Daughter of Deceit (46 page)

He said he would read them, so I brought them to him. His emotion was obvious as he read.

When he had finished, he composed his features. “It is all clear now then. If only we had known …”

“How is Roderick?” I asked.

“He has changed … he lives behind a mask. I see little of him … as we all do. He is out a great deal … round the estate. He throws himself into work.”

“And Lisa?”

He frowned. “Poor girl. She grows worse. The injury to her spine is permanent, you know. She will never get better. She is in her room most of the time now. Sometimes they carry her down and she lies on the sofa. She is in some pain quite often. The
doctors give her something to ease it, but it is not always effective.”

“How terrible for her.”

“They thought it was just a slight injury in the first place, but she soon discovered that was not the case. Putting a stop to her career was a great tragedy for her. She was so despondent … desperate, really. The future must have looked hopeless to her. But he should never have married her, Noelle. She could have been looked after. It was pity, you know. He was always like that … from a child. Easily touched by other people’s misery and ready to go to great lengths to help. This time he went far … very far indeed. He was shattered when he lost you. I think he must have acted on the spur of the moment. There was this girl, with her dreams of fame and fortune gone forever, facing pain and penury. He had lost you … I suppose he thought he would look after her … at least save her. It was a great mistake. We could have seen that she was cared for. But marriage …”

I could imagine it all so clearly—the silent melancholy of that household.

“And Lady Constance?”

“She is bitterly disappointed, and she cannot hide her feelings. She avoids Lisa, but there are occasions when they cannot help coming into contact. She wanted what she considered to be the right marriage for Roderick. She is devoted to him and always has been. And to me, too … though I don’t deserve such devotion. She deplores Roderick’s marriage … first to a girl whose background she considered unsuitable and, more important, she wants grandchildren. It is strange, Noelle, but I believe she wanted you to marry Roderick. I know when you first came to us she was far from welcoming, but she grew fond of you. It was a blow to her when you had to part.”

“It had something to do with that time when we were in great danger together. I think we revealed ourselves to each other.”

“Yes, it was after that. It certainly had an effect on her. She has talked of you once or twice. She had an admiration for you. It was a terrible shock to her when she believed you were my daughter … in more ways than the obvious one. She had known for a long time of my attachment to your mother.”

I thought of the scrapbook I had seen in her room. How her jealousy must have tormented her over the years! And it seemed more miraculous than ever that there could have been that friendship between us.

“Yes,” mused Charlie. “She would have been very happy for you to marry Roderick.”

What did it matter now? All our feelings went for nothing, all our discoveries were too late.

“You have not thought of marrying?” said Charlie.

I told him about Gerard du Carron.

“The one who was killed?”

“Yes.”

“And if he had not been?”

“I don’t know. I could not forget Roderick.”

“As he cannot forget you. What a tragedy!”

“For others, too. Poor Lisa! I am sorry for her. She was so ambitious, and I knew she loved Roderick.”

“We are an unhappy household. One feels it as soon as one enters the place. Roderick is thinking of going away for a time.”

“Where?”

“There’s a family estate in Scotland. He would not be away all the time, but periodically. I can’t help thinking he regards it as an escape … an excuse to get out of the house for periods.”

“And Lisa?”

“She could not leave Leverson. She is not well enough to travel. I shall have to tell them the news. Roderick must know, and I must tell my wife.”

“Do you think it will help?”

He lifted his shoulders. “And you and I, Noelle … this makes no difference to my feelings for you. I have always been so fond of you. We must keep in touch. If there is anything you need, I shall always be at hand. Remember that. This makes no difference to my feelings for you.”

“Nor mine for you.”

“If you need money …”

“I don’t. Robert has left me this house … and money, too. Marie-Christine, his great-niece, lives with me. I think it will be permanently. When she lost her family, I was the only one she could turn to. She, too, is comfortably off. It was fortunate that we were already good friends.”

“I am glad she is with you. As I was saying … if there is anything you need … at any time …”

“We do not need that sort of help, Charlie. But thank you. You have been wonderful … as always.”

“It is so good to see you again, Noelle … and here in this house …”

“So full of memories,” I said.

“Is it good for you to be here?”

“I really don’t know what is good for me. I am hoping that I may discover what I should do.”

“I wish … how I wish …”

“And I, too, Charlie.”

Marie-Christine came in and I introduced them. She knew who he was and I guessed she was speculating what the outcome of his visit would be.

She had a youthful belief that miracles could happen and, as ever, I was touched by her determination not to accept the present state of affairs.

She believed that something wonderful was going to happen, and to a certain extent for a time she carried me along with her.

It was three days later. I was in my room when Jane came to tell me that Mr. Claverham had called and was in the drawing room.

I wondered what had brought Charlie back so soon and hurried down. Roderick was there.

“Noelle!” he cried.

I ran to him. He put his arms round me and held me tightly.

“I had to come,” he said. “My father told me.”

“Yes.”

“It was cruel. What on earth … ?”

“Don’t blame her, Roderick. She did it out of love and care for
me. We discovered by accident. Sometimes I think it would have been better if we had not. It seems so much worse.”

“I have missed you,” he said.

I could not bear the sadness in his eyes and I turned away.

“What shall we do?” he asked desperately.

“What can we do? You married …”

“It is no real marriage. Why did I do it? She was so wretchedly unhappy. Her career gone, her life broken. I feared for her … and on impulse … I knew as soon as I had spoken that I had made a terrible mistake. I might have helped … I could have looked after her, but …”

“I understand, Roderick. We had parted. We both saw we had to do that. And all the time those letters were in the bureau. I can’t bear to think of what might have been.”

He said: “There must be some way.”

“We should not see each other,” I said.

“I want to be with you. I want to talk to you. It is no longer there … that insurmountable barrier. It gives me a sense of freedom. I can’t help feeling that, now that is no longer there, there must be hope.”

“Lisa,” I said. “She is there.”

“We might come to some agreement.”

“She is very ill. She must be suffering a great deal.”

He did not answer for a few moments.

Then he said: “Noelle, we must talk.”

“Let us go out,” I answered. “Let us sit in the park as we used to. I want to be out, Roderick. At any moment we shall be interrupted. Marie-Christine, who lives here with me, will come in. She will want to meet you. I want to be somewhere where we can be alone.”

“I just want to talk … anywhere.”

“Wait. I will get a coat.”

I felt it was safe out of doors. In the drawing room the temptation to be close to each other was too great to be resisted. I had to remember all the time that he was Lisa’s husband.

We walked to Green Park, where we had often sat together. I
kept thinking of those occasions when Lisa joined us. We sat on the seat where we had been in happier times.

“Tell me what has happened to you, Noelle,” he said. “You know what happened to me. I married. If only I had waited. Why did I do such a thing?”

I said: “I went to France with Robert Bouchere. I met his nephew. Marie-Christine is his daughter. Her father, grandmother and Robert were all blown up in their Paris house during the siege. That left Marie-Christine with me, and she has been with me ever since.”

“My father has told me something of this. We knew you were in France, and were all terribly worried about you.”

“I could have been in the Paris house. Marie-Christine and I happened to be in the country.”

He took my hand and pressed it. “I can’t bear to think that you could have been in such danger.”

“I was thinking of you all the time,” I told him.

“You must understand about Lisa.”

“I do. You were filled with pity for her. You thought we had lost each other … and that you could put things right for her by marrying her.”

“I had lost you. I thought it would be the best for her … and it would be someone for me to look after … to care for.”

“We were both trying to make a new life for ourselves. Marie-Christine’s father asked me to marry him.”

“And you would have done so if he had not been killed?”

“I don’t know. I always held back. I couldn’t make up my mind. He was an artist … a good one. I think if I could have forgotten you, I could have been tolerably happy with Gerard.”

“But you could not forget me?”

“No, Roderick, I couldn’t … and I never shall.”

“We must do something.”

“What?”

“I shall ask Lisa to release me.”

“You married her out of pity. Can you leave her now?”

“She must understand.”

“Roderick, I don’t think you can ask her.”

“She should be made comfortable for the rest of her life.”

“She wouldn’t do it. She wants you with her.”

“But I am rarely with her now. I keep away as much as I can. Before I came up here, I was planning to go to Scotland. At least I should be away for a time.”

“How long would you stay there?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I just have to get away from Leverson now and then. That is what I planned to do. A cousin runs the estate up there. He is in some difficulties. I thought I would go up there to help sort things out. It was an excuse. I had to get away. You cannot imagine what it is like.”

“I think I can.”

“My mother dislikes Lisa, and makes no secret of it. I think they hate each other. She is convinced that Lisa is an opportunist and schemed to marry me. She knows, of course, that your mother helped her and Lisa acted as her understudy. She thinks she brings disaster, and there is something evil about her. I can tell you, ours is a household of despair. Sometimes I feel the urge to get away, which was what I was planning to do. Now this has come to light, I felt there must be something we can do.”

“She will not let you go, Roderick.”

“I shall talk to her … and to my parents. I will tell her that there is a way out. If only she will let me go. We can divorce. Lisa must see it is best for us all. She can’t be happy. In fact, I know she is not. She will see that this is the best way.”

I was not sure.

We sat talking for a long time. We could not help looking to a future which would be ours. There would be difficulties to overcome but we would overcome them.

So we sat and planned. We thrust aside our uncertainties. We needed some comfort, and talking gave that to us. We made ourselves see a future which we had believed was lost to us forever.

It was impossible to keep Roderick’s return a secret from Marie-Christine. She had heard that Mr. Claverham had visited us …
young
Mr. Claverham … and she was waiting for me on my return.

She pounced on me. “You look different,” she cried. “Something’s happened. What? What? Roderick! He’s back.”

“Yes,” I said. “He came here.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone? But why? What did he say? He knows he is not your brother now. Isn’t it wonderful? Meningarth and all that. If / hadn’t found the letters …”

“Yes, you were wonderful, Marie-Christine,” I said.

“Well, what is going to happen now?”

“He is married, Marie-Christine.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do. I can see you do. Tell me. I have been in this, haven’t I? / found the letters.”

“You did. And you have been a good friend to me. But you know that we cannot marry now. He is married to Lisa.”