The Chain Garden (5 page)

He nodded. He had expected as much. ‘And Henry?’

‘Henry has enough to cope with right now. If I choose to tell him, it will be–’

‘
When
, Dorcas, not if. Dear God, don’t you think he would
want
to know?’

‘Perhaps, but not yet. Not until there’s no alternative. And
I
will decide when that is.’

‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’ He smiled. ‘More tea?’

She touched his hand. ‘You’re a dear. Most men in your position couldn’t have resisted criticising Henry and condemning me. You never have.’

He shrugged. ‘Henry should never have married Louise. But he did, and has done his best by her, which he could not have done without your love and support. But you, why?’ He shook his head. ‘Forgive me. I’ve no right to ask.’

‘Why Henry? Because I love him and because he needs me.’

‘Have you never wanted to remarry?’

‘Henry isn’t free. Besides, I prefer things the way they are. I was perfectly happy being Zander’s mistress. Marriage was his idea, to give me legal protection. Wise and unconventional though he was, Zander treated me differently afterwards. I was a Bending to pick up her hat she slanted a smile at him. ‘I’m independent and enjoy my solitude. Why change something that has worked so well for so long?’
wife.
’

‘Why indeed?’ Returning her smile he stood as she rose to her feet. But change was coming and it was beyond her control.

Laughing over her shoulder at Bryce, Grace urged the cob into a faster trot. Determined to master her bicycle he was wobbling all over the road. Beside her in the trap Richard rested one arm along the back of the wooden seat.

It was cooler today and the fresh breeze had persuaded Grace to wear a short jacket over her navy skirt and pale blue shirt-blouse. Towering white clouds fringed the horizon, piled up like scoops of ice-cream. But overhead the sky was vivid blue and in the shelter of the high hedges the sun’s warmth held a promise of summer.

‘Hey,’ Richard clung to the side with his free hand. ‘What’s the hurry?’

Her smile teased. ‘I had this notion that you would be anxious to get to Polwellan as quickly as possible.’

He grimaced. ‘I’d rather arrive in one piece. Do you always drive this fast?’

She raised her brows at him, laughter lurking at the corners of her mouth. ‘Whatever happened to the intrepid adventurer? This isn’t
fast.
At least, Sophie has never objected.’

He reddened slightly as he shook his head. ‘She must have nerves of steel.’ There was a short pause. Grace hid a smile and waited. She knew what he was about to say, knew it had been on his mind ever since he and Bryce arrived home.

‘I don’t suppose – Would you happen to know –? I certainly wouldn’t blame her if – I mean, three years is a long time, and the mail – well, it just wasn’t possible to –’

‘For goodness’ sake, Richard!’ Grace burst out laughing. ‘How am I supposed to make sense of that? And how can I answer if you never finish what you’re trying to say?’

He rubbed a thumb across his forehead beneath the rim of his flat tweed cap. Both he and Bryce were wearing tweed suits. Bryce had teamed his with a checked shirt with a soft turned-down collar and long tie. But Richard had opted for a slightly more formal look with a white shirt and a stiff collar. Grace bit the inside of her lip, amused and touched by his visible nervousness.

‘I couldn’t say anything to her before we went. It wouldn’t have been fair. She was barely sixteen.’

‘Ah,’ Grace said softly. ‘So it’s Sophie you want to know about?’

‘Of course it’s Sophie! Who else?’

‘Alice?’ Grace suggested.

Richard shook his head. ‘No. It was always Sophie. I know she’s three years younger than Alice. Too young: that’s what the colonel would have said. Too young to know her own mind; too young to consider herself bound to someone going abroad for three years. He would have called me selfish, and he’d have been right. So I had to hold my tongue. No one knows how hard – Grace, I’ve thought about her so much. You would know, is she …? Has she …?’

‘While you were away I’ve seen quite a lot of Sophie. Each time we’ve met the first thing she does is enquire after Mama’s health. She really does have beautiful manners, Richard. Her second question was always the same. Had we received a letter from you? She was thrilled with those you sent her.’ Grace darted a sidelong glance. ‘She rereads them every night. In fact they have been unfolded and refolded so often they are beginning to fall apart. Don’t tell her I told you. She didn’t say it was a secret, but I wouldn’t want to embarrass her.’

‘I won’t say a word. She really said that? About my letters?’ He beamed with delight and relief. ‘It was so difficult. I mean, I didn’t know if she would be interested in what we were doing. Yet there wasn’t much else I could write about.’

‘Not –? How on earth you could imagine she wouldn’t be interested? She has grown up with her father’s passion for rhododendrons. She has lived her entire life aware of his determination to amass the largest collection of specimens and hybrids in the British Isles. She couldn’t help but know how much your travels from north India to Tibet would mean to him. Of
course
she was interested, for him as well as for herself.’

‘So she’s not walking out with anyone, then?’

‘She has had several serious suitors.’

He jerked round, his smile wiped away by frowning anxiety. ‘Who? No, don’t tell me. Yes, you must. I have to know what competition–’

‘
Richard!
Before you get yourself all knotted up, let me finish. Apparently – and this is what she told me herself – she thanked them for their interest, told them that she was very flattered, but that it would not be fair or kind to encourage an interest she could not return.’

For the second time relief spread in a slow relaxing smile across his face. ‘She did? Sophie said that?’

Grace nodded, envy and longing tugging at her heart.
If only.
‘She’s a sweet girl, Richard.’ He nodded agreement. ‘There’s just one – Look, please don’t think I want to spoil things for either of you. But –’ she stopped, uncertain how to continue.

‘What? It’s all right, Grace. Just tell me.’ It was his gentleness that gave her the courage to voice her worry.

‘It’s just … three years is a long time to be apart. It’s obvious your feelings for Sophie haven’t altered, nor have hers for you. That’s wonderful. But you have lived very different lives during this separation. You will both have changed – especially Sophie. As you said, she was barely sixteen when you left. What I’m trying to say is that the image you have of each other – it’s out of date.’

Lifting his arm from the back of the seat, Richard put it around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘You’re a dear. You need not worry. I had realized.’

She slowed the dogcart and they turned in through the open wrought-iron gates set on tall granite posts that marked the entrance to the Polwellan estate. On one side, behind a post and rail fence a herd of black and white dairy cattle grazed on lush grass. On the other an ocean of bluebells lapped the bases of trees that followed the gentle curve of the hillside down towards the house.

Withdrawing his arm Richard sat up straighter. Grace glanced at him, sympathetic,
envious.
‘Nervous?’

‘Me? Nervous?’ He laughed and his voice cracked. ‘Whatever for?’ He pulled a face. ‘In a forest near one of the villages in Tibet I came face to face with a Himalayan black bear. I’d been painting and was on my way back to camp. I hadn’t taken a gun. I don’t know which of us was more startled. Anyway, we stared at each other for a moment then he spun around and loped away. It happened so quickly. It wasn’t until I told the others that I realized the danger I’d been in. Then I started shaking.’ He held out his hand, palm down.

‘Look at that.’ He mocked the fine tremor. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

‘No, it isn’t.’ She could imagine only too well what he was feeling right now. ‘You’ll be fine. Don’t forget, Richard, Sophie will be just as uncertain, just as nervous.’ She glanced over her shoulder as Bryce drew up alongside the dogcart.

He blew a soundless whistle. ‘This is a lot harder than it looks.’

‘Try not to run over the colonel,’ Grace warned straight-faced as she followed the drive between tall rhododendron bushes vivid with pink and purple blooms that screened the house from the prevailing westerly wind. She drew the cob to a halt on the gravelled circle in front of the house. Bryce skidded to an undignified stop, muttering under his breath.

Chapter Five

Built in the Georgian style with an additional wing set back from the main block, Polwellan had two long windows on either side of a pillared porch. The narrow flowerbed between house and drive contained dwarf rhododendrons with shiny dark leaves and bell-shaped flowers that shaded from marble-white through pale pink to cerise. Behind them the granite stonework glittered as the sun struck tiny quartz crystals.

‘Richard, look!’ Bryce was pointing at the bushes as Richard jumped down.

‘They look like
arboreum
,’ Richard frowned. ‘Yet they can’t be. The young plants don’t produce flowers.’

The front door opened and a tall thin figure emerged. Hatless, his greying hair trimmed short, he wore a dark double-breasted suit of superb cut. A thick beard almost obscured his stiff collar and silk tie.

‘My dear boys, what a pleasure it is to see you both again.’ He gave each a hearty handshake. ‘Welcome home. Good morning, Grace.’

‘Good morning, Colonel Hawkins. Isn’t it a lovely day?’

‘It is indeed, and all the better for seeing these two.’ A broad smile deepened the creases around his eyes. As word of their arrival reached the servants’ quarters a boy ran round the side of the house.

‘Morning, Miss Damerel.’ Knuckling his forehead he grasped the cob’s bridle.

‘Good morning, Ned.’ Dropping the reins Grace climbed down and walked towards the open front door.

‘Colonel,’ Bryce indicated the bushes beside the porch. ‘Are these
arboreum
?’

‘They are. I told Percy you’d spot them. Don’t they look well? We want to breed both the palest and the deepest of the colours.’

Grace reached the porch as Sophie and Alice flew down the elegant staircase. Though Alice was the elder by three years, both wore identical day dresses of white muslin trimmed with lace and satin ribbon. Cream kid shoes with low curved heels peeped from beneath the frilled skirts. Glimpsing white silk stockings and light petticoats of finest silk edged with cobweb lace Grace was acutely aware that her triple-flounced petticoat of navy glace silk – recommended for its durability – was definitely out of date. Worse, it rustled. This, according to her mother’s copy of
The Lady,
was totally unacceptable to ladies of quality.

Grace’s inward sigh gave way to a smile as Sophie and Alice slowed in their headlong dash to welcome the travellers.

‘Grace, it’s lovely to see you.’ Taking Grace’s hands, Alice leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Then Sophie took her elder sister’s place.

‘Oh Grace, I’m so glad you came too.’ Sophie’s complexion was pink and her eyes shone with nervous anticipation as she whispered, ‘Do I look well?’

Grace pressed the quivering fingers. ‘You look absolutely beautiful as always. Richard talked of you all the way here. He’s been looking forward so much to seeing you again.’

‘Really?’ Sophie’s transparent joy wrenched Grace’s heart. ‘Oh Grace, he’s been away such a long time. I was so afraid he might have met someone else.’

‘In the jungle? Up a mountain?’ As Sophie’s eyes widened in confusion Grace squeezed her hands again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease. The truth is Richard has been equally afraid that
you
might have–’

‘Oh surely not? How could he even imagine I would–?’

‘You were only just sixteen when he left, Sophie. Three years is a long time.’

Looking past her, Sophie gave a tiny start. Her blush deepened. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, it is. Oh dear. I feel–so–'

‘Nervous?’ Grace whispered back. ‘No more that he, I promise you.’ Turning she saw Alice staring at Bryce who was talking to the colonel. Though Richard appeared to be listening his eyes constantly flickered towards the doorway.

‘Oh Grace,’ Alice breathed. ‘Bryce is so
brown
. I swear he’s taller.’

Grace looked at her brother. ‘No, but it might appear so because he’s lost weight.’

‘It really suits him.’ Alice clasped her hands to her bosom, her expression dreamy as she watched Bryce. ‘He’s very handsome.’

Grace hid her surprise. She could not recall Alice ever indicating a particular interest in Bryce. But they had all changed during the past three years.

‘Do you think so? Richard has always been considered the better looking.’ Grace confided. ‘He favours our mother. Bryce is more like Papa.’

‘Come, girls,’ Colonel Hawkins turned suddenly. ‘Come and welcome these brave young men.’

Watching Richard clasp both Sophie’s hands Grace wished with all her heart that Edwin Philpotts might hold her so, and look into her face with such warmth, such
hunger.

‘Sophie, it’s good to be back.’

‘It’s wonderful to see you again,’ Sophie blurted, her cheeks now deep rose. Impulsively Richard leaned forward and brushed her cheek with his lips. Though her lashes dropped shyly her smile was radiant.

As Sophie turned to welcome Bryce, Richard was beaming. Turning from Richard to Bryce, Alice held out both hands. ‘We’ve really missed you.’

A hunted expression flashed across Bryce’s face. Then because she clearly expected it and good manners forbade him denying her, Bryce took Alice’s hands and kissed her upturned cheek. Yet it was obvious from the speed with which he stepped back and the distance he established between them that whatever hopes Alice harboured, he did not share them.

As Bryce crossed to the dogcart and Alice struggled to mask disappointment, Grace ached in sympathy. She knew how it felt to yearn for someone who saw you only as a friendly acquaintance, a useful pair of hands.

There was no doubt Edwin valued what she did. If it was her week for the flowers he never failed to compliment her arrangement. When she cleaned the chapel or it was her turn to make teas for the Ladies’ Bright Hour, he thanked her for being so generous with her time.

Unable to meet his eye, her burning skin dewy with nervous perspiration, she would murmur incoherently then rush away. How she longed for him to like her for who she was, not just for what she did.

Yet were it not for her jobs she would be simply one more vaguely familiar face among the three villages on his circuit. At least he knew her name. And it was nice to be thanked. Old Mr Peters hadn’t believed in gratitude. In his view work done for the Lord was its own reward. Grace’s breath caught on a sigh and she wrenched her thoughts back to her surroundings.

Reaching beneath the seat Bryce pulled out a wooden box. He had shown her its contents the previous evening: dozens of small paper packets of seed, all carefully marked.

Reluctantly Richard tore himself away from Sophie and turned to her father. ‘We sent back five –’

‘Six,’ Bryce corrected.

‘Yes, you’re right. Six parcels of seeds and specimens.’

Colonel Hawkins nodded. ‘We received them all. Percy Tresidder is not a demonstrative man. But each time one of your parcels arrived he was like a dog with two tails. How did you do it?’

‘It wasn’t easy,’ Richard admitted. ‘After we left Sadiyya the only way we could send mail was by entrusting it to the Digaru.’

‘What’s a Digaru?’ Sophie asked shyly.

Richard smiled at her. ‘They are one of the two Mishmi clans living in the valley and spend much of their time fighting each other. In return for keeping the jungle track to Rima open, the Digaru are excused paying taxes and are allowed to carry firearms. Most important for us, they guarantee the safety of travellers passing through their country.’

‘We recruited fifty of them to carry all our baggage and rations,’ Bryce added. ‘But once we reached Rima they refused to march more than ten miles from their village, which meant that every ten miles we had to recruit new coolies.’

‘Our letters and packages probably passed through twenty different hands before they reached Sadiyya,’ Richard said. ‘If any of those men had decided to hide them or throw them away we would never have known.’

‘No doubt you want to see what Percy has been up to during your absence?’ Colonel Hawkins’ eyes twinkled. ‘The nurseries cover twenty-five acres now.’

‘
Twenty-five?
’ the twins repeated in unison.

Their patron’s grin was proud as he nodded towards the box in Bryce’s arms. ‘Is that the rest?’

Bryce fell into step beside him. ‘I saw some amazing specimens in the alpine region near a glacier. The strangest were two I saw on wet scree. One looked as if was creeping across the cold stones. It had scarlet trumpets that always pointed down the slope. The other had matted stems and such a dense spread of magenta flowers you couldn’t see a single leaf.’

‘You have photographs?’ the colonel demanded.

‘Of course, sir. They clearly show the habit.’

‘Though not the colours, unfortunately.’ Colonel Hawkins sighed.

‘That will come, sir. You mark my words.’

The colonel glanced back. ‘Will you excuse us, Grace? Girls, take Grace in to see your mother.’

As the three men strode towards the walled garden and nurseries, Sophie tucked her arm through Grace’s.

‘Did Richard do lots of paintings while he was away?’ she asked as the three of them moved towards the house. ‘Have you seen them yet? Are they wonderful?’

‘Yes, yes and yes,’ Grace laughed. ‘You will see them for yourself when you come to my birthday dinner next week. There are so many it would take days to look at them all properly.’

‘I cannot imagine a more delightful pastime,’ Sophie beamed.

‘I can’t wait to see Bryce’s photographs,’ Alice said. ‘When I look at them I shall imagine what it was like to be in the jungle and the mountains. I daresay it was interesting to see such places. Though I’m sure they must be glad to be home.’

Grace smiled but said nothing. Of Richard’s feelings there could be no doubt. About Bryce she wasn’t so sure. He had warned her he was very tired. Yet something about him worried her: an air of strain which, the instant he knew himself observed, he instantly masked with jokes and questions that distracted her. She wanted to help. But at the moment he was keeping what troubled him to himself.

Home to each new Methodist minister, the manse was an early Victorian house set a few feet back from the road and sufficiently spacious to accommodate a large family and several servants. A wooden gate in the low stone wall stood permanently open.

To the left of a paved path leading to a granite front step, tiny white bells of lily-of-the-valley sheltered beneath a myrtle bush. To the right, hydrangeas were unfurling fresh green leaves. An oblong of plain glass above the front door allowed light into a hallway that would otherwise have been dark and gloomy.

In the small back bedroom he had chosen for its view over fields to the river, Edwin Philpotts tied the tapes of his black vest behind his back. Securing the stiff white band with a flat stud he eased it away from his neck, the edge as sharp as a blade against his finger. Buttoning his waistcoat he shrugged into the old fashioned black frock coat that proclaimed his calling as clearly as his dog collar.

From the mirror standing on the chest of drawers a sombre face frowned back at him. Pastoral visits were one thing: this was different. Nor was it wise. He could have declined. The invitation had been written, not verbal.

Flora Bowden, the housekeeper inherited from his elderly predecessor, had brought the sealed envelope to his study and handed it to him with a loud sniff, a signal that something had upset her.

The first time he heard that sniff had been the day he met Grace Damerel. Introduced by Mrs Nancholas, his encounter with Grace had been fleeting. No sooner had they shaken hands than she had rushed away.

Tall, slim, fair
was all he had registered of her general appearance. But wide grey eyes and fiery colour staining creamy skin were images that had remained with him for the rest of the day and long into a sleepless night.

He had had to force his attention back to Mrs Nancholas who was telling him how helpful he would find Miss Damerel. It was then that Miss Bowden, carrying a dustpan, had passed them with a sidelong glance and a loud sniff. Guessing a response was expected he had asked Miss Bowden politely if she too was succumbing to the head cold going round the village. The words were out before he caught Mrs Nancholas’s warning look.

Miss Bowden, her pigeon chest swelling with indignation, had responded that she enjoyed excellent health thank-you-very-much. Not like some she could mention who took to their beds every time the wind changed.

Aware of undercurrents best ignored, he replied he was delighted to hear it and turning back to Mrs Nancholas asked about hymns for the following Sunday.

Laying it aside while Miss Bowden fussed about putting more coal on the fire, he resumed work on his sermon. Not until several moments after her reluctant departure had he laid down his pen and picked up the envelope. He recognised the writing from various lists pinned to the chapel notice board.

He should have declined.
He had quickly grown used to hearing her name mentioned by the sick and elderly he visited. He couldn’t think of any village organisation to which she didn’t contribute in some way. Even those embittered by loss and hardship softened when they spoke of her.

His parents claimed no church could function, much less flourish, without women. He had seen that truth for himself. Ministers and missionaries might draw in converts. But it was women who cleaned and polished, arranged hospitality for visiting clergy, ran all the support groups, organised activities for raising funds, and comprised more than half the congregation.

Such observations found little sympathy with his superiors who warned him that while an occasional word of appreciation was permissible it must be general. He must at all costs avoid singling out any one person for praise. Doing so risked fomenting jealousy and ill feeling.

It was a well-known fact that women, especially single women, were prone to developing emotional attachments to doctors or clergymen. This applied particularly to women of a certain age whose balance of mind was in any case precarious. As his circuit covered three villages containing a number of such creatures, it behoved him, a younger man and unmarried, to be doubly careful.