The Reckoning (86 page)

James came up beside Héloïse and tucked her hand
through his arm. 'What do you think of that, over there?' he
said, nodding to where Jasper and Sophie were walking a little
apart. 'Can you guess what they're talking about?'

‘
It is no guess,' Héloïse laughed. 'Mill-workers, to be sure.
Look how absorbed Mr Hobsbawn is!'

‘
Not at all,' James said triumphantly. 'Sophie's telling him
the history of our Christmas traditions. From the bemused
expression on his face, you'd think she was a mermaid singing
to him! It must be the first time in years he's thought about
anything but machines and cotton.'

‘
Poor young man,' Héloïse said, her ready sympathy
aroused. 'He's had such a very
uncomfortable
life! We must
make sure he has a good holiday while he is here. I shall tell
Sophie not to talk about the building scheme at all for the
whole week.’

It was growing very cold, and in the copse there was a great
deal of stamping of feet and rubbing of hands as everyone
stood round Father Moineau. He blessed the log, which had
been cut back in October under James's direction, and had been drying ever since. Then the ropes were fixed, James,
Nicholas and John – who were taking the first turn – took up
the strain, and a great cheer went up as they began to drag it
home. Benedict jumped up and down, shrieking with excite
ment, and the dogs rushed round in maddened circles,
jabbing their wet noses into hands and faces in lieu of
barking.

In the van of the procession, Father Moineau drew a small
flask out of his pocket, unscrewed the top, and handed it to
Polly.

‘
I think it is going to snow,' he said. 'You look cold – try
some of this. It will warm you up.’

Polly's eyes widened. 'Ardent spirits?' she said. 'I've never
had anything like that before. Are priests allowed –?'

‘
Pourquoi non?'
Moineau's eyes twinkled. 'It is part of
God's good harvest. Regard it as medicinal, if you like.’

She sipped, and choked, and then looked surprised. 'It does
feel warm once it's inside,' she said.

Sophie came up alongside her. 'What's that, Polly?'

‘
I'm not sure, but it's very warming,' Polly said, and with a
glance at Moineau, passing the flask to her. 'Try some.'

‘
Good God, Father, what are you giving the young ladies?'
Jasper protested, joining them in time to see Sophie repeat the
action of sipping and choking.

‘Medicine,' said Polly. 'A remedy against the cold.'

‘
It's horrid!' Sophie laughed, handing the flask back to
Father Moineau. 'Oh, I do hope it snows for Christmas Eve!
It looks so lovely when it's all fresh and crisp! Do let's sing the yule-log song now – Polly, you start us off. You have the
truest voice. You remember the words? Mr Hobsbawn, come
and take a turn on the ropes! Everyone has to take a turn, you
know, for good luck.’

Polly began obligingly to sing as Sophie ran off to beg a
turn at the ropes. Jasper hesitated, watching her, feeling
awkward and self-conscious, too old and ungainly, surely, to
run after her.

Father Moineau, observing him with sympathy, passed the flask across to him and said in a voice meant only for Jasper
to hear, 'I think you'd better have a little of this yourself. It
takes much courage to woo a young woman.’

Jasper looked at him, startled, and then, seeing nothing but
kindness in the priest's eyes, smiled, and accepted the offer.
‘Thank you,' he said, and hurried off after Sophie.

When everyone had had their turn, the servants took over
the real work of dragging the log home, and the family turned
their energies to singing. The sky was closed and pearly over
head, the light strange and greenish, the world very still. As
they reached the top of the slope down to the house the first
snowflakes began to drift down. Walking a little behind the
main group now, Sophie turned her face up, and forgetting
her womanly dignity, tried to catch them on her tongue as she
had as a child, just as Nicky and Bendy were doing.

‘They look black when you look up at them,' she remarked
wonderingly to Jasper, who was still at her side. 'How they
come rushing down! Whirling madly. It makes you quite dizzy!’

He couldn't spare the attention to look up – he was too
absorbed in gazing at her face, the brightness of her cheeks in
the cold air, the vigour of the dark curls thrusting out from
under her bonnet, the thickness of the eyelashes fluttering
defensively against the satin touch of snowflakes. Staring up
into the sky did make a person dizzy: a few steps more, and
Sophie stumbled, and Jasper was there to catch hold of her. It
wasn't much of a stumble – she wouldn't have fallen – but
she didn't seem to mind the touch of his hands at all, or to
wish him to remove them. She looked directly into his eyes,
began to say something – thank you, perhaps – and then
blushed vividly.

Jasper's remaining self-possession fled.

‘
Oh Sophie,' he blurted out like an idiotic schoolboy, 'I do
love you so much!’

An expression came into her eyes that he would have died
to witness, had it been necessary, which, miraculously, it
seemed it was not. 'I love you too,' she whispered; shy, but so
eager, as though she had wanted a long time to say it.

They stopped still and stared at each other through the
increasing snow. The singing of the rest of the party, drawing steadily away from them down the slope, was already muffled
on the thick, white air.

‘
Do you? Do you really?' he said wonderingly. 'I never
would have believed ... I'm not anyone, you see. I'm not
handsome or rich or –’

He stopped himself from going on, seeing that she was only
looking at him with that same expression, saying nothing,
waiting for him to stop behaving like a half-wit. The snow
flakes were settling on her hair, on her face, too, as it was
turned up to look at him. He removed one tenderly from the tip of her nose. 'Sophie, if your parents will allow, will you
marry me?'

‘
Yes,' she said. Just that – but at the same moment she put
both her gloved hands into his, a gesture of such willingness
and trust that he needed no other words.

‘
Sophie,' he said idiotically, and then realising that it was
becoming difficult to see her, he drew her hand through his
arm and said, 'We'd better get indoors before we get lost in a
blizzard. Come, my love.’

Sophie allowed him to hurry her down towards the house,
her hand safe in the crook of his arm, her feet some inches
above the ground, not in the least worried about blizzards.
She thought she had never heard three more beautiful words
in her life than those last three.

*

Jasper Hobsbawn had delivered his speech, the verbal equiva
lent of a Congreve rocket as far as James and Héloïse were
concerned.

‘
I know I should have spoken to you first, before I said
anything to Sophie – Miss Morland – your daughter. I fully intended to, but I was just – well, overcome. It all came out
before I could stop myself.

‘
Of course you will want time to consider, I understand
that,' he went on rather unhappily when neither of them
spoke. 'I'll leave you now and – and await your decision.'

‘
Er – yes, very well, Hobsbawn,' James said faintly. 'Thank
you. Yes, we'll certainly – er – consider everything you've
said.’

Jasper withdrew, and James turned his stunned eyes on his
wife. 'Well, that caps the globe!' he exclaimed, reverting in his
amazement to his childhood vocabulary. 'Had you any idea of
this?'

‘
No, not the least – though I suppose now I think of it, I ought to have realised. I have been very stupid, I'm afraid,
but I thought things were quite otherwise.'

‘
I suppose he couldn't be mistaken?' James said hopefully.
‘About Sophie's feelings, I mean?'

‘
Oh James! Do you suppose that shy man would have put
himself through such agony if he weren't sure? You see how
little he values himself --'

‘
Well, I agree with him there,' James said vigorously. 'He's
hardly what I'd consider a suitable match!’

Héloïse looked anxious. 'You don't mean to refuse permis
sion, do you?’

James frowned. 'I collect you think I should say yes? Don't
you think we ought at least discuss it?'

‘
Oh yes, I suppose we should, but James, if Sophie loves
him, how can we say no?'

‘
Now don't start that again,' James said angrily. 'We had
all that nonsense with Fanny and Hawker, all that talk about
love, and look where that led!'

‘
But the cases are quite different. Fanny was so very
young, and headstrong –'

‘
Sophie may not be headstrong, but she's still only a child.
She knows nothing about life.'

‘
She's not a child any more, my James,' Héloïse said sadly. ‘She's twenty years old, and a grown woman. She has been in
love before, and lost her lover in the cruellest way. I do not
think she is likely to be deceived about her feelings now. And
besides, you know, what is there to attract about Mr Hobs
bawn if she does not truly love him? He is not a glamorous figure who has dazzled her, as you thought Mr Hawker did
Fanny.'

‘
I still say a young woman of twenty doesn't know what's
good for her. She can't begin to understand the dangers of
life. It's a father's duty to protect her interests – as I would have done for Fanny, if I'd been allowed!'

‘
James, what happened to Fanny was just bad luck,'
Héloïse said quietly. 'It had nothing to do with Mr Hawker. It
would have happened whoever she married.’

James stared at her a moment longer, and then his resist
ance crumpled. He sat down, looking miserable and old.

‘
I just don't want her marrying the wrong man and being
unhappy. Look at him! He's not the man you would have
picked for her, is he? He's nobody. He's nothing.'

‘
He's the man she loves, my James, and Sophie's such a
good girl, she would not choose badly. I know Mr Hobsbawn
doesn't look like a fairy-tale prince,' she teased gently, tut
he's a good man, I truly believe.'