Dear Laura (7 page)

LAURA
had moved into the guest-room while the influenza lasted, and Kate found her there an hour later, crouched over the unlit grate.

‘I took your tea to the parlour, ma’am. It’s going cold,’ she said, aflecting not to notice Laura’s brooding posture. ‘It’s
starting
to rain again, ma’am, but still mild for the time of year.’

She pretended to be busy with the immaculate bedspread.

‘Come downstairs in the warm, ma’am, do. You’ll catch your death up here. Or shall I get Harriet to light the fire for you, and bring you a cup upstairs and you can lay down for a while?’

‘I want no tea, Kate. You may dress me early for dinner. I shall rest in the parlour.’

Kate rang the bell, and ordered Harriet to fetch up the
copper
cans of water, and then set a match to the fire herself.

‘Shall you wear the watered silk, ma’am, to cheer yourself up a bit?’ she asked. ‘The master’s illness has fair worn you out. Or shall you have the blue velvet. You favour blue better than green to my mind.’

‘The blue will do well enough, thank you, Kate. Oh, do not bang those jugs down so, Harriet! You know how I suffer with my head!’

‘Downstairs with you, Harriet,’ Kate whispered sharply. ‘What kind of lady’s maid will you ever make, with your stupid clatter? Come, ma’am,’ encouragingly, ‘and I’ll brush your hair. And Mrs Hill would like to know shall Mr Titus be stopping to his dinner? And Miss Nagle says should Miss Blanche come downstairs, being so late home this evening?’

‘I cannot endure any more noise today,’ said Laura suddenly.
‘Let Miss Blanche go to bed after she has had her tea. I will come up and say goodnight to her. She can tell me about the circus tomorrow. And Kate, since Mr Titus is coming such a way to your master, I feel I must invite him to dinner. In spite of my headache. Perhaps it will have eased by then. Give
me one of my powders, if you please, and a glass of water.’

‘Here, let me hold the glass for you, ma’am. You’re all of a tremble. You’ve caught a chill, sure enough, sitting here in the cold.’

‘You had better tell Mrs Hill,’ Laura said, remembering the volatile nature of her guest, ‘that Mr Titus will not be staying, of course, if he has made other arrangements. Tell her I regret the inconvenience.’

‘Yes, ma’am. But it’s easy to lay another place at table, and Mrs Hill always cooks sufficient for extra visitors. That will be a bit of company for you after all the worry.’

They savoured the early evening ritual, culminating with the brushing and piling of Laura’s pale hair. Under Kate’s skilful hands and quiet chatter, Laura recovered some of her spirits and all her beauty. She was no less sad when she swept into the drawing-room, but physically more buoyant. Titus bowed gallantly.

‘You look so hearty!’ she said, cheered by his good health, and she held out her hand. ‘I have a commission for you.’

She moved gracefully to her chair, speaking over her
shoulder
, smiling. They had long been able to conduct a conversation without seeming to notice each other more than was needful. And although they were now alone they observed all the
proprieties
, so that no ears might hear or eyes note anything out of the ordinary. But they could not absolve the magnetism that was like a third presence in the room.

‘Your commands are my delight, Laura. What sort of
commission
? Do you require me to fetch the moon down for my charming niece, or for yourself?’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Laura indulgently. ‘It is much more important than that. And almost as difficult and delicate.’

‘Indeed? You intrigue me. Pray avail yourself of my services.’

‘Shall you take a glass of Madeira? I will pour it myself.’

‘It will taste a thousand times as sweet.’

She handed him the glass, saying composedly, ‘I believe that Theodore has a mistress. I wish you to tax him with the
knowledge
, and then tell me.’

As quick and composed as herself, he replied, ‘On what grounds do you base this accusation?’

‘I think I shall drink Madeira, too,’ she said aloud, hearing Harriet’s knock. And watched her mend the fire, and sipped.

‘He has a mistress,’ she repeated, when the door closed, and told him of that afternoon’s visitor.

‘My dear Laura,’ said Titus, sitting opposite, crossing his legs, ‘what purpose would a confrontation serve?’

‘I must know. It is my right to know.’

‘To quieten a guilty conscience, perhaps?’

She flushed. Then raised her glass steadily, and sipped
steadily
. Head on one side, Titus admired her.

‘My dear Laura, even if this were true, what can you expect from your husband but a gentlemanly apology? Surely you are not imagining that this knowledge will give you some moral hold over him?’

‘I know my position very well,’ she said vehemently. ‘I have no father or brother to speak for me, and no other home to which I can go. But I must know the truth. I will not let him treat me so. I will not.’

‘You are naturally distracted,’ Titus said idly, ‘and unable to weigh the situation with any degree of objectivity. Let me play the devil’s advocate, Laura. If Theodore is amusing
himself
elsewhere – though I trust you not to betray my partiality for the lady’s side of the argument – you may seek amusement on your own account. Providing you are discreet, and that should not be difficult. It is all in the family.’

‘I have asked a favour of you. I beg you to grant it. That is all I have to say. Except, that if you have no other engagement this evening I should welcome your company at dinner.’

He shrugged, finished his wine, kissed her hand and sought his brother’s presence, while she stared into the fire as though it held some counsel, if only she could fathom it.

‘I have had a most extraordinary interview with Laura,’ Theodore burst out, before Titus could inquire after his health. ‘I really think I must speak to Padgett about her. Perhaps she is run down and needs a month of sea air. Still, at this time of the year, she would get no benefit from it. I do not understand her.’

‘Nevertheless, you seem remarkably improved, brother.’

‘I have learned to bear my cross,’ said Theodore sententiously. ‘I promised to cherish Laura in sickness. What troubles me is the constancy of her complaints, and then their diversity. First her head, then her digestion, then sleeplessness, nerves, hysteria. What ails her?’

‘She appears to believe that a lady of dubious morals has
returned
your love-letters,’ said Titus, hands in pockets, and he sat on the end of the bed.

‘Head full of romantic nonsense,’ Theodore grumbled. ‘Laura’s behaviour passes all comprehension at times. If you had seen her this afternoon you would have been astonished. She was – possessed.’

‘You do astonish me. And is there not a word of truth in this rumour? Was the dubious lady with the package a figment of Kate’s imagination?’

‘Come, brother, a man is not obliged to confess everything. A wife with any proper feeling would affect not to notice. Laura is too fond of her own way.’

‘Are not all the ladies? At any rate, this one returned your letters, I take it?’

Theodore hesitated.

‘You amaze me,’ said Titus, grinning. ‘Such a pillar of
rectitude
, such a staunch supporter of God, Queen and Country! I had thought you were incorruptible. But you must set yourself right with Laura, if you will allow me to advise you. She is highly strung and inclined to be impulsive. Not devoid of one male relative – though at the moment she bewails the fact that her father is dead, and cannot use a horsewhip on her faithless husband. It would be a confounded nuisance if an enraged uncle made inquiries. Laura’s portion is not inconsiderable, and invested in the firm.’

‘She would not so risk herself and me.’

‘Do not be too sure. Laura is capable of more than perhaps you reckon.’

Theodore said tetchily, ‘Well, what would you have me do? No one is so close to both of us as you, Titus. Indeed,’ and he laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder, ‘I have always been able to say more to you than to anyone else, the last few years. It has been a lonely road, Titus, and often a dark one.’

‘Ah! One cannot speak to real ladies – charming as they are – as one can speak to a man. It is a pity that good women are so dull, and bad women so infernally cunning. One is caught between a yawn and a risk. A man does not know which way to turn at such times. Come, brother, you can confide in me, and I will make all well again. Have you paid for the letters, or did the lady return them out of sheer goodwill?’

He watched the struggle on his brother’s face, with
amusement
and some compassion.

‘You keep such a devilish tight rein on yourself, Theo,’ he observed kindly. ‘For God’s sake, man, get yourself out of this entanglement and find a ballet dancer. I know the alleys of London as well as any tom-cat. If you need eyes to guide you, use mine. For though you have acted the father to me, and I do not forget that, in some ways you seem younger than I.’

‘You do not know me as well as you imagine,’ said Theodore, pondering. He had made up his mind. ‘I confess I have been

– unwise.’

‘Damned foolish,’ said Titus gaily. ‘Never put anything on paper, brother. Give them jewels, suppers, pay their bills or their rent, pay court, but never write it down. How much did she want?’

‘A sizeable sum, but not an impossible one. She has brought some half dozen letters, and retained the others, to persuade me. They are set on a scandal if I do not pay. I cannot afford a scandal. The difficulty is that I am bedfast for the time being.’

Titus’s expression was unreadable.

‘There is more than one person involved, then?’

‘A – protector.’

‘Good God,’ said Titus, horrified. ‘What a scrape!’

‘This woman’s visit was an indication that they meant to make it a bad business. If a female of her sort dares to knock at a respectable man’s own front door …’

‘You may use me as an intermediary.’

‘I thank you. But this affair I must, and shall, deal with myself.’

‘I see!’ He smote the bedpost, thinking. ‘I should advise you, even more strongly, to set yourself right with Laura. We cannot fight on all sides at once. If she should write to her uncle …’

Theodore lifted his shoulders and let them drop, defeated.

‘Tell Laura, then,’ he said with difficulty, and his face was as stern as if she were present, ‘that the lapse was single, and of small significance. That I was tempted and I fell. Such things do happen. Tell her, I was more sinned against than sinning.’

‘Eve proffered an apple,’ Titus suggested genially. ‘They do, you know!’

‘Put it as you will. You say these things so much better than I.’

‘I should say something else, as well, with your permission.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Ask her forgiveness,’ said Titus.

The silence between them was shattered by the sound of the dinner gong.

‘I do not expect to hear any more of this matter from Laura,’ Theodore commanded. ‘Everything must be as it was between us, henceforth.’

‘And how was that?’ Titus asked, rising.

‘A fair and honourable arrangement.’

‘One tires, of course, of any woman in time,’ said Titus, puzzled. ‘At least, I do. Or I have done so far. But Laura has always seemed to me – judging her purely as my brother’s wife – to be all that most men would desire.’

‘People do compliment me upon her,’ Theodore replied, ‘and she is charming in company. But the spectator’s view is a faulty one. I say this to you, when I would say it to no one else. I know Laura very well, and her temperament mars anything in her which I might have found attractive.’

‘You surprise me. I have always admired her spirit.’

‘A rebellious and a foolish one. It is a wife’s duty to be
submissive
to her husband.’

‘I should have thought,’ said Titus, musing, ‘that a man of some persuasiveness could make Laura biddable enough.’

‘She is intractable.’

Titus looked at him curiously.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but what was the lady like who wrung those highly dangerous love-letters from you?’

‘Ah, that!’ Theodore replied heavily. ‘That was a very
different
affair. A very different affair. Let us not speak of it again.’

*

‘Man errs,’ said Titus lightly, drinking his wine, ‘and woman forgives him ever.’

‘I do not forgive him. I do not and shall not.’

‘He has admitted his fault handsomely. He humbles himself before you. What more do you want, Laura?’

The food untouched upon her plate, she said, ‘Retribution.’

‘You combine the best qualities of both good and bad women. I love you for all of them.’

She sat stricken, and pushed aside her dinner.

‘Tell me,’ Titus continued easily, ‘did you ever love him?’

‘At first I did. I thought him everything.’ She clasped her hands together upon the table before her, remembering. ‘I thought him wise and strong and handsome. I listened to him. Tried to please him. And then nothing. Coldness and misery.’

‘Still, you are jealous of this sordid little
affaire.
There must be some feeling left.’

‘Jealous?’ she cried. ‘I am not jealous. I am
envious
.’

He stared at her, astonished.

‘You may smoke a cigar over your coffee, if you wish,’ said Laura, rising and ringing the bell. ‘I do not find them in the least objectionable. I am expected to do so, I know, but I do not.’

He offered his arm, and they sauntered to the drawing-room, while Harriet cleared the plates and glanced after them.

‘Envious?’ Titus repeated, interested.

‘Why should he have a freedom that I am denied?’ she asked forcibly. ‘Why should he keep a mistress, discard her, say he is
sorry – and all is well? How dare he send me a message,
ordering
everything to be as it has been between us, henceforth?’