Greygallows (22 page)

There was a good deal more of this. I appreciated her concern, but found its expression tiresome; and the doctor, when he arrived, was
even more exasperating. Having come so far, he was quite put out to find me in good health and eating like a groom; he kept shaking his head and mumbling portentously. I finally got him out of my room, together with Clare, who stood staring dumbly at me as if I had returned from the dead. Then I turned over and slept quite comfortably—or would have done, except for Mrs. Andrews, who kept feeling my head every hour and waking me up.

The doctor stayed the night. He came in to see me in the morning and found me up and dressed. He went away in an evil humor, predicting delayed effects, but I felt so well I only laughed. How people did enjoy the disasters of others! They all seemed disappointed that I was not gasping out my last breath.

I got a hearty scolding from Clare as a reward for my prompt recovery.

'I thought you would have enough sense to stay home on such a day,' he said severely. 'And then to take the moor path—of all the follies—'

'But you told me to take that path,' I interrupted. 'At least—'

'Recall my words, and you will know I said no such thing. Do you realize that you might not have been found except by accident? We were searching the area near the road.'

'But I thought...' I had to admit that I could not recall precisely what he had said. 'How was it then that Tom found me? I must go down and thank him; I hope you will reward him generously, since it appears he saved my life.'

'He is not here,' Clare said, his face hardening.

'Not here?'

'I dismissed him. Wait,' Clare said, raising a hand. 'He found you, it is true; but you would not have been lost if he had been here, doing his duty. He went off without a word, so there was no one to accompany you; though Mark tells me he did call after you, to warn you of the fog and tell you to take the road. He assumed you had followed his advice.'

'He did call out, but ... Clare, you can't dismiss Tom! His are the only wages in his family; there are four younger children, and his father has a lung complaint. Where was he, then?'

'He tells some wild tale of being called away,' Clare said angrily. 'Obviously the boy was shirking. Of course he is half wild with guilt now; and well he might be. In the old days he would have been royally beaten for neglecting his duty with such dangerous results.'

'But if he—'

'No doubt he is skilled at playing on your soft heart,' Clare said. 'The matter is finished—except for one admonition. I won't have you going down to the village to commiserate with and encourage the lout. In fact, I have decided that your visits there must end; I have been lax in letting you follow your own childish inclinations so long. Since you have no concern for your own health, I must insist that you do.'

'But—'

'I said, the matter is finished!'

He strode from the room.

Evidently no one wanted me in the village. The villagers had already closed their doors against me, which rendered Clare's order somewhat superfluous. If he had not objected before, when
the sickness was even worse than it was lately... It was then that the first sly insinuation crept into my mind. I started to my feet as if I had seen an actual serpent. This was a thought I could not, dared not, think.

'How I pity the poor lad
ies of our time. You are all so accomplished, it
must weary you—embroidery, drawing, music, Italian___Will you
think me impertinent if I suggest that this piece of work is not so neat as others I have seen you do?'

'I have been preoccupied,' I admitted.

'Yes; I have been talking with Clare.' His smile
faded. Leaning forward, he placed a hand on my arm. 'You will pardon me for interfering; you will excuse it because of my profession and my old friendship?'

'Of course.'

'It is a trivial thing,' he said indulgently, his smile returning. 'He is a proud man, you know. You will understand that concern for a loved one sometimes appears arbitrary and arrogant.'

I suppose my face must have shown some of the cynical amusement I felt at that description; Clare might love me, but if he did, he had an odd way of demonstrating it.

'My visiting in the village...'

'I have persuaded him that that must continue,' Mr. Fleetwood said. An unmistakable glow of sincerity warmed his face. 'It is a noble work, and may lead to untold good.'

'It doesn't matter,' I said dismally. 'The village people refuse to let me come.'

'I think they will relent. The sickness has decreased in intensity, I understand.'

Again he would not wait for my thanks; he took his leave gracefully but in haste. I felt so warmly toward him I wondered once again why I did not fall in love with him.

Clare confirmed Mr. Fleetwood's statements. His mood was much improved, almost gay. When he told me I would be wanted, soon, to sign another document relating to money, I did not demur. He mentioned the document in the same breath in which he recalled my hopes of making repairs in the village. I concluded that the money would be used for that
purpose, and signed, when the day came, with real pleasure. Even
the
smirking solicitor did not distress me that day.

So matters went for several more weeks. Though I resumed my visits to the village, I decided to be cautious about one thing; I did not visit poor young Tom and his family. Clare had made such concessions to me I felt it only fair to try to please him in minor things. But I did send, secretly, such small money as I had to help the family. I had a tiny personal allowance, and it was really no hardship to give it up for such a cause, since I had nowhere to spend it.

It was nearing the end of October when the course of my life took a decisive change.

The dire predictions of old Jenkins, who forecast an unusually severe winter after our unseasonably warm August, looked liable to be fulfilled. There was a fire in the parlor that morning, but the scene through the window was indescribably sad; the trees had lost their leaves and the bare branches waved in the cold wind. I saw the carriage drive up and leaned forward with interest; we had few visitors, and even this shabby hired chaise intrigued me. But when the visitor stepped out, I almost fell out of my chair I was so astounded.

Jonathan Scott.

It was as strange to see him there as it would have been to meet the Emir of Arabia strolling across the moor in his gold-embroidered robes. I had thought of Jonathan more than once in recent weeks. More and more often his once-disregarded speeches had recurred to me. But to see him here...

In his great caped traveling cloak he looked heavier and older than I remembered. He had grown moustaches, not neat ones like the Prince's,
but great flapping black wings that drooped down over his mouth.

As I sat gaping he ascended the stairs and disappeared from my sight. A moment later I heard the bell, and the quick footsteps of Martin, the parlormaid, going to answer it.

I ran to the mirror to tidy my hair. By chance this brought me close to the door, so that I could overhear what was being said in the hall. His voice was as I remembered it, deep and rather rough. He asked for Lord Clare.

I waited, half concealed behind the draperies, while Martin took the message. She returned to say that his Lordship would receive the visitor shortly. Then Jonathan asked after me.

'I will see whether her Ladyship can see you,' Martin said.

'No, no. I don't wish—that is, I will not disturb her Ladyship. I only wanted to know...'

The voice faded as Martin led him to the drawing room across the hall. I bit my lip in vexation. I could hardly rush to greet him, yet I was extremely curious and a little alarmed. The sober look with which he had studied the house, the tone in which he had answered Martin—these, and the very fact of his presence, made me uneasy. I assumed he had come as Mr. Beam's representative, but he would not be sent on such a long journey unless there were serious reasons for it. Something was wrong.

It was a reasonable conclusion; equally reasonable was my suspicion that I would not be told of the difficulty unless it suited Clare to tell me. Yet this does not explain my shocking behavior. Only someone who had lived through
the months of my peculiar marriage could understand why I acted as I did, in violation of every rule of proper behavior.

Next to the library was a small room which had been fitted up as a summer parlor. There was a door between this room, which I seldom used, and the library. This door was ill-fitting. It had warped so badly that there was a distinct gap between door and frame. I doubt if Clare realized this; he never used the parlor, and the door, not being in use, was concealed behind a hanging near his desk.

I waited until Martin had escorted the visitor to the library. Then I slipped through the parlor door and went down the corridor.

I settled myself with my mistreated embroidery in a chair near the library door. I soon realized this would not do; I could hear voices, but could not make out the words. There was nothing for it but to stand with my ear up against the gap in the door—a compromising position, if one of the servants should come in. Then Clare's voice rose in a cry of anger, and I abandoned the lesser considerations of dignity.

'How dare you come to me with such a message?' Clare demanded.

'I but convey Mr. Beam's own words,' Jonathan said stiffly. 'I will carry your message back to him if you like; but you know, Lord Clare, the terms of the settlement. You were assiduous in making them out.'

'They were subject to change by mutual consent,' Clare argued, and then broke off. 'Good God, why do I condescend to dispute with you? You are but a messenger. Wh
y did not Beam come himself? It was hardly proper to send
a
subordinate to deal with me.'

'Mr. Beam is an elderly man. His health is such that he ought to take a rest, but his sense of duty drives him. Strong as that sense is, it cannot cure crippled limbs. Rest assured, Lord Clare, that I speak for my employer and am empowered to do anything I can to accommodate you and—and her Ladyship.'

After a moment my husband spoke again, more mildly.

'Then you speak for Mr. Beam when you tell me nothing can be done?'

'I do. There is, of course, the possibility of a note.'

'I do not need you or Mr. Beam to advise me on that.'

'It is for your Lordship to decide. But I repeat, we are ready to serve you and her Ladyship in any way possible.'

'So you are,' Clare said musingly.

There was a long silence, without so much as a rustle of paper or a sound of movement; unashamedly straining my ears, I pictured them standing and contemplating one another in watchful silence. Finally Clare said,

'Well, well, there is nothing more to be said, then. I will consider the matter. Since this avenue is closed, I must take time to investigate others. Mr. Scott, you will be in the neighborhood for a time, I trust? Or does your own admirable sense of duty require that you return to London at once?'

'I have been instructed to wait upon your Lordship's wishes.'

'I am glad to hear it. I know you will want to see her Ladyship before you return.'

'I had hoped for that pleasure.' 'I know it will give her equal pleasure.' It made me shiver to hear them; the smooth false words were like a coating of paint and powder over an old woman's ravaged face. I knew Clare too well to believe he would accept disappointment gracefully. Being Clare, he would blame Jonathan for bringing an unfavorable response, and dislike him even more than he already did. I assumed that the matter they were discussing had to do with my fortune. So Clare would be angry with me, too. He was angry with me whenever anything went wrong with any of his plans.

None of this disturbed me so much as Clare's sudden change of manner. Pretense was foreign to his nature. If he pretended amiability toward a man he thoroughly disliked, it must be for a reason. I would have preferred an honest fit of rage to that silken charm.

I met Jonathan with a fair show of surprise; to hide the fact that I had seen him come was another of those subterfuges which were becoming more and more common to me. All through dinner Clare watched both of us, and his comments carried many a hidden barb.

One example:

'I have bidden Mrs. Andrews make ready a room for our guest,' he remarked. 'You will forgive me, Lady Clare, for intervening in your domestic province; but since you did not know of Mr. Scott's coming, you could not tell her, could you?'

'I cannot intrude on your hospitality, my lord,' Jonathan said.

'But where else would you stay? I may want to consult with you at any time; you can hardly expect me to summon you from Leeds or Ripon each time I have a question.'

'I am staying in the village, my lord.'

'There is no inn in the village.'

'I have bespoken a room with a family there.'

'Which family?' I asked with interest.

'The Millers. They have an extra room now, since the death of the mother.'

'Yes, I know. It was a sad loss; Janet is only thirteen and there is a baby.'

Jonathan's look of surprise made me flush. Clare, who had been genuinely stupefied, finally recovered himself.

'But you cannot be serious. There are no suitable accommodations for a
gentleman
in the village.'

The slight emphasis on the word may not have been deliberate. But Jonathan's lips tightened. Clare went on good-humouredly.

'No, my dear fellow, I cannot allow such sacrifice. You will stay here. I trust we can amuse you. I am much occupied; but Lady Clare will be delighted with your company. There are interesting rides and walks hereabout, if you are fond of natural beauty; we can mount you, of course.'

Jonathan looked sulky, but said no more; he could not insist without deliberate rudeness. Clare studied his flushed face with amusement. Then he turned to me, and I stiffened. I had not seen that look before.

'You have not taken Sultana out, I notice, since your adventure.'

'I do not trust Sultana,' I said.

'You must not allow yourself to give way to those unreasonable fears.'

'My fear is not unreasonable,' I protested. 'If I had lost control of Sultana, or mishandled her, I could try to overcome that weakness; but I did not, she bolted quite deliberately; and if a sound such as that can startle her—'

'Sound? What sound?'

'But I must have told you. It was the strangest noise, almost like a whistle. It must have been a bird, I suppose; but if she cannot be trusted to ignore natural sounds—'

Clare broke in. He interrupted me often, and I wondered whether he knew how hard it was on the nerves, never to be allowed to complete a sentence.

'You cannot imagine I would give you a mount that had not been thoroughly trained. Sultana is the most tractable horse in my stables. She would stand if she were in the midst of a battle.'

'Very well,' I said. It was a meaningless remark, but agreement and docility were what he wanted. I did not look at Jonathan. It was bad enough to be scolded like a willful child, without seeing his look of pity and, I felt sure, contempt.

I got through the rest of the meal by remaining silent. After I left them to their wine I went up to my room instead of going to the parlor. But I was not to escape so easily. After a time Clare came up.

'Master Scott has gone to the village to collect his valise. I offered to send a servant, but he insisted on going himself. What a common fellow he is!'

'Why did you ask him to stay, then?'