She laughed. ‘Do not use your tricks on me! I shall not be diverted by flattery. No, you know very well that I use what weapons I have to hand to get on in the world. Where it will not pay to seem intelligent, I hide my wit – and there are many who do not like wit in a woman, though thank God Dublin is less prone to that fault than elsewhere. But you—’
Maurice lifted her hand to his lips and said, ‘I will tell you my secret, my dear madam, if you promise to pretend to believe that I am jesting. All my life, I have been afraid of the consequences of hubris.’
Molly looked at him for a moment, her face still framed for laughter; but the sadness in his dark eyes defeated her at last, and she turned her face away awkwardly.
It was at that moment that the servants entered with the tray and the welcome smell of coffee and hot bread, and they were both glad of the interruption. The tray was set down, and the manservant handed the letters, saying with a delicate cough, ‘There is one for his lordship, madam, which was sent on from his lodgings, on account of being marked urgent, and them not knowing when his lordship would be back.’
Molly smiled a small private smile of satisfaction that it was so well known where Maurice was spending his nights, and dismissed the servants with a nod. She sorted her letters and passed the one mentioned to Maurice. It was sewn into canvas for the sea-crossing, and was much stained by its long journey. He opened it while she poured coffee, watching him from under her eyelashes. She saw his face grow still with shock and pain and her heart sank. When he had finished it, he handed it to her to read without a word.
She read it and looked up, wondering what to say, whether to speak sympathy or be silent. He was staring into the distance, and in his gravity she saw for the first time that he was old.
‘I never loved her’ he said sadly, as though that were an explanation of everything. ‘I wanted her once, but I never loved her. I think she knew it.’
In silence, Molly laid her hand over his, trying to express understanding and concern. Behind her carefully composed face, her mind was busy; he had called her no ordinary woman, and now he was a widower. How would it be if she were to become the next Countess of Chelmsford? She could give him companionship for the rest of his life, which was not likely to be long. She had married one old man, who had left her his fortune; perhaps now she had been sent another who would leave her his title?
From the first day Jemima was happy at Lyme. Captain Elliott’s house was a tiny cottage right down by the sea’s edge, so small that none but a lifelong sailor could have thought it large enough to invite so many guests. However the weather was so fine that they were a great deal out of doors, and the outdoors came to seem an extension of the house, so that after the first day or two Jemima never noticed its smallness.
Captain Elliott was kindness itself, a cheerful, untutored but naturally gentle man, whose care for everything that lived meant that he never turned anyone away from his door, be it sly old sailor asking money for drink, beggar-woman with a child at her breast, lame outcast dog, or seagull with broken wing. He was not a wealthy man, having nothing beyond his half-pay but the house and a small annuity, both of which he had purchased with his prize-money, but he was a great contriver, and could make almost anything with his hard-palmed but surprisingly nimble hands. And he had a great many friends, and he and his guests dined as often at other tables as at his.
Jemima found her uncle Tom little changed from her memories, though the harsh life and the fever had aged him and greyed his hair. His bride to be, Maria Elliott, was a sensible, cheerful girl, plumply pretty, with brown curls and brown skin and merry brown eyes, and she treated Jemima with such flattering consequence that she was at first almost embarrassed, not being used to having her wishes deferred to. Jemima, along with Maria’s sister Ann, who was twelve, was to be bridesmaid at the wedding, and the three girls spent much of their time choosing the material and pattern of their dresses, and then making them.
But there were plenty of outdoor pursuits, too. Jemima missed her riding at first, for there were no horses for her at Lyme, and nowhere to ride them had there been any, but after the first few days she almost forgot about horses. The town itself was so charming: having lived all her life at Morland Place, Jemima was fascinated by the teeming, precipitous little town, balanced precariously down the side of a hill so steep that it seemed designed to send houses, people and carriages rolling down into the sea. Many a time when they were walking along the streets Jemima clenched her hands in anxiety at the sight of a team of horses slipping on the cobbles of a road that seemed almost vertical.
Then there was the sea itself, which was so extraordinary, so enthralling and exciting, that Jemima felt she could never have enough simply of staring at it. Every day brought its walk along the sea-shore; she scrambled over rocks and collected shells and wet her shoes and stockings examining seaweed. When the weather was fine Captain Elliott sometimes took the ladies out in a boat, so that she found herself actually, perilously, floating on the top of this magical medium that was like a living thing. And at night in her tiny attic room she would fall asleep to the sound of its voice, murmuring incomprehensibly but somehow compellingly to her, so that she was in a perpetual happy trance like a girl in love for the first time.
And as if all this were not enough, there was society too, for in the pleasantly informal atmosphere that surrounded Captain Elliott, Jemima and Ann were included in all the entertainments, and not sent away as children to be shut up in a nursery or schoolroom all day, brought out only to curtsey to the adults or to play the spinnet. And finally, of course, there was the wedding itself to look forward to. Maria’s Godfather, who was a senior captain and a baronet, was paying for the wedding and the wedding-breakfast which was to be held at the Three Bells, and it looked as though it would be a very grand affair, as well as a very merry one. Jemima was particularly happy to see how much Uncle Tom and Maria loved each other: she had not grown up with an example of marital bliss before her, and it had hardly occurred to her before that marriage might be contracted for reasons of mutual affection. The idea, once in her mind, blossomed there, and as she drifted off to sleep at night with the sound of the sea rocking her heart, she dreamed of a day when, like Maria, she would pledge herself for life to a man who looked at her the way Uncle Tom looked at Maria.
Two days before the wedding the dresses were finished, and the three young women shut themselves up in the largest bedroom to try them on. All three were of satin, with echelle bodices and skirts opened over quilted petticoats; Maria’s was of primrose yellow, the colour which suited her best, and she was to have her hair dressed in the Dutch style, with yellow ribbons and freshwater pearls. Ann’s and Jemima’s dresses were of a pretty harebell blue shade, and they had round-eared caps to go with them, trimmed with blond and bows of darker blue ribbon.
Jemima was enchanted with her dress, and turned before the mirror which Ann held up for her, viewing herself in sections and wishing just for one moment for one of the huge mirrors at Shawes so that she could see herself all-of-a-piece.
‘It’s lovely! Oh thank you, Maria, for asking me to be your bridesmaid, and for giving me such a pretty dress!’
‘It suits you very well,’ Maria said. ‘You will be very pretty one day, Jemima, do you know that?’ Jemima blushed and hung her head, and Maria went on, ‘Tell me, do you like it here at Lyme? Are you happy here?’
‘Oh yes!’ she cried ecstatically. ‘I like it more than anything!’
‘And you are not homesick?’
‘Not the least bit,’ Jemima said, and then wondered if perhaps Maria were trying tactfully to prepare her for leaving. ‘Why do you ask?’ she said in a small voice.
‘Tom and I were talking last night,’ Maria said, ‘and we wondered if you would like to stay on after the wedding and spend the summer with us. We won’t be going away for a honeymoon, but my Godfather is to lend us his carriage as often as we want it, and there are many interesting places within reach of L
yme, which we could visit. We would do our best not to let you be dull, if you would care to stay.’
Jemima was speechless for a moment, and then she flung her arms round Maria with joy, and then whirled and hugged Ann too. ‘Oh please, please, may I? I should love it so. I do like being here with you, much more than at home. Of course,’ she added dutifully, suddenly realizing how it must sound, ‘of course I miss Papa and my brothers and everyone, but—’ her perfunctory duty done she allowed herself to shine again, ‘but everything is so much nicer here.’
‘Then you shall stay, as long as your parents permit. Tom will write this very evening.’
‘Oh I’m sure they’ll let me,’ Jemima said. ‘They’d never miss me at Morland Place. They have Thomas and Harry, you see, and I’m only a girl.’ It was said entirely without resentment. It was a state of affairs she was accustomed to, and for the first time she could see that it might even have its uses.
It was on the following day, the eve of the wedding, late at night after Jemima and Ann were in bed, that the express arrived from Morland Place. Maria and Tom were sitting up alone in the little parlour, enjoying a last communion before retiring to their separate beds, when the letter was brought to them. Tom opened it. It was from Jemmy, with the news that Harry and Thomas were dead of the smallpox; he requested that Jemima be put immediately into deep mourning, and that she should be sent home to Morland Place at the first possible opportunity.
Tom and Maria exchanged a long glance.
‘Poor young men,’ Tom said at last. ‘And poor Jemmy. Both his sons – and Mary cannot have another.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘It will make a deal of difference to Jemima.’
But Maria’s thoughts were nearer home. ‘Only a few more hours,’ she said with some bitterness. ‘If it had been delayed only a few more hours! She has looked forward so much to the wedding, that to miss it will break her heart. And what of us? It will spoil the whole occasion.’
Tom nodded. They looked into each other’s eyes, reading each other’s thoughts. She was not callous, he knew; if sadness could have brought back the two boys, she would have been sadness itself. Her concern, like her father’s, was with the living.
‘Maria, what if it were delayed?’ he said slowly. Her bright eyes watched him consideringly. ‘No one knows of this yet, except you and me. No one knows that the letter came except us and Joshua—’
‘And Joshua will hold his tongue, if he has good reason,’ Maria said. ‘Oh Tom, do we dare? Is it right?’
‘I think so,’ Tom said firmly. ‘Nothing can help poor Thomas and Harry—’
‘Let’s do it then! Oh Tom—’
‘I’ll go and find Joshua. He can deliver the letter to us tomorrow night, when it’s all over.’
Maria nodded. ‘Poor Jemima – she was so looking forward to spending the summer here. But at least she’ll have the wedding.’
Tom put his arms round her and drew her towards him, and kissed the end of her nose. ‘Poor Jemima indeed! I am extremely glad you are not an heiress, my darling, or your Papa would never have let you marry a penniless, weather-beaten old tar!’
Maria giggled. ‘But then I should have run away with you, and what fun that would have been. Perhaps Jemima will run away with her love one day.’
Tom shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t think they will ever give her the chance,’ he said.
CHAPTER TEN
Jemmy held the door for Marie-Louise to pass into the vine-house, and followed her, closing it carefully behind them. They were enclosed at once in a warm, damp, and growing silence, a green silence and a privacy secured for them by the canopies of pale green leaves that pressed themselves against the glass walls and ceiling. The bunches of grapes, still green, hung down like tight-packed translucent beads, making Jemmy think of chandeliers. He touched one, and its unripe integrity rebuked his hand like the innocent eye of a maiden. When they were ripe and black, they invited touch, yearned for the mouth; but not now.
The Princess turned and waited for him, the green light making her hair look more coppery and her skin whiter. She stood very still, her gold eyes impassive, like an animal in its own habitat, wondering if its prey would be good to eat.
‘Mary – she seems almost dazed with grief,’ he said, continuing where he had left off. ‘She sits all day long with her hands in her lap, not speaking. If she would weep it would not be so bad. And if I try to speak to her, she just gets up and goes away, to another room. It isn’t so bad for me – I have things to do, things I have to do, to keep me busy. While I’m busy I can forget about it, but even then, when I finish a job, it suddenly comes back to me, like waking from a happy dream – Thomas and Harry. I can’t think of them dead. It surprises me every time. Handsome, clever Thomas, always doing, always complaining – he wanted to go on a Grand Tour. I keep thinking, now Thomas will never see Venice. And Harry – gentle Harry, always clowning. He reminds me of myself at his age. Reminded me – you see, for ten seconds together I can’t remember it. Why is death so surprising?’
Marie-Louise did not speak, only nodded, to make him go on.
‘But for Mary, it’s so much worse. She has nothing to do, she can’t forget even for a moment. And besides—’
‘And besides, she loved them more than you,’ Marie-Louise said, her voice perfectly neutral. Jemmy frowned.
‘Not really more. Anyone would think so, I suppose. She was devoted to them, yes, in a way I never was. But I don’t think she ever saw them as people. They were not separate from her, they were an extension of her.’
‘All the worse then, for her.’
‘Yes. I suppose so. She blames me, you know, that I wouldn’t let her see them before they died. But how could I? How could I let her see her precious Thomas looking like that.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘That handsome face, so disfigured by those horrible sores—’
‘Perhaps you should have,’ Marie-Louise said abruptly. ‘Perhaps then he would have been real to her. Perhaps his death would have been real to her.’ Jemmy stared in surprise. ‘You treat her like an idiot, like someone incapable of rational thought, and then complain that she behaves irrationally.’
‘But – you don’t like her,’ he protested.
‘No, I don’t like her. I despise her, but I can see her as a person. You only see her as an extension of yourself.’
Jemmy backed away from the accusation. ‘She doesn’t like you either. I never understood why.’
‘Because she’s jealous – fool!’
‘Jealous? Of you?’
‘Oh Jemmy! Because you love me more than her, because you spend more time with me than her. Because I am handsomer and richer and cleverer and freer and do what I want and have everything I want and everyone admires me, but most especially because you admire me.’
‘I don’t think you can be right,’ Jemmy said painfully.
Marie-Louise gave him an exasperated smile. Her eyes were very bright now, glowing, ferally, golden in the green shade. ‘Come here,’ she commanded. He obeyed her without question, taking the step that separated them, and stood close, looking down into her upturned face. He began to smile irresistibly – he always smiled, looking on her beauty – and when he did she put her hands up to his face and held it still while she went on tiptoe and kissed him. Her hands were cool and soft, and their touch soothed him, but the touch of her lips on his mouth was electric. For the briefest of moments he struggled against the excitement, thinking she was kissing him in jest. But then as she leaned her body against him, and he felt her lips part invitingly under his, he realized that she meant it, and his blood leapt in response.
His arms went round her, pulling her harder against his avid body. It was a long, long time since he had known the release of passion, and in this moment he discovered that the love he had always had for Aliena’s daughter had changed without his knowing it from a fatherly affection into this burning desire. His mind whirled with it, with images of her laughing, beautiful face, of her white body,
of himself conquering, possessing – he crammed his tongue into her mouth, forcing her head back, crushing her against him almost savagely.
It was only a moment’s madness; the fit passed almost as soon as it came. Marie-Louise released herself and stepped back from him, panting, her eyes brilliant, her cheeks red, her lips parted. He stared at her, dazed by the surging tides within him.
‘You see?’ she said simply. He shook his head, as if he were shaking water out of his ears.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said after a while.
‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘It is better that you should know yourself. She knows it, though I think not with words, not with the front of her mind.’
‘But I should not have – Princess, I am sorry. You must understand that it has been a long time since – since I—’
‘Jemmy!’ She silenced him with a lifted hand, and came close again. She did not touch him, but he could feel her closeness like heat, and it made him tremble. He wanted to tell her to move further off, lest he forget himself entirely. She looked up at him intently. ‘Jemmy, don’t be sorry. I made you do it.’
‘But I should not have so forgotten myself.’
‘I intended it,’ she said. ‘It was what I wanted. Now do you understand?’
He stared at her, and her words ran round his brain like madness. ‘No, no, you mustn’t,’ he whispered.
‘Why not?’ she said, and now her body was touching his, lightly, all down the front of him. ‘Why not?’ She raised her hands to his shoulders.
‘It would be like incest,’ he gasped.
She laughed at the word. ‘Incest? We are cousins. That is not incest.’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ Jemmy said, trying to break away from her, hampered by the fact that his arms were round her. In his confusion he thought she was holding him. ‘Your mother—’
‘My mother was your aunt,’ she said with a triumphant laugh. ‘So we are cousins.’
Dynasty 8: The Maiden: The Maiden (The Morland Dynasty) Page 21