The Made Marriage (2 page)

‘Such as?’

‘Well, there was that copper warming-pan, and old Major Hardinge bought one of the flintlocks for his collection, and then there was the jet and amber necklace and—and—’ She hesitated to mention the unfortunate affair of the comfit box. ‘And you admitted yourself we got a surprisingly good price for that hideous Victorian firescreen.’

Margot nodded. ‘I agree, but it was a pure fluke. Selling an odd warming-pan and an occasional flintlock isn’t going to keep the roof over our heads. Actually I’ve known for quite a long time, Kate, that we’d have to make different plans.’

‘What sort of plans?’ Kate asked fearfully. The small room suddenly seemed no longer a warm and comforting haven
:
it was as though a door had swung open letting in an icy draught and displaying a dark and terrifying landscape.

Margot left the table and took the armchair across from her cousin. ‘As you know, Kenneth has been nagging me to marry him, and I’ve put him off for so long I’m surprised he hasn’t lost patience.’

‘But you don’t love him!’ Kate almost wailed. Normally she would not have dreamed of intruding on her cousin’s privacy, but fear and anxiety had put her past all sense of discretion.

There was a long pause as Margot stared into the heart of the red glowing fire. ‘It’s not really as simple as that. You’re very young and very romantic, Kate. It’s hard for you to realise that as people grow older they compromise and are willing to
settle
for mutual affe
c
tion and trust. It may sound unromantic, even sordid, to someone as immature as yourself, but I assure you I never expected more from Kenneth and he’d probably be horribly embarrassed if I showered him with girlish attentions.
’

‘You sound as if you were Methuselah,’ Kate said sadly, scanning the strong-featured face which apart from fine expressive eyes could lay no claim to beauty.

‘Perhaps not, but I’ve lived much longer than you have and I’ve lost a good many of my youthful illusions. I’ll settle down very well with Kenneth and be the type of wife he wants, discreet and tactful and an excellent manager.’ Her voice was flat and emotionless, and somehow her very matter-of-factness gave Kate a little stab to the heart.

She glanced down at the little cat coiled into a ball, its plump sides heaving rhythmically in sleep, and for the first time the full implications of her cousin’s plans smote her with devastating shock. When Margot married what would become of herself and Bedsocks
?

As though anticipating Kate’s reaction, .Margot said swiftly, ‘Of course you’ll come and live with us. That will be one of my conditions.’

‘One of your conditions?’ Kate repeated. ‘Do people in love make conditions? It sounds horribly—horribly businesslike.’

‘Well, marriage is a sort of business when one
c
omes to my age. Each side makes concessions
:
a mutual understanding is reached and things work out pretty comfortably.’

‘But I don’t want Kenneth to make concessions on my behalf,’ Kate protested. ‘I’d hate to feel I was living under his roof on sufferance.’

‘Nonsense, you’re talking utter drivel,’ Margot returned in her usual bracing and forthright manner. ‘After all, you’re more like a younger sister than a cousin, and remember, it will be my home as much as Kenneth’s
:
he’ll have to understand that, as far as I’m concerned, marriage is a partnership or nothing.’

Kate sighed, and as Bedsocks was now awake and was gazing up at her appealingly, reminding her that it was time for supper, she picked her up and carried her into the kitchenette. While she opened a tin of cat food, Bedsocks’s loud gurgling purr was a background to her thoughts. Perhaps Margot was right and things would work out. After all, she could find a job and use Margot’s new home as a base: in this way she would be able to keep in touch with her cousin yet not get in their way too much. She emptied the tin of Bedsocks’s favourite brand of cat food into her special bowl and watched abstractedly as she ate, still maintaining a stentorian purr.

It was Kenneth’s crisp familiar knock that interrupted her thoughts
:
it was unmistakable and somehow typical of his precise methodical character. She could hear Margot unfasten the shop door and lead him into the living-room. And when at last Bedsocks had finished she took as long as possible to wash her bowl and return it to its place in the cupboard.

When she returned to the living-room it was to see that all was not well between Kenneth and her cousin: their
sotto voce
conversation had stopped abruptly at her entry and Margot was sitting bolt upright in the armchair, two pink spots of unaccustomed colour high on her cheekbones, while Kenneth’s smooth features were set in lines of disapproval.

For a moment she hesitated in embarrassment, aware that
s
he was the subject of their disagreement. ‘I’ve got sewing to do,’ she said awkwardly and, putting Bedsocks back on the rag rug, edged towards the door.

‘
No, don’t go,’ Margot said loudly. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t hear what we have to say. I’ve told Kenneth that when we marry you’re to live with us and he has agreed, of course.’ The glance she directed at him was anything but conciliatory, and Kenneth, obviously anxious not to antagonise her now that he had gained her promise to marry him, said grudgingly, ‘Yes, of course, if Margot wants it that wa
y
I’m quite agreeable.’ Then feeling perhaps that this sounded ungracious he added, ‘Goodness knows, the house is big enough for us all.’

But the implication was obvious
:
big enough for her to keep out of their way, he meant!

‘Well, then it’s all settled,’ Margot said briskly. ‘Kate and I shall get to work on the house right away. I’ve wanted to get my hands on those gloomy old puce curtains for a long time.’

‘Naturally I’ll be quite agreeable to any
ch
anges you may make. After all, it will be your home now,’ Kenneth stated, with an air of painstaking veracity.

Kate knew, that in spite of his unattractively pompous manner, he had a deep and unswerving regard for her cousin, and felt Margot was right in believing they would probably make a happy and contented couple. As she left the sitting-room she could see that Margot felt that her future had been arranged perfectly satisfactorily: already she was discussing with Kenneth her wedding plans.

But Kate, as
she
climbed the narrow twisting stairs that led up to the two minute bedrooms under the eaves, was filled with desolation. Margot might be perfectly satisfied with her arrangements, but she herself knew that there could be no future for her in the red brick villa that was to be her cousin’s new home. It would not be long before Kenneth’s antagonism came fully into the open and made life completely unendurable. No, to become one of the Millbanke household was out of the question, yet where was she to go? What was
she
to do?

Later that night a storm sprang up, lashing the diamond-paned windows and making the old timbered rooms creak like a ship at sea Kate woke up with a start as the casement window in her room slashed open letting in a spray of rain. She got out of bed and crossing the floor gazed out for a moment before refastening the window. Below her the rainswept street was deserted. The sign of the Four-inHand groaned and squeaked as it swung on its ironwork stanchion. The narrow street and old coaching house must have looked very similar in days gone by when carriages rattled into its courtyard. It was a scene familiar to her since she had first come to stay with her cousin, and now it came home to her with devastating clarity that soon her days at The Trinket Box would be but a memory.

She fastened the window with a little shiver that was only partly due to the chill air and slipped into her dressing-gown. She would go down to the living-room and make herself coffee. It might help to straighten out her jumbled thoughts and banish the gloom that had settled or. her usually ebullient spirits.

Quietly she tiptoed past Margot’s room, trying to avoid the squeaking board. When Kate reached the sitting-room Bedsocks awoke from her slumbers on the rag rug with a little murmur of pleasure at her mistress’s appearance and rubbed her head affectionately against her leg.

It was while she was waiting for the coffee pot to boil that Kate noticed a little guiltily that the piece of newspaper in which the exiled Irishman had wrapped his heirloom had been carefully stowed in the wastepaper basket. Margot, as usual tidy and methodical in her habits, must have removed it from the counter. From the heading Kate could see it was an Irish newspaper and a little curiously she picked it up. It mentioned places and events that to her ears sounded strange and remote and even faintly incredible: farmer from Ballinahasset arrested for making poteen in his outhouse; a tinker whose donkey was found wandering in Coolnagreana: a hurling match was announced at Killmacoo. With growing interest she passed to a page of advertisements: to let, grazing, fifty acres of grass limed and slagged: for sale, eight hundred bales of barley straw: wanted, day-old chicks. Her eyes strayed to a column headed ‘Matrimonial’. Underneath she read, ‘Lonely farmer seeks bride. Applicant need not be pretty, witty, or even possess dowry, but good-nature essential and ability to establish warm domestic atmosphere. Please enclose recent photograph with first letter.’

Still holding the paper, Kate sank into an armchair and once more scanned the words, ‘warm domestic atmosphere’. They had a kind of homely poetry. Chin in hand, she stared into the heart of the dying embers and tried to visualise the kind of man who had composed the advertisement. Obviously he was living up to the Irish reputation for whimsicality, yet home-loving and unavaricious. In spite of his being Irish she pictured him as sandy-haired with knobby good-natured features.

She was aware that
s
he herself was no beauty. The photographs Margot had taken of her outside the shop a few months previously had made that fact only too clear. Not of course that she would ever consider answering such an advertisement! It was not by this method that she wished to obtain a husband.

She had always imagined that one day the bell above the door of The Trinket Box would ring and, looking up, she would find herself staring into the eyes of a young and handsome man who would, of course, fall instantly in love with her. It wouldn’t really matter a lot if he weren’t rich as long as they were very mu
c
h in love. She realised however that it was extremely unlikely her dream would materialise. Margot, after all, had the proper ou
tl
ook and no doubt, in the long run, she would find a lasting contentment to recompense her for the loss of the ecstatic happiness which she had been denied.

With a sigh Kate squeezed the sheet of paper into a tight ball and tossed it towards the fire: her aim, however, was not good and it rolled back on to the hearth where Bedsocks pounced on it with glee. As Kate bent and gently disentangled the cat’s sharp claws an idea smote her
:
after all, this Irishman and herself were two lonely people. Perhaps his letters, if he should reply, would help to make endurable the dreary days ahead as Margot and herself wound up the affairs of The Trinket Box and their little world came to an end.

Carefully she smoothed out the page and folding it placed it in her dressing-gown pocket. They need go no further than exchanging letters
:
it was not, she told herself firmly, that
s
he would be foolish enough to play with fire.

CHAPTER TWO

WITH a little thud a small pile of letters popped through the letterbox and Margot, watching her young cousin closely, saw with renewed misgiving how quickly she laid down the feather duster with which she had been dreamily flicking the window display and, picking up the bundle, hastily extracted an envelope and almost covertly slid it into her pocket. Frowning, Margot returned to her task of making out tiny tickets for the coming sale.

It had been Kenneth who had suggested that the best and quickest way to dispose of the stock was to mark it down drastically. The practical side that was strong in Margot recognised that in this Kenneth was showing business acumen, yet it was with a sense of sadness that she went about her task. It was a sort of betrayal to part with her treasures at such miserable prices.

Kate, too, when she had first heard of the coming sale, had been vociferous in her indignation and had been strongly resentful when her favourite, a
carved ivory mandarin, had suffered the indignity of having a sales ticket tucked behind his fan. Lately, however, Kate’s attitude had changed
:
it was as though she had lost all interest in the fate of The Trinket Box and was dreamily absorbed in a world of her own.

At first Margot had not taken any particular notice of her cousin’s abstraction. Kate, naturally talkative and extrovert, could also be irritatingly vague, but at the same time it was impossible not to notice the lack of involvement she was displaying in their future. Even the interest she had originally shown in helping to choose materials and furnishings for the home Margot would share with Kenneth had evaporated and she listened with only half an ear to discussions of the pros and cons of the various samples of carpeting and wallpaper which were now spread out over every available piece of space in the small sitting-room.

Gradually it had become impossible to ignore the interest Kate now took in the arrival of the post and her eager scanning of the envelopes before laying them on the counter. It was her cousin’s uncharacteristic air of secrecy that troubled Margot most and it was with dismay she now saw Kate, after a few moments more of dilatory dusting, quickly leave the shop and run upstairs.

Unaware that she had been observed, Kate, her heart thumping with excitement, crossed to her bedside table and, taking the paper-knife fashioned as a miniature Toledo sword that Margot had presented to her on her last birthday, carefully slit the envelope, extracted its contents, then sat down on the edge of her bed and with trembling fingers unfolded the pale green sheets that were now so familiar.

At the beginning Owen had made lighthearted fun of his choice of writing material: ‘It’s green, because I’m a broth of an Irish boy’, he had written in his broad slanting script. But that had been in the early days soon after she had sent that first tentative letter and enclosed, with embarrassment, the snapshot Margot had taken of her. It had been touch-and-go whether
s
he would get to the stage of posting it and for days had carried it around in her handbag feeling progressively more foolish before almost feverishly pushing it into the postbox. Was it really she,
Kate Norbert, who was actually answering an advertisement in a matrimonial column inserted by an unknown Irish farmer, probably living in the centre of some almost impassable bog?—yet in spite of the fact that she should be heartily ashamed of herself she could not help feeling excitement and anticipation every time the postman arrived.

As the days passed and there had been no reply she had felt rather relieved that her foolishness could be forgotten. Then when that first letter had arrived, with her name broadly scrawled on the green envelope, she had opened it reluctantly, almost fearful of its contents, but as her eyes had scanned the slanting strokes gradually her sense of apprehension had been dispersed, for he had assured her that, flippant as his advertisement had sounded, he was genuinely seeking a bride. He had gone on to describe his farm, a smallholding known as Laragh at a place called Killmageary in County Tipperary near the border with County Limerick close to the Galtee Mountains; the simple thatched cottage with its thick whitewashed mortared walls which were warm and snug in winter, when the wind swept down from the mountains. Then, with some of the whimsicality he had displayed in the advertisement, he had painted a picture of his daily life, ploughing, harrowing and sowing potatoes, barley and wheat: the golden summers when all the neighbours joined in and helped bring in the harvest: the children who brought tea and soda-bread to the workers as they rested in the hedgerows and the Irish reels and dan
c
es in the kitchen when the day’s work was done.

The life he had described had been so completely different from anything
s
he
had experienced that Kate had found herself eager to hear more and in spite of her resolution not to reply had been unable to resist writing once again to the unknown Irishman. Other letters had followed and gradually she had found herself more and more involved in the life of a man hundreds of miles distant.

Now, as Kate sat on the side of her bed, her eyes eagerly devoured the contents of Owen Law
l
or’s latest letter: ‘It is lambing time here in Kil
lm
ageary and at present I have a small orphan lamb wrapped in red flannel in front of the fire: it has a funny, friendly little face—a bit like your own, and I’ve decided to call it Kate. Do you mind very much? But it gives me an opportunity to talk to it at night when .the turf fire sinks to a red glow and there’s no one around for miles. I tell it all the things I would tell you: for instance, how much I long to see you in person, to see you cunning towards me across the fields with that gay shy smile and that thick hair of yours blowing in the breeze. By the way, you haven’t yet told me what colour it is. However, perhaps that is as well because it gives me the excuse to pause in the daily round of tasks to consider this question seriously. Is
t
here any possibility that you could come for a visit so that I could see it for myself? My Aunt Florrie is due at Laragh next month and would serve as a chaperon, if you decided—’

There was a knock at her bedroom door. Guiltily Kate pushed the letter under her pillow as Margot entered. It was surprising to see her self-contained cousin looking almost embarrassed, and Kate wondered uneasily if Margot had guessed her secret. With characteristic directness Margot plunged into the subject of her visit. ‘It seems to me, Kate, that you’re unhappy about the arrangements we’ve made. I mean, about living with us when Kenneth and I get married.’

As Kate sat silent, unable to repudiate enthusiastically any such suggestion, Margot went on quickly, ‘I do think it would be only sensible to try things out before you make up your mind that you won’t be happy with us. After all, each of us will have a few adjustments to make.’ She hesitated and looked appealingly at her cousin, and Kate realised with a pang that Margot was distressed at her lack of enthusiasm for their future life together. She would tell Margot of her correspondence with Owen
Lawlor
, she decided suddenly. It would help to explain her abstraction and lack of co-operation.