Greygallows (19 page)

Collapsing at last onto my bed, I knew I had cause for fear. I was not sure what the law might say; but a law that deprived a married woman of her property could not have much concern for her happiness or self-respect. Even if I had grounds for complaint—to whom could I appeal? I was even more alone than I had been on my wedding day, removed by hundreds of miles from the few people
who might have some interest in my well-being. And the worst of it was that I did not know why he hated me, or what had happened to change him so.

I hoped—such were the depths of my contemptible cowardice—that the signing of the documents might improve Clare's humor. I would cheerfully have given him all my fortune to win a little kindness from him.

I breakfasted in my room next day, as was my custom, and waited until I thought he had gone out before I ventured forth. Creeping down the stairs, listening for the sound of his presence and ready to retreat if I heard it, I felt like a ghost. Perhaps, I thought, if I die I will become one of the Clare legends. A small, pale ghost, seldom seen—because while living she had avoided people—but heard as a sigh and an echoing, tiptoeing footfall at twilight...

No one was in the hall, so I scuttled across it and went out. I was even avoiding the servants now; I was sure they knew of my humiliation, and I could not bear looks of pity or amusement.

Clare's horse was gone from its stall, so I relaxed. I did not feel like riding—it would have meant facing Tom and the other grooms—so I stole aside into the shrubbery and walked for a while. On this morning the numbness induced by the black bottle was welcome. I was standing still, staring blankly out across the front lawns, when I saw a gentleman on horseback approaching the house.

I ducked behind a tall flowering shrub. I recognized the little brown mare; even if I had not,
the rider's slender form and bright cap of hair were familiar. Mr. Fleetwood was a frequent visitor. He came to play chess, and talk, with Clare. I had not seen much of him, yet he always spoke kindly to me ... I wondered, then, why I had not thought of him in my distress. He was a clergyman; it was his duty, as it should be his pleasure, to advise those in trouble.

I might not have called him, however, but as he dismounted he caught sight of me. He bowed and smiled and walked toward me.

'A splendid morning, is it not? You have chosen a lovely spot in which to enjoy the air.' Then, as he came nearer, his smile faded. 'What is wrong? You look ill; can I help you?'

It was the first open expression of sympathy I had heard, and it broke me down completely. I began to cry; then the whole story came out.

As he listened, Mr. Fleetwood's face reddened, and he shook his head.

'Foolish—blind and foolish,' he muttered. 'I beg you, dear child, to compose yourself. I am distressed—truly distressed—by this latest action.'

I wiped my eyes with the handkerchief he gave me.

'Perhaps I should not have told you.'

'No, no.' His disclaimer was prompt and eager. 'You did quite right to tell me. I will speak to Edward, his hasty temper is always outrunning his good sense. You have no idea, I suppose, as to what has made him behave so badly?'

'It seemed to begin the night you were here—the evening I saw the—the thing in the garden. Perhaps my superstitious foolishness angered him.'

'Ah, yes.' He looked thoughtful. 'I remember. I
am most interested in that experience. I am something of a student of local superstition, you know.'

'Do you believe I really saw it?'

'Who can say?' His gray eyes met mine. 'I would not commit myself to a flat yes or no. You must remember, however, that there are family legends—family difficulties—which Clare may not wish to tell you, for your own sake. You should believe that his present anger is not directed toward you; you are only the unhappy victim of circumstances he cannot help any more than you can.'

The beautiful voice was most persuasive. I could not really make out what he was saying; it was all rather vague, but it sounded so comforting. I produced a watery smile.

'Good,' he said, patting my hand and smiling back at me. 'You are already better. I will speak to Edward as soon as I see him.'

He was off without waiting for more thanks; as I watched him stride along the path, his golden hair shining in the sunlight, I thought fancifully that he resembled a knight of old, going off to do battle for a lady. His expression of concern and indignation became him; it gave his handsome face a strength which it lacked in repose.

I wondered if I were beginning to fall in love with Mr. Fleetwood. If I did, it would only be because I had nowhere else to bestow the store of warm feelings which a young bride may be expected to feel toward the opposite sex! No, I thought, with a feeble return of my sense of humor, it would be best if I did not fancy myself in love with Mr. Fleetwood. There were too many
complications implicit in that situation.

Yet I felt very warmly toward him, and my feelings of gratitude were deepened by the results; for he did indeed speak with Clare, promptly and to great effect. When Clare returned he came directly to my room.

My nerves fluttered when I heard his heavy footsteps stop at my door. He sent Anna away before he spoke to me.

'I understand I am to apologize to you for my behavior yesterday. Apparently you misunderstood my remarks and my attitude. It is true that I was momentarily vexed by your questioning me in the presence of a servant. You will admit that was not well done? But I ought not to have retaliated; I ask your pardon.'

It was not a very gracious apology, but it was far more than I had any reason to expect. My words stumbled over one another, I was so eager to reassure him.

His stiff manner relaxed; he even smiled a little.

'Let us dine, then. I understand Mrs. Andrews is giving us some of the early strawberries.'

All through dinner his good humor persisted. He even asked after the rumors of sickness in the village, as if he had never forbidden me to go there.

'There is sickness,' I said, watching him nervously. 'I don't believe it is typhoid, but I don't know what it can be. I thought of a doctor, but—'

'The nearest physician is in Leeds. But it will do you no good to suggest it; they fear doctors, these people, and cling stubbornly to their old home remedies.'

His tone was so mild and his comment so reasonable that I ventured further.

'I have wondered whether the problem is one of bad air and water. The houses are old and poorly kept up; the roofs leak, and they always seem damp, even in warm weather.'

'So you think I am a poor landlord, do you? You sound like a reformer. Has your old admirer been sending you tracts and pamphlets?'

'My comment was the result of my own observation,' I protested. 'You know I have not received so much as a note from London, not even from my aunt.'

'I was joking.' Clare ate strawberries with relish, but I thought he was watching me from under his lashes as he went on. 'Mr. Jonathan is abroad this summer. I hear from your solicitor now and again, so I know all the gossip.'

'But to return to the houses in the village,' I said, not caring for this turn in the conversation. 'Could not something be done to renovate them? And the river is so foul; they say that waste from the mills—'

'Yes, yes, I have heard that kind of talk,' Clare interrupted. 'The poor always like to blame their misfortunes on someone else, especially the rich. However—if you feel so strongly about it, I will consider the matter. Perhaps next year, when my income is more stabilized...'

I could hardly insist, after that; I had not expected so much. In truth, I did not want to nag him with a subject that annoyed him, his friendly manner was so pleasant to me.

The servants seemed aware of the change in our relations. When Mrs. Andrews brought in the tea tray she was beaming all over her round face, and since Clare had gone out for the evening I invited
her to take a cup with me, as I sometimes did. I was feeling so happy and comfortable I wanted to share it with someone.

We chatted idly for a time; and then, since his kindness was so much in my mind, I mentioned Mr. Fleetwood and said how much I had admired his sermon.

'Oh, he has the tongue of an angel,' said Mrs. Andrews, with a chuckle. 'He always had, even as a child.'

I could see that she was in a mood for confidences, and I settled back to enjoy them. She knew me better now than she had that first week, when she had commented so stiffly on the vicar's sermon.

'You have known him a long time?' I said.

'Oh, yes. He was always here, when Master Edward was not at his home. His family was well-to-do then. They lived in that great house at the other end of the village. It is deserted now; no one has lived there for years, and it is falling to pieces. But at that time the elder Mr. Fleetwood was reputed to be one of the wealthiest men in the district, and Master Edward's father encouraged the friendship. They were a pair, those two boys, one so dark and one so fair. And mischievous! Master Jack looked like an angel, but he was not; and what one did not think to do, the other did. They kept me busy, I can tell you.'

'I find it hard to picture his Lordship as a bad little boy,' I said, smiling.

'Oh, but he was not bad; only high-spirited, as all boys are. And when I caught them out, in some particular prank, he would look at me with those dark eyes flashing, and say nothing. He never lied.

Master Jack was the one—I cannot say that he lied, exactly. But he could talk the stars out of the sky, even then; and with that angelic face of his looking so innocent, and that sweet voice going on ... Well, by the time he finished "explaining," you wanted to reward him for his splendid intentions instead of punishing him for the broken window, or muddied floor. After he ran away, I would try to think what he had said; and, do you know, I never could remember! But his excuses sounded very convincing when he made them.'

She chuckled fondly. There was one omission in her description; and I decided to remedy it, to spare her embarrassment—and satisfy my own curiosity.

'I suppose Miss Fleetwood followed them about, as little sisters do,' I said casually.

'Oh, yes,' Mrs. Andrews said. She looked at me askance, and I went on, 'It would be natural for the three to be fond of one another; even for a boy-and-girl romance to blossom.'

My tone reassured her, as it was meant to do. She had no natural slyness, poor old lady; she relaxed with a long puff of breath.

'Very natural indeed. If it had not been for Master Edward's father...'

'He did not approve of Miss Fleetwood? I cannot imagine why; she has every grace of mind and person.'

'Well,' said Mrs. Andrews, quite disarmed by my manner, 'I would not gossip idly, my lady, you know that; but with you...'

'Of course. I have heard that his late Lordship was not a gentle man.'

'He was a hard man. A very hard man ... Only
one thing mattered to him, and that was his own will; I used to think he would trample on any person or any thing that stood in his way. After my dear lady died—I was her companion, you know, she took me in after my husband passed away and left me without any money—after she died, I stayed on for the boy's sake. I felt he needed me. Though it was not easy, with his Lordship ... But I had better not speak of that.'

'The Fleetwoods,' I prompted.

'Yes, yes.' Mrs. Andrews folded her fat hands over her apron and settled back comfortably. 'I don't know how far the affair had gone—between the two young people, I mean. There never was a formal engagement announced, but ... Then the news came. I will never forget that day, when it was known. That Mr. Fleetwood's business had failed; he was penniless and in disgrace; he had spent money he ought not to have spent, including the dowry of his daughter. It was not only poverty he had to face, but prison. So it is no wonder that he shot himself.'

'Good heavens,' I exclaimed in horror. 'How frightful! And those poor young people—'

'That was bad enough, but it was not the worst. In such times friendship is shown for what it is. Mr. Fleetwood had every reason to count on his Lordship. It was said that he left him a very pathetic letter, pleading for his orphaned children; but even without such a solemn appeal one would have expected ... Instead, his Lordship forbade them the house. He called Master Edward into the library when the story became known. It was impossible not to hear what they said, they were shouting at one another so. But Master Edward
had no choice; his father threatened to disinherit him if he had anything more to do with the Fleetwoods, and he would have done it, too; Master Edward knew that.'

'Terrible,' I murmured. 'Heartless and cruel.'

'And then after all there was nothing of Mr. Edward's inheritance left,' said Mrs. Andrews, with morbid relish. 'Only the estate and the house, which were entailed in any case. His late Lordship had not only spent everything, but was heavily in debt. Well, but you see it all turned out for the best,' she said, more cheerfully. 'It was only a boy-and-girl fancy, after all; and when his Lordship died, Master Edward was able to help his friends by giving them the living here, which is a very good one. They were near York at the time, where Master Jack had a curacy that paid almost nothing. He was ordained shortly after his father's death, you see. To be sure, he had no notion of being a clergyman when he thought he had a fortune coming to him; but see you, how it turned out, his splendid eloquence is given to the work of the Lord.'

She nodded impressively.

'Yes, indeed, my lady, the Lord works in mysterious ways; but he has His own plans, and they come about though we poor mortals cannot see them working.'