i 57926919a60851a7 (36 page)

The coachman nodded, then muttered, "Very well, Sir," after which he mounted the box and drove the horses over the cobbled yard on to the main drive and turned them right in the direction of the South Lodge.

Dutifully, three minutes later Bowmer drew the carriage to a halt and Clive, alighting, said, "Wait here. I'll be back." Then turning, he walked at a brisk pace up the drive until the bend brought him within sight of the house. Here he stopped, and, standing on the grass verge against the shelter of an evergreen hedge, he saw the coach drawn up below the steps. He saw the servants hurrying down it with cases of luggage; then he saw the nursemaid and Isabelle's own maid descend the steps, and in each hand they carried a valise, and behind them came Isabelle and his father with the child between them.

The ground was flying away under his feet. He had reached the corner of the house before they came to the last step, and when they saw him surging towards them they stopped, but just tor a second. Then Isabelle, grabbing the child up into her arms, dashed to the coach.

But she had only managed to thrust the boy inside before she was torn from the doorway and suffered the indignity of stretching her length on the gravel.

By the time they had picked her up he had the boy out of the carriage and in his arms. But he said not a word. The servants were all staring at him with their mouths agape and keeping their distance. His father,

his face almost ashen, was leveling on him a look that was both shamefaced and condemning, but Isabelle's glare could be described by only one word: murderous.

He turned now, his eyes searching for the nurse, and when he found her cowering by the tail end of the coach, he cried at her, "Your master's luggage immediately," and like someone hypnotized she brought the two bags she was still hanging on to and dropped them at his feet; then, going to a rack at the back, she pointed a trembling finger at a trunk, and the coachman hastily lifted it down and put it on the ground.

The child, sensing a hostile atmosphere, now began to whimper and Clive patted his back. Then glaring at the coachman, he barked at him in a manner that brooked no hesitation on his part, it did not even allow him to glance at His Lordship for leave to carry out the order, "Get this luggage down to my coachi You'll find it down near the Lodge gates." He now gave one last look at his father but did not deign to glance in his sister's direction before he strode away still patting the child, who was crying aloud now.

He had gone only a few yards from the seemingly mesmerized group when Isabelle, pulling herself from the support of the stone balustrade, raced after him and, clutching wildly at his arm, cried, "You can't do this! You can't! You won't get away with it."

When he continued to walk on she kept by his side, spitting abuse at him until they reached the head of the drive, when she hissed under her breath, "If you take him from us I'll kill her. I swear to you I'll kill her."

At this he pulled up and, dragging his arm from her grasp, said idly,

"That would avail you nothing:

you would merely be signing your own death warrant. " And at that he left her. But her threat went with him, for, knowing his sister, he was aware that she never thought of the consequences of her actions; e she just acted. A panicking fear filled him, and he knew that he must get the girl away from that habitation as soon as was humanly possible.

Within minutes they were bowling through the gates, and twenty minutes later Clive rapped on the roof of the coach, and when it came to a stop he got out, and lifting the child in his arms he said to Bowmer, "Bring the small valises and follow me. I will come back and help you with the trunk."

"Yes, Sir." Dutifully Bowmer picked up the two bags and followed the young master up the slope;

and when they reached the top of it he could not believe his eyes when he saw the place for which they | were making. As he later said to Morris, "I was with him all the way, I still am, but I think he's gone off his rocker to leave the child in that hole, whether she's his mother or not."

The door opened as they were crossing the flat and Cissie appeared, dressed in a clean serge skirt and shirtwaist, over which she was wearing the fawn shawl, which she only just saved from falling from her shoulders to the ground when she saw him striding towards her carrying the child and a young fellow in livery following with bags.

When Clive, walking past her into the room, said to the man, "Wait outside, I'll be with you in a moment," she looked from him to the child who was standing now by his side but still whimpering, his face tear-stained, and she whispered, "What's happened?"

He replied simply, "They tried to abduct him. It I hadn't suspected that something was afoot this morning they would have got away with it." He drew in a long breath.

"Now listen, and listen carefully. You can move into the house on Monday, or Tuesday--the present owners will be gone by then--but in the meantime keep the child with you, don't let him out of your sight."

She shook her head as she said, "But what if they should come? What if he should send servants to take him?"

His answer to this was quiet and firm.

"They won't do that. I'm going back to the house now and after what I have to say to them I can assure you they won't do that."

And in his own mind he was sure that after he had told them what the result of any precipitate action of theirs towards her would evoke, they would be forced to hold their hand.

The idea for the deterrent had come to him during the drive from the gates to this place, but it was an idea which, although only formulated within the last hour, had, he knew, been there for days past, weeks in fact, just waiting to be hatched out. And this morning's business had firmly chipped the shell.

He said now, "I'll be back and forward during the next few days just in case, but I don't think you have any need to worry. But do as I say, don't let him out of your sight. And it would be wise not to go far afield." He glanced about him, then asked, "Where are the other children?"

"They're out gathering... getting wood."

"Oh." His chin jerked upwards. Then he said with a forced smile,

"Well, from Monday onwards there'll be no more need for them to go wood gathering."

It was odd, but she had thought the very same thing that morning, and she had been about to stop them when from habit they took the sacks and went out, but then she had said to herself, it'll keep them busy.

She had given them instructions with regard to their dinner and about locking the door once they were back.

She looked at the child. He was staring up at her, one finger in his mouth, his eyes still bright with tears, and she dropped on to her hunkers spontaneously in front of him and said, "There now, there now.

Let me take your coat off. " And when his hand came out and slapped her and his small high voice cried at her, " Nol no! I want Nanny," it was as if a knifed had been thrust through her ribs.

"Richardi Richardi That is rude. You must not be rude or insolent.

Look at me, Richard. " He caught at the boy's hand. Then pointing towards Cissie, he said, " You remember your mama who you thought was in heaven? Well, she did not go to heaven. This lady, Richard. " He now wagged his finger towards Cissie.

"Papa! Papal" The tears were raining down the child's face now, the voice a whimper, and Clive shook his arm impatiently and said, "Listen to me. Don't interrupt when I'm talking. This lady...." But it was Cissie who interrupted him now. Looking at the child's gently stamping feet and shaking legs, she said almost in a laugh, "It's all right, it's all right," then whipping him up, she took him into the cave, and there, pulling a bucket from the corner, she lifted up his dress and petticoats and let him relieve himself.

When he was finished she adjusted his clothes and he stared at her solemnly, and she took his hand and they went into the other room. But it was empty, and she saw through the open door Clive and the servant carrying the trunk up the slope.

The trunk, she saw, was bigger than their clothes chest and she marveled that any one child could have so many clothes.

When Clive said in a formal manner, "I must away, but I will return shortly," and in the same manner took his son's hand, saying, "Be a good boy," the child said, "May I come too. Papa?" And he replied,

"Not this time, I'll be back in a little while; you stay with your. " He looked towards Cissie, then towards the open door, outside which Bowmer was standing, and added, " Stay with this lady, I won't be long. " And nodding at Cissie, he ended, " He'll be all right; he'll get used to it. " Then he was gone.

She had to stop the child from running after him; and again Richard slapped at her hands, then backed from her until he came up to the rock wall, and, hia lower lip trembling, began to cry loudly now.

As the coach turned into the road where the milestone was and the land sloped away to a valley bottom, Clive saw a group of riders in the far distance, and he knew them to be the Bellingham party coming for the shoot. He gauged he would have five minutes' grace in which to speak to his father and Isabelle before their arrival. And so, putting his head out of the window, he called to Bowmer to speed the animals.

The lodge keeper showed his surprise at seeing him back so soon, but even more so did Hatton when Clive entered the hall and demanded,

"Where is His Lordship?"

"In... in the drawing room. Sir."

When he walked into the drawing room he saw that not only his father was there, but Isabelle too. And it seemed significant to him that his father was seated while Isabelle was standing, but they both held brandy glasses in their hands.

Their surprise outdid Hatton's. It brought his father slowly up from his chair and caused Isabelle to take a step forward while putting down her glass on a side table.

He did not keep them waiting for him to give the reason for his quick return. He said, "The child is now with its mother and I want to inform you, in fact, impress upon you, that should either of you attempt to take him from her care, or" --he now looked directly at his sister"--do her an injury in any way, I will take action which will, by way of embarrassment, make the present situation pale. And my action will be simply this: I shall marry her ... and quickly. So, think on it seriously and consider whether you want her for the future Lady Fischel, because before God I

will do as I say. And I may tell you it would be pleasing to me, for she is naturally beautiful and can be made to fit the situation.

Clothes will change her outward appearance; her mind can be educated; it has been done before. I think you will remember that my great-grandfather adopted this measure with his second wife. "

Neither of them spoke, they just stared at him, glared at him, and on the point of turning from them, he said formally, and speaking directly to his father, "The person in question cannot take up residence in her new home until Monday or Tuesday, so until such time I will avail myself of your hospitality, Sir, so as to be near... the child."

As his hand touched the door handle his father's voice came like an arrow at him, saying, "Clivel" And when he turned towards him again he saw that his father was finding difficulty in speaking, for he ran his tongue over his thin lips and swallowed deeply before bringing out, "In the meantime, may I ask you to consider bringing the child back here? I promise you there will be no further effort made to take him away, but I cannot think of him living in that habitation."

"Thank you. Sir, but I think no. I should not worry about his health, for I understand there has been a large family brought up in that habitation and they all look quite well, considering.... But I don't think ..." here he paused before going on, "I don't think there would be any difficulty if you would wish to visit the child and its mother at a later date." And on this he went out and closed the door, and as he did so he heard the shooting party come up the steps, and he made quickly for the stairs and his room.

Three events tended towards the climax. The first was that His Lordship told Clive the following morning that if he was staying in his household, for whatever length of time, then he must conform to its standard, and it would be courteous if he joined the shoot, especially as his sister was indisposed.

What his words really meant was that his son's appearance at the shoot would dilute yet another scandal which was being laid on his house.

The second event was that Isabelle, presumably confined to her room with a cold, was drinking heavily. Her father being out, she ordered the decanter to be brought up to her, and such was her standing in the house now that Hatton couldn't disobey her command.

It did not need brandy to inflame her fury. She drank in the hope that it might dull it and blot from her mind the face of that detested girl.

In her brain- heated musings she looked back down the years but could see no further than the day when she had caught the boy with the trap and had struggled with the girl and come off the worse. It was from that day her life had begun; it was from that day that her turbulent nature, out to conquer and domineer, had been challenged.

The girl had fallen as a seed into the fertile soil of hate that lay deep within her, and in which sooner or later someone would have embedded himself. But it had to be this girl, who sprang from the lowest form of the working class, the agricultural laborer.

Not the least part of her hate was made up by a sense of indignity that she, the daughter of a lord, should have found that, for years now, some part of her day had been taken up with the thoughts of this creature. And now she must suffer the greatest indignity of all, for the girl not only had charge of the child, but she had gained the love of her brother, her twin brother. He had said he would marry her, and she believed him. Oh yes, she believed him, tor the desire for her was in his eyes, the need of her was in his tone when he spoke her name.

At this point she took her empty glass and flung it with all her force at the iron framework of the fireplace, and it shivered into a thousand fragments and brought the maid running to the dressing room door, standing there with her hand to her mouth exclaiming, "Oh, Miss! Oh, Missi" "Get awayl" she cried at the girl; she then added, "Bring another glass." She stood up and walked to the window. She was quite steady on her feet. The home brew that her uncle had made had been quite potent and had seasoned her. Her thoughts flashed to him for a moment and she muttered aloud, "Parsonsi Stills in the cellar, and whores in the vestry."