!’ Tilly cried. ‘Do try to be sensible. This is moonshine. You can’t speak of marriage at your age – you’re far too young. And there are other things to take into account and –’
‘Well, Mamma, I dare say, but I will not speak of it now.’ He set his lips mulishly. ‘I wished only to tell you I was going away to Leicestershire and to ask you to – well, I’m sorry if you were upset last night. That’s all.’
With which skimpy apology he turned and went, running up the stairs to his room, and she stood there in the hallway, outside her linen cupboard, staring after him without any notion of what to do next.
It was not until just before luncheon that Silas came to speak to her. After Duff had left her she almost ran back to her fastness in the morning room to spend the next hours sitting there ostensibly working on her ledgers but in truth staring out of the window at the dripping November garden, for it had rained heavily in the night, and trying to collect her thoughts.
That Duff would fall in love quite so desperately that he could babble nonsense about planning a marriage had never occurred to her when she had allowed Sophie to return to the house. She had wanted only to provide him with an agreeable distraction from a schoolfellow she deeply distrusted. That he should find the girl as interesting as he had when they had been infants had been the sum total of her hopes; yet now see what she had done with her meddling. Oh, if only she hadn’t asked Jem to seek out Sophie. If only he had not been so swift in obeying her. If only he were still there to be leaned upon, her solid comfortable friend who never hurt her or upset her, even though she had not returned his feelings when he loved her as dearly as anyone could – or she had thought.
She dragged her thoughts away from Jem and his new-found happiness, castigating herself for being so ungenerous to him. He had every right to seek his happiness elsewhere when she had rejected him so steadily for so long; and if she had to pay the price of his contentment in missing his support, well, so be it. She would have to cope alone. She had lost her Duff too to another female and that was the size of it. There was no one in the world left for her and her alone.
It was at this self-pitying point in her thinking that the door of her morning room opened, without so much as a preliminary scratch on the panels, and she lifted her head, startled, to see Silas standing in the doorway.
He came in, closing it carefully behind him and came to stand beside her chair, smiling down at her.
‘Good morning, Tilly,’ he said. ‘Or should it be good day, since the morning is so far advanced? I’ve been looking for you –’
‘I’ve been here,’ she said as colourlessly as she could, although her pulse speeded up with his closeness. This was absurd. She should be angry with him, not so ridiculously glad to see him.
‘I haven’t come to apologize for making love to you last night,’ he said then and crouched beside her chair. ‘Did you think I had? Did you think I should?’
‘I would rather you sat in a chair properly than squatted there like – like a –’
‘Like a puppy dog begging favours at your feet,’ he said cheerfully and stood up, and brushed down the knees of his trousers. He had, she thought, after a swift glance, gone to some trouble when he dressed this morning, for his checked cheviot trousers were crisply pressed, and his shirt blinding in its perfection under a handsome checked waistcoat and grey cutaway university coat. He smelled of bay rum and his hair had been most elegantly brushed. Oddly enough this circumstance made her feel more relaxed rather than the reverse; if he had taken such trouble over his appearance did this not mean that he felt uneasy about their meeting even if his manner at the moment did not suggest any discomfort?
‘Well?’ he said and she glanced at him and then away at the floor.
‘Well, what?’ she managed.
‘What do you expect me to say to you this morning
?’
‘It is not up to me to teach you how to behave,’ she said.
‘It is, my dear Tilly, indeed it is! It is up to you to teach me everything from now on, just as I must teach you, for I must tell you that I am determined that we shall never be apart again. Last night it was my privilege to – to help you in a dilemma, and afterwards it was my delight to hold you in my arms.’
‘I would prefer you not to speak of it, sir,’ she cried, and he frowned.
‘Sir? Why so formal? Are you telling me that you are angry?’
‘I – well, I am not precisely – I mean, why should I not be? Or rather, why –’ She stopped. She had to admit it now; there was no avoiding it though she had been trying to, she now realized, ever since she had woken this morning. She had been as much at fault, if fault there was, as he had. She had liked being kissed. She had liked it a great deal, and only when his caresses had begun to be a little more urgent had she made any effort to stop him. And as soon as she had shown that she was less than willing he had desisted immediately. He had behaved like a gentleman in every way, and she couldn’t deny it. If anyone had been outrageous it was she, Tilly Quentin.
And that, she knew with a sudden rush of insight was why she had been unable to be as angry with Duff as she was entitled to be. Why, she had blamed Sophie for seducing her Duff, rather than the other way about, which was what most people, given the circumstances, would have done. Tilly knew how she had felt herself, and been only too aware of the power of feminine desire. It was she who had been in control of what had occurred last night between herself and Silas, and she had no doubt that same situation had obtained with Sophie and Duff.
‘I think it is I who should express regret,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I did not behave as a lady should and I can only put my lapse down to the strain of the moment, the lateness of the hour and my undoubted fatigue. I’m sure you will be wishing to seek other accommodation, since it will be a matter of considerable embarrassment to us both to continue under the same roof.’
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