Saddle the Wind (44 page)

‘You’ll probably find that I’ll outlive you all,’ he said; then, with a sigh of relief and satisfaction, he added, ‘I should have done that years ago. Still, it’s done now, and now I can feel easy in my mind.’ Later on Savill sent for Blanche. She knocked, entered the room and moved quietly to his side. The smell of mortifying flesh was stronger than ever, in spite of the disinfectant with which it had been treated.

‘You know they’re going to operate on my leg,’ he said as she stood beside him.

She nodded. ‘Mr Harold told me.’ She had to fight back the tears. Seeing them shining in her eyes, Savill raised a hand. She took it between her own two hands.

‘I’ve had a wire sent to Marianne,’ he said. ‘Though I shall be all right.’ He gazed up at her. ‘You’ve been like a daughter to me, Blanche. And like a sister to Marianne. I won’t forget it.’

‘Uncle John …’ Blanche swallowed over the lump in her throat.

‘Don’t worry about me. I told you – I shall be all right – and I’m in very good hands.’

Savill was operated upon late that evening, in the wash-house which had been temporarily adapted to an operating room. Afterwards, still unconscious, he was taken
back to his room and put to bed. Blanche, going quietly to his bedside at the suggestion of the surgeon and Harold, looked down at him as he lay there, an old man, pale and shrunken, a shadow of his former self.

Soon afterwards, with precise instructions to the nurse as to Savill’s care, Tindal, accompanied by his assistant, left the house. After seeing the surgeon off the premises Harold Savill sent the servants to bed and went into the hall where Blanche sat alone.

‘Everything depends on the next few hours,’ he said.

Blanche nodded. ‘He
will
be all right, will he not?’

‘We can only hope and pray.’ Harold looked at her, seeing the concern and sorrow in her eyes. ‘Go to bed,’ he said. ‘It’s almost midnight. You can’t do any good sitting up worrying. Go and sleep.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I could.’ She sat staring ahead of her. If Uncle John died … The changes in her life were occurring so fast. Her mother’s death, Ernest’s going away … and now, John Savill …

‘What are you thinking?’

Harold’s voice broke into her thoughts and she raised her head to find him gazing down at her, a strange, rapt look in his eyes. She shook her head. ‘I think I’ll make myself some tea,’ she said, ‘and then perhaps try to get some sleep.’

Getting up, she went to the kitchen where she boiled a kettle and made a pot of tea. She was sitting on a chair waiting for the tea to brew when suddenly the door opened and Harold entered. She gave a little smile of relief.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I startled you.’

‘It’s all right. It’s just that the house is so quiet.’

‘I thought I might join you – as you were making tea.’

‘Of course.’ She set out another cup and saucer,
poured the milk. Harold, watching her actions, said quietly:

‘My brother’s always much concerned about you, Blanche.’

She shrugged. ‘Oh – he has no need to be. I manage all right.’

‘Oh, I’m sure of it.’ His eyes had not left her face. ‘What do you plan to do?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure that I have any plans.’

‘Perhaps you’ll marry …’

She smiled. ‘Oh, I should think that’s most unlikely.’

He moved towards her as she spoke and she found herself a little disconcerted at his proximity.

‘You haven’t got anyone in mind?’ he said.

‘No.’ Avoiding his eyes she picked up the teapot. ‘I should think this must be ready now.’ She poured the tea, aware all the while of his eyes upon her. ‘Will you have sugar?’

‘No, thank you.’ He gave a melancholy grin. ‘We must have taken tea many times together over the years, and you haven’t noticed even that about me.’

She said nothing. After a moment he said:

‘If anything should happen to my brother I –’

Blanche broke in, saying: ‘Oh, don’t say that. He’ll be all right.’

‘Well, I hope so. But if he’s not … Blanche, you’re going to need someone to look after you, aren’t you?’

She gave an awkward little laugh. ‘I told you, I shall be all right. I can look after myself.’

‘So you say. I’m not sure that you can, though. And a pretty girl like you …’

His hand came out and lightly brushed her hair. She flinched, but, sitting on the chair, could not escape.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘No, no, it’s just …’ She shrugged, at a loss. She
pushed one of the teacups nearer to him, but too quickly so that the tea slopped over into the saucer. He took no notice of the action, his hand moved to touch her hair again. ‘You’re a very beautiful young woman, Blanche – do you know that?’

She shrank back in the chair, and his hand left her hair, gently touched her cheek, lingering, caressing. She brushed his hand away and got to her feet. ‘Please …’

‘You’re afraid of me,’ he said. ‘Don’t be, please. I wouldn’t hurt you, you must know that.’ His hands came out towards her and she backed away. ‘On the contrary – I’d take care of you. Would you let me do that? Take care of you?’

And suddenly he was right there beside her, his arms enveloping her, drawing her to him. As he bent his head to her she could smell on his breath the scent of brandy. Then his mouth was opening and his lips were pressing down on hers. She struggled in his grasp, twisting her body to escape, but he held on. With his face only an inch from her own, she was dimly aware of the mesh of broken veins on his nose and over his cheeks. ‘Let me go,’ she said, ‘– please.’ He ignored her plea and held her closer, bending his head to kiss her again. Twisting her head to avoid his mouth, she said sharply, her anger erupting:

‘Get away from me! Let me go!’

‘Blanche …’ His mouth was there again, wet and repellent. With difficulty she lifted her hand, placed it as a shield over her mouth. ‘
Let me go
.’ She put into her voice all the loathing she could muster. ‘You disgust me.’

His movements ceased. He held her for a few moments quite still, then, his hands moving to grasp her upper arms he held her from him, fingers digging into her flesh.

‘Who do you think you are?’ he said, his mouth twisting with his words. ‘Who are you to act like some fine lady?
I disgust you
? Who are you?’

Blanche, seeing his hatred of her, was suddenly afraid. He went on:

‘You’re brought here, out of squalor – taught how to use a knife and fork, given an education, given fine clothes to wear and the society of your betters, and you think it entitles you to put on airs.’ He shook his head. ‘You’re
nothing
. You’ve always been nothing, you always will be nothing, and you’ll always
have
nothing. There’s only one thing you’re good for.’

With his last words he yanked her roughly towards him and pressed his mouth on hers once more, at the same time roughly fondling her breasts. For a moment Blanche was forced to suffer his kiss and his touch, but then, managing to pull back her head, she drew the saliva into her mouth and spat full in his face.

He froze and then drew back from her. As the spittle ran down his cheek he put up his hand and wiped his face.

‘You’re going to be sorry you did that,’ he said.

As she watched him he turned and strode towards the door. Only then did they see the figure of the nurse as she hovered in the doorway. Harold came to an abrupt stop before her.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said sharply. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ Blanche could see his face turning scarlet with embarrassment.

‘Oh, sir,’ the nurse said breathlessly, ‘I – I’ve been looking for you. It’s Mr Savill …’

‘Yes – what is it?’

She gave a shake of her head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid – he’s gone.’

*

Later, in his room, Harold Savill took from his pocket the codicil to John Savill’s will. He read through its contents and then carefully tore it into shreds.

‘There is something I have to ask you,’ Harold Savill said. And then: ‘Would you mind telling me what you plan to do?’

It was the morning of the day following Savill’s death. Blanche, her eyes reddened from weeping, was going downstairs when she had come face to face with Harold who was on his way up. Coming to a halt before her, blocking her way, he had asked her the question, speaking very quietly, keeping the sound of his voice from the ears of any servant who chanced to be near.

‘What do you mean?’ Blanche replied coldly, at the same time backing slightly away from him towards the landing window.

‘You don’t need to be afraid,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to touch you again. I just need to know what you intend to do.’

‘About what?’

‘– Do you intend leaving?’

‘Leaving here? The house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you wish me to leave?’

He was silent for a moment, then he said, avoiding her eyes, ‘It would be awkward – when Marianne arrives. If you moved out suddenly just before her arrival she would wonder why.’

Blanche nodded. ‘Indeed she would.’

‘So?’ He was looking at her now. ‘Unless you intend to tell her what happened …?’

Facing him, hating and despising him as she did, she wanted to say yes, she would tell Marianne, she would tell everyone – but she knew she could not. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Marianne is my friend, and she’ll have enough to concern herself with without adding to her grief.’

‘How noble!’ Harold said. ‘But even if you told her d’you think she would believe you?’

Making no attempt to disguise the contempt that coloured her voice, she said, ‘Oh, yes, she would believe me. You need be in no doubt of that. Marianne might be inexperienced, and naive, but even she has not escaped hearing some of the stories about you that have circulated over the years.’ She paused. ‘Also, she is very capable of forming her own opinions. Rest assured, she knows you better than you are aware.’

At her words his face paled and he made a sudden half-step towards her. She flinched, fearing for a moment that he might strike her. For a few moments they stood there in silence, then Blanche said:

‘Don’t worry – Marianne will not learn of it from me, you can be sure of that. For
her
sake I shall say nothing about it. Also, I shall remain here until she arrives, and then for as long as she needs me.’

Harold nodded while Blanche continued to gaze at him coldly. ‘When she’s here,’ she said, ‘we can put up the pretence for her sake. But make no mistake; don’t be under any misapprehension as to my feelings for you. I loathe you, and the less I have to see you the happier I shall be.’ Then after a pause she added, her voice very low, ‘And if you ever come near me again I shall really make you regret it.’

His mouth moved in the cold semblance of a smile.
‘Regret?’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not I who’s going to have regrets.’

‘What else can you do to me?’

‘It’s not what I can
do
, but what I have
done
.’

‘What do you mean? What have you done?’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘and that is where my true regret comes in – in that I can never tell you, and that you’ll never know.’

With his words he turned from her and continued on up the stairs.

Marianne, accompanied by Gentry and his father, arrived in Hallowford to be greeted with the devastating news of her father’s death. The wire informing her of his accident had intimated the gravity of the situation, but she had left Sicily before the wire relating the news of his death had arrived and had come to Hallowford in the desperate hope that he was still alive.

That night, not wishing to be alone, she shared Blanche’s room, and in the silence she wept on Blanche’s shoulder.

The wedding, of course – there was no question – would have to be postponed until some later time, and instead of shopping for her trousseau, Marianne and Blanche were driven into Bath to buy mourning.

After the funeral Blanche joined Marianne, Harold, Gentry and Edward Harrow and the servants in the library where Mr Baron, Savill’s solicitor, made known to them the terms of Savill’s will. Apart from small bequests to the servants and other individuals, the bulk of the estate went to Marianne, all property to be held in trust for her until her marriage or her coming of age at twenty-one – whichever was first – by Harold Savill, who was appointed her legal guardian. Harold, apart from being suitably rewarded under the terms of Savill’s
will, was also, on Marianne’s behalf, to take complete control of the mill and all her other industrial and financial interests.

When the business was done Mr Baron replaced his papers in his briefcase. As he did so the others began to move out of the room. Marianne remained where she was for a moment or two, then, rising, went to the solicitor where he stood behind the desk, and indicated that she wished to speak to him privately. She waited until they were alone in the room and then said:

‘Is that all – in my father’s will? Is that the extent of it?’

He gave a little nod. ‘That’s the
essence
of the will. I avoided giving it all in strictly legal terminology as –’

Marianne interrupted him: ‘There was nothing about Blanche – Miss Farrar …’

He shook his head. ‘No, nothing. Your father’s will was made many years ago, when you were a very small child.’

‘Yes, I understood that. But there’s nothing about Miss Farrar … ?’

‘No, miss – she’s not mentioned.’ He opened his briefcase. ‘If you wish to examine the document yourself you –’

Marianne waved away the suggestion. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I have no reason to doubt your word. It’s just that I always thought that he would make some provision for her. She was – very dear to him.’

Baron said, ‘Well, unfortunately, miss, he didn’t do so. I don’t know whether you’re aware, though, but when he met with his accident he was on his way to Trowbridge to meet me in my office. We had an appointment that afternoon. I don’t know what he wished to see me about, but it is quite possible that it was about the terms of his will.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid now that we shall never know.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Marianne sighed, then smiled at him. ‘I thank you, Mr Baron.’ Then, assuming her unaccustomed role as mistress of the house, she asked him if he would stay to drink a glass of sherry before starting back to Trowbridge. He thanked her, but said he had other pressing business to attend to. With that Marianne showed him from the house.