by Mary Stewart
‘Make the most of it, mate,’ said Rob. ‘It’s going to be a rough night.’ He caught my look, and grinned. ‘I was talking to the thrush. I warned you we’d get a storm, didn’t I?’
‘You did. Is it really going to rain? It’s been such a lovely day.’
He cocked his head to one side as he picked up the last dish and started to dry it. ‘Listen.’
I listened. I heard it then, behind the thrush’s song. Volleys of wind sifting the orchard trees; blowing and ebbing, then blowing again in gusts suddenly strong enough to keen in the telephone wires. The lake water darkened and gleamed under the racing catspaws.
‘This’ll fetch down a deal of the apple blow,’ said Rob. ‘Here, I don’t know where it goes.’ He handed me the dish, and I saw him glance at the clock, but I was wrong about the reason. He was reaching for his jacket, which he had hung over the back of a chair. ‘Bryony . . .’ His apologetic look, which in someone I didn’t love I’d have called hangdog, spoke for itself.
‘I know,’ I said, ‘don’t say it. You’ve got to go and feed the hens.’
I found I had been watching for just that smile. Eleven short hours, and already a half-glance from him, amused and tender, could do this to me. We forge our own chains.
‘They’ll be in bed long since. Mrs H. did them for me. But I’m afraid I will have to go up to the Court and take a look around. I always do a night-watchman round on the public side, and tonight, with the family gone up to London—’
I clapped a hand to my mouth. ‘Oh, Rob, I quite forgot! I never rang Cathy up to say I couldn’t go to the party! I did try this morning, but no one answered, and I meant to try again from Worcester, but I forgot all about it. How awful!’
‘Couldn’t you ring up now? It’s barely ten. Happen they’ll forgive you when you tell them what made you forget. Will you tell them?’
‘Will I not! They’ll be delighted, I know. They think the world of you. But I can’t telephone them now, I don’t even know where the party was to be held. I was to go to their flat and have dinner with them, and then go with them to the party. They’ll have gone by now . . . Oh, how awful of me.’
‘I shouldn’t worry. They’ll think you missed the train or something. They may ring up here to find out what happened.’
‘I hope so. I could try the flat again, I suppose.’
He still hesitated. ‘Do you mind my leaving you? I’ll be gone about an hour, I expect. If you like, I’ll wait till you’ve phoned, and you can come with me?’
I shook my head. ‘No, go ahead. And don’t hurry yourself; after I’ve done the phoning I’m going to have a bath, and I’ve got a lot of tidying up to do. Heavens, what on earth will I say to them . . . ? It’ll sound a bit funny as an explanation, coming out of the blue. Would you call yourself an accident, or an act of God, or what, Rob?’
He grinned. ‘I’ll leave that to you. Maybe you’ll be clearer about it, come the morning.’ He had been checking doors and windows as we talked. He came back to me. ‘Now, as your husband, Bryony Granger, do I rate a latch-key?’
I went to the bureau where my father’s things still lay in a little pile, and took his key. I held it out on the palm of my hand.
Yours now, Ashley. The familiar name-pattern slid through.
Mine now.
Our eyes met, and the signals faded abruptly. He took the key delicately, as if he dared not touch me, hesitated briefly, then smiled and went. The door latched shut behind him, and seconds later the garden wicket swung and clashed. I heard a pause in the thrush’s song, then it began again.
As I dialled the Underhills’ flat, and then sat listening to the vain threshing of the bell, I reflected that I could very well do with the hour on my own. It was a little disconcerting to have to stage manage one’s own honeymoon at such short notice.
No reply. I put the receiver back, then ran upstairs to find that Mrs Henderson, bless her, had been there, too. She had put fresh sheets on the double bed and turned it down ready. There were clean towels in the bathroom; she had even brought Rob’s things across for him, and laid out the razor, with pyjamas and dressing-gown and a clean shirt for the morning. The room had been newly cleaned, and smelled of polish and the sweet scent of cowslips jampacked tight in a bowl on the window-sill.
After all, there was plenty of time. I had a bath, hunted out a pretty nightdress I had bought in Funchal, then sat down to brush my hair. It was barely half an hour since Rob had gone, but already it was full dark, and without, tonight, even the light of moon and stars. Clouds had come piling up, seemingly from nowhere, into a black sky, and the fitful wind drove a loose bough of the Fribourg rose knocking against the glass. Even as I paused to listen, hairbrush in hand, the force of the spasmodic gusts increased. I could hear the growing fret and rush of wind in the orchard branches, and the slapping of water on the shingle at the Pool’s edge. Rob had been weather-wise; it would be a rough night.
On the thought, I heard him come in, the soft click of the spring lock almost drowned by a sudden rattle of rain flung against the casement. A current of fresh damp air came with him.
I half turned towards the door, but he did not approach the stairs. He trod lightly into the sitting-room, and paused.
No further sound. He seemed to be standing still, listening. I could picture him, head aslant, wondering, perhaps, what his cue would be to come upstairs.
My bedroom door opened straight on the small landing, from which an open stairway descended into the sittingroom. I pulled on my housecoat, went to the head of the stairs, and leaned over the banister. The room below was in the shadows. I could see him standing near the door, with a hand up to the light switch.
‘Rob? You’ve been quick. D’you know, Mrs H. even got the bedroom ready and laid your things out—?’ I stopped dead. He had turned quickly at the sound of my voice, and looked up. It was not Rob. It was my cousin James.
We stood staring at one another for a few stretched seconds of silence. Juliet with a difference, I thought, with a wry flicker that had nothing to do with amusement. Then, forcibly, damn and damn and damn. We were to have had tonight, at least, before the world broke in.
Perhaps after all I could save it. It would be twenty minutes or so before he got back from the Court; if I could get this over, explain what had happened, and get rid of James before Rob had to come back and face him . . .
‘James—’ I began, and started down the stairway.
Stopped again. The cottage door opened a second time, and Emory came in. He took out the bunch of keys which James had left in the lock, dropped it into his pocket, and shut the door carefully behind him. As he turned, he saw me. I couldn’t see his face, but he stopped still as if he had been struck.
‘Bryony! I thought you were in London!’
‘Well, as you can see, I’m not.’ I said it slowly, looking from one to the other. ‘I forgot the party. Silly of me, wasn’t it? But here I am. What do you want?’
‘You forgot the party?’ James’s voice sounded strange, quite unlike his usual assured manner. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I say. You seem to have forgotten it, too.’
‘Well, not exactly.’ Emory’s ease of manner was a little too good to be true. ‘Our invitations were cancelled. I suppose we have you to thank for that.’
‘It’s possible. So what brings you here?’
Dark as it was, I saw the glance that went between them, vivid as an electric spark. ‘I saw your light go on,’ said James, as if that explained everything.
‘So?’ I said coldly. ‘That still doesn’t explain why you let yourself into my house like this, and how you happen to have a key. Or why you came here, thinking – hoping? – I’d be away. Well?’
‘The fact is—’ began James, but Emory cut across him.
‘We thought you’d be in town, so we borrowed Mrs Henderson’s key.’
The word ‘borrowed’ held no touch of irony, but I knew that, had they spoken with Mrs Henderson, she
would be bound to have told them about Rob’s and my marriage, and that we would be home tonight. I could translate well enough. She kept the cottage keys hanging on a nail inside her back door, which, like most doors in the country, was rarely locked. My cousins must have watched their chance to abstract the keys from their nail, then come down here.
Emory flashed me a smile, which, however, did not colour his voice; this was the voice of a man thinking quickly; of a man in a hurry. ‘It’s a diabolical liberty, I know, but time pressed. Since you’re here, that makes it easier.’
‘Makes what easier?’
‘There was something we wanted rather urgently.’
‘I see.’ And I thought I did. I pulled the housecoat closer round me, belted it, and began slowly to descend the stairs. I was remembering, with a quick slam of the blood in my heart, the mysteries that had yet to be solved. And I remembered, as clearly as if it were my lover telling me again, that these two could be dangerous if they were driven to it. Perhaps, I thought suddenly, they had put two and two together about the silver pen, and that was why they had come here . . . But no, they had thought I was in London; this visit had nothing to do with that mystery.
Resolutely I put the thought aside. I concentrated on the present, and on keeping my mind shut to Rob: if he had received the sudden jagged pattern of fear which had zigzagged across my brain a moment ago, he would come straight here at the run, and an awkward – surely no more than awkward? – scene could easily become nasty. There was still time enough, I thought, to grasp the nettle and tell them what had happened, and then get rid of them.
I reached the foot of the stairs. The light from the bedroom door, spilling out on the landing above, showed me James’s face. It looked tense, and rather pale, and his eyes burned on mine with what looked like anger. I said, as easily as I could:
‘It’s late, and as you can see, I’m on my way to bed. What did you come to get? I suppose it was the books? Well, I’m sorry, but they’ll have to wait till morning.’ I crossed to the window and began to draw the curtains. ‘Put the light on, Emory. That’s better. The Brooke isn’t here, anyway. I told you I was taking it to be valued. And I’d like to keep the other one for a couple of days longer, please. After that, you’ll be welcome. And if you’ve anything more to discuss, that will have to wait, too. So, since there aren’t any other objects of virtue to interest you, then I suggest—’
‘Not even you, seemingly,’ said James.
‘What?’ I had been straightening the curtains. I swung round and looked at him. I saw Emory turn, too. A tiny chill stroked the skin along my bare arms, like a cat’s fur brushing up.
‘You were expecting Rob Granger,’ said James. Then, across me to his brother: ‘She thought I was Granger. She called down to tell him the bedroom was ready, and then came out. Like that.’
‘Rob Granger?’ said Emory, then, drawling a little: ‘Well, well, well.’ Silence for two blood-beats, while the eyes of both cousins took me in from head to foot. Hair loose to my shoulders, the hairbrush still in my hand; slippers, the scent of the bath; my housecoat wrapping me to the ankles, but parting to show the nightdress underneath.
I crossed to the fireplace, sat down in one of the armchairs, and regarded them both calmly.
‘Yes, Rob Granger. So now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you went. He’ll be coming soon, and it would be embarrassing for everyone if you were still here.’
James came slowly forward. He was looking sick. It came to me with surprise that perhaps he had really cared; the scene in the garden the other night had not just been part of the twins’ play for the breaking of the trust.
‘I’m sorry, James.’ I said it gently. ‘What can I say? Only that it took me as much by surprise as anyone. And it’s for real. I know now that nothing else was . . . You know how I felt about you when we were in our teens; well, it just didn’t work out. I don’t know why. It’s the way things go. It turns out it was Rob, all along, but I hardly realised it till today. You might say it was just one of those things; you don’t see them coming, but then they come out of nowhere like the Severn Bore, and everything gets swept away in the flood.’
A sound from Emory, a muffled exclamation that sounded almost like a laugh. Then he said, impatiently: ‘Look, Bryony, what the hell’s it matter if you’re sleeping with Rob Granger? Leave it, Twin. Can’t you see it makes it a whole lot easier?’
‘Makes what easier?’ I demanded. ‘And I’m not sleeping with Rob Granger, not in the sense you mean. I married him this morning. Now do you see why I forgot Cathy’s party, and why I want to get rid of you both?’
It was a bombshell, of course, and I hadn’t meant to drop it quite like this. But even so, it didn’t explode in quite the way I had expected. Emory moved forward, and the two of them stood, one to either side of my chair, staring down at me. Though I was used to the resemblance, had played with them both since childhood, it was somehow uncanny, the two faces, so very alike, looking at me with the same still, rigid expressions.
But there were differences. James was as white as paper now, with that curiously sick look, as if something in his mind was cringing from reality. Emory wore a look I was unfamiliar with; a pale, hard expression, the grey eyes narrowed, with the lower lids lifted and the eyes themselves quite expressionless.
I said, steadily: ‘Yes, we’re married. It really did happen just out of the blue. I’ll tell you about it some other time, but we just found out quite suddenly how much we meant to one another. So there it is . . . And here we are.’ I turned a palm upwards in my lap. It was a sort of gesture of relegation; an ‘over to you’.
The pause seemed to last for ever, then they both spoke at once. As Emory began, quickly: ‘So he’ll be over here soon? How soon?’ James found his voice. He seemed to speak with difficulty. ‘So you’re going to stay at Ashley? Here?’
‘This is a much nicer cottage,’ said Emory, ‘than the one he has in the farmyard.’
I suppose I must have gaped up at the pair of them. The conversation seemed to be taking a turn towards sheer irrelevance. Or so one might have thought, if it had not been for those cool Ashley eyes meeting on me like searchlights concentrated on a target, and the impression I got of those quick Ashley brains reappraising some situation I hadn’t yet grasped.
‘No,’ I said, rather sharply, ‘not here. I’ve some other news for you. I’d have told you tomorrow, in any case. We plan to emigrate. Rob’s been thinking of it for ages, and we spoke to Mr Emerson today about it. I want to go, too. It’s the best thing, you must see that.’ I looked at James, and tried a smile. ‘I told you before that all I wanted was time to let the future show itself, and now it has. So surely that’s your problem solved, too?’
James didn’t answer. Above my head the concentration had shifted. I looked up at Emory. They were consulting one another in silence across me, as if I wasn’t there. It is always irritating to be ignored; this was more, it was curiously disturbing. So was Emory’s next remark.
‘You can stop worrying, then, Twin.’
I raised my brows. ‘Doesn’t it concern both of you? I meant that I am now prepared to break the trust. I told Mr Emerson so today.’
No answer. My over-sensitive mental antennae picked up some powerful and urgent message that couldn’t be spoken. James’s eyes were still fast on his brother. Emory nodded to him, then smiled down at me.
‘You must forgive us for seeming so eager to lose you, but you know the situation. Of course that’s wonderful news about the trust. So, since it’s working out so well for everyone, it seems we can offer you our congratulations. And the bridegroom, too, of course.’
Plain, ordinary words, kindly, even; but there was no kindness in his voice, only briskness, with a burnish of flippancy, that left nothing to respond to.
James saved me the need. He was pursuing something of his own, still with that disturbing urgency. ‘Then you’ll sell the cottage strip?’
‘Well, yes,’ I said slowly.
‘I hadn’t thought about it yet, but why not? This is one bet I don’t feel like hedging. We shan’t come back.’
James’s face went slack with relief, and I saw colour come creeping back. I had some reappraisal to do there, myself, it seemed. Not only did he urgently want the property; he was eager to see me go. Emory pegged it home, saying, swiftly, and with an easiness that seemed worked for: ‘What splendid news. It really is reprieve, Twin.’
‘Reprieve?’ I queried.
Emory moved away from me, to perch on the edge of the table. He seemed relaxed now, and totally at ease. ‘I think you should be told, cousin dear, that it really was becoming more than ever urgent that we should be able to sell the Court, and sell it quickly. We’ve got a big speculator interested now, but he won’t look at the property without access to Penny’s Flats. And we are being hurried. Our dear stepmother’s father finds himself suddenly in need of funds, so he proposes to transfer back to Spain some of the capital he put into the Bristol business. Something to do with marriage trusts for the two other daughters; dowries, they call it still. Quaint, don’t you think?’
‘I see. And it’s tied up, is that it?’
‘You could put it that way if you like.’ Emory sounded amused. ‘It so happens that it’s in use elsewhere. We’ve been repaying the interest so far in instalments, but now they want the principal back . . . And I’m afraid it isn’t there.’
The reappraisal was easy after all. ‘You mean you stole it,’ I said.
‘You have such a way of putting things,’ said Emory.
Another silence. Then I got to my feet. ‘Well, there doesn’t seem to be much more to say, does there? My husband and I—’ the phrase was like a shield ‘—will see Mr Emerson again as soon as we can, and let him get on with breaking the trust and transferring the cottage strip to you.’ I took a breath, trying to control my voice, but it came out edged. ‘I hope he’ll be able to get its worth out of you, and in cash, because Rob and I are going to need it. But for the present the cottage is still ours, and I should like the keys back, please, and then I’d like you both to go.’