The Flood-Tide (40 page)

‘But Edward,' Jemima protested, 'all that business about marrying a lord! Sure, we did not teach her such ideas!'

‘Oh Mother, all girls think like that. It comes of reading novels, and chattering to servants. They vie with each other, you know, as to who will get the best husband, in worldly terms. It isn't to be wondered at.'

‘But with my example before her,' Jemima said, reaching instinctively for Allen's hand. Edward looked fondly at them both.

‘I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't the real cause, Mother. You are so entirely and obviously happy with my father that it must dishearten everyone else, knowing they have little chance of being as happy as that.'

‘Nonsense!' Jemima said firmly.

‘And besides, our family has done so much mingling with titled people - the Chelmsfords and the Aylesburys and Christmas at Castle Howard, and Papa coming and going at Court as if it were his own parlour - poor Mary must feel she ought to have her share of the glitter and excitement.'

‘Oh dear,' Jemima sighed, 'put like that—' Allen pressed her hand.

‘She'll grow out of it, I'm sure. She's very young - and I'm not so sorry, really, that she doesn't want to marry John Anstey, for she might grow bored with him in a year or two, and that would be disastrous. In a few years' time she'll know how to value him, and be grateful.'

‘I hope you're right,' Jemima said.

Edward startled them both by saying, 'I think she has her eye on Horatio Morland - she flirts with him terribly when he's here. But she'll be disappointed if that's what she wants, for young Horace has as firm an idea of his merits as she has of hers, and it'll be a titled woman for him or nothing. He wouldn't have
her
upon a wager.'

‘Edward, dear,' Jemima protested, 'where can you have learned such vulgar language?’

Edward grinned. 'At Oxford, Mama. I told you it wasn't good for me. Now ain't you glad I'm leaving?’

*

Mary and Flora between them had thrown so much gloom over the family that it was only natural that the Christmas celebrations should be rather more subdued than usual. The Chelmsfords, probably from delicacy, did not come into the country, and the Fussells were away, and the Ansteys were a little hurt, so the Morlands had the season to themselves. Despite Mary's sulks and Flora's abstracted unhappiness, Jemima could not help being happy. Allen was over his illness and Edward was home for good and proving such a companion that she wondered how she had managed without him. She hunted vigorously every day, with Allen and Edward and James competing to outride her and never succeeding, and spent the rest of the day indoors, enjoying the company of her second family, her little Harry and Lucy, and Louisa and Jack who seemed no less her own, since their mother had left them to her from birth.

Harry was out of petticoats now and having lessons with Father Ramsay, which he was eager each day to recount to her, partly, she was sure, to tease Jack, who longed to catch up with his cousin, even if it meant being parted from Jemima for several hours a day - for Jack was as devoted to her as Louisa was to Allen. As for Lucy, she was three years old, and as pretty and chubby and good-natured and adorable as any baby ever was, and lived to be cuddled, and showed no remarkable talent except for getting astonishingly dirty in an amazingly short time, if ever one took one's eyes from her.

On Twelfth Night Edward managed to persuade Flora to come down and join the feast, saying that it would be unlucky for anyone to absent themselves; and as, at Jemima's command, even the littlest children dined at the table, there were twelve of them ranged along the dining room, with Father Ramsay, and Alison at the end between Lucy and Jack to stop them falling off their chairs or sticking their fingers in the gravy.

It was, as Twelfth Night should be, a pleasant mixture of the Christian and the pagan, with Father Ramsay and Allen saying Grace and the prayers, and the others joining in with various toasts and the old good-luck charms. Abram himself carried in the boar's head, wreathed in bay and rosemary, and was toasted with a bumper before he withdrew, red-faced and backwards, as if from the presence of royalty, which was more or less how he thought of Jemima anyway. Jack, as the youngest gentleman present, proposed the toast to the King, in which Edward had carefully coached him, so that except for an unfortunate tendency to giggle, he acquitted himself magnificently, and then Edward, with perhaps a little more sadness in his voice than was usual, proposed the toast to Absent Friends.

And as they all resumed their seats, a half-heard commotion outside resolved itself into a loud knocking at the great door, which so startled them, coming at that precise moment, that Jemima bit her tongue, and Alison crossed herself twice in quick succession.

‘Now who on earth could that be?' Allen said, staring round them all as if for suggestions.

‘The unexpected guest,' Edward said. 'The angel unawares that we are always to be prepared for. Well, it must be lucky, on Twelfth Night, the night of prophecy.'

‘Edward, I wish you hadn't said that. Suppose it was bad news,' Jemima said.

‘No, it means we shall have lots of unexpected visitors all year, you'll see,' Edward said quickly, and they all fell silent to listen to the sound of Oxhey going to open the door. Footsteps crossed the hall, and Oxhey appeared doubtfully in the doorway, but was gently pushed aside by a travel-stained figure, rather wild in expression, at the sight of whom Flora turned first red then pale.

‘Charles - Lord Meldon - what are you doing here?' Allen asked for them all.

‘Sir, forgive me for bursting upon you with no warning,' he said, having difficulty in keeping his eyes on Allen, when they so wanted to be on Flora. 'I have just arrived in the country - I rode from Oxford. I could not wait any longer, so I came straight here—’

His words were distracted, and Jemima said, 'I hope it is not bad news? I hope no one is ill?'

‘Oh, madam, no - I am sorry if I have startled you. It was wrong of me, I know, to come like this. You will think me so strange—' He bit his lip.

Allen tried gently to gain his attention. 'Well, since you are here, and no one is ill, won't you join our feast? We are got, as you see, to the dessert, but you are most welcome to join us for it.’

Charles made an obvious effort to pull himself together. He drew himself up, his hands clenched on his hat before him to the detriment of the brim, and said, 'You are more kind than I deserve, sir, and since you are so kind, I would make bold to ask something. You will think it strange, I know - but really - sir, would you, of your kindness, allow me a moment's private conversation with Mrs Morland - with Flora?’

There was a brief silence as Allen and Jemima exchanged a look, and Flora's face went from white to red again, and she lowered her gaze to the tablecloth. Allen looked at her to try to gauge her desires in the matter, and Charles added, 'I beg you, sir. I assure you that I would not ask if it were not important.'

‘My dear young man,' Allen said, 'it must be as Flora wishes. My dear?' He looked towards her, and after a moment's hesitation she stood up and walked out of the room, looking neither to left nor right, her head very erect, like a queen walking to the scaffold. Charles bowed slightly to the company, and followed her, closing the door behind him.

In the drawing room Flora turned to face him, her eyes dangerously bright, but her face betraying no sign of whether she were angry, pleased, or unhappy at the sight of him.

‘Forgive me,' he said at once. 'I had to come. You don't know how unhappy I have been all these weeks. I held out as long as I could, since it was what you said you wanted. But then - we were at Wolvercote, and every room spoke of you. All through Christmas, I was haunted by you. I saw you everywhere, I heard your voice - Flora, my own dear Flora—'

‘What do you want?' Her voice shook so much even in such a short sentence that she knew she would not be able to attempt anything longer.

‘I came to see if you might change your mind,' he said simply. 'I understand how you felt - it was a terrible shock to me, too, but there is nothing in the world we can do to make it different now. And what purpose would it serve for us both to go on being unhappy? It won't bring him back, or make up to him for anything.’

She made no answer. It was impossible. He came a step nearer.

‘We were so happy together - we can be again. I love you so much - I'll wait for you as long as you like, but please say you will marry me. Please, Flora, let us be together. I will never love anyone but you.’

Her teeth were so tightly clenched that she could make no sound but a peculiar little whimper, but he took it for an answer, and took the last step towards her, and put his arms round her trembling body.

‘What is it? What is it?' he whispered.

‘People - will talk—' she managed to say.

‘Let 'em,' he said fiercely, holding her closer. 'What can they say to hurt us? We know the truth. And if they don't like to have us around, we'll live in the country, and it will be their loss, not ours. We don't need 'em - as long as we have each other. Say you will - say you will.'

‘Oh Charles,' she whimpered, and he felt her tears hot and then cold on his cheek. 'I've missed you so much.’

His relief at the words was such that he thought he might fall. He held her tightly, and closed his eyes for a moment, and she clung to him, all her resistance at an end.

‘It will be all right, you'll see,' he said at last. 'I'll make it all right. I'll speak to Sir Allen and Lady Morland, and everyone else, and explain it all, and it will be all right. We'll be happy together, and people will understand then.' She was crying faster than ever, and pity came to reinforce his love. 'I know,' he said, 'I know. But it was none of it your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.’

BOOK THREE

The Salamander

We've trod the maze of error round,

Long wandering the winding glade; And

now the torch of truth is found, It only

shows us where we strayed: By long

experience taught, we know -Can

rightly judge of friends and foes; Can

all the worth of these allow, And all

the faults discern in those.

George Crabbe:
Late Wisdom

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 A full year of mourning was what Allen proposed, and a complete separation until the six months' deep mourning was finished. 'After that, an occasional visit here would probably do no harm.’

Flora, standing as close to Lord Meldon as she could get, as if she feared he might be snatched away from her, looked horrified. 'Must we wait so long?' she said. Allen gave her a grim sort of smile.

‘My dear Flora, I am in no position to insist on anything. You are over the age of consent, and may do as you please. I can only recommend to you what I think would be in your best interests.'

‘In point of law that may be true, sir,' Meldon said. ‘But Flora regards you and Lady Morland in the light of parents, and she and her children have their home with you. That gives your recommendations a certain weight.'

‘Very well - then look,' Allen said. 'There has been talk about you - whether warranted or unwarranted. If Flora receives you at all while in deep mourning, the scandal will not die—’

‘But when that is over—' Flora began eagerly, and Allen checked her with a shake of his head.

‘Lord Meldon is a public figure, and there is the more reason to be careful. A full year's mourning is the minimum for propriety. Remember your children, Flora, and think what people might say about
them,
too.'

‘If you love each other, you should be willing to wait for each other,' Jemima said. Lord Meldon bowed his head.

‘I have waited for many years without hope - a year with hope will soon pass.’

Flora sighed, but consented. 'But you will write to me, Charles? May he not?'

‘Of course,' Allen said. 'And now, we had better make arrangements for your departure.'

‘At once?' Flora asked in a small voice.

‘At once,' Allen said.

When they were alone together, Jemima said to her husband, 'I think he really loves her. After all, he is an eligible young man, and could have anyone.'