A Little Folly (26 page)

Louisa was grateful for her aunt’s emollient character; but she feared it would be long indeed before such an unaccountable incident could be a subject of amusement, at least in her own case. If all had been well with Valentine, this rash proposal to a woman for whom he had shown little admiration would have been thoroughly disconcerting; and knowing his current state of mind, she could not think of it without the deepest perturbation and bafflement. Was it perhaps the wild throw of the disillusioned lover, trying to show he was unwounded and heart-free? But the lover of Lady Harriet he could never be, and no such demonstrations could be expected to have any effect on her. Nor could she imagine him deciding to abandon his romantic temperament, and turning with a shrug to the path of worldliness. – This haste, this suddenness: this indifference to the possibility of appearing abject or absurd: none if it was like him, and all of it alarmed her.

Fortunately the arrival of another caller enforced a change of subject, and furnished a distraction for Mrs Murrow’s mind, if such it could be called, in that the caller bore the outlandish name of Mr Smithson, which she must have repeated to her several times before she could overcome her incredulous distaste at it. Still, it seemed to Louisa an intolerable time before the departure of the visitors freed her at last to run upstairs and knock at Valentine’s door.

He was up, and dressed, his hair combed: he was sitting by the window, handsome and graceful as ever – but so pale. Even his hands had a papery look.

‘I have just seen the Murrow leave,’ he said, quite gently, ‘so I suppose you know about it.’

‘Yes. And I am so very glad the answer was a negative, Valentine. I could not have endured such an icy sister-in-law.’ It was the only way she knew how to begin.

‘I suppose they are all clacking about it.’

‘It would be surprising if they did not. But, then, you have been clacked about, as you so elegantly put it, a good deal lately. And it will all presently die down, if—’

‘If I choose to let it.’ He gave an ashen smile. ‘We always did understand each other, didn’t we? I fear in this, however, I have quite passed your understanding.’

‘Certainly I could not believe you in love with Miss Astbury. So I suppose something else was in your mind last evening. Beyond that I cannot go.’

‘She took it rather well, in truth. Considering that it was very near a piece of impudence. But I thought – as far as I was thinking anything at all – that it was worth a try: that it was no more rash, for example, than throwing down a stake at a gaming-table.’ A little raw colour appeared on his cheekbones. ‘Or a faro-bank.’

‘But surely no better as a cure for unhappiness.’

‘Unhappiness? Well, I suppose that is a sort of term for it. – Louisa, I think you will despise me. Be assured I do so myself, more than you can conceive. I must have money. My bank-balance is horribly inclined to the wrong side of the ledger. Where did it go? You can guess, I am sure.’

With forced calmness she said: ‘Lady Harriet’s faro-bank. But, Valentine, can it be so much? I thought you did not play deep.’

‘That is how one begins: but then small stakes begin to appear very contemptible, and one seeks higher excitements … I did not, thank heaven, become quite addicted to it. No, my addiction –’ with a flinching look ‘– lay elsewhere in that house. But, still, the damage was done. I have lost so much that I cannot see any way to get myself clear: that is, to meet my obligations. And so, I thought: try it. Do as others do: have a fling at a rich marriage: what is there to lose? The spirit of mercenary coldness is everywhere, it is universal. Nothing else is expected. Oh, it was ridiculous, to be sure. But I had nothing to fear from a refusal.’

‘Valentine, I do not despise you. I am only anxious for you. You say you cannot meet your obligations: do you mean you have large debts?’

‘Large, no. If I were to slink home to Devonshire at once, and live quietly and prudently at Pennacombe for the next year, then I should be in no great difficulty. But there is an exception. I can hardly call it a debt: it is more an absolute, unbreakable obligation. And the money for that I cannot realise.’

‘Do you mean – do you mean Mr Tresilian? The three thousand pounds?’

She saw him wince at the name. ‘That is the sum. Somehow I must get it, soon – it is imperative, Louisa, and if I do not—’

‘But, Valentine, consider: this is James Tresilian. I know you are – much at odds with him just now; but in justice, think of the man you know. He will never press you to repay it: he gave it freely, and wished you never to know of it: whatever else you think of him, you cannot suppose this.’

‘Justice – aye, you are right to speak of justice,’ Valentine said, jumping to his feet and pacing the room. ‘Oh, Louisa, Tresilian was right – shamingly right – and the injustice is mine. It is an injustice I can scarcely bear to think of – and that is why I must, must repay him. It cannot restore me to his regard, but it is all I can do to atone. – There. You are thinking, Here is Valentine being capricious again. First he is all obstinacy, now he is all repentance. No, no, you would do well to think it. I know it is how I must appear: it is how I appear to myself, God help me. I should have been fair to him before now: but, of course, I know best, I must have the evidence before my eyes. Well: I have been properly rewarded. I have seen them, Louisa.’ With visible exertion he turned to her, and nakedly met her eyes. ‘I went out to Hampstead again, yesterday. God knows with what intention. Well, yes, probably to confront them: to hear it from Lady Harriet’s lips that it had all been a cruel charade, and – no. I didn’t want that, I wanted her to say it was not so, she was blameless, forced to it by her husband: Valentine, forgive me. Something like that. Curious how our folly increases – how we gallop as we near the cliff-edge. Well, it did not come to that. I was most quietly, neatly disabused. It needed no confrontations. While I was gathering my courage, and my fine speeches, to go up to Norlees House, I wandered into the pleasure-garden by Well Walk; and there, among quite a numerous company, were Lady Harriet and the colonel. I was able to observe them very easily, very well. They were looking over the play at the bowling-green: arm in arm: smiling and laughing, and admiring a lucky hit; but above all, most absorbed in each other. At length they strolled on to the tea-house, where there were some seats in the shade, and he handed her to one, and they kissed. And then I came away.’

‘Oh, Valentine, I am indeed sorry. Sorry that you should have to see it in that way. – And yet I hope you understand me when I say that I am not sorry also. I am even glad – if it means I can have my brother back.’

‘Instead of the foolish, self-deluding coxcomb, eh?’ he said, a little savage; but he allowed her to take his hand in hers.

‘No: he was always Valentine. Even in his feeling for Lady Harriet – which has brought him to such pain that I dearly hope it may be soon overcome. Not quickly, not overnight: no one could expect that.’

‘I fancy Tresilian does – or wishes it,’ Valentine said, grimacing. ‘But, then, his eyes were opened long before mine. And there was I, convinced that in my feeling for Lady Harriet— Well, I thought,
Here
is something that does not belong to the world. It cannot be ticketed or consigned to the appropriate place. Very well, I confess I was a good way to being in love with her. But it was a love that I knew could not be fulfilled, and in that, you know, there was the most curious kind of beauty … And all the time it did belong to the world – in the most grubby, sordid fashion imaginable.’

‘I think we all belong to the world, in the end, no matter how we try to rise above it.’

‘Is it so? I still wish it were not. But I trust your word. You have been much more sensible than I, in our enterprise of living, Louisa. I admire you. You have not been careless of your heart – left it exposed to the dangers of betrayal and predation. You have always known what you are about.’

She shook her head, faintly smiling. She only hoped it was true: – certainly she could not imagine being confronted with such a terrible revelation of her own blindness as Valentine had been.

‘Great heaven, what must Tresilian think of me?’ he said fiercely, prowling about again. ‘Don’t answer it. – You will speak for him, of course, say that his regard is unchanged. Perhaps it is – but surely deep down he must despise me. I think in truth that was why I was so severe on him. Because I could hardly bear to think of losing
his
good opinion, almost above anyone’s.’ He raised his eyes to her, looking very young. ‘The only thing worse would be to lose yours.’

‘That will not be. I recall the old Valentine too well: indeed, I think I see him before me now. I fancy the other Valentine’s last act was that rather – hasty approach to Miss Astbury. Whatever would you have done if she had accepted?’

‘Lord knows. – Well, no: I would have thought, Very well, now I can pay Tresilian back. After that would come the lifetime of unhappiness of a mercenary marriage. At that mad moment I would have accepted the bargain.’

‘This debt means so very much to you. Valentine, as I said before, my money is yours. Take it, and pay Mr Tresilian at once, if it will make you easy.’

‘No, no. This is letting my folly rebound on you. It would reduce your independence and choice: and were they not the very things we set out to enjoy, when we threw away the fire-screen, that day at Pennacombe? How long ago that seems, and how little it has turned out as we expected … ! No, Louisa, bless you but no. I cannot pay Tresilian the debt. But what I can do is approach him: ask him if he will consider an arrangement, a term, perhaps over five years, in which it may be repaid.’

‘And be reconciled with him? Oh, Valentine,
that
indeed is what I most wish. It must feel strange, strange and wrong, to be at odds with him: even I feel it: already I miss him most peculiarly, or miss the thought that he will be always there.’

‘Well, I don’t know. It will not be easy: I confess I am a little stiff-necked – and he may not wish a reconciliation. – But I shall make the attempt. I shall go and see him. That at least will be the action of a sensible man instead of a Bedlamite. And if things can be settled, then – Louisa, do you think we should prepare ourselves to go home?’

She was startled, and for a moment could not speak. The word
home
could not help but touch her heart, especially when uttered by Valentine now, in all the attaching honesty, the frankness and rightness of feeling that she had wished to see restored. Yet a void opened up at the thought of leaving London: a sensation of something missing or unfinished that she could not account for.

‘Oh, I know it may seem that I am hurrying to quit the scene of my disgrace,’ Valentine said, with a conscious laugh. ‘The same thought has occurred to me – but then I tell myself not to give a jot what people think. I do not mean going back to Devonshire in haste, but addressing ourselves to the reality: we never supposed we would be staying with the Speddings for ever; and if I am to retrench, and begin repairing my damaged credit, then it had better be begun soon.’

‘Yes. Yes, to be sure we cannot outstay our welcome,’ Louisa said. ‘And it will be delightful to see Pennacombe again … But of course, as you say, we should not make haste. There are all the preparations to be made – and the proper leave-takings.’

Valentine agreed: still she felt him to be more urgent in his desire to begin the preparations than herself; and with the same promptness, he undertook to go at once and call on Mr Tresilian, to make the proposal he had suggested.

‘I may come back with a flea in my ear,’ he said at the door. ‘If so, we must think again.’

She did not think it likely: nor could she suppose for a moment that Mr Tresilian would press for the money; but if by some chance he did, or if Valentine still could not rest under the burden, she meant fully to repay it from her own fortune. – It was at her disposal; and she would have given a great deal more for the re-establishment of Valentine’s peace, which must include her own – and all of which, she now saw, was more dependent on that amity, openness and warmth that had always existed between them and the Tresilians than she could ever have guessed.

After an hour Valentine returned. He had not been able to see Mr Tresilian for he had gone down to Gravesend to see an old friend in the maritime line, and to look over a brig that was to be sold, and might not be back until tomorrow – though his return
then
was certain, for he had promised to take Kate and Miss Rose to a grand
fête
that was to be held in Hyde Park, to mark the departure of the Allied Sovereigns.

‘So Kate told me,’ Valentine said, ‘and I have no reason to disbelieve her. There was nothing in her reception of me to suggest Tresilian had said anything – anything of that wretched business, or spoken against me to her. That is a great relief.’

This was, in all ways, hopeful: but a clearer view of how matters stood between them must await the morrow; and in the meantime Valentine, still with a shade of melancholy about him, but with an energy that bespoke the return of his spirits, and a more sensible appreciation of his situation – of the good fortune that exceeded the ill – began those preparations of which he had spoken. He wrote to the steward at Pennacombe, enquiring as to the state of the Devonshire roads, and advising him to make the house ready for the family’s present return. – Louisa’s thoughts insisted on recurring to the Lynley household. With Pearce Lynley she felt she had come to as fair an accommodation as could be expected: she felt that, when they were all back in Devonshire, she would be able to meet him with composure and civility – even, perhaps, with the cordiality of friendship. With Francis, she was conscious of feelings at once more lively and more dubious. There had been something so dissatisfying about their late meetings. She had known he was prone to that hollow, negative mood – she did not reprove it: but to see him continually sunk in it left her feeling … not slighted, but somehow undervalued. With her, he had always been animated and generous: she had, she thought, enabled him to be himself; and it seemed perverse in him to be rejecting her influence. If she could only see him again before their departure, and try to restore it: – she hoped she was not being self-conceited in believing that it would be to his benefit.