White Water (39 page)

And Harold, so frail and helplessly in love with Maria. He had adored her. Had felt for her in a way that was new to him even though Maria was his third wife. The others had been wives. Maria had burst into his life like a breath of spring or a ray of sunshine, gladdening his eye and making his heart race for joy. And yet she could not love him in return. She was kind to him most of the time and tried to hide her dismay at the prospect of marrying such an old man.

Always her heart had longed for Hugo, and finally she had confessed her love to him. She left him and went into a nunnery. Poor, dear Harold … Slowly she made her way up to the house and pushed open the front door.

Already the house smelt damp and empty. She drew a deep breath and went into the dining room. The tableboard lay folded against the wall making the room seem larger than ever. The old straw had been swept up and not replaced, she noted. Jem had done his best. The hearth contained ashes and a half burnt log. There were two benches and a chest stood against the far wall. Above it was the shelf which held ‘the plate’ — Ruth’s pride and joy. A silver gilt salt cellar, two embossed plates and a solid silver sweet dish. They must go, she decided. She had already decided how the money raised should be spent and was determined to get every penny possible. There was no room for sentiment, she told herself. There was a painting on the wall which she had never liked. It showed Ruth and Harold as children, standing with their parents. It would have to go — unless Felicity should want it. Maria had made up her mind that all the kitchen equipment should go to Felicity when she set up home with Lucas. The pans and cutlery would fetch very little if sold but would save Felicity a considerable sum. Upstairs she went into the bedroom where Ruth had lived out her last days, bedridden and blind. The room seemed stiflingly small and air-less and impulsively Maria flung open the shutters to let in light and air. Then she regarded the room as unemotionally as she could. The bed had gone, bequeathed to Felicity. The chest and the stool — on which Felicity had sat reading to the old lady — could go to Felicity. A small piece of tapestry on the far wall caught her eye and she smiled. Ruth had made it as a wedding gift for Harold and his first wife. The second wife had not appreciated it and Ruth had taken it back! Maria decided to keep it. Ruth would not like it to pass into the hands of strangers.

The chest was unlocked and she lifted the lid. It was almost empty and a smell of musty lavender drifted from it. In the bottom lay a pair of satin shoes, with grass stains at the toes and a pair of walking shoes, well scuffed but clean. There was also a pair of gloves with the fingertips neatly darned. Slowly, almost reverently, she closed the lid and went out of the room.

The next bed chamber was Harold’s, with its large four-poster bed. Had Martin and Felicity slept in it, she wondered, or had he gone along to her little room? It no longer mattered. And yet — a man and a woman had lain together as lovers and now there was a lonely woman with two small boys and they would grow up to be men. Each one would lie with a woman and more sons would be conceived. What
is
God’s purpose, she asked herself suddenly? What
is
His plan? Of course the church had an answer to the questions, but the tragic series of events over the past month had shaken her faith considerably. But no, she would not doubt His goodness. Her earlier religious training would stand her in good stead. She whispered a few words of contrition and made up her mind to set aside a short period each day to consider and renew her beliefs. But now her task was to raise money by the sale of the house and furniture and with it to carry out her own plans. She could not day-dream over every room.

Felicity’s room was almost bare except for the truckle bed, and a small carved chest which was empty except for a few faded rose petals. There was a rectangular mark on the wall where
her
tapestry had once hung.

Upstairs was the cook’s room, downstairs was the kitchen. Jem lived over the stable but he, too, would soon be gone. New people would move in and there would be changes.

She blinked her eyes tiredly. Tonight she would sleep in Harold’s four-poster. He would like that, she mused. Jem should bring up a few warm bricks to dry the dampness out of the sheets. Tomorrow morning the auctioneer would come to Romney House. It would seem so very final. In the afternoon she would go to see Felicity. They had so much to talk about, yet she dreaded the meeting for Felicity’s grief would compound her own. But that was tomorrow. Now she could go downstairs and sit by the fire and remember Hugo.

*

Henry Strobert, the auctioneer, was an efficient man, small and plump and sparing with his words. Their survey of the house and its contents was conducted in a businesslike manner that left no room for sentiment. He went from room to room, listing the articles for sale and noting separately the size of the rooms. From outside he surveyed it from all directions and noted down relevant details which might affect the price. He then conferred with Maria and they agreed on a reserve price below which he would not sell. A date was arranged for interested parties to view and he mentioned two people in the neighbourhood who might wish to buy the property. He made no reference to the previous tenants and if he had heard of Martin’s death he kept the knowledge to himself. If he noticed Maria’s reddened eyes he asked no questions. For Maria it was a relief not to have to speak of her loss and her meeting with Henry Strobert refreshed her.

She left Matt and Jem to their own devices and rode, as arranged, to visit Felicity. Lucas waylaid her a few yards down the lane, out of sight of the house.

‘She’s over the worst of it I think,’ he told her, his expression earnest. ‘I’ve cheered her along a bit, best I could. She’s a fine girl — woman, I mean. And the boys are that bonny, like their mother.’ Maria opened her mouth to reply but he gave her no chance. ‘I reckon she’ll have me, ma’am, in time. She seems to enjoy my company and we laugh together. Leastways we did until — well, she hasn’t laughed since
he
died, that is, him from Romney House but that’s natural enough, I reckon, and she’s only human. ’Tis hard to smile and be cheerful when someone like that dies. You’ll understand what I’m saying, I know. And
your
man dying so sudden, she took that hard, too. He was a good man, she tells me, and I don’t doubt it and my condolences to you … ’

‘Thank you — ’

‘But she’ll get over it in time. I’ll see to it, never you mind. It grieves me to see her so quiet and thoughtful, but to tell you the truth I’m so taken with her! I’d wed her tomorrow if she’d have me, but she’s not said the word and I can’t hurry her at such a sad time — ’

‘Lucas, I — ’

‘What I was thinking, or hoping, to tell it plainly, is that you’d put in a word for me if you thought me a proper husband for her. My ma is all in favour, if you should want her opinion on the matter. I love her, ma’am, and I’ll not let a soul hurt her. She’ll be safe with me — ’

‘Lucas!’ Maria held up a hand and he stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, ma’am. Forgive me. I was so wanting to tell you how ’tis.’

‘I can see, Lucas, that you do indeed love her and have her interests at heart. You are a good man and I see you have a generous heart. If ’tis any consolation, I think you would make her an excellent husband and I dearly hope to see the two of you wed. The boys need a father and Felicity needs a husband — ’

‘And
I
need a wife!’

‘Of course. I will speak for you, Lucas, but as you say she is very distressed at present and we must give her time to recover and collect her thoughts.’

‘You’ve no objection to me speaking to you then?’

‘Certainly not. ’Twas well meant and now we understand each other.’

‘I’ll be on my way then. I’ve work to do. Good day to you, ma’am.’

‘God be with you.’

She watched him go for a moment and her heart went out to him. A kindly, honest man, she thought. Almost another Matt Cartwright but without Matt’s disadvantage. He would be a loyal husband and loving father. Felicity was very fortunate. She forced a cheerful expression and went on to the cottage. There was no answer to her knock so she made her way round the side of the cottage and found Felicity collecting eggs from the hen coop. She straightened up as Maria called her name and, setting down the basket, flew into Maria’s arms. The composure of both women gave way under the strain of the meeting and for a while they wept unashamedly. Each had lost the man dearest to them in the world and each understood perfectly the other’s grief. But after a while, when the worst was over, they stood back and regarded each other and were forced to laugh, albeit shakily, at the dismal picture they presented.

Felicity said, ‘We must not weep any more. Dorothy tells me that weeping ruins the eyes.’

‘Does she indeed?’ Maria smiled briefly. ‘Then we’d best take heed of her advice. We don’t want to ruin our eyes. We have enough problems without adding to them.’

She swallowed hard and wiped her tears while Felicity did likewise. Then they hugged each other again and drew apart. Felicity picked up the basket, found the last three eggs, and led the way into the house which was empty except for the two babies fast asleep in their crib. Fresh tears welled up in Maria’s eyes as she looked at them and she wished that Hannah could see them — her first grandchildren. Even in sleep, with their eyes closed, she could see the difference between them. One had dark lashes and a fine covering of dark downy hair, the other sandy lashes and no hair. The dark boy was the first born.

‘They are beautiful,’ said Maria. ‘You must be very proud.’

‘I am.’

‘I wish it had — been otherwise.’

Felicity did not answer but fetched ale for herself and Maria. They sat beside the hearth and talked about the future and Maria confided her plans. She spoke as calmly as she could but beneath the flat, unemotional voice, Felicity sensed the older woman’s despair. Maria told her that she had no wish to continue at Heron without Hugo. She wanted, more than anything else, to return to the nunnery where she had spent some years before marrying Hugo. It was not possible to do that while Lorna and Piers still had need of her, but in a very few years she would leave them. She was quite adamant. Allan would marry again as soon as a suitable match could be arranged and Piers and Lorna would be put in their care. Heron was their home still and would be until
they
married and settled elsewhere.

‘But they’ll miss you!’ cried Felicity. ‘They need a mother.’

‘They need a father, too, but he has been taken from them. The world is not an easy place and they must learn to stand on their own feet. How would they manage if I were to die? Allan would assume responsibility.’

‘But — will you not marry again? In time, mayhap?’ Felicity was distressed for her.

‘Never. That is my real tragedy, you see. Hugo was the only one for me. I always knew it. No, there will never be anyone else in my life and now I crave the peace and security of that little convent. You have never known such tranquillity so you will not understand. You must believe me — ‘tis the only way now that I can end my days. I have written to them explaining the situation and will visit them as soon as I’m able. Part of the proceeds of Romney House will go there to await me. Another part of the money will go to set up a trust for Martin’s sons so that they shall never lack. He would have wished it. But the money will be for them alone and not for any children you and Lucas may have. I’m certain you will see the fairness of what I say. The sum will not be large enough — ’

‘I understand.’

The third part of the money was to refinance the Heron mine in an effort to get it back into production. Without the mine Heron would fail.

‘The money will not be enough,’ said Maria, ‘but ’tis the best I can do. Allan must marry money to raise the rest and try again to raise a loan in London. It may not be possible. The last loan came to nought for without Bucher ’tis no longer such an attractive proposition. We shall see. Allan deserves another chance. He has had a lot to bear these last few years and it has not all been self-inflicted. My heart aches for him. He is a haunted man. Those damned Gillises will be his undoing if he cannot rise above his fears. If only Harriet had lived. Poor little girl … ’ She sighed. ‘But regrets get us nowhere. We must look forward as hopefully as we can. I’m glad you are happily settled and now that the twins are provided for — ’

‘And if I should
not
wed Lucas?’

‘Not wed him? But why not?’

‘If, for any reason, I do not wed him, the money is still theirs?’

‘Of course, but — Felicity, what do you mean? I thought — ’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Lucas loves you. I’m certain of it. He spoke with me before I arrived. Oh, he will ask for your hand.’

‘I know he will. But I may not give it.’

‘Felicity!’

The girl lowered her eyes.

‘The boys are Kendals,’ she whispered.

‘They are Carrs,’ said Maria, her tone gentle. ‘You and Martin were never husband and wife, Felicity. You cannot pretend otherwise. Lucas is a good man. You are most fortunate that he wishes to wed you.’

‘I know. I do not say I will not accept only that I have not made up my mind.’

‘Then I urge you to do so without too much delay,’ said Maria and there, for the time being, the matter rested.