The Shrouded Walls (12 page)

Sobs trembled in my throat. Suddenly my shoulders were shaking. I closed my eyes in wretchedness, and then his hand was touching my shoulder and his voice said with unexpected gentleness: “Forgive me. I see I’ve been too harsh.”

To my shame I let him press me to him and hide my face against his breast; his fingers stroked my hair.

“But you were outwardly so proud and independent!” he said regretfully. “I did not realize—”

I turned aside from him, my tears under control. “There was no question of you being too harsh,” I said stonily. “I was suddenly reminded of my parents’ death and was overcome with grief for a moment. I’m sorry to have made such an exhibition of my feelings before you. And now, if you will excuse me, I shall change and dress for dinner.”

He bowed silently and after a moment withdrew to his dressing room once more. I waited for him to call for his valet, but he did not and the silence remained like a pall over the room.

I was still by the window some minutes later when he came back to talk to me.

I gave a start of surprise.

“I quite forgot to tell you,” he said. “I have asked the Shermans to dine with us tomorrow. James Sherman, as you may remember, was my father’s lawyer.”

“Very well,” I said, perhaps sounding more dignified than I intended. “I’ll see that the necessary arrangements are made to receive him. How many visitors will there be?”

“Five in all. Sherman himself, his wife and daughters, and his brother Charles.”

“Five. Thank you.”

A pause. The gulf yawned between us. Then:

“I have just one question to ask you about Ned,” he said quietly, “and then we need make no further reference to the subject. Did he speak to you of Rodric?”

I stared. His face was watchful but I could not read the expression in his eyes.

“No,” I said, and then realizing that this would seem unlikely I added: “At least, he merely mentioned him and said how fond of him he had been.”

“I see.”

“Why do you ask?” I said as he turned to go. “Is there some mystery about Rodric?”

“None that I know of,” he said flatly, and withdrew without further comment to his dressing room.

Dinner was at four o’clock; outside dusk was falling and the rain came sweeping across the Marsh to dash itself against the window-panes. Axel and I entered the dining room to find Mary already seated in an unbecoming violet gown with puffed cap-sleeves which made her plump arms look even larger than they were. Ned came in a moment later; he was clean and tidy, and although Axel looked at him very hard it seemed he could find no fault with Ned’s appearance tonight. Esther came in soon after Ned. She looked very handsome in black satin, the sombre shade of mourning suiting her much too well, the gown cut to compliment each line of her figure so that it was hard to believe she was old enough to be the mother of grown sons. She looked at me curiously, as if she were trying to perceive whether Axel had reprimanded me for walking to Haraldsford with Ned, and I was careful to smile with just the right degree of coldness so that she would realize I had survived her attempts at interference with ease and despised her for her prying into my personal affairs.

Vere and Alice came into the room to complete the gathering, I said grace as shortly as possible and we sat down to eat.

I soon noticed Vere’s moroseness, but it took me till the second course to realize that he and Axel were not speaking to one another. In contrast Alice seemed untroubled and we talked together for a while of her mother. Mary as usual was too withdrawn to contribute much to the conversation and Ned seemed to have no other ambition than to eat his food as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. At the other end of the table, Axel and Esther maintained a formal conversation for a while, but in general it was a silent meal, and I was glad when it was over and it was time for the women to withdraw.

As we went upstairs to the drawing room I heard Esther say to Alice: “Has Vere quarreled with George?”

And Alice said: “There were difficulties today in Rye.”

Further conversation on this topic was not possible between them as we reached the drawing room door a moment later.

After ten minutes I excused myself, saying I was tired after a long day, and in truth I did feel rather more weary than usual, probably on account of the strain of the morning spent with Alice while she had instructed me on household matters. In my rooms once more I summoned Marie-Claire, made an elaborate toilette and was between the sheets of the big double
bed by six o’clock.

At first I thought that sleep would come easily, but as sometimes happens, although my limbs soon became warm and relaxed my mind quickened and sharpened until in the end even the physical peace began to ebb and I tossed and turned restlessly. I was thinking of Axel’s relationship with Esther still, examining the idea minutely until there was not a single aspect which had escaped my consideration. Esther was probably no more than twelve years Axel’s senior, possibly even less; she was good-looking, worldly and shrewd, bored enough with her empty marriage to take lovers when the opportunity arose, sharp enough to see that her sophisticated step-son with his cosmopolitan city background could prove a welcome diversion.

And Axel, despite the respect he always claimed to bear towards his father, had allowed himself to be diverted. Her maturity would have appealed to him, no doubt; he would certainly belong to her generation more than to mine.

I pictured his arrival at Haraldsdyke the previous Christmas, the quick flare as the affair was set alight, the holocaust of discovery. I could almost hear Robert Brandson shout in the rich English voice I had never heard: “I made a new will leaving all to you, but I shall revoke it! I’ll not leave you a penny of my money, not a stone of Haraldsdyke!” And then afterwards Rodric would have been the perfect scapegoat, all the more perfect since he had not been alive to declare his innocence. Axel had ridden off after him into the mist and found only his horse and hat among the marshes.

Or so Axel said.

I sat up, sweat on my forehead, my limbs trembling and fumbled for the sulphur and the match jar to light the lamp.

Of course, the affair was all over now; it had ended in disaster and Axel would be sharp enough to see that any hint that such a situation had ever existed must be suppressed. He would hardly be foolish enough to continue the affair now.

Unless he loved her. It was obvious he did not love me. He was fond enough of me to make a display of affection effortless, but there was no question of love. Why should there be? I had not loved him. It had been a marriage of convenience and would remain so. Why not? Who married for love nowadays anyway? Only fools. Or paupers. Or those
born
to good luck and happiness.

I slipped out of bed, my throat tight and aching, and drew on a warm woolen robe to protect me from the damp chill of the November night. In the room next door the fire had burned low, but I stirred the embers with the poker and threw on another lump of coal with the fireside tongs. For a long time I sat on the hearth and watched the leaping flames and wondered if I would still imagine such terrible scenes involving Axel if he loved me and I loved him in return. Perhaps if I knew he loved me I would not mind whatever had happened in the past. Perhaps I would even be sorry for Esther, poor Esther whose youth was gone and who would soon lose much of the magnetism on which she relied to escape from the hideous boredom of widowhood in the country. Nothing would matter so much if Axel loved me a little, if I did not feel so lost and adrift and alone
...

I stood up, went out into the corridor, moved to the head of the stairs. Voices were still coming from the drawing room so I assumed that no one else had yet retired, but there were no sounds of masculine voices either, which seemed to indicate that the men were still in the dining room.

I padded aimlessly downstairs to the deserted hall and wandered into the saloon next to the library in which Robert Brandson had met his death nearly a year ago. Candles were alight on the table; a fire was burning in the grate and the room was warm; when I heard the voices from the room next door a second later, I paused, knowing I should not listen but aware only of my curiosity. Finally the hesitation passed and the shame was overcome; softly closing the door of the saloon behind me I tip-toed over to the window and sat on the window-seat which lay behind the long curtains and close to the communicating door between the two rooms. The door, of course, was closed, but evidently it fitted badly, for the conversation was audible and I could understand then how easily Alice and Mary had heard nearly every word of the quarrel between Rodric and his father which had taken place last Christmas Eve.

“God damn you,” said Vere in a soft distinct voice. “God damn you, George Brandson.”

“You may seek my damnation as often as you wish,” said Axel, cool as ice, the faint flavor of contempt lingering in each syllable. “You may invoke the Deity from this hour to eternity, but it won’t alter my decision. When I left here after Papa’s death it was arranged with the trustees of his will that you were to have enough power to administer Haraldsdyke and the estate for one year or for such time as elapsed before I fulfilled the conditions of my inheritance. You’ve been in control here for nearly a year. And what’s happened? You’ve incurred debts which you were not legally entitled to incur, you’ve lost money hand over fist and you’ve indulged in some agricultural experiments which I think even the most enlightened agrarian would call hazardous in the extreme. The trustees, as we saw today, are seriously embarrassed and I don’t blame them. I would be too if I were in their position and had to render accounts relating to the past financial year at Haraldsdyke. I had hoped to be able to rely on you heavily when it came to administering the estate, b
u
t now I see I shall have to revise my ideas. It’s obvious you have no more grasp of finance than Rodric had, and Lord knows that was little enough.”

“Don’t you compare me with Rodric!” Vere’s quiet voice rose in fury. “My God, I suffered enough from comparisons while he was alive to endure listening to more of them now he’s dead! It was always the same, always—I was the only one who really cared for Haraldsdyke and wanted to improve the land, yet what chance did I ever have to prove myself when Papa was too pig-headed to permit any changes? He never listened to me! Nobody ever listened to me! Everything was Rodric, Rodric, Rodric—and what did Rodric ever do except squander his opportunities and spend money like water on his damnfool escapades? But Rodric was precious, Rodric was sacred! Papa listened to Rodric, even when he never had time to listen to me—condoned Rodric’s affairs but wouldn’t forgive me for my marriage—showered Rodric with money for his pleasures, but made me beg for any money to spend on Haraldsdyke.”

“I’m not in the least interested,” Axel interrupted acidly, “in your past grievances and grudges concerning Rodric. What I’m concerned about is the fact that over the past year you’ve lost a considerable amount of my money.”

“It can be repaid. A great deal of it is merely a temporary loss which will be made good next year. I still maintain that my schemes are worthy of consideration.”

“Then I’m afraid I am completely unable to agree with you.”

“In God’s name!” shouted Vere so loudly that I thought his cry must have resounded throughout the house. “Why do I always have to beg for what I want? I’m sick to death of begging! If I had any money of my own
I swear I would wash my hands of you all and buy my own land and build my own farm!”

“I’m only sorry Papa did not provide for you in his will, but he evidently had his reasons
...”

“I don’t want your sympathy! The money would have come to me if Papa hadn’t made the will in your favor without anyone knowing he was going to cut Rodric out of any share of the inheritance, the money was to come to me.”

“Please,” said Axel, “let’s be realistic and not speculate about what might or might not have taken place if circumstances had been different. The money is mine and Haraldsdyke is mine, but I’m willing enough to share it with you to some extent and let you continue to administer the estate as you think best. However, obviously if my liberality is going to result in heavy financial loss—”

“You surely can’t judge me on the results of a year’s bad luck!”

“I think there’s rather more than bad luck involved.”

“And what do you know about the estate anyway? How can you tell? I’ve slaved and toiled and worked long hours for Haraldsdyke. I love it better than any place on earth! And now you come along and try to tell me I’ve deliberately misappropriated your money—”

“Nonsense. All I’m saying is that I’m not in favor of any further agricultural experimentation for at least three years and won’t advance you large sums of money to apply to schemes which are as yet untried and dangerous.”

“And who are you to judge? What do you know of agriculture anyway? Who are you to make decisions which may affect the whole future of Haraldsdyke?
”

“My dear Vere,” said Axel, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Haraldsdyke
is
mine! And it
is
my money! I think I’m entitled to some say in the matter.”

“Yes!” crie
d
Vere, “Haraldsdyke is yours and the money is yours because, luckily for you, Papa made a will in your favor in a fit of mental aberration and then conveniently died before he could change it!”

There was a short tingling silence. Then Axel said quietly: “Precisely what are you suggesting?”

“Why, nothing! Merely that it was fortunate for you that Papa died when he did—and that Rodric died before he could answer his accusers!”

“Are you by any conceivable chance trying to imply that
...”

“I mean what I say, not a word more and not a word less!”

“Then you’d best be extraordinarily careful, hadn’t you, Vere, because like any other gentleman I’m exceedingly averse to being slandered and am—fortunately—in a position to retaliate very seriously indeed.”