"How can we be happy now? I want you with me at Landower. I want our nurseries opened up. I want a happy life with you."
"It's something we can't have," I said. "It's crying for the moon."
"It's nothing of the sort. Who wants the moon? And you and I could work out something. Instead of which you are getting ready to plunge into disaster ... as I did . . . because it seems an easy way out."
I heard the sound of footsteps in the hall and I sprang away from him. I said in a loud voice. "It was good of you to call."
I stepped into the hall. One of the maids was just going up the staircase. I walked towards the door and he followed me.
I said: "There is so much gossip. I believe the servants watch our movements. Moreover I think they listen at doors. Information gleaned passes through the ranks and it sometimes comes to the ears of the master and mistress of the house."
We came out into the courtyard.
I said: "You must not be so vehement, Paul."
"How can you do this?" he demanded.
"I have to live my life. You have to live yours."
"I won't let it happen."
"I must go," I told him. "I promised Livia I would take her for a ride in the paddock."
He gazed at me in despair; and then I saw a look of determination in his eyes.
I felt a thrill of pleasure, and I had to admit to myself that I had enjoyed his passionate declaration. His jealousy was balm to me and for a while I could gloat over his love for me.
It was wrong, of course; it was dangerous; but it was only later that I began to think about that.
It was May and Jeremy was coming as frequently as ever and staying longer. He showed an enormous interest in the estate. He had become quite knowledgeable about it and I was interested to hear him assessing its worth.
"That manager of yours is quite good," he said. "I had a chat with him this afternoon."
"The job is his life. He served Cousin Mary well and now he does the same for me."
"I was talking to a man in town. He was quite interested."
For a moment I went cold with fear. "You talked to him . . . about what?"
"Well, about the sale of the estate."
"Sale of the estate!"
"I know that you won't want to stay buried in the country. I thought it would be a good idea to put out a few feelers . . . just tentatively."
"Isn't that a bit premature?"
"Of course ... of course . . . Nothing definite. But these things always take time, and it is as well to know what we are about."
"What we are about!" I was repeating his words after him.
"My dear Caroline, I want to take the burden of everything off your shoulders."
"As you did Olivia's?"
"I did what I could for her."
"Olivia was left very wealthy."
"Well, less than she had thought, poor girl. And things didn't go very well."
"How was that?"
"Markets and things. I wouldn't want to bother you with them, Caroline."
"I would not want anyone here to know that enquiries were being made about selling the estate. There would be panic. These people's homes are here . . . their work . . . their lives."
"Of course ... of course . . . Only tentative enquiries, I assure you. I shall just want to get everything settled. I have spoken to Lady Carey. She is delighted. She thinks it is an excellent idea. She's so relieved about Livia."
"I didn't know she gave much thought to Livia."
"Oh, she likes to see everything settled as it should be. She thinks that it will have to be quiet. And she thought you should come up to London. She'll take charge of everything. A very quiet ceremony. I agree with her."
"You and she seem to work out everything between you."
"We're both concerned about you, Caroline."
I thought: He's getting a little careless, a little too sure. Perhaps the time has now come.
He went on to say that he thought he should arrange it for the first of July.
"The year will be up then," he added. "No one can carp about that. Why don't you come up in June . . . about the middle, say. There will be a lot to do."
"What about Livia?"
"She's all right with Loman and that Miss Bell."
"Of course," I said.
I saw him off on the train, very jaunty, very sure of himself.
Then I went home to write the letter.
"Dear Jeremy,
"You wrote to me once explaining why we should not marry and it is now my duty (by no means painful) to tell you why I have no intention—or ever had—of marrying you. How could I marry a man who had such a low opinion of my intelligence that he thought I could be deceived by such puerile blandishments. You are a great lover, Jeremy —of money. Yes, the estate is a very fine one; it is mine and I am rich . . . possibly more so than Olivia was before you squandered the greater part of her fortune.
"You broke your promise to me when you discovered I had nothing. Well, now I am paying you back in your own coin, as they say.
"You will now know what it feels like to have to go among your acquaintances—the one who was turned out, refused, jilted. "Caroline Tressidor."
I sent off the letter at once and I gave myself up to the pleasure of contemplating his reception of it.
A few days passed. I was surprised when he arrived in person.
He came in the early evening. I had been with Livia, seeing her into bed, reading a story to her; and had just gone to my room when one of the maids knocked on the door.
She began: "Miss Tressidor, Mr. Brandon ..."
He must have been immediately behind her because before she got any further he burst into the room.
"Caroline!" he cried.
The maid shut the door. I wondered if she were listening outside. "Well," I said. "This is unexpected. Did you not get my letter?"
He said: "I don't believe it."
"Just a moment," I said. I went to the door. The maid sprang back a few paces.
"There is nothing I need from you, Jane," I said.
"No, Miss Tressidor," she said, flushing and hurrying away.
I shut the door and leaned against it.
He repeated: "I don't believe it."
I raised my eyebrows. "I thought I had made it perfectly clear to you."
"Do you mean you were playing games . . . with me?"
"I was following a certain course of action, if that is what you mean."
"But you implied ..."
"It was you who implied. You implied that I was a complete idiot, that I couldn't see through you. You must have thought I was the biggest fool imaginable. Oh come, Jeremy, you really did put up a very poor show. Not nearly as good as you did all those years ago. You were quite credible then. Of course you didn't have your past to live down."
"You . . . you . . ."
"Say it," I urged. "Don't be afraid. You have nothing to lose now. You have already lost. I doubt your feelings for me are one half as contemptuous as mine for you."
"You . . . scheming harridan."
I laughed. "Spoken from the heart," I said. "And I will retaliate by telling you that you are a blatant fortune hunter."
"So this is revenge . . . because I refused to marry you."
"Look upon it as a little lesson. When you go out on your next treasure hunt, I should try to be a little less blatant. You should have shown a little discretion. Olivia is scarcely cold in her grave."
He was looking at me as though he could not believe what he saw and heard. He had been so conceited, so completely sure of himself, he had thought he only had to beckon and I would willingly follow. It was a hard and bitter lesson for him.
I was ashamed of my feelings, but I was almost sorry for him.
I said rather gently: "You couldn't really have thought I was such a fool, could you, Jeremy? Did you really think I would sell my estate . . . my inheritance ... to provide you with the money you needed for the gaming tables and entertai
ning your friends there? I daresay the ladies of the gaming clubs thought you were a very fine fellow."
"You don't know what you are talking about."
"I know more than you give me credit for. Have you replaced Miss Flora Carnaby or does she still reign supreme?"
He turned pale and then flushed hotly. "Have you set spies on me?"
"Nothing of the sort. The information leaked out. It is amazing how these little facts come to light. Olivia knew. That's what I can't forgive. Olivia thought you were wonderful until you impoverished her to indulge your weakness for gambling and the Flora Carnabys of your superficial world."
"Olivia ..."
"Yes. You made the last months of her life unhappy. She knew and she was completely disillusioned. That was why she wanted me to take Livia. She was afraid to leave her with you. Now you know. I see no reason why you should be shielded from the truth."
"You wanted to have your revenge on me because of what I did to you."
"How right you are! I wanted that . . . among other things. Now you must tell your friends . . . and possibly your creditors . . . that the rich marriage is off. The lady knew all the time what her prospective bridegroom was after and she has told him in no uncertain terms to get out."
"You're a virago."
"Is that an improvement on a harridan? Yes, I am one, and I am revelling in your discomfiture. I shall laugh when I think of you confessing to your cronies, and to my Aunt Imogen, that the marriage will not take place. You'll make a good story of it, I don't doubt. You'll wonder at the wisdom of marrying your late wife's sister. Whatever you say, it makes no difference. This is the fortune which will not fall into your lap."
"Your forget you have my daughter here."
"I'm sorry she has such a father."
"I shall not allow you to keep her."
I felt a sudden fear in the pit of my stomach. What could he do? He was, after all, her father.
As usual when I was afraid I was immediately on the defensive.
"If you attempted to take her from me I should probe into your financial affairs. I should discover the details of your liaison with Flora Carnaby—and doubtless others. I should provoke such a scandal which would kill off all your future chances of securing an heiress. You would be finished, Jeremy Brandon. I have the money to make sure of that— and I should not hesitate to use it."
He was white and trembling and I saw that he was frightened.
"I will give you a word of advice although you don't deserve it," I went on. "Go away . . . and never let me hear of you again. I don't know how much of Olivia's money you have left. I should salvage what you can. You'll probably lose it all at one stroke at the gaming tables. But who knows, you might be lucky. Whether you rise out of the ashes or are ruined, I don't want to know. All I ask is that you go away from here and I never see you again."
He stood looking at me—lost and beaten.
I saw him differently, shorn of his bravado. I imagined his coming onto the London scene, a younger son with very little money but outstanding good looks and an undoubted grace and charm. I could imagine his dreams, his ambitions.
Now he had been utterly humiliated and I had done this.
I couldn't help feeling the tiniest glimmer of remorse, which I suppressed immediately.
This was my triumph and I was going to savour it to the full.
He left me.
He must have stayed the night at an inn and gone back to London the next day.
The news spread rapidly. How did they learn such things? How much of my scene with Jeremy had been overheard, how much guessed at?
Paul was waiting for me next morning when I rode out to visit one of the farms where there was a little trouble over some land. There was no mistaking his relief.
"So it is over!" he cried.
"How did you know?"
"Heaven knows. Gwennie talks of nothing else."
"I expect she got it from one of your servants who got it from one of ours."
"Where is unimportant. All that matters is that it is over."
"You couldn't have thought seriously for a moment ..."
"You let me believe."
"Because you knew me so little as to imagine it could possibly be true."
"And all the time . . ."
"All the time I intended to do just what I did."
"You didn't tell me."
"I had to live the part while I was playing it. Besides, I liked to see you jealous. I liked you to feel that you had lost me."
"Caroline!"
"I'm realizing I'm not a very admirable character. I hurt him terribly ... and I revelled in it."
"He had hurt you."
"Still I delighted in ... revenge."
"And you are repentant now?"
"Sometimes we don't know ourselves very well. I thought I was going to enjoy hurting him . . . turning the knife in the wound as it were . . . and when the time came, I did it. I blazed at him. I wounded him, humiliated him, far more than he ever had me. He let me down lightly. He was courteous all the time. I just went for him like a harridan ... a virago."
"My dearest Caroline, you had been provoked. And he was after your fortune now as he had been before."
I said bitterly: "He would not be the first man to marry for money, for what his wife could bring him."
He was silent and I went on: "But who are any of us to judge others. I feel drained now . . . just rather sad. I was buoyed up by my plans to hurt, to wound, and now it's over and I don't really feel any great satisfaction."
He said: "When I thought you were going to marry him, I was desperate, ready to do anything to stop it. I was making plans . . . wild plans . . ."
"Paul," I said, "if only it could be . . ."
"Perhaps . . . something."
"What?" I cried. "What can ever happen?"
"I won't go on like this. This has made me realize that I shall not."
"I can see no way out . . . except what you have suggested before. It might give us temporary satisfaction, but it's not what we really want . . . not what you want or I want . . ."
"That's true. But we could snatch what happiness we could and who knows . . . one day . . ."
"One day," I said. "One day ... I should never have stayed here. It would have been better if I had gone. I believe I might have, if Cousin Mary hadn't had her accident. I was thinking of it . . ."
"Running away never helped."
"This is one case where it might. If I had gone you would have forgotten me in time."
"I never should. I should have lived my life in shadow. At least now you're here. I can see you."
"Yes," I said. "Those are the good days when I see you."
"Oh . . . Caroline!"
"It's true. I don't want to hide anything any more. One cannot go on pretending. We were doomed from the beginning. We are the star-crossed lovers. Cousin Mary used to say that there should have been a Romeo and Juliet in our families, but with a happy ending so that Landower and Tressidor could flourish side by side. But you see our story hasn't a happy ending either."
"At least we are here and we are neither of us people to accept defeat."
"There is no way out of this. You could not leave Landower. And Gwennie has a stake in it. She bought it. She will keep what she has. There isn't a way."
"I shall find a way," he said.
And I remembered later. I kept on remembering how he had looked when he said that—and I could not forget, however much I tried.
JAGO'S LADY
Summer was hot and sultry. Livia was now a lively two-year-old. She was a great comfort to me; she helped me through my days, which were so full that there was little time for dreaming.
I had bought a pony for her—a tiny creature—and I let her ride round the paddock on a leading rein. This was what she loved more than anything else. I had bought the pony soon after Jeremy left, hoping to divert her attention from him. I was greatly relieved when she did not appear to miss him.
Sometimes I would lead her out and take her down the drive a little way—sometimes as far as the lodge and Jamie would come out to applaud.
He was very fond of Livia and she had taken a fancy to him. He would invite us into the cottage and Livia would be given a glass of milk and pieces of bread cut into diamond shapes covered in honey which he told her was made especially for her by his bees.
One day when we called Gwennie arrived. She had come to buy some honey. She was invited in and offered a glass of mead—Jamie's own very special brand.
She asked how he made it but he would not tell her. It was his own secret, he said.
"It's delicious," I said, "and surprisingly intoxicating."
Gwennie smacked her lips and said she would buy some. "It's really an old English drink," she added. "I like to keep to the medieval customs. Did you learn to make honey in Scotland? And did you have special bees there, Mr. McGill?"
"Bees know no borders, Mrs. Landower. They're the same the world over. It wouldn't matter to them whether they were in England, Scotland or Australia. They are bees and bees are bees the whole world over."
"But I asked you if you learned about them in Scotland. You do come from Scotland, don't you?"
"Oh aye."
"You must find it very different down here?"
"Oh aye."
"I suppose sometimes you're a bit homesick?"
"No."
"That's funny. People usually are. Sometimes I think of Yorkshire. How long is it since you left Scotland, Mr. McGill?"
"A long time."
"I was wondering how long."
"Time passes. You lose count."
"But surely you remember ..."
I saw that Jamie was getting restive under this cross-examination and I put in: "One week is so like another. I must say I am just amazed how quickly time passes. Livia, darling, have you finished your milk?"
Livia nodded.
"I've never been to Scotland," said Gwennie, who did not seem to understand what I had very early in my acquaintance with Jamie, and that was that he did not like direct questions. I had always respected the fact that he did not wish to talk about himself. Gwennie, of course, was oblivious to his reticence—or if she was not, decided to ignore it.
"What part did you come from, Mr. McGill?"