The Return of the Gypsy (67 page)

Poor Helena was heartbroken.

I felt guilty. If I had not let Joe in that day … But I was sure he would have found some other means. He was so intent on revenge.

I thought Helena was going to be ill; she lost interest in everything. It was a sad, quiet household. I heard some of the servants whispering to each other. They were going to give notice. They could not be expected to work in such a household. But none of them did. Whatever Uncle Peter’s profession, he kept a good staff and paid them better than most; and weighing the matter up they must have decided that it was better to forget about a little vice for the sake of comforts and good posts.

I had to admire Uncle Peter. He went on as though nothing had happened. It was true that he followed Joseph Cresswell’s example and resigned his seat. He just washed his hands of politics.

He was so rich that he could snap his fingers at respectability. I thought how different he was from Joseph Cresswell.

There were a few enquiries about the clubs, but their activities were well covered up. They were run as clubs, and gambling was not against the law. As for prostitution, occasionally there were attempts but nothing could be done to stop it entirely. We were a country in which the freedom of the individual was considered to be of the utmost importance. Any attempt to curb it would result in an outcry. Uncle Peter had been careful not to break any laws. He had protected his interests well and it was almost as though he had prepared himself for the kind of accusations which were being brought against him; and being the man he was, even the press grew tired of vilifying him and his activities.

He was not such an obvious victim as Joseph Cresswell. The one who really suffered was Helena.

I did see Joe again. He was in the Park and I think he wanted to see me for he felt he owed me some explanation.

I was with Peterkin when we met him.

We faced each other, tongue-tied. Neither of us could think of anything to say. On one hand I understood his need to avenge his father; and on the other I saw him as the destroyer of Helena’s happiness.

At last Joe said: “I’ve been hanging about here for several days hoping to see you.” He looked at me anxiously. “I didn’t know whether you would want to see me again.”

I was silent and Peterkin said: “Why?”

Joe looked at me. “You knew, didn’t you?”

I said: “I think I had better explain to Peterkin. One day when you were all out, Joe came to see me. When I went out of the room to get some wine he went up to your father’s room, forced the lock in some way and got into your father’s papers. I suppose they gave details of his business.”

“Listen,” cut in Joe. “I knew my father had been trapped. He would never have gone home with that girl except to help her. And I guessed that the whole thing had been planned in order to blacken my father’s reputation. Wouldn’t you …?”

“In your case perhaps,” said Peterkin.

“I wasn’t going to let it rest. I got hold of that girl … Chloe. I threatened her, I bribed her, and at last I got the story. She had been commanded to do what she did. She wasn’t knocked over. The driver was in it and so was the man who broke in. It was a well-organized plot. And who was able to set that in motion? Your father. He hadn’t seen the girl himself. His minions told her what she must do. But she had caught glimpses of him once or twice going into the private offices where the books and records were kept. She had found out who he was when she had seen pictures in the papers. My father had said long ago that this woman who called herself Madame Delarge was not really the owner. There was someone behind her. I thought I knew, in fact I was almost certain. You see, there was the motive.”

“You mean this chairmanship?” said Peterkin.

Joe nodded. “My father was his rival in more ways than that. It was a despicable thing to do. I had to have my revenge. Wouldn’t you?”

“For my own father … perhaps not,” said Peterkin. “For yours … yes, I understand, Joe.”

He looked at me. “So you don’t blame me?”

I could not answer him. I could only see Helena’s wretched face.
I
had let him into the house. I was responsible for Helena’s misery. I knew I could never love Joe. There was a barrier between us as Midsummer’s Eve was between Rolf and me.

“Annora,” he went on, and laid his hand on my arm.

I said: “You didn’t tell me why you wanted to come to my uncle’s house.”

“How could I?”

“You sent me from the room on a pretext so that you could go upstairs and break into my uncle’s study.”

“It was the only way. You wouldn’t have helped me do that. And how could I have asked you to?”

“No, you certainly could not.”

“I had to do it, Annora.”

“Yes,” said Peterkin. “I see how you felt.”

“It has done no good,” I cried. “It has not helped your father and it has ruined Helena’s happiness.”

“If John Milward can’t stand out against his family, he wouldn’t have been much of a husband.”

“Helena doesn’t think that and I … I don’t know what to think.”

We sat wretchedly looking at Achilles, so strong, so formidable, and it made me think of the weaknesses of mankind.

After a while we got up to go.

Joe took my hands and looked at me earnestly. “Annora,” he said. “Do try to understand.”

“I do understand. It was revenge you wanted. Two scandals instead of one.”

“I’m going to clear my father’s name,” said Joe.

“How?” asked Peterkin.

“I’m going to make Chloe’s confession public.”

“My father will treat it all as if it were of little significance,” said Peterkin.

“His parliamentary career will be ruined as my father’s has been.”

“He has already finished with politics. He says the whole world is his field. You’ll do no good. You will just bring it all up again and it will be more distressing to your family than ours.”

“I suppose,” said Joe sadly, “this means that communication between us is impossible.”

We said goodbye. Peterkin shook hands with Joe, and Joe held mine for some time looking at me appealingly; but I was too bewildered to give him the encouragement he obviously sought. I could not get Helena’s sad face out of my mind.

“He’s right,” said Peterkin as we walked away. “It does make friendship between our families out of the question.”

I think Joe did try to get Chloe’s account of what happened into the press, but he failed to do so. I imagine this was due to Peter’s influence because, as had been said of him before, he had his fingers into many pies. He could do a great deal of manipulation in many directions and I was sure that if he had not been taken by surprise and the story of his business had not been given to a particularly scurrilous newspaper in the first place he would have been able to prevent the facts being published. But of course, once the story was out all the papers had to make what sensation they could from it. Joe must have been frustrated in his schemes but at least he had driven Uncle Peter from Parliament.

Moreover there was a great deal about the coronation festivities in the papers and people were more interested in that then anything else at the moment.

A Coronation Fair had been opened in Hyde Park and the Queen herself had been there to see it. Accounts of it filled the papers and the people were so busy reading about that, that the impact of Chloe’s story would be lost upon them. They had finished with Joseph Cresswell and Peter Lansdon. They had both supplied scandalous titbits which had been gratefully received, but the element of surprise had gone; they had both been knocked off their high perches and there was nothing else which could be done to them. The coronation festivities, the Queen with her little figure and regal manner—that was what they wanted to read about. She reviewed five thousand troops in Hyde Park and the people cheered her wildly. Everything was going to be different now we had a young girl on the throne to take the place of those doddery rather boring old gentlemen.

One morning John Milward called at the house. He looked very young and rather frightened, but he had come to see Helena and I was pleased about that. He had not left it just to his father to break off the marriage.

When I saw Helena she had regained her radiance.

“I wanted you to be the first to know,” she said. “It’s going to be all right.”

“You mean …?”

She nodded. “We’re going to be married. Oh, it won’t be an expensive wedding. Who wants that, anyway?”

“Not you,” I cried, hugging her.

“We shall be poor.”

“You’ll have your allowance.”

“John will have to do some work or other.” My heart sank a little. I could not imagine John’s doing some work or other.

“But we don’t care. He’s going to defy his family. He doesn’t care about being cut off. He only cares about me.”

“Oh, Helena, I’m so glad. I misjudged him. I thought he was weak.”

“We’re going to be very strong.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Do you think Papa …?”

I thought about that enigmatical man and it occurred to me that, wicked as he must be, he would not be one to stand in the way of his daughter’s happiness. In fact I could imagine his delight in snubbing the Duke.

At least Helena’s happiness was saved.

For a whole week Helena continued in a state of bliss. She saw John every day. She had been so unhappy that no restrictions were put on her by Aunt Amaryllis, who was delighted at the return of John for Helena’s sake. John came to the house and was alone with Helena for long periods of time. They walked in the Park together.

He had left the ducal roof and was sharing rooms with a bachelor friend of his. I said to Peterkin: “He’s got more spirit than I thought. I wouldn’t have believed he could have stood out against his family.”

Peterkin agreed with me.

How wrong we were to think all was well! His family must have brought great pressure to bear on him and John, after all, was not the man to withstand it.

He did not even come to tell Helena himself; he explained by letter. She showed it to me.

My dearest Helena,

I am so sorry but I cannot go on with this. You have no idea what I have had to put up with from my family. It’s not just being cut off. Where would we live? My father says I shall have nothing … nothing at all. They are all against me, Helena. I can’t stand it. I know I should never be any good at earning a living. What could I do?

I love you. I shall always love you. But it has to be goodbye.

John

I have never seen such misery as I saw in Helena’s face. I cursed him. He should never have come back. It would have been better if she had just had the one blow.

I tried to comfort her. I said that perhaps if he was so weak it was better for them to part. She would not have it. Her heart was broken. Life had become intolerable to her.

Those were wretched days.

I wanted to leave London. I wanted to put all that had happened behind me. But I did know that I was the only one to whom Helena could talk and I felt I could not leave her.

My parents wrote to say that in view of our departure in September, and the scandal about Uncle Peter and because there was to be no wedding, I should return home. I would have to make certain preparations and although they had been going to pick me up on the way to Tilbury, it would now be more convenient for me to return home so that we could all set out together.

When I mentioned the matter to Helena she looked stricken although she said nothing.

Then I had an idea. “Helena,” I said, “why don’t you come with me? You’ll get right away and there is nothing like leaving something behind to get it out of your mind.”

She replied that nothing could get this out of her mind; but I could see that she was so eager not to lose me that she wanted to come.

So very soon after that Helena and I left for Cornwall.

I was glad to be home. It was good to see Jacco again. He was always particularly affectionate after long absences.

My parents were very kind and gentle to Helena and I fancied she seemed a little better away from the place where so much that was tragic had happened to her.

Rolf was away. His father had died suddenly of a heart attack.

“Poor Rolf,” said my mother. “He is very sad. He is away now, staying with friends in the Midlands. It was such a blow. We were all so fond of Mr. Hanson.”

Later I had several talks with my mother, who was of the opinion that Helena was better off without John Milward since he lacked the courage to stand out against his parents. After all, he was of age.

My mother and I used to go for long walks together along the cliffs during the mornings. Helena usually stayed in her room until luncheon. That seemed to be what she wanted and we thought we should indulge her all we could.

It gave me a chance to be with my mother. I was realizing how much I had missed her while I had been away.

One day as we lay on the grass of the cliffs looking out to sea watching the seagulls flying high and then swooping down to capture some item of food, she said to me: “Tell me, what did Peter Lansdon do when the news about his connection with these clubs came out?”

“Do? Oh nothing much. He was quite nonchalant about it. Yes, it was true, he said. And then he reminded his family how they had benefitted from his money.”

“Poor Amaryllis.”

“Don’t worry about her. She thinks Uncle Peter is always right. It’s Helena I’m sorry for.”

“I’ve got something to tell you, Annora, about your Uncle Peter. I’ve told your father. It was a secret even from him but now I can tell you. I said I thought you should know and he agreed with me. I know you liked Joe Cresswell. But what about Rolf?”

“What about him?”

“Your father and I used to think that you and Rolf would make a match of it one day. I know he is a little older than you but now you’re growing up that’s not so much. What we want is your happiness of course. We’ve always had such a soft spot for Rolf … living so close … being like one of the family really. At one time you admired him so much. We used to laugh about it. So did Mr. Hanson. It was almost an understood thing between us. Then you seemed to change.”