Victoria Holt Read online

  “It might be something else.”

  “Now what else could it be, Mrs. Verlaine?”

  “The desire to please a father, the desire to make amends, to forget old enmities.”

  “You are sentimental. No one would believe it to look at you…except me of course. You look so coolly on the world…so it seems. But I could see that underneath it all you’re as sentimental as—as—Edith.”

  “There’s no harm in sentiment.”

  “As long as you don’t smother the truth with it. It’s like pouring treacle over a suet pudding. You can’t see anything but the treacle.”

  “You were telling me about Harry.”

  “Oh…Harry! He had debts. Blue blood doesn’t pay debts, does it? But money does. I had the money. Perhaps William didn’t want it to go out of the family. Did you think that was the reason? But you couldn’t know that, could you? William said wait, and he wouldn’t give his consent until I was twenty-one. Two years to wait. So we were betrothed. We had a dinner party to celebrate it. Isabella was there. She wasn’t married to William then. There was an orchestra on the dais where the piano is now. We danced, Harry and I, and he said: ‘Two years will soon pass, my darling.’ It did pass and at the end of it I’d lost Harry because he’d met a girl with more money than I had, who could pay his debts without delay and it seemed the need was pressing. She wasn’t as pretty as I was, but she had so much more money.”

  “Perhaps then it was all for the best.”

  “What do you mean…all for the best?”

  “Since it was the money he wanted, he might not have been a good husband.”

  “That’s what they tried to tell me.” She stamped her foot “It’s not true. I would have married him. He would have loved me most then. Harry just wanted life to be easy. He would have been happy with me if they’d let him marry me in the beginning. I’d have had my babies…” Her face puckered; she was like a child crying for a coveted toy. “But no,” she cried fiercely, “they stopped me. William stopped me. How dared he! Do you know what he said? ‘He’s a fortune hunter. You’re better without him.’ And he looked prim and virtuous, as though Harry was bad and he was so good. He—why, I could tell you…”

  I was looking at her so sadly that she smiled and her vehemence was stemmed. “You have a kind heart, Mrs. Verlaine,” she said, “and you know what it means to lose a lover, don’t you? You suffered too, didn’t you? That’s why I talk to you. I had a ring…a beautiful opal ring. But opals are unlucky, they say. Harry couldn’t bring himself to tell me, and I was nearly twenty-one and I fixed the wedding day and the presents started to come in. And then…one day…I had the letter. He couldn’t face me, he could only write it. He’d been married for months. I ought to have defied my brother and run away with him when he first asked me. William broke my heart, Mrs. Verlaine. I hated him. I hated Harry too for a while. I took the opal ring and I threw it out to sea…and then I took my paints and painted Harry’s face on the walls. Harry’s face…horrible…horrible…horrible…but it comforted me.”

  “I’m sorry,” was all I could say.

  “You’re truly so.” She smiled at me sadly. “But don’t you say things are forgotten. They are never forgotten. I shall never forget Harry. And I shall never forget Beaumont. My darling Beau…I felt happier when he was born. He took to me right away. He always wanted Auntie Sib. I let him use my paints and he liked that. He was always with me, he was sunny natured and so beautiful. Beau! We naturally called him that because his name was Beaumont. But it meant something too. It meant that he was beautiful.”

  “So you had your consolation.”

  “Until that day…the day he was murdered.”

  “It was an accident. It could have happened to any two boys.”

  She shook her head angrily. “But this was Beau…my lovely, beautiful Beau.” She turned to me suddenly: “There’s something in this house…something bad. I know.”

  “A house can’t be bad,” I said.

  “It can if the people who live there make it so. There are bad wicked people in this house. Be careful.”

  I said I would and because I felt she was going to begin an attack on Napier and that if she did I should be forced to defend him, I said I must go.

  She consulted her watch and nodded.

  “Come again,” she said. “Come and talk to me. I like talking to you. And don’t forget…one day I have to paint a picture of you.”

  ***

  Alice walked beside me in the gardens where I had come for a little exercise. It had been raining all the morning and now the sun had come out; the flowers smelled all the more delicious and the bees were already busy in the lavender bushes.

  Alice was talking to me about the Chopin prelude which she was having some difficulty in mastering, and I was trying to explain to her that the effect of simplicity was often the hardest to obtain.

  “How I should love to sit at the piano and play as you do, Mrs. Verlaine. It always looks so easy for you.”

  “It’s due to years and years of practice,” I told her. “You haven’t been practicing for years and years, and you have improved tremendously.”

  “Does Sir William ever ask about our lessons?” she asked.

  “Yes, he has done so.”

  “Does he mention me?”

  “He mentions you all.”

  She was pink with pleasure. She said suddenly, her face grave: “Edith was ill again this morning.”

  “I believe it sometimes happens that expectant mothers are ill in the morning; as the time passes she will feel better.”

  “What a good thing it is. Everyone is very happy about the baby. They say this is going to make everything right.”

  “What is going to make everything right?” It was Allegra who had fallen into step beside me.

  “We were talking about the baby,” Alice explained.

  “Everybody is talking about the baby. Anyone would think no one had ever had a baby before. After all, they are married, aren’t they? Why shouldn’t they have a baby…People do. That’s what they marry for…or part of it.”

  Allegra was looking at me slyly as though to provoke me into some reproof.

  “Have you done your practice?” I asked coolly.

  “Not yet, Mrs. Verlaine. I will though…later. Only it has been such a horrid morning and now the sun is out, and it’s going to rain again soon. Look at those clouds.” She was smiling at me mischievously, but almost immediately her face darkened. “I’m sick of hearing about this baby. My grandfather is a changed man. That’s what one of the footmen told me this morning. He said: ‘Miss Allegra, this baby will make all the difference to your grandfather. It’ll be like having Mr. Beau back again!’”

  “Yes, that’s it,” said Alice. “It will be like having Mr. Beau back again. I wonder whether there’ll be no more lights in the chapel then.”

  “There’s a perfectly logical explanation to the light in the chapel,” I said; and as they looked at me expectantly I added: “I’m sure.”

  Allegra stood still, expressing her exasperation by facial contortions. “All this fuss. It nauseates me. Why should there be all this fuss about a baby? Perhaps it will be a girl and then serve them right. They seem to forget that I’m here. They never make this fuss about me. I’m Napier’s daughter and Sir William is my grandfather. Yet he scarcely looks at me and when he does his face shows…distaste.”

  “Oh no, Allegra,” I said.

  “Oh yes, Mrs. Verlaine. So what’s the use of pretending. I used to think it was because Napier was my father and grandfather hated my father. But it’s not that because this new baby will be Napier’s, and they are all making such a fuss before it is born.”

  She ran ahead of us and started pulling a rose to pieces.

  “Allegra,” warned Alice, “that’s one of your grandfather’s favorite
s.”

  “I know,” spat out Allegra. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

  “That’s not the best way to relieve your feelings,” I said.

  Allegra grinned at me. “It’s one way, Mrs. Verlaine. The best available at the moment.”

  Allegra had plucked another of the precious blooms and was bent on destruction.

  I knew it was no use protesting and that once she had no audience she would stop, so I stepped off the path and started to walk across the lawn.

  ***

  Some time before this Mrs. Lincroft had suggested that I accompany the girls when they went out riding, and I had ordered a riding habit from London as I hated borrowing clothes and Edith’s certainly did not fit me well. I admitted to myself that this was an extravagance but having acquired it I rode more frequently than I had previously.

  My habit was in a becoming shade of dark blue—not quite navy; it was beautifully cut and as soon as I saw it I did not regret the money I had spent on it. The girls all assured me that I looked very elegant in it and they were constantly admiring it.

  When she made the suggestion Mrs. Lincroft went on: “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you are here, Mrs. Verlaine. It’s a great help to us all now that we have this extra burden. I shall be very pleased when the new curate arrives. But then I suppose we shall have to wait until Mrs. Rendall considers he is ready to help with the teaching.”

  I said that I had contributed very little and in fact enjoyed what I had done, for what I dreaded most was to have too little to do.

  I was in fact delighted with the turn of events because not only did it keep me fully occupied and make me feel I was earning my salary, but I was with the girls more often and was beginning to know them better…Allegra, Alice, and Sylvia, that was. I saw less of Edith—she had given up riding now—though occasionally she would ask for a lesson at the piano; but even at such times she seemed to be shutting herself away from me as though she regretted the impulse which had almost made her confide in me.

  One early afternoon when I was riding with the three younger girls, we saw Napier coming toward us.

  He said: “Hello, enjoying a ride?”

  I noticed how he avoided looking at Allegra—and she at him—and that her mouth formed into the sullen lines with which I was growing familiar. Why did he dislike her? Was he thinking of her mother, for whom he must have had some affection at some time. What had she been like? Exactly what had he felt for her? And what business was it of mine? Except of course that I was here to teach Allegra and I should have liked to help her if possible. A girl who bore so much resentment was storing up trouble for herself.

  “It’s a lovely day,” I said. And I thought, What a trite statement of the obvious that was! And I had said it as though I was just discovering it.

  I was aware of three pairs of eyes watching Napier and me rather too intently for my comfort.

  “I’ll ride with you,” said Napier, and he turned his horse and we rode on, he a little ahead of us in the narrow road. As I studied his straight back and the proud set of his head, I was thinking that Allegra would be aware of everything he said, every inflection of his voice. Poor Allegra! All she needed I thought was affection—and she had none at all. Sylvia’s father would be tender and loving however much a martinet her mother might be and there was no doubt of Mrs. Lincroft’s devotion to Alice; yes, poor Allegra was the unfortunate one. I must try to do something for her.

  I turned to speak to her and saw that she was trying to push Sylvia out of her saddle.

  “Allegra,” I said sharply, “pray don’t do that.”

  “Sylvia was teasing me,” retorted Allegra.

  Napier ignored the girls and said to me: “I’m glad to see how you’ve taken to riding, Mrs. Verlaine.” We had emerged from the narrow lane and he had brought his horse neck to neck with mine.

  “I never thought I could enjoy outdoor exercise so much.”

  “And everything you undertake you do well.” His eyes belied the respect in his voice.

  “I wish I could be sure of that.”

  “But you are sure. That is why you succeed. You must have faith in yourself before you expect anyone else to…even horses. That horse knows he has a very determined rider on his back.”

  “You make it sound very simple.”

  “Theory always is. It’s practice that is less so.”

  “That sounds profound. Do you apply it to your mode of life?”

  “Ah, now you have me, Mrs. Verlaine, of course I don’t. Like most people I’m very good at giving advice…to others. But it’s true. You must admit it. I know what you’re thinking. You dreamed of becoming the greatest pianist in the world, and here you are teaching music to four very indifferent pupils—that’s so, I believe?”

  “My little affairs are scarcely worthy of such a detailed analysis.”

  “On the contrary they make a very good example.”

  “Hardly of interest to you.”

  “You are willfully obtuse today, Mrs. Verlaine.”

  The impulse to fall back and wait for the girls seemed to me a wise move; but I had no intention of making it.

  “You are fully aware,” he went on, glancing at me intently, “that your…past is of the utmost interest to me?”

  “I can’t think why.”

  “You are deceiving yourself but you don’t deceive me.”

  We were looking across the land to sea. The castle showed clearly its Tudor rose outline; below us was the shingle with the waves gently rising and falling over it with a low, almost contented murmur.

  There were the houses, almost at the water’s edge. Fishing boats were drawn up on the shingle; the smell of fish was in the air, mingling with the odor of seaweed.

  I said hastily: “One would imagine that row of houses was actually in the sea.”

  “The sea is encroaching…rapidly. In a hundred years they’ll be washed away. They are continually being flooded. One could draw a parallel. You and I are like those houses; the past is like the sea…threatening to envelop us…and prevent our living free and full lives.”

  “I had no idea that you would indulge in such fanciful observations.”

  “Ah, but there is a great deal you don’t know about me, Mrs. Verlaine.”

  “I never doubted it.”

  “And you show no great curiosity to learn.”

  “If you wished me to know you would no doubt tell me.”

  “But that would deprive you of the pleasure of finding out. To revert to my poetic fancies. I was thinking that a strong sea wall now would save those houses.”

  “Then why don’t they build it?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It would cost a great deal; people don’t like changes. It is so much easier to go on in the old way until something has to be done. I know that one day people will stand here looking on the town and they will no longer see that row of houses because the sea will have taken them. But a sea wall would have saved them. Mrs. Verlaine, you and I have to build that sea wall…metaphorically, I mean. We have to protect ourselves against the encroaching sea of the past.”

  I turned to him and said: “How?”

  “That is what we have to find out. We have to fight…we have to throw off those clinging hands…we have to snap the chains…”

  “Your metaphors are becoming a little mixed,” I said, feeling the need to bring a little lightness into the conversation which I knew well was full of innuendos.

  He laughed aloud.

  “All right,” he said. “All right. Plain straightforward…frank English. I think you and I could help each other to forget.”

  Oh, I thought, how dare he! Did he think he could seduce me as he had Allegra’s mother? A widow, I ruminated. Easy game. Could this possibly be his intention? Perhaps I should go away. I shuddered inwardly to contemplat
e returning to my room in Kensington, advertising for pupils. No, I was not an innocent young girl. I could take care of myself.

  But I would have to show him that if he thought he could amuse himself with me he was mistaken.

  I looked over my shoulder. The girls, with Allegra a little ahead, were walking their horses, keeping a distance between Napier and me.

  I pulled up and the girls came riding up. I sniffed the exhilarating air and gazed at the sea which was sending frothy frills against the glistening shingle.

  “We were wondering what Julius Caesar said when he first saw it,” said Allegra.

  “Those poor ancient Britons!” whispered Alice. “Imagine them.” Her eyes were round with horror and even the presence of Napier could not quell her. “They would see the boats coming in, and they hurried to put on their woad and paint themselves blue to make themselves look frightening. They were the ones who were frightened. And the Romans came and saw and conquered.”

  “And built houses here,” shouted Allegra, determined not to be left out. “And if they hadn’t Miss Brandon would never have come here and disappeared.”

  “How that woman’s memory is kept alive,” murmured Napier.

  Alice went on as though hypnotized: “And they built a town here and their villas and their baths.”

  “Fortunately not under Lovat Stacy,” went on Allegra. “Because if they had she would have wanted to pull our house down to find their remains.”

  “I very much doubt whether that would have been permitted,” said Napier.

  Sylvia, who had remained aloof, murmured: “Perhaps she wouldn’t have asked permission. Those people don’t, my mother says. Perhaps that was what she was trying to do when…”

  Napier sighed as though he were bored and started to move on; we all followed and in a very short time he was beside me again.

  “You’re still thinking about the missing lady,” he accused me. “You are very interested in her. Admit it.”