Gwendolen (6 page)

*

After lunch he suggested he and I go for a ride. He offered me a horse, Criterion, a beautiful chestnut. Mamma followed in a carriage. We rode through a quintessential English landscape of peace and permanence: mid-harvest time, a light breeze rippling through the corn, the fields bordered by poppies, cattle resting in green pastures under wide oak trees. I felt happy. I had almost made up my mind to accept him as and when he proposed.

We passed a wide brook and I said I would like to gallop and jump it. He encouraged my daring and suggested we both take it. I told him mamma would be ill with worry if she saw me take such a leap.

‘But Mrs Davilow knows I shall take care of you,' he said.

‘Yes, but she would think of you as having to take care of my broken neck.'

Then he said, ‘I should like to have the right always to take care of you.' I felt myself blush then go cold. I heard myself say, ‘Oh, I am not sure that I want to be taken care of: if I choose to risk breaking my neck I should like to be at liberty to do it.' I did not intend to be flippant. I was nervous. I did not want to lose him. He was an enigma to me. His manners concealed, he gave nothing away.

*

I was to learn how he controlled his responses: when to withhold, when to unleash. But at first I saw no trace of that. While courting he treated me with attentive restraint. I was undisturbed by the cool graze of his lips on my hand as he greeted me or bade me farewell. I did not dwell on vows to be made at the altar about bodily worship, or let my thoughts travel to what might happen when the ceremony was done, the confetti thrown, the guests had dispersed and he and I were alone in the marital bed. My hatred of being made love to: I did not stop to think of the manner in which it might be breached.

*

That evening mamma quizzed me anxiously: had Grandcourt proposed, did I approve of him, would I accept him when he did? I teased and evaded. I told her he was quiet and
distingué
and had all the qualities that would make a husband tolerable: ‘battlement, veranda, stables, etcetera, and no grins and no glass eye'.

Mamma, used to my mischief, was untroubled by it. Uncle, who was visiting Offendene, asked to see me alone in the drawing room: he wanted to speak to me as if he were my father on a subject ‘more momentous than any' as far as my welfare was concerned. His concern amused and pleased me; it almost gave me a sense of a family where I belonged.

We sat facing each other on the rosewood chairs.

Had I discouraged Mr Grandcourt's advances? uncle asked.

I admitted when Grandcourt began to make advances I turned the conversation.

‘Will you confide in me so far as to tell me your reasons?' uncle asked.

‘I am not sure I had reasons, uncle,' I said.

He became stern and lectured me on my duty to myself and to my family. This, he said, was an opportunity which would probably not occur again. Had I heard anything disagreeable about Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt? he asked. I said I had heard nothing about him other than that he was a great match which affected me very agreeably. I did not at that point know of the worse-than-disagreeable rumours about this potential husband which uncle had heard but chose not to impart to me.

Uncle reiterated my responsibility to my family and said he would regard me with ‘severe disapprobation' if, as he phrased it, through coquetry and folly I put Grandcourt off. Men, he informed me, did not like their attachments trifled with, and such good fortune as this rarely happened to a girl in my circumstances. I must stop being capricious. His advice, he said, was meant in kindness.

I did not doubt that uncle cared for me and wanted my happiness. I told him I knew I must be married and did not see how I could do better than Grandcourt, so I intended to accept him. What I could not say, to mamma, to him or to myself was that I loved Grandcourt, for I did not. I had known him a fortnight. I did not know if he took sugar with his coffee, if he could swim, if he had brothers and sisters, or a mother who drank gin. Uncle hoped I would find ‘a fountain of duty and affection' in the marriage. ‘Marriage is the only true and satisfactory sphere of a woman,' he said. ‘And if your marriage with Mr Grandcourt should be happily decided upon you will have probably an increasing power both of rank and wealth, which may be used for the benefit of others. These considerations are something higher than romance. You are fitted by natural gifts for a position which, considering your birth and early prospects, could hardly be looked forward to as in the ordinary course of things: and I trust that you will grace it not only by those personal gifts, but by a good and consistent life.'

‘I hope mamma will be the happier' was all I could say in response. For there it was spelled out for me: marriage was the only way. My ‘natural gifts' were the length of my legs, the curve of my breasts, the whiteness of my teeth, the wave of my hair and slant of my eyes. Given the misfortune of my social position such gifts raised me above the ‘ordinary course of things'.

*

Later I came to forgive mamma's enthusiasm, for she was even more naïve than I. But uncle knew more. In the gentlemen's dining rooms he had heard of profound irregularities in Grandcourt's life. Alarming rumours which he ought to have investigated. Perhaps he chose not to remember what he heard. Money was what mattered, money and rank. Uncle pressed me into this union as if it were a moral imperative. And he a man of God.

*

I felt radiant, confident, on the day of the roving archery match in Cardell Chase. I wore white as on the previous shoot. I anticipated Grandcourt's reserved proposal and my unequivocal but equally reserved acceptance. We congregated at Green Arbour, a grassy spot ringed by fir trees. The sun shone. A coachful of servants organised our picnics. The archery targets were positioned within a wide curve, landmarked by the Double Oak, the Whispering Stones, the High Cross. The agenda was to explore the course with the warden in the morning, have lunch, make the roving expedition in the afternoon, then picnic again as the sun set.

Grandcourt was continually beside me as we toured the course. He asked, ‘Do you know how long it is since I first saw you in that dress?'

‘The archery meeting was on the 25th of June; this is the 13th of July. I'm not good at calculating but I venture to say it must be nearly three weeks.'

‘That is a great loss of time,' he said in his considered monotone.

‘That knowing me has caused you? Pray don't be uncomplimentary. I don't like it.'

Another careful pause. ‘It is because of the gain that I feel the loss.' I thought his conversation ingenious, clever, courteous, stylish and oh so flattering. ‘The gain of knowing you makes me feel the time I lose in uncertainty. Do
you
like uncertainty?'

Again the reference to uncertainty. It seemed it was a state he wished to overcome.

He did not raise his voice or seem eager to please. ‘I think I do,' I truthfully replied. ‘There is more in it.'

He looked into my eyes with his translucent, unblinking gaze. ‘Do you mean more torment for me?' he said.

I supposed him to be sincere. I thought he voiced vulnerability. ‘That would make me sorry,' I said. I was to learn he never endured torment though he administered it plentifully.

*

His declaration was so unlike poor Rex's earnest and blushing outburst. I did not reflect on how ludicrously short a span three weeks is, or how I knew nothing of this man and he knew nothing of me beyond my appearances on summer days in a white dress. I intended to marry him: to do well for myself and mamma and to please uncle, though it was as hard for me to say an unqualified ‘yes' to the prospect as to leap to my death from the high chalk cliffs at Bat's Head.

*

We rejoined the group. Grandcourt helped me down the slope to Green Arbour, his hand was dry, the food and champagne were of the best, the men smoked cigars, the women looked as if they had stepped from a painting by Tissot. Lush smarmed and pandered but even he could not spoil my perfect day. Or so I thought.

To avoid his help or attention I went to collect my own bow from the carriage. Lord Brackenshaw's valet saw me approaching and brought it to me together with a letter. The handwriting was a woman's, smaller than a man's, and not from anyone I knew. I felt no apprehension but I moved behind a tree to read unobserved.

I felt shocked excitement but not fear. It has come in time, I thought.
As You Like It
was perhaps now the play. I was Rosalind and Grandcourt my Orlando. There were to be diversions in the Forest of Arden before our marriage was made. Yet the intrigue of this letter seemed intrinsic to the drama of the afternoon and did not diminish my self-assurance.

*

We picnicked on cold salmon, pigeon pie, jellies, strawberries, grapes, cheese. But when we were ready to set off for the match Grandcourt said he preferred to stay at Green Arbour and smoke a cigar, and mamma said she preferred a quiet stroll.

The archery was spirited, I was elated, the landscape shifted from forest to open glade. It took an hour for us to reach the Whispering Stones: two granite blocks that leaned towards each other as if imparting a secret. That afternoon they were dappled by sunlight, though I had heard on starlit nights they turned into ghosts. Behind them was a grove of beech trees.

There were a couple of miles more for the party to circle before the return to Green Arbour. I held back. The others, under Lush's guidance, moved forward towards High Cross. This felt like adventure. I wanted something to happen, I anticipated revelation and feared no one would be there. But then I was startled when a woman appeared from behind one of the stones. I supposed her to be about forty. She had intense dark eyes and black hair and must once have been very handsome. Her demeanour was poised and determined. A few yards from her, two children sat playing on the grass, a dark-haired girl of about six and a small boy of five with light-brown curls.

‘Miss Harleth?'

‘Yes.'

‘Have you accepted Mr Grandcourt?'

‘No.'

‘I have something to tell you. And you will promise to keep my secret. However you may decide, promise me you will not tell Mr Grandcourt or anyone else that you have seen me?'

‘I promise.'

‘My name is Lydia Glasher. Mr Grandcourt ought not to marry anyone but me. I left my husband and child for him nine years ago. Those two children are his and we have two others – girls who are older. My husband is dead now, and Mr Grandcourt ought to marry me. He ought to make that boy his heir.'

The small boy was pretending to play a toy trumpet; he looked cherubic.

‘You are very attractive, Miss Harleth.' The woman's voice was cold, angry and controlled. ‘When Mr Grandcourt first knew me I too was young. Since then my life has been broken up and embittered. It is not fair that he should be happy and I miserable and my boy thrust out of sight for another.'

She stared into my eyes. My sense of adventure died, my courage drained, I felt icy tentacles around me. Here was the spectre of death from the wainscot. Here was my fear. I sensed she was desperate enough to do anything. A voice in my head said, I am a woman's life. I struggled to breathe. I told the woman I would not interfere with her wishes. There was silence. I asked if she had more to say. ‘Nothing,' she replied. ‘I have told you what I wished you to know. Enquire about me if you like. My husband was Colonel Glasher.'

Within a minute I was back in the beech grove. The day had become unreal. The party had moved from sight. I did not try to catch up with them. I took a short route back to Green Arbour. Mamma was astonished to see me return alone. My excuse was that I had lingered to look at the Whispering Stones and grown tired of walking. Mrs Arrowpoint probingly asked the whereabouts of Grandcourt. ‘Where
can
he be?' I said. ‘I should think he has fallen into the pool or had an apoplectic fit.'

My tone was worse than sarcastic. Mamma looked troubled by my distress. I told her I was tired and needed to go home. I ordered the carriage. Then Grandcourt appeared and the rest of the party. He supposed my
froideur
was because I felt neglected by him on the shoot. He asked if he might call at Offendene tomorrow.

‘Oh yes, if you like,' I said. I hurried into the carriage to avoid the sight of him. He raised his hat and walked away.

Journeying back to Offendene I told mamma I intended to telegraph our friends the von Langens, whom I knew to be in Homburg, to say I would join them on their trip. I would pack as soon as I got home and set off for Dover on the early morning train.

Mamma made no sense of it. She too thought I was offended by Grandcourt not accompanying me on the shoot. She protested that my response was extreme. I said it was useless to quiz me, I was not going to marry Grandcourt.

‘Gwendolen, what can I say to your uncle? Consider the position you place me in,' mamma pleaded. ‘Only last night you led him to believe you had made up your mind in favour of Mr Grandcourt.'

I told mamma I would not alter my resolve or give reasons, other than that I hated all men and believed them evil and did not care were I never to marry anyone. I apologised for causing confusion.

The woman at the Whispering Stones had made my situation invidious: she exacted from me a promise to tell no one of our meeting. To break that promise would rebound on her and her children and achieve nothing for me. I could confide in no one. I was alone with my misery and the cause of upset to mamma and uncle.