The Reckoning (13 page)

‘It won't hurt the baby, will it?' from Edward.

‘
Sound wine never hurt anyone,' from James. 'Of course it
won't.’

Left alone, John Skelwith turned to Héloïse and smiled
invitingly. 'Will you, Madame?' he said, offering his cuff.
My God, she thought, he looks like James when he smiles.
Each time, it was like a physical shock. He should have been
mine, her heart keened. Oh, how he must have haunted his
poor mother!
She laid her hand on his sleeve. 'It will take a little getting
used to,' she said, for something to say.

‘
Yes,' he agreed. 'But that's the worst over, at least. It will
be easier from now on.’

Will it? Héloïse thought; but she smiled assent at the
proposition.

*

’What were you and Hawker talking about, Sophie? You had
a very long conversation with him,' Rosamund asked. She
was sitting before the mirror while Moss put her hair into its
night-time braids. Sophie, already in bed, sat up, hugging her
knees. With her dark curls falling from under her frilled
nightcap, she looked no more than fourteen.

‘We were talking about poor sister Fanny,' she said. 'He really did love her, you know.'

‘
Oh Sophie! He married her for her fortune – everyone
knows that.'

‘
No, Ros, I'm sure you're wrong,' Sophie said with a frown.
‘The way he spoke about her was so tender and sad – it
almost made me cry. I'm sure everyone's misjudged him.'

‘
You're such an innocent,' Rosamund said. She caught
Moss's eyes in the mirror, and saw the same conviction there.
‘Of course he's bound to say things like that to you. He's
trying to make an impression.'

‘
Why should he want to impress me? He cared about her, I
know he did.'

‘
Then why did he stay away in Vienna all those months,
while she was at Morland Place, and expecting the baby? And
he's never been back since, remember – not even to her
memorial.'

‘
He explained that to me,' Sophie said eagerly. Rosamund
raised an eyebrow. 'Well, he told me some of it, though he
said he was in honour bound not to tell all. He was obliged to
be away, but it was much against his will – he couldn't tell me
why, because he'd sworn not to. And when Fanny died, and
the poor little baby too, he was too grief-stricken to think or
act. He said he hardly ate or slept for a week. Of course, he
couldn't have got back in time for her funeral, anyway – and
he wasn't asked to her memorial.'

‘
Wasn't asked?'

‘
That's what he said. Well, I know for a fact Papa and
Uncle Ned both hated him, so it's probably true. He says he would like to visit Morland Place now to see her headstone,
only he's afraid he wouldn't be welcome.'

‘
I should think he wouldn't,' Rosamund said with a hard
smile. 'That will do, Moss. You may go now.'

‘
Yes, my lady,' Moss said, disappointed. It was obvious her
ladyship was about to tell Miss a few home truths, and Moss
would have liked to hear that. When the door closed behind
her, however, Rosamund, thinking better of it, merely said,
‘You mustn't let your sympathy run away with you. You
think anyone who's had a bereavement is a saint. Not
everyone feels as you felt about Larosse, you know.’

Sophie's lip trembled. 'Well I like him,' she said defiantly.
‘And I know Miss Rosedale does, too. They talk about Fanny
all the time, and she believes he really loved her. He told
Rosey he was afraid there'd been some neglect of Fanny
during her last months, otherwise she wouldn't have died,
because she was so strong and healthy. But Miss Rosedale told him it was because Fanny insisted on doing too much,
and wouldn't rest. She said she thought travelling to
Manchester in the coach to see her grandpa may have done
the mischief. He asked about the baby, too, and she told me
he was almost in tears when she said it was born dead.’

Tender-hearted Sophie was almost in tears telling about it.
But Rosamund had very definite ideas about Mr Fitzherbert
Hawker. It seemed to her on reflection a strange coincidence
that they had encountered each other on the sand quite by
chance; and since that meeting, the acquaintance had got
along like a chaise-and-four. Farraline had brought his
mother a-calling the very next day; the return call had found
Hawker sitting with them, having 'just stepped round a
moment ago'. They had all met at the library tea-rooms the
following day and drunk tea together; and tonight Lady
Batchworth had invited them to an evening-party at
Hampton House, where there had been plenty of opportunity,
it seemed, for
tête-à-têtes.

That Hawker had some plan in all this, she had no doubt.
She had heard enough about him, in the days when he was
courting Fanny in her first London Season, to know he was a
rogue, adventurer and fortune-hunter. Rosamund had still
been in the schoolroom, but in some ways there was no better
vantage point for watching the game. Grown-ups sometimes said things they assumed a schoolroom miss wouldn't under
stand; and Rosamund had never been averse from listening at
doors and talking to servants, when it was a matter of gath
ering useful information.

She wondered briefly if his present bout of ingratiation was
aimed at her and her fortune – for he surely couldn't hope for anything more from Morland Place. He must surely be aware
that Sophie wouldn't inherit – and yet, perhaps he knew
more than Rosamund? Morland Place was not entailed.
Could he mean to re-establish himself with Héloïse, win
Sophie's heart, and take the prize that way?
No, that was too far-fetched! It must be some more im
mediate plan he had in mind. And she didn't want to upset
Sophie any more at this stage, so she said merely, 'Well, he
certainly seems to have charmed you.'

‘
Yes,' Sophie said, and sighed. 'I do like him. Yet whenever
I meet a man of his age, I can't help thinking "Why are you
alive, and René dead?". I know it's wicked; but it does seem so
unfair.'

‘
It is unfair, dear Sophie. But if we all got what we
deserved in this life, it would be a pretty poor show for most
of us.'

‘
Yes,' she said solemnly, 'then I should never have had
René's love, for I know I didn't deserve him.’

This was not the direction in which Rosamund had meant
to lead her cousin's spirits. After a moment she said, 'He was a good man, and I know how you cared for him. But one day
you'll meet another man who will love you, and you'll love
him, and you'll marry and be happy.’

Sophie looked up briefly, and down again. 'Oh no,' she said
quietly. 'I couldn't. René is the only man I could ever –' She
stopped, and then said even more quietly, her face well
hidden, ‘Ros, do you know – I mean, I suppose you must –
about marriage? What it means? What happens – afterwards.'

‘
Yes,' Rosamund said briefly, her eyes bright with amuse
ment and compassion. How protected Sophie had been all her
life! Even in Brussels, when they'd all had to cope with the
influx of dreadfully-wounded soldiers, Sophie had been kept
apart from the worst sights, and had certainly never been
allowed to bandage anything but heads and arms. Mens'
bodies must be mysterious and awful to her, because utterly
unknown.

‘
Well,' Sophie went on, what was visible of her cheeks very
red, 'I know that when one marries one must – I mean, it's
one's duty – but I don't think, I really don't think, I could
ever do such a thing with anyone but René. I couldn't bear it.
Don't you feel the same?'

‘
Oh Sophie!' Rosamund knew a great many more things
than Sophie, amongst them that marriages like her mother's
with Papa Danby, and perhaps Aunt Héloïse's with Uncle
James, were far from being the norm. In polite society, or at
least in the upper echelons of it, couples married for practical
and family reasons, and once the desired number of children
had been born, the sort of activity that so alarmed Sophie
ceased. And even amongst the second circle, she imagined
that it was hardly an everyday occupation. Physical passion
was not an ingredient of the average marriage.

Rosamund had loved Philip Tantony, and her senses had been excited by him. After her schoolroom infatuation with
Marcus, it had been a new experience to feel that physical
attraction – new and vivid and heady. Sometimes even in
memory it made her quiver: she could recall sometimes
exactly what it had been like to touch his hand and look into his eyes. She had looked forward to the life of intimacy with
him; she didn't suppose she would ever feel that way again
about anyone.

But she knew she must marry: to remain single would be to
place herself outside society, to endure restrictions on her
freedom, to be regarded as an eccentric, eventually to be an
object of pity. She didn't want to live like that. Any sort of
marriage would be better than such isolation.

Sophie had looked up for an answer. Rosamund said, 'I
think I could bear it, provided it was someone I liked reason
ably well.'

‘
Like Marcus?'

‘
Well, yes, perhaps.' She shied away from the specific. 'But
one way or another, I must marry.'

‘
Because your mama will make you?'

‘
Because – because it will be expected of me. And you'll
marry too, one day.'

‘
Oh no,' Sophie said with quiet conviction.

You will, Rosamund affirmed, but silently. You were not
designed for the single life, and all men are not so blind to
their own interest. You will marry – and unlike me, dear
Sophie, you will marry for love.

*

An exhibition of art at the Assembly House was a welcome
indoor diversion in the continuing wet weather; and dawdling
about amongst the pictures provided plenty of opportunity for
private conversation. Lady Batchworth had commanded, and
Mr Hawker had arranged, and they had all gone together as a
party.

The dowager had appropriated Miss Rosedale as a sort of
courier-cum-private secretary, and having handed over the
catalogue, was requiring Miss Rosedale to explain each picture to her, and to tell her what she must think of it.