Lady of Lincoln (20 page)

‘No, but she did not refuse him. She wanted to think about the matter.’

‘There you are then,’ his sister answered. ‘Probably she could not face anyone else after such a momentous occasion. She needed a time of quiet reflection.’

Yes, but …’ He paused. ‘Aurelia, why would a woman say that she needed to think about it, unless there was in her mind the very real possibility that she might accept?’

‘Gareth, my dear, she knows you are rich and titled. You have come here for a time, and flirted with her, along with Mrs Hughes and other women. Why should she think that you are serious? She may simply be trying not to burn all her boats. Go and call on her again; and Gareth?’

‘Yes, Aurelia?’

‘Make your feelings clear. If you love her, tell her so.’

A short time later, Sir Gareth called again at the Whittakers’ house, and was again told by an embarrassed Mary that Miss Whittaker would not receive him. This time, Gareth was prepared to question the girl further.

‘Do you mean that she is not in, or that she is not receiving anyone, or that she will not receive me in particular?’ he asked. Mary flushed, and shuffled her feet. ‘I see,’ he said, colouring as well. ‘I suppose it would be too much trouble for her to come and tell me why?’

‘You have been told that you are not welcome here,’ Emily said, from a step halfway up the flight. She stood very still, her hands clasped tightly together to prevent them from trembling. ‘I do not understand why I should be importuned in my own house.’

‘And I do not understand what I have done to merit such treatment,’ he answered her, his face set. ‘If I have done anything to offend you, I wish you would tell me what it is, then I would be able to beg your pardon.’

‘
My
pardon?’ Emily exclaimed, descending the rest of the stairs. Mary bobbed a curtsy and disappeared into the back of the house. ‘I am not the one that you have offended against.’

‘I can assure you that when I visited your grandfather, I behaved with the greatest respect,’ he told her, pushing the front door to behind him.

‘Nor have you hurt my grandfather,’ Emily said. Then, straightening her spine, she said, ‘I am speaking of Nathalie. I know her story.’

He lost a little colour. ‘I see,’ he said, and the tiny hope that she had been keeping in her heart shrivelled and died. ‘I suppose that you would not be prepared to allow me to explain the part I played?’

‘What explanation could there possibly be that could excuse what you did?’ Emily demanded.

‘I only did what any other man in my position would have done,’ he told her.

‘Oh, disgusting!’ she exclaimed, almost shuddering with revulsion.

‘Disgusting?’ he repeated, mystified.

‘Dr Boyle would not have done it,’ she said swiftly. He gave a short contemptuous laugh. ‘Yes, I know that you choose to laugh at his name,’ she retorted, ‘but he has proved himself to be a greater gentleman than you, for at least I can trust him.’

‘And when have I proved myself unworthy of your trust?’ he demanded.

‘When I discovered that you had played a part in that disgraceful affair and presumably never intended to tell me about it.’

He paused for a moment. ‘You are right,’ he conceded. ‘I probably would not have told you. But that was because—’

‘Say no more, sir,’ she interrupted. ‘You have proved yourself to be a scoundrel, a libertine and a liar. To think that I …’ She drew a ragged breath. ‘Kindly be gone, sir,’ she said. ‘We have nothing more to say to each other.’

‘I see that you have constituted yourself as judge and jury and have already pronounced me guilty,’ declared the baronet bitterly. ‘I came here today to tell you that I love you and to ask you to marry me, but clearly such a proposal from a man so depraved as myself would only be disgusting to you. Have no fear that I will importune you again. It only remains before I leave for me to give you a taste of the libertine that you think I am.’

Before she could realize what he was about he had pulled her into his arms, lowered his head and kissed her full on her mouth. The kisses that he had bestowed upon her before had been gentle and respectful, and they had stirred her blood. This embrace was powerful and insulting, and it had her shaking from head to toe. When at last he released her, she fell back against the banisters, her hair disarranged, her lips swollen from his kisses.

‘God keep you, madam,’ he said savagely, ‘and give you joy of Dr Pimple.’

He threw the door open and strode away and Emily, tears filling her eyes stared after him and thought to herself, God help me, I love him still.

A voice interrupted her reverie. ‘Emily, my dear, I am surprised and disappointed. How can you fill a gentleman’s house with uproar in this unseemly way? My sainted Patrick, had he been alive, would never have done such a thing.’

Emily turned to face her father and for the first time he saw her with her hair all anyhow, her face flushed, her eyes filled with tears. ‘What do you know?’ she demanded. ‘Patrick wanted to be a soldier.’

‘No; he was to enter the church,’ her father replied,
frowning
slightly.

‘He never wanted to enter the church,’ Emily replied, her voice breaking. ‘He only said that he would in order to please you. You have twisted and turned his memory until it bears no resemblance to the boy that he really was. And you have been letting me twist and turn my life ever since as I vainly tried to make up to you for the fact that your darling son had gone. But you don’t know the real me any more than you knew the real him. Now my heart is breaking and all that you can say is, don’t make a noise!’

She turned from him and ran up the stairs, oblivious to the sound of his voice repeatedly calling after her. 

‘T
omorrow? But you cannot possibly leave tomorrow!’ exclaimed Mrs Trimmer, looking at her brother in consternation. She had known that something had gone terribly wrong, of course, when she had seen him returning from Emily Whittaker’s house with a face like thunder. She had gone
downstairs
to find out what had happened, only to find that he had walked out of the Minster Yard to work off his anger elsewhere. Mrs Hughes and her cousin had popped in a short time later, and had lingered for far longer than was socially acceptable, but still he had not returned. It was only after Aurelia and her husband had retired for the night that she heard her brother coming in, using the key that she had given him for his use whilst he was staying with them. Now this morning, he had suddenly announced his intention of leaving.

‘Why not?’ Sir Gareth asked her. ‘There is nothing to keep me here.’ His tone was light, but his expression was bleak.

‘I take it that …’ She allowed her voice to tail away.

‘Then you take it correctly,’ he told her. ‘My morals are disgusting to Miss Whittaker and she wants nothing more to do with me.’

‘But how could she say such a thing?’ demanded Aurelia, indignant on behalf of her adored elder brother. ‘You have always acted the gentleman towards her, have you not?’

‘Of course,’ he replied, then flushed a little as he recalled his
behaviour just before he had left her house.

‘Then what possible reason could she have?’

‘She has misunderstood some of my actions, and has judged me on the basis of them,’ he answered.

‘But surely—’

He interrupted her. ‘Oh have done, Aurelia,’ he said wearily. ‘There’s nothing more to be said.’

But his sister thought that perhaps there was, and later that morning, when her brother had gone out for a last walk with her husband, she put on her bonnet and went round to see Emily.

It was with a certain amount of embarrassment that Emily welcomed her in. When she had dismissed the baronet so summarily, she had forgotten that she would have to continue to live in close proximity to his sister and her family. Now she realized to her great dismay that she was in danger of losing Mrs Trimmer’s friendship. The problem was that she could not explain her reasons for refusing him, because the secret of the fathering of Nathalie’s baby was not hers to share.

For her part, Aurelia had come fully prepared to do battle on her brother’s behalf. He might be a suave man of the world, but Emily had hurt him, and she should be made to answer for it. As soon as she saw Emily, however, she could see that Gareth was not the only sufferer. She looked pale; there was no sparkle in her, and there were dark circles under her eyes as if she had not slept.

As soon as they were inside the drawing-room, therefore, Aurelia said, ‘What a pair you are! I do not know who looks the more dreadful, you or Gareth.’

At once, from merely looking defeated, Emily looked stricken. ‘Does he?’ she whispered.

‘He looks shocking. The awful thing is that he set out so hopefully yesterday, and, forgive me, Emily, but from my
observations
of your conduct towards him, it seemed to me that he had reason to feel that way.’ Seeing Emily looking a little shocked, she held up her hand. ‘Not, of course, that you
behaved in any way improperly towards him, but there was, I think, a tenderness there.’ Emily bit her lip and turned away, but not before Aurelia had seen tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘There still is, I think,’ she ventured.

Emily took a deep breath. ‘Yes, there may be,’ she
acknowledged
bravely. ‘But that does not make any difference I’m afraid. It must not. Please do not try to persuade me. There are things that I cannot disclose.’

Aurelia sighed deeply. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you may be glad to hear that he is leaving tomorrow, so you will then avoid bumping into one another accidentally.’

‘I
must
be glad of it,’ Emily replied, in subdued tones.

‘I will send you word when he is leaving, and I will pray that you will change your mind in the interim.’ She went to the door, then turned around impulsively. ‘You have not told me what the problem is, and neither has he, but he has dropped a hint that it may be to do with his reputation.

‘I want you to know that these things are often very
exaggerated
, especially by the likes of Mrs Hughes. She has wanted him for a long time but he has never responded to her, so she can sometimes try to put other females off by hinting that he is involved with her, which is not the case. I cannot pretend that he has not enjoyed female companionship in the past, but he is one of the most honourable men that I know, and the woman who could call him husband would never have cause to regret it.’

It was only after Aurelia had gone, and Emily had stood for a long time staring at the closed door that she realized that there was something different about the room. The portrait of Patrick had been replaced by one of her mother. She thought about what she had said to her father after the baronet had left. Never before had she lashed out at him in such a way. Until now she had been too wrapped up in her own pain to think about his. Feeling suddenly guilty, she went to his study and knocked on the door. Hearing no reply, she went in and found her father by the window, examining the picture of Patrick, which had been
placed on the desk.

He looked up at her, and she could see that there were unshed tears in his eyes. A sudden insight made her wonder whether the picture that he had created of Patrick had been a way of avoiding grieving for him as he should have done.

‘Emily, have I been mistaken all these years?’

‘Oh Papa,’ she said, ‘I am so very sorry,’ and she ran across the room to him. In the manner of one to whom such a gesture is very unfamiliar, he opened his arms, and she went into his embrace weeping, though whether her tears were for her father, for Patrick, or for her lost love, she would have been hard put to it to say.

They stood like that for a long time, not speaking. Eventually, Canon Whittaker said, ‘He never sat for this picture, you know. It was taken from a miniature.’

‘No, I did not know,’ Emily replied. ‘He … Sir Gareth said that it was a good likeness.’

‘Was it also he who told you that Patrick wanted to be a soldier?’ her father asked. Emily nodded. ‘Perhaps I should ask him to tell me more,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘He is leaving tomorrow,’ Emily replied, in such a desolate tone that her father looked at her curiously. Before he could say anything, however, there was a knock at the door and the housekeeper came in.

‘Beg pardon, Miss Emily,’ said Mrs Ashby, ‘but you haven’t given me any instructions for today. Is there anything special?’

‘No, nothing, thank you,’ Emily answered.

The housekeeper was about to withdraw when Mr Whittaker said, ‘There is one thing that I would like to ask you, Mrs Ashby. You knew my son Patrick well, did you not?’

The woman’s gaze softened. ‘That I did, sir,’ she replied.

‘Then would you mind telling me if you think that this is a good likeness?’

Mrs Ashby came round the desk so that she could look at the picture the right way up. ‘Now there’s a question that will be
difficult to answer, sir,’ she said frankly. ‘I’m so used to seeing it hanging above the fireplace, you see.’ She looked at the picture thoughtfully, and eventually she said slowly, ‘In some ways it’s a very good likeness.’ Seeing that they were waiting for more, she added reluctantly, ‘I’ve always thought that the painter’s missed the twinkle, though.’

‘The twinkle?’ asked the canon.

‘Yes, sir. Always had a twinkle in his eye, did Master Patrick.’ She glanced at the clergyman, half afraid that she would be reprimanded, but in his expression she saw only genuine
interest
. Emboldened by this, she went on, ‘Full of mischief he was; never cruel, mind you, but funny. Do you remember Doris, the kitchen maid, who married one of Dr Mitchell’s servants? The young master caught one of the lads in town laughing at her and calling her fat. He blacked the other boy’s eye for him, even though the lad was a year older and half a head taller than young Master Patrick.’

‘That was … brave of him,’ said Mr Whittaker slowly.

‘Yes, he was that,’ agreed Mrs Ashby. ‘We – the staff – always thought he’d end up a soldier.’ Suddenly aware that she might have said too much, the woman coloured a little. ‘Well, I must be about my duties if you’ll excuse me sir.’

Mr Whittaker looked at his daughter for a long time after the door had closed. ‘It appears that I really did not know Patrick at all,’ he said slowly, as he tucked a loose strand of Emily’s hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t seem to know you very well, either, my dear. You must teach me.’

‘I had to call in before I left in order to say goodbye,’ said Sir Gareth. Dressed for riding, he had his hat and his crop in his hand. ‘You know where to find me if there is any way in which I may serve you.’

Ernest Fanshawe smiled, an expression of sadness behind his eyes. ‘You are very good,’ he said. ‘I’ll admit that when the child was first born, I didn’t want to look at her, and if you’d asked
me then, I would willingly have given her to you. I still find it hard to look at her now. But she is all that I have left of Nathalie.’ He paused, then forced himself to go on in a more cheerful vein. ‘But you will be returning to Lincoln, no doubt, to visit your sister. You may see how the child progresses then.’

‘I doubt if I will be returning soon,’ the baronet answered, his face set.

‘But I thought …’ Fanshawe’s voice tailed away.

‘So did I,’ sighed Sir Gareth. ‘So did I. But she will have none of me, I fear. She judges me on my reputation, you see.’

‘And you are too proud to explain.’

‘If she cannot trust me—’

‘Blades, happiness can be all too fleeting,’ Fanshawe interrupted in an urgent tone. ‘
I
know that. You have to seize it with both hands.’

‘But what if you try to seize it and find that it slips through your fingers like sand?’ Sir Gareth asked him.

Soon after this, the men parted. ‘I will keep you informed of the child’s progress,’ Fanshawe promised.

‘Thank you,’ replied the baronet. ‘And if there is anything I can do, please let me know.’

After Sir Gareth had left, it occurred to Ernest Fanshawe that he ought to enquire about the child’s progress. Looking at her was still something that he had to steel himself to do, but it was getting easier. He therefore went upstairs to the nursery, where his housekeeper was talking to Mrs Pearce. He was a little surprised, for he had forgotten all about the new arrangements for the wet nurse, but he greeted Mrs Pearce politely, and thanked her for her good offices.

‘It’s a pleasure, sir,’ the young woman answered, smiling pleasantly. ‘She’s no trouble at all.’

‘It was very good of Miss Whittaker to find Mrs Pearce for the little girl, sir,’ Mrs Dainty remarked. ‘But then of course you know that, for she came to find you to tell you so.’

Fanshawe looked puzzled. ‘No, Mrs Dainty, she did not,’ he replied. ‘I know that I have forgotten some things, but I do not recall that at all.’

‘But she came round here just a day or so ago, sir. It was the day when Sir Gareth first came to call on you.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked her. There was something very important here that he felt he ought to be able to grasp, but could not quite do so.

Mrs Dainty nodded vigorously. ‘Oh yes, sir,’ she assured him. ‘I remember thinking that you had had two callers that day. It seemed to me, sir, if you’ll forgive my boldness, that it would do you some good.’ She coloured a little at her presumption.

‘Yes, no doubt it would have done had I seen her,’ he responded ruefully. ‘Perhaps she heard us talking and realized that I had a visitor.’ He frowned, looking thoughtful. ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured. Then, before he left the room, he turned, conscious that he was being impolite. ‘Forgive me, I … I … have something that I must think about. Thank you for all your good offices – both of you.’

Since Nathalie’s death, Ernest Fanshawe had spent half his time conjuring up her image and the other half trying to banish it. Now, however, he began to think about what his wife had said in one of the last conversations that had taken place between them.

‘I am going to tell Emily about the baby,’ she had said. When he had objected, she had remained obdurate, surprisingly so for such a gentle person. ‘Someone else ought to know our story, just in case.’ When he had objected a second time, she had agreed for discretion’s sake not to tell Emily the name of any of the parties involved.

She knows the story but not the names, Fanshawe thought to himself. She did not know the name of the baby’s father. She came here while Blades and I were talking. She refused Blades’s offer because of his reputation …

He had been walking slowly down the stairs, and paused at
about the middle of the flight. Suddenly filled with an energy that had deserted him since Nathalie’s death, he was galloping down the rest, and running to fling open the front door.

One day, Emily thought to herself, I shall go to bed and sleep all night, without being kept awake by my own thoughts. She had only slept fitfully that night, dozing off to be woken by nightmares, none of which she could remember. Over and over again, she thought about Nathalie’s disclosures and measured them against what she knew of Sir Gareth. Everything seemed to match up until she recalled his kindness to his nephews; his courtesy towards her father, together with his tact and
discretion
; his sheer humanity towards her grandfather; his chivalry towards herself.

The morning brought no respite; her mind still seemed to be struggling with itself, and although she knew that it would make no difference, she dreaded the moment when the
messenger
that Mrs Trimmer had promised would come to tell her that he was going.