The House of Hardie (25 page)

A mere renewal of his offer of marriage would not be good enough. Whatever Archie might think, Lucy was sure that Gordon was indeed a gentleman, who would recognize his obligations towards her even though the difficulties of her situation were wholly of her own making. But just as she was not prepared to enter into a marriage intended only as a spiteful gesture towards her brother, no more was she going to let herself be married out of pity for a maiden in distress.

If, then, she took advantage of the free and easy atmosphere of shipboard life to encourage the advances of some of her fellow-passengers, it was not because she was a flirt and not because she wished to stir Gordon into jealous action. She was showing him that he could honourably withdraw without needing to feel that she was left unprotected. If, having understood that, he proposed
marriage to her again, she would accept with joy. It was part of the game she was playing that he must not be allowed to guess at this in advance.

So, as the ship steamed cautiously through the Suez Canal and out into the stifling heat of the Red Sea, Lucy laughed and chattered and danced and played games as though she had not a care in the world. She was hardly prepared to admit even to herself the humiliation of her position. She could make herself independent of Gordon, if she chose, and so free him to continue his travels alone. But it could only be done by making herself dependent on someone else – someone whom she would not even love. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

As a girl in her grandfather's house, Lucy had taken it for granted that she would marry and have children one day. Until Gordon's arrival she had not thought of herself as a rebel; there was an appointed way of life for women, and she expected to follow it. The gesture of independence which had brought her to her present predicament was the only one she had ever made.

There was, moreover, no possible way in which she could continue to be independent. Mr Elliott had not believed her, and nobody else on the ship – except Gordon – would believe her either, but she was in truth penniless. All the most valuable jewellery which had belonged to her mother was still locked up in the marquess's safe, waiting for Lucy's twenty-first birthday. One necklace and a pair of ear-rings had been handed over in advance of that date so that she could dress the part of her grandfather's hostess with proper dignity. But by the time she had paid her expenses and rewarded her maid out of the pawnbroker's money, she was left with little more than the price of a single ticket to Shanghai. There would be an opportunity, when it was time to change
ships at Bombay, to trade in her forward ticket for a return to England, but that was her solitary option. If she did return to England alone, she risked finding herself disowned by her family, and without doubt her reputation would be ruined. If, on the other hand, she continued on to Shanghai, landing without a penny to her name, what would become of her?

In her mind she ran through the short list of possibilities without flinching. She loved Gordon and she needed Gordon, but that must not be admitted until he had decided, without being swayed by pity, that he still wanted her for his wife. If he made no such decision, she could leave the ship at Bombay as the fiancée of someone else. Or – this startling idea was one which had only recently occurred to her – she could continue to Shanghai and offer to help Miss Fawcett with her mission work in return for board and lodging.

As the days grew hotter and hotter, Lucy began to spend more time in conversation with the missionary, fanning herself in her deck chair whilst her admirers, hoping to be noticed, loitered up and down the deck in front of her. It was embarrassing to hear Miss Fawcett talk about the ‘rice Christians' – the Chinese converts who were motivated less by the love of Christ than by the offer of free rations. Uneasily Lucy wondered whether her own motives for the conversation might not be equally worldly.

‘Are you talking about China? May I join you?' Most of the passengers on the
Parramatta
were travelling only as far as India, and had little interest in places further east. But Gordon, of course, was as anxious as Lucy herself to hear the missionary's experiences.

‘Miss Fawcett has been telling me the most terrible things!' exclaimed Lucy. ‘Did you know, Mr Hardie, that daughters are so little valued in China that when a girl
baby is born she may be exposed at once on a bare hillside to die of cold?'

‘I've heard the story,' said Gordon. ‘Is the Church able to do anything for these unfortunate children, Miss Fawcett?'

‘My own mission is on the edge of a small town. We've established some trust amongst the people. They'll bring babies to us which once they would have exposed, knowing that we'll take responsibility for them in our orphan compound. But in the countryside … Each month either my colleague or myself travels round the villages to preach the Gospel and offer whatever medical help is within our competence. It's part of our daily routine to search the nearby hillsides before dawn, listening for a cry and looking for a movement. But in almost every case, of course, we come too late.'

‘Oh!' Lucy buried her head in her hands, feeling faint with horror as her imagination pictured the tiny naked bodies, stiff with cold. She was only just aware of Gordon hastily moving away and returning.

‘Drink this water, Miss Young. You're too hot. Perhaps you should lie down in your cabin for a while.'

‘My cabin is even hotter than the deck.' She sipped the water gratefully. ‘Thank you, Mr Hardie.' After another drink, she tried to explain. ‘I find the thought sickening. That a man should kill his own child, and the mother should allow it to be done.'

‘She'll do it herself,' said Miss Fawcett bluntly. ‘Within an hour of the birth she will leave her bed and go out into the night rather than burden the family with another mouth to feed – a girl who will never be of any use to her own parents, although when she marries she may act as a slave to her mother-in-law.'

‘I can't understand it,' said Lucy. ‘I can't even
understand how someone like Mrs Stewart, in my cabin, can have children and then send them away. To bring babies into the world and then not care for them … Why –?'

‘I think we should speak of a more cheerful subject,' Gordon interrupted. ‘Miss Young, I understand that a dance has been arranged for tonight. May I be allowed to partner you for the first dance, and the last, and as many as possible in between?'

‘It's not to be a formal dance, I think.' Lucy spoke abstractedly, needing a moment to change to a mood of frivolity. ‘I shan't have a programme.'

‘You mean that I must jostle in the crowd of all your other admirers and trust to catching your eye? Well, I'll accept that as long as you give the same answer to everyone else, making no promises.'

‘I'm happy to promise you a dance, Mr Hardie.' The happiness was sincere, and she allowed it to show in her eyes. ‘And now that you put the thought of dances into my mind, I ought perhaps to look out a dress. Everything becomes so crumpled when there's no room to hang it up.'

She left Gordon to continue talking to Miss Fawcett while she herself went down to her cabin. There had been a baggage day in the Canal, when passengers were allowed to bring up from the baggage room items which they had not packed in their cabin trunks but would need now that the weather was so hot. Lucy had taken the opportunity to extract the dress which had been made for her to wear at the Magdalen Eights Week Ball.

‘How lovely you look!' exclaimed Mrs Stewart later that evening. She had undertaken the role of lady's maid, claiming to be proud that the most sought-after passenger on the voyage was her cabin-mate. With her help Lucy had woven her long golden hair into an elaborate crown
on top of her head and had been buttoned into the balldress which fitted tightly round her slender waist.

There was no full-length glass in which Lucy could study her own appearance; but as she shook out the fullness of her gossamer-light skirts, she remembered how she had looked at herself when she put on the dress for the first time, in an Oxford hotel. How young she had been then – and how nervous, hoping that the unknown partner whom Archie had arranged for her would not find her dull. Within an hour, as Archie's friends clustered round her, she had understood that she was beautiful, and had needed none of the champagne which flowed so freely to intoxicate her with the gaiety of the occasion.

Tonight she hoped that she would look beautiful again. But although she could be sure that, as before, she would never be left without a partner, on this occasion she was interested in one man alone. She needed the prospect of general admiration, but only in order that Gordon Hardie would be spurred by it to realize that he did not want to let her go.

It did not at first seem that Lucy's hope was to be realized. All through the dinner which preceded the dance, Gordon stared at her – with admiration to start with, but later with a troubled expression. He did not ask her for the first dance after all, nor the second, nor even the third. Instead, he stood alone in the gallery above the saloon, watching as she danced first with Captain Hunter and then with Mr Elliott and again with Mr Elliott. Lucy was conscious of his gaze, although she tried to restrain herself from looking up at him. The consciousness made her more vivacious, more determined to show by her smiles that she was not pining for him. But beneath the smile lay disappointment. When would he come down and ask her to be his partner?

The fourth dance was a reel. Lucy did not know the steps, but the ship's purser promised to teach them to her as they went along. She enjoyed the exercise and was flushed and laughing as the dance ended with a wild galop. And then – at last – Gordon was approaching her.

‘May I have the honour, Miss Young?'

‘I think I must have a rest. That was so vigorous! But if you're willing to sit out…'

‘Of course. Let's go out on deck, then.'

Before climbing the steep and narrow steps Lucy gathered up her voluminous skirts with one hand, keeping the other ready to hold the rail in case there should be a sudden shudder even in the calm of the Red Sea. She shook them free again on reaching the deck. The sound
of the music followed them up, becoming fainter with each step they took.

Even so late, the evening was hot, with no breeze except that stirred by the ship's movement. Lucy needed no shawl to cover her bare arms – and yet, compared with the fierce midday heat, there was refreshment in the air. She breathed it in deeply, leaning against the rail and looking down at the rippling silver path which led towards the moon.

‘It's a very romantic picture.' Gordon spoke from behind her. ‘A beautiful woman in a beautiful dress, shimmering in the moonlight.' The words suggested a compliment, but Lucy's ear was sensitive enough to recognize a criticism. ‘You've brought with you a wardrobe fit for the mistress of Castlemere. I wonder what setting you envisage which will do it justice in the future.'

It did not need much intelligence to understand what he was implying. Should she defend herself, or stand on her dignity? She chose to tell the truth, and with spirit.

‘I've brought with me almost everything I possess – or at least, everything which it was possible to smuggle out without attracting attention – because when I return to England I shall have no claim on anything that I left behind. I learned from my maid that a long voyage such as this imposes a social life in which some attention to dress is expected. I didn't have this gown made for a shipboard dance; but since I already own it, this seems an occasion on which to wear it. At the end of the voyage it may be packed away in a trunk and left in the shipping office until I need it again. I have another trunk, marked NOT WANTED ON VOYAGE, which contains riding clothes and painting equipment and everything I could think of which might be required for a rough journey – together with straps and covers so that the trunk itself
need not be carried. I've noticed before that you seem to think of me only as a pampered child. I must ask you also to give me credit for some practical common sense.'

‘You're being very severe on me.'

‘Well, it's very provoking of
you
to think that I might have been expecting to climb a Himalayan mountain in a ball gown.'

‘I can imagine, though, that you could find other places in which to show it off. At Captain Hunter's regimental ball, for example. And please don't protest' – for Lucy had opened her mouth to speak – ‘that he doesn't want to marry you. Everyone on the ship knows that he's prepared to die for love of you.'

‘Captain Hunter is young and impressionable,' said Lucy with all the dignity of her eighteen years. ‘But he knows – and so do I, as a soldier's daughter – that he can't marry without the permission of his colonel, and he will certainly not be given that before he's thirty.'

‘In the case of Mr Elliott, though, there's no such problem.'

Lucy looked directly into Gordon's eyes. ‘Mr Elliott is a widower,' she told him. ‘His wife died in childbirth, together with her baby, three years ago in the south of India. Before she died, she had already miscarried four times. Mr Elliott has told me frankly that when he returned to England on leave this year, it was in the hope of finding a second wife. But when it came to the point, he felt unable to bring out a young girl to a climate and a country which she would not be able to imagine before she left England. He feels that a woman who expects a baby even in a hill station of India is in almost as much danger as Captain Hunter on the Frontier.' Lucy flushed slightly as she spoke, knowing that it was unladylike to discuss babies with a gentleman.

‘He tells you this, no doubt, in the hope that you – having been apprised by him of the dangers – will give some indication that you are prepared to take the risks he offers.'