Greygallows (23 page)

'For your sake, of course. I thought you would
enjoy having a former swain sighing at your feet once again.'

I yawned with affected boredom.

'I could never understand how you got that notion. Mr. Scott was never my admirer; he did nothing but scold me and sneer at my stupidity.'

'What other expression of interest would you expect from an ill-bred boor? Credit him with fidelity, at least; he has come a long way to see you.'

'He did not come to see me. He came on business.'

'And why,' Clare inquired gently, 'should you think that?'

'Why—why, because there is no other reason why he should come.'

'Triumphant feminine logic! But I fancy there is a reason.'

'What, then, for heaven's sake?'

'Oh, he has an excuse; a minor business matter, as you say. But I fancy he has been concerned about you. He wishes to be sure you are well and happy; that I am not beating you.'

He laughed lightly, but something in his look turned me cold.

'You would not beat me,' I said. 'And if you chose to—what could he do to prevent you?'

'Oh,' said Clare absently, 'he could do something. Not, perhaps, what he would like to do, but...'

The words trailed off into silence and he sat staring, not at me, but at the flames flickering in the hearth. For a startling second they were reflected in his wide eyes, so that his pupils blazed crimson.

It was only a momentary illusion. I don't know why it should have frightened me so, but it did; and when he got stiffly to his feet and, still staring, walked out of the room without saying another word, I began to shake like a fever patient seized by a chill.

In the morning I was able to recall that strange conversation more calmly, but I could not help regarding it as significant. Occasionally I had wondered whether Clare doubted my fidelity, but I had dismissed the idea as absurd. Yet his sneering remarks about Jonathan sounded for all the world like those of a jealous husband.

Absurd or not, I determined to act as if it were true. I would not give Clare the slightest excuse to doubt me. I would be cool in manner and circumspect in behavior.

Like so many good resolutions, this one did not survive very long. I had made one fatal error; I failed to see where the danger lay. A silly flirtation like the affair with Fernando was what I meant to avoid. I did avoid it; there were no sidelong glances or tender sighs. But while I escaped the appearance of love, I fell into the reality, as one might tumble into a concealed pitfall. Not a very romantic simile, perhaps, but far more accurate than a poetic phrase. Nothing I had heard or read about love had taught me what it was really like; I was in it before I recognized it.

I could talk to Jonathan. It sounds so simple. But it was like taking great gulps of air after being half drowned, like being born with wings and never allowed to use them, until one day the bonds fall
away, and the creature soars, and cries, 'This is what I was born for; this is what I wanted!'

I remember the first morning we walked out together. I was being careful; I had directed one of the stableboys to follow us, saying I no longer trusted my sense of direction after my disastrous day in the fog. We had not gone fifty yards from the house before the bonds were off, and I was flying.

Jonathan began it by asking a single question about the village. I answered; and the words poured out of me like water through a broken dam. The waste of manpower, the suffering of the children, the fouling of the rivers—all the new ideas that had been bubbling up in my mind and boiling inside me with no outlet, no one to share them with.

He listened, nodding, his keen black eyes fixed on my face. He listened! I must have talked for a good ten minutes before I realized what I was saying. I was preaching him the same sermon he had once preached me.

I stopped speaking abruptly, feeling the blood rush into my face. There was no need to tell him what I thought, or why I blushed; he sensed it, and he began to laugh. After that, it was like walls falling. There was no restraint on our talk, we could not talk fast enough to say all we wanted to say; we interrupted one another in our eagerness, and leaped great conversational gaps as if we could read one another's thoughts. We talked ... But it cannot be described, it must be felt, that complete sense of sympathy with a fellow human being.

Very little of what I told him was new to him. In an hour with the Miller family Jonathan had
learned as much as it had taken me six months to get out of the entire village. But, as he said, he was a man and a stranger, and they could speak more freely to him.

'They adore you,' he said, giving me a quick sidelong look. 'They speak of you as a cross between the Queen and an angel of mercy.'

'I have done so little,' I said soberly. 'I can do so little.'

'But you could do—' Jonathan began impetuously, and then stopped himself.

I knew what he had started to say, and why he had not said it. The disposal of my fortune was not mine; any comment of his could be interpreted as criticism of my husband. After a moment he went on, in a different voice.

'The relief of immediate misery is admirable; but we need more, much more. We must enforce existing laws and make new ones. A ten-hour day, a sixty-hour week; more rigorous safety regulations; free schools, sanitation in cities and waterways ... The list is endless!'

I answered; and that danger point was gotten over. But it was bound to recur, for the situation worsened, subtly but steadily.

Clare's behavior was inexplicable. His moods varied so, from moment to moment, that I never knew whether an innocent comment of mine would produce a smile or a sneering retort. He watched Jonathan like a bird of prey, and yet he would not dismiss him. I knew that Jonathan had suggested leaving. He had a reasonable excuse; with Mr. Beam in poor health, it was absurd for him to hang about waiting on the wishes of a single client, however distinguished. Yet he could not
leave so long as Clare demanded his assistance.

Clare developed one alarming new habit. He had been an abstemious man; now the after-dinner port hour lengthened, and twice, long after I had retired for the night, I heard his unsteady steps stumble down the hall.

One afternoon, less than a week after Jonathan's arrival, they remained at the table for a long time; and when they finally joined me in the parlor, I knew Clare had taken too much wine. His face was flushed and his hair disheveled, and as he came into the room he stumbled and would have fallen, had it not been for Jonathan's arm. He cast it off with a drunken laugh.

'What the devil—keep your hands off me, sir! You think I need help, eh? 'F I do, don't need yours. M' loving wife; loving wife'll help me. Come here, Lucy ... lean on you.'

I put my embroidery aside and rose. I had never seen him in this mood, but it was easier to obey without question.

He caught me by the shoulders as I came to him, and I staggered, bracing myself against his weight.

'Will you not sit down?' I suggested. 'You are unwell; let me call Phillips.'

'No.' He shook his head so violently that his hair flew all about. 'Walk it off; walk, that's the thing. Lean on loving wife. Walk! Up and down, up and down—'

We took a few turns about the room. Clare was staggering and stumbling; his weight was actually painful, and I could barely keep my feet. Jonathan stood rigid by the door, where he had retreated after Clare flung him away. He was unwilling to leave me, and in a way his presence was a comfort;
yet I wished he would withdraw. He could not interfere without making the situation worse.

Suddenly Clare dug his fingers into my arm with such force that I cried out. My weak foot gave way,, and in a grotesque embrace we fell against the wall, with Clare's arm tight about me and his breath hot on my face. In a drunken burst of energy he spun me around, laughing, and spoke over my shoulder to Jonathan.

'Devoted wife, eh? Can't help it, poor girl, if she is a cripple. Limps. You notice? Can't stand it—deformity, ugliness. Ugly! Hate it...'

He tried to push me from him; since I was already flat against the wall the movement succeeded only in overturning him. He crashed to the floor at my feet and lay there breathing stentoriously through his open mouth.

Jonathan said something under his breath and came quickly toward me. I threw up both hands to ward him off. My state of mind was not at its coolest; but I could have sworn I had seen one of Clare's eyes open and look at me.

'No,' I stammered. 'Please—take care of him; call the servants. I must get away, I cannot...'

I had no doubt that the butler was in the hall, drawn by Clare's loud comments; but he had the grace to keep out of my sight when I came running out. I was able to reach my room without encountering anyone but Anna. In her usual taciturn fashion she made no comment, except for a harsh indrawn breath when she helped me off with the rumpled dress and saw the reddening marks on my arm.

Soon the servants, and the entire village, would know that poor Lady Clare had a drunkard for a
husband. Some might say that her Ladyship had driven her husband to drink. Yet it was not these thoughts, nor fear of Clare's future rages, that filled me with dread. It was the memory of his eye, open and alert and watching.

I looked at Jonathan, who was already at the table, but he looked away. Clare continued to talk i
n the most affable voice; either he did
not
remember what had happened, or he was determined to pretend it had not.

'I must make my excuses. I am off to Edinburgh for a few days. I hope to get the facts I need to settle our business, Scott. I know you are anxious to return to your duties in London, and I am grateful for your patience.'

He left the room then, with the excuse that he must prepare for his trip.

My conversation with Jonathan was exceedingly stilted; he was as amazed as I at Clare's incredible performance, but we could hardly discuss it so long as the servants were in the room. It was not long before Clare returned, dressed for travel. I saw at once that something had happened to vex him, and I was almost relieved to see the familiar haughty frown.

'I understand that lout of a groom has been hanging about,' he began. 'You know, Lady Clare, that I forbade you to see him or speak with him?'

I knew no such thing; Clare had told me not to visit the boy's home, but he had not specifically forbidden a meeting. He gave me no time to raise this objection, even if I had thought it wise to do so.

'I have instructed Williams to thrash him if he comes here again. I won't have you sneaking off to meet him elsewhere, do you hear?'

I cast a glance at Martin, the parlormaid, who was standing paralyzed, with a dish of muffins in her hand.

'But I never did—'

'Spare me your lies,' Clare interrupted. 'I trust you will obey my orders without making it necessary for me to confine you to your room.

Scott, I require you to see that my instructions are obeyed, and that I am told of any violation of my wishes.'

With a curt nod, he left. Martin put the muffins on the table and fled; and Jonathan raised his eyes and looked directly at me.

'No,' I said, as if he had spoken. 'Not here. Let us go for a ride. I must follow orders...'

I reached the stableyard before him, having flung on my habit any which way. Even the thought of Sultana did not daunt me. I wanted something violent to do; I wanted to rush about and strike at things with a stick. My own feelings surprised me. I could not imagine where I had got the courage to be angry, after so much weeping and fear. It was not long before the answer came to me. I had taken courage from
him,
and I would need it, for his sake.

Clare had assigned a horse for Jonathan's use, and at my order Williams saddled it, and Sultana. He then went on to saddle a third beast.

'There is no need for that,' I said, as Jonathan joined me.

'Your pardon, my lady,' Williams said, looking oddly. 'But his Lordship has given orders...'

'For you to come with us?'

'Not I, my lady.' Williams' eye shifted.

From one of the stalls a man slouched out into the yard. His size alone was alarming; he was a great hulking fellow with arms that hung down to his knees. His nose was a twisted lump. I had not been long in London, but I recognized his type. This was no local peasant.