The House of Happiness (19 page)

Impatiently, Gregor brushed away her hands. 

“Listen.
Listen!
It's going to be even harder than this rowing has been to drag three people around the Continent for the rest of our lives. We will be manacled to her and think – five thousand pounds will go much further if there are only two of us!”

Bridget, searching his face, suddenly shrank into her cloak. “I don't know about that – “

But Gregor silenced her with a wave of his hand. “What do you think about this idea, little flower?” he asked Eugenia jeeringly.

“I wonder that it did not occur to you earlier,” replied Eugenia, feigning calm. “But – as a matter of curiosity – why me and not Bridget?”

Gregor threw back his head. “You – ha ha ha – I do not trust and do not desire. You I could crack too easily – like an eggshell –
she
can take rough treatment. Ha ha ha.”

Eugenia thought that she had succeeded in playing for time, but Gregor's next move took her completely by surprise. With a roar he leapt up, dragged her to her feet, and made as if to fling her overboard.

Unprepared as she was, she struggled. She heard Bridget screeching as the boat rocked to and fro and water splashed over the stern. Her hand flailed in the air before it caught hold of Gregor's jacket and held on tight. 

She was falling, falling, and he was falling too. With a terrible cry she hit the water.

She gasped at the cold, went under, surfaced and went under again. She kicked with her heels and came up for a second time. She caught a glimpse of Gregor, foundering nearby.  And Bridget, taking up the oars of the boat.

Salt stung her eyes and she began to sink. Her skirt and petticoat, heavier by the second, ballooned about her. This was the end! The end!

Darkness began to descend on her mind –

Two arms reached down through the water.  Two arms clasped themselves firmly about her waist. Two arms – tender, strong and determined – drew her barely conscious from the greedy embrace of the sea.

*

A soft wind sang in the chimney at ‘
Paragon
.' Eugenia held out her hands to the flames. She was not cold but the dancing fire seemed to draw her to its heart. Apart from the wind and the crackle of logs in the grate, the house was quiet. Beyond the windows, the treetops swayed gently to and fro but made no murmur.  She was alone. Alone with her thoughts and they, alas, were unsettling company.

After her rescue from the sea she had known nothing more until she had awakened at dawn in a room at the
Sailor's Tavern
. The first face she saw before her was that of the Marquis.

It was he, she discovered, who had saved her.

“Y-you were in the boat we heard in the distance?”

“Yes.” 

Although the Marquis had been watching her intently when she had first woken, now he seemed reluctant to talk to her.  He rose and began to pace the room.

Eugenia followed him with her eyes. “Why? Why were you there at all? I do not understand. When you left the cottage you – you were returning to Buckbury, surely?”

The Marquis halted at the window.

“I did not go to Buckbury,” he said shortly.  “I rode to the nearest town and found two officers of the law.  You see, when Brodosky tried to get me to deposit the – money – in his name, I was instantly suspicious, although I did my best to conceal it. I feared for your safety.”

“Y-you did?”

“As I would for the safety of any woman in such a situation,” said the Marquis coldly, as if to forestall any hope she might harbour of regaining his affections.  He resumed his pacing. “I returned with the officers to the cottage, intending to snatch you from Brodosky's clutches, only to find the place empty. 

“Guessing that he would head immediately for the nearest port from which to travel to France, I followed. The officers accompanied me.  At the port we separated, each searching a different area of town.  We soon learned Brodosky had been asking around for someone to row him out to the frigate.

We were not sure from which direction he would approach the vessel, so we took a boat ourselves and waited at the harbour mouth, hoping to apprehend him there. Then the fog rolled in. It was a mercy that we came upon you when we did.”

“Yes,” Eugenia agreed humbly.  She hesitated before posing the next question, “And did you – apprehend him?”

The Marquis glanced her way sharply.

“No. He drowned.”

Eugenia drew in her breath with shock. Then, without warning, her eyes filled with tears.

She mourned for Gregor's folly, as well as her own, but the Marquis did not know that. His features hardened.

“I see, madam, that you grieve,” he remarked stiffly.

Eugenia wiped away a tear that had begun to trickle down her cheek. “Not as you imagine, my Lord.”

“What I imagine is of no consequence,” remarked the Marquis, turning once again to the window and staring out.

“What about – Bridget?” she asked.

“In the chaos of the moment, she took up the oars and rowed swiftly from the scene. Neither she nor the jewels – oh, yes, I suspected that she had taken the jewels – have been found.”

Eugenia realised that this was all the information she was going to receive. The Marquis may have saved her life, but he was not about to forgive her.  She longed for his embrace, longed for the ardour he had once shown, but he was as distant to her now as a King to a common subject.

What could she expect? He was certain that she had – given herself up to Gregor, body and soul.  If she tried to tell him the truth, he would not believe her.  It would seem mere opportunism, now that Gregor was dead and she was without a protector of any kind.

Besides, there was the vexed question of Lady Walling.

Eugenia was sure that it was her own shameful behaviour that had caused the Marquis to stray. Nevertheless, part of her that could not quite forgive her husband for so easily finding an alternative interest!

She did not know what was to become of her.  Her habitual spirited opposition to her mother's wishes now seemed the conduct of another being entirely. Perhaps her entire future was to be spent in a series of humble rooms like that at the
Sailor's Tavern
.

It was the Marquis who, as if hearing her thoughts, suggested that she return to ‘
Paragon
'. When she began to protest that it was out of the question, he silenced her with a severe look.

“Dress yourself and then come down to the inn courtyard,” he said. “I will order a coach.”

He had not spoken to her on the journey, except to exchange common courtesies, or ask her if she wished him to halt the coach so that she might take refreshment of some kind.

He made no mention at all of what her future might entail until he handed her from the coach outside her beloved cottage. Then, drawing her out of earshot of his coachman, he told her what he had decided.

“Here you may live,” he said. “I will continue to provide for you, but I desire no further communication between us. Explain it to your mother as you will. I shall never breathe a word of what has passed regarding yourself and Brodosky.  Your reputation, as far as that adventure goes, is safe. You are at liberty to invent another reason for our  – estrangement.”

“Lady Walling, perhaps?” murmured Eugenia bitterly, close to tears.

“What do you mean by that?”

Eugenia bit her lip. “Nothing, my L-Lord.”

“I am not your Lord anymore, Eugenia. I am nothing to you from now on and you are nothing to me.”

He turned and strode back to the coach. Eugenia stood outside until the sound of the wheels faded in the dusky air. Then she opened the door of ‘
Paragon
' and went inside.

*

That had been two days ago. Two days!  The most lonely of her life, her only companions the owls and wood pigeons that lived in the woods. She did not even have her old pony Bud, since he was now stabled at Buckbury and she did not dare approach the Abbey for fear the Marquis might see her. 

She turned her head at the sound of a light knock.

The knocking continued, with increasing urgency.  At last she walked to the door and cautiously opened it a crack. She peered out and then stepped back in astonishment. Bridget pushed the door wide and stared in.

“I had to see you, miss. It's important.”

She looked exhausted and very bedraggled. Her stockings were torn and the hem of her dress trailed in the dust. She seemed to have lost Eugenia's woollen cloak. Eugenia took all this in and then motioned for her to enter.

With a look of relief, Bridget slipped into the house. She followed Eugenia to the drawing room and sank with a moan onto the sofa. Eugenia looked at her for a moment and then went to the kitchen, returning with bread and jam and a mug of ale. Bridget fell on the food hungrily.

“Thank you, miss, oh, thank you. I'm that grateful, I really am. I don't deserve it.”

“No,” agreed Eugenia candidly.  “You do not.”

She did not know why she was helping Bridget in this way.  Perhaps she pitied her.  After all, Gregor, the man she had loved, was dead.

“What do you want with me?” she asked Bridget at last.

Bridget took a swig of ale and then wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

“I wanted to return these, miss.” She threw the leather pouch containing Eugenia's jewels onto the small table that stood before the sofa. “They're all there,” she added.

Eugenia stared at the pouch. “What makes you give them up, Bridget? They would have fetched a lot of money – enough for you to start a new life somewhere and perhaps even become a lady.”

Bridget burst into tears.

“I don't want to start a new life no more, miss.  I don't want to be a lady.  I just want to go back to London and look after Mrs.Dewitt like I used to. Before that Gregor came and turned my head! He used to taunt me about you, miss, even though he was making love to me.”

Eugenia lowered her head with a bitter sigh. “Making love to you?”

“From the very first, miss. But – he'd flirt with you as he'd flirt with any creature that caught his eye and I got so jealous – I was glad when you and your mother left London for Buckbury.  Then one day Gregor found out from your great-aunt that she was going to leave all her fortune to you and it set him thinking.

He kept saying that your great-aunt was old and bound to die soon. If he could get you to marry him, he'd end up rich. I said I didn't want him to marry you, but he said not to be a fool, as once he had the money, he'd leave you and run off with me.  He said I was – the right sort for him.

He was impatient for you to return to London so that he might start his plan. Then Mrs. Dewitt received the invitation to visit you all. Gregor was thrilled, 'cos he knew she'd take me with her.  And he made me promise that, once I got here, I was to set to work on you.”

Eugenia raised her head. “Work on me?”

“Soften you up until he could get to you himself. Make you believe that – that he was in love with you. And I did it, even though half the time I didn't want to.  Then you went and got yourself engaged. Even Gregor thought his plan was all over. 

“And then came the commission to paint your portrait. He accepted 'cos he was sure he'd be able to get you to renounce the Marquis for him. But it didn't work out that way.  After your marriage he really gave up.

I didn't want to leave him, but you kept insisting that I go with you on your honeymoon. I could have killed you until – until I found out that you and the Marquis were not – not really man and wife after all. I wrote to Gregor and – and he replied, saying we had you now, he was sure of it.  He decided to wait at ‘
Paragon
' until you were back,  until such time as I thought you were – ripe.”

“Ripe,” repeated Eugenia in disbelief.

“Yes, miss.  Miserable enough to leave your husband. Then I was to get you to ‘
Paragon
' and – and he'd do the rest. It worked. You came away.” Bridget began to tug nervously at a strand of hair.  “He told me we was going to abandon you once we'd got the money out of the Marquis. I never thought he'd do what he did, miss. Honest. I'd never have agreed to that, miss, never.”   

Eugenia nodded and then stared down at the pouch full of jewels. “And these?”

Bridget began to wail. “I don't want to hang for a string of pearl and some rings, miss. If I give them back, perhaps you'll put a word in for me with the Marquis and ask him not to press charges against me.  Would you do that, miss?”

Eugenia pushed the pouch back towards Bridget. “I do not consider that they are mine to receive. And I no longer have the ear of the Marquis, for reasons which you must surely guess. You must go to him yourself and beg for mercy.”   

Bridget, sniffing, picked up the pouch.  “Are you sure he will see me?” she asked doubtfully.   

“I am sure he will,” said Eugenia.

Bridget, somewhat fortified by the meal and ale, departed. Eugenia closed the door behind her but did not bolt it. She returned to the drawing room and sank into her chair before the fire, her mind in even greater turmoil. She had been nothing but a pawn in a game from the beginning, all the time believing she was experiencing a grand and illicit passion. Fool, fool,
fool
!

Apart from going to the kitchen to prepare herself some food, she spent the rest of the evening before the fire. She read, dropped the book onto her lap, took up some sewing and dropped it as well. Nothing could take her mind off the sorry tale that Bridget had told her.

It was getting on for midnight. The fire had begun to die, for she had not fed the flames for nearly an hour.  The dying embers seemed to reflect her mood and she sat staring at them as if in a trance.

Only gradually did she become aware that someone had entered the cottage. Had Bridget returned from her quest?