The Shrouded Walls (3 page)

After a while I said: “You want to marry me?”

For the first time since I had met him he smiled. “I am only surprised that you should find it so hard to believe,” was all he said.

“A legal binding marriage?”

“Certainly. An illegal fraud would be of little use to me in making any claim to the estate, and still less use to you.”

My incredulity was succeeded by an exhilaration which in turn sharpened into panic. “I—we know nothing of each other—”

“What of that? The majority of marriages these days among people such as ourselves are preceded by a very brief acquaintance. Marriage is an institution of convenience which should confer benefits on both parties. The grand passion of a courtship culminating in married bliss is for operatic librettos and the novels of Mrs. Radclyffe.”

“Well, of course,” I said sharply, not wanting to be thought a romantic schoolgirl, “it was not my intention to imply otherwise. But—”

“Well?”

“I—I don’t even know how old you are!” I cried out. “I know nothing of you!”

“I am thirty-four years old,” he said easily. “I was married in my twenties, but my wife died in childbirth and the baby with her. I’ve never remarried.” He stood up. “You will of course need to consider the matter. If you will permit me, I shall wait upon you tomorrow, and then if you wish to accept my proposal we will take a drive in the park and perhaps drink chocolate in Piccadilly while we discuss the plans further.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I assume you have no objections to my brother accompanying me? I would prefer to be chaperoned.”

He hesitated slightly, and then shrugged his shoulders. “As you wish.”

“Before you go,” I said, for he was still standing, “I would like to clarify one or two matters in my mind.”

“Certainly.” He sat down again and crossed one leg over the other. His hands were no longer clasped tightly together, I noticed, but were limp and relaxed again upon his thighs.

“First,” I said, “if I am to marry you, I would like to be sure that my brother is provided for. He has another year of studies at Harrow and then would like to go up to Oxford to complete his education.”

“That could easily be arranged.”

“And he could have a reasonable allowance and live under our roof whenever he wishes?”

“By all means.”

“I see,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Was there some other matter you wished to clarify, Miss Fleury?”

“Yes,” I said. “There was.” My hands were the ones which were clasped tightly now. By an effort of will I held my head erect and looked him straight in the eyes. “There’s one matter on which I’m anxious there should be no misunderstanding.
”

“And that is?”

“As the marriage is really purely for convenience, Mr. Brandson, am I to take it that the marriage will be in name only?”

There was a silence. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. Presently he smiled. “For a young girl educated in an exemplary seminary for young ladies,” he said, “you seem to be remarkably well-informed, Miss Fleury.”

I waited for him to speak further but he said nothing more. After a moment I was obliged to say: “You haven’t answered my question, sir.”

“Nor have you commented on my observation, madam.”

“That’s easily done,” I said shortly. “My mother talked long and often of marriage and liaison and of the lot of women in general.”

“In that case,” he said, “you will be well aware that there are few marriages which begin in name only although the majority certainly end in that manner. However, if the matter is distasteful to you, there is no need for us to live together immediately. As you say, I am more interested in securing my inheritance and you are more interested in attaining your own security to be concerned with details such as those. We can discuss them later on.”

My first thought was: He thinks I am as fearful as most young girls and might spoil his plans by refusing in panic at the last minute to marry him. My second thought: He has a mistress or he would not concede so much so carelessly.

And my relief was mingled with anger and irritation.

“Then I shall see you tomorrow?” he said, rising once more to his feet. “If I may, I would like to wait upon you at half-past ten tomorrow morning.
”

“Thank you,” I said. “That would be convenient.”

He took my hand again in his long cool fingers and raised it casually to his lips. I felt nothing at all. No shiver of excitement or anticipation or even revulsion. He merely seemed old to me, a stranger twice my age with whom I had nothing whatever in common, and it was at that time quite impossible for me to realize that within a month we would be sharing the same name.

“But we know nothing of him,” said Alexander. “Nothing. We don’t even know that he is as he says he is. He may be utterly disreputable.”

“We shall go now and talk to Sir Charles Stowell. Tell John to have the chaise
b
rought to the front door.
”

“But an Austrian! Viennese!”

“Austria is allied with us now against Bonaparte.”

“But—”

“Listen Alexander. Please try to be practical and realistic. We’re not in a position to be otherwise. Within a few days we shall be destitute—we have no money and soon we’ll have no roof over our heads either. This man—if he is as he says he is, and I believe he was telling the truth—this man is going to provide us both with financial security and social respectability. It’s a gift from the gods! I shall be an honorably married woman with a house and servants, and you will be able to complete your studies and then do whatever you wish. How can we turn down such an opportunity? What shall we do if we did turn it down? You would have to enlist in the army and I should have to be a governess, and while you may be content to spend the rest of your life marching and parading,
I
am not content to be consigned to some isolated country mansion to teach the stupid children of some provincial local squire! I want to marry and be a great lady in whatever county I may live in, not to be a spinster, an unwanted appendage to a noble household!”

“You would be content to marry this man?”

“You didn’t see him!”

“I didn’t care for your description of him.”

“But Alexander,” I said exasperated, “this is hardly the time to be particular and fussy about prospective brothers-in-law, or husbands. Mr. Brandson is not ill-looking, he is courteous and a gentleman, and he cannot help being old. It could be much worse.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” said Alexander obtusely. “I don’t like it at all. Who knows what this may lead to?”

“Who knows?” I agreed. “But I know very well what would happen if we ignored this offer. Suit yourself, Alexander, but which is the worse of two evils?”

“I wonder,” said Alexander.

Mr. Brandson arrived punctually at half-past ten the following morning and I went to the library to greet him with my decision. I was wearing a dress of yellow muslin in the height of fashion, and my maid had arranged my hair in a most becoming Grecian style so that I considered myself exceptionally elegant. My self-confidence swept me across the floor towards him and only ebbed when I felt his cool fingers once more against my hand. There was some element in his manner which unnerved me. For the first time it occurred to me that he was sophisticated; he was probably amused at my attempt to present an adult poised facade to him, much as any mature man would be amused at the caprices of a precocious child.

With singular lack of finesse I managed to say gauchely that I had decided to accept his proposal.
It seemed that he had never once thought that I would do otherwise. He had all his plans carefully prepared. He had rented a suite of rooms near Leicester Square, he said. He understood the predicament in which my brother and I were placed, and suggested we might move to the rooms whenever it became necessary for us to do so. I might take my maid with me, if I wished. He and I could be married as soon as was convenient and could spend a few days in the country after the wedding while Alexander could return to Harrow.

I said that this would be eminently satisfactory.

News of my betrothal was soon circulated; my mother’s French friends who eventually came forward to offer us assistance were all relieved to hear that I had been so fortunate although little was known of Mr. Brandson. However, one or two people had heard of his father Robert Brandson, the Sussex land-owner, and Sir Charles Stowell introduced me to a City banker who assured me of Mr. Axel Brandson’s standing as a man of business in London and Vienna.

Mr. Brandson himself gave me a handsome sapphire ring and waited on me five out of the seven days of each week. Often he stayed no longer than quarter of an hour before making some excuse to be on his way, but occasionally we went for a drive in his phaeton, and once, shortly before the wedding he took me to Vauxhall.

I was unchaperoned. Now that I was officially betrothed and soon to be married it was no longer so important to be escorted by a third person, and besides Alexander had an assignation with some actress with whom he had become infatuated during frequent visits to the theater in the Haymarket, and I saw no reason to interrupt his schoolboy’s idolization of some highly unsuitable female. The worst that could happen would be for her to be too indulgent towards him.

So I went to the pleasure gardens of Vauxhall with Axel Brandson and walked with him among the brilliantly-dressed crowds. I was just enjoying being seen in the company of my future husband by people I knew, and was just lagging a pace behind him to make sure that I had not mistaken some fashionable member of the aristocracy nearby when I heard a man’s voice exclaim: “So you’re back, Axel! And alone! What happened to the beautiful—
”

I turned. The man saw me and stopped. There was a second’s silence and then Mr. Brandson said without inflection: “Miss Fleury, allow me to present an acquaintance of mine
...”

But I was not listening to him. The man’s name was familiar to me. My father had spoken of him in vague amusement as “a daredevil rake and a gambler soaked in his own debts.
”
Since my father was a rake and a gambler I knew exactly the kind of man Mr. Brandson’s friend was.

“You told me you had no friends in London,” I said after we had left the gentleman behind.

“No close friends certainly.”

“The gentleman seemed very well acquainted with you.”

“Once perhaps fifteen years ago we were inseparable during my visits to England but that time is long since past.” He seemed untroubled, but I thought I could detect a slight impatience in his manner as if he wished to be rid of the subject. “My personal friends are in Austria now. The people I knew in London are merely business acquaintances.”

“And the beautiful lady he referred to? Is she also a mere business acquaintance?”

He gave me such a long cool look that in the end I was the first to look away.

“I have been a widower ten years, Miss Fleury,” he said at last, and his voice was as cool as his expression. “As you are already so well acquainted with the ways of the world you will be well aware that once a man has become accustomed to female companionship he is loth to do without it later on. Shall we turn here and walk in another direction, or do you wish to go home yet?”

Tears pricked beneath my eyelids for some reason not easy to explain. I felt very young suddenly, and, what was worse, insecure and afraid. At that moment my betrothal seemed no longer a fortunate stroke of luck, a game which enabled me to parade among society at Vauxhall and display my future husband, but an exchange of freedom for restriction, of the familiar for the unknown.

It made no difference that I had already guessed he must have a mistress. The casual way he had not even bothered to deny the fact and his mockery of my desire to appear sophisticated were the aspects of his behavior which I found most hurtful. When I reached home at last I went straight to bed and tossed and turned with my tears till dawn.

The next morning he called with an enormous bouquet of flowers and was at his most courteous and charming. Even so I could not help wondering whether he had spent the night alone or whether he had visited his mistress instead.

We were married in the church of St. Mary-le-Strand less than a month after we had met and Alexander and Sir Charles Stowell acted as witnesses. It was a very quiet affair. My French godmother, an old friend of my mother’s, attended, and two or three of my childhood friends. Afterwards there was a wedding breakfast at my husband’s rented townhouse, and after it was over the carriage was waiting at the door to take us the twenty miles south into Surrey to the country house where it had been arranged that we should stay for a few days. The owner, an acquaintance of Axel’s was at that time in Bath with his family, and had given instructions that we were to treat the house as if it were our own.

My traveling habit consisted of a fur-trimmed redingote of levantine worn over a classic white muslin dress, and accompanied by a matching fur muff and snug warm boots to combat the chill of November. Axel had given me plenty of money so that I could have the clothes I pleased for the wedding and afterwards, and although time had been short I now had an adequate wardrobe for the occasion.

“You look very fine,” said Alexander almost shyly as he came forward to say goodbye to me. And then as he embraced me I could hear the anxiety in his voice as he said uncertainly: “You will write, won’t you? You won’t forget?”

“Of course I shan’t forget!” There was a lump in my throat. Suddenly I couldn’t bear to leave him, and hugged him fiercely to me with all my strength.

“I shall see you at Christmas,” he said, “when I am able to leave school for the holidays.”

“Yes.”

“It won’t be long. Just a few weeks.”

“Yes.” I disengaged myself and turned away before he could see how close I was to tears.

“You will be all right, won’t you?” he whispered as I turned from him.

“Of course!” I said with dignity, recognizing his craving for reassurance and not daring to acknowledge my own. “Why not?”

Axel was waiting a few paces away by the carriage. He had already said goodbye to Alexander. As I could sense they both disliked each other, I wasn’t surprised that their parting from one another had been very brief and formal.

I reached the carriage.

“You’re ready?” said Axel.

“Quite ready, thank you.”

He assisted me into the carriage and then climbed in after me. It was not until we were well out of London that I was sufficiently in control of myself even to look at my husband, let alone speak to him. Finally as we passed through Wandsworth I was able to say: “How fortunate that the weather should be so fine.”

“Yes,” he said, “indeed.”

I looked at him. His polite expression told me nothing, but I knew instinctively that he was well aware of my emotional battles and had carefully refrained from conversation to avoid giving me embarrassment. I suppose I should have been grateful to him for his perception and consideration, but I was not. I somehow resented the fact that he saw too much and understood too well, and I was angry.