Dorothy Eden (24 page)

How were they to get through the evening?

As it happened, there was no time for Hetty to change her dress, or even to worry about the evening, for the first guests were arriving, a group of officers from a near-by convalescent home.

The men hesitated between Hetty and Julia, and finally formed a circle round Hetty.

They introduced themselves, apologising for their assorted infirmities, a stiff leg, an arm in a sling, an empty sleeve …

“We’ve still got the insides of our heads intact. We hope. Is that tall good-looking lady our hostess? Should we have spoken to her first?”

There were more people arriving and greeting Julia with uninhibited cries of pleasure.

“Hunting types,” muttered one young lieutenant to the other, and turned back to Hetty with relief. “May we stay with you? You look friendlier than her.”

“I am, too.” Hetty laughed, enjoying their admiration.

“You’re an American! Say, that’s interesting.”

“My name’s Hetty. Actually I’m Lady Hazzard,” she smiled mischievously. “And your hostess. But do call me Hetty.”

She beckoned to Bates to bring drinks for the embarrassed men, and looked frankly at their infirmities, the empty sleeve, the leg that would probably remain permanently stiff. “Aren’t you all lucky, you won’t have to go back to the front again. My brother-in-law may be invalided out of the army, too. My husband is another matter. We’re expecting him home on leave this weekend, but he hasn’t turned up. I’m sure he will before the party’s over. We mustn’t let that spoil the fun.”

She didn’t miss the quick significant look that passed from one to the other. In their experience, anyone who didn’t turn up was dead.

As she had anticipated, this was going to be a long and difficult evening, and how hot it still was. The green silk, too tight for comfort, was sticking to her. What did she do next? Lady Flora would not approve of her allowing herself to be monopolised by three young army officers, but she had never been to a party before, something no one realised.

“Don’t go away, Hetty. You’re the prettiest girl here,” one of the young officers was saying.

“I’m not going away. But you must meet other people. Sit down if you want to, or wander in the garden. It smells delicious in the dark. Oh, here’s my sister-in-law. Kitty, these boys are from the convalescent home. Maybe you nursed them in hospital?” She lowered her voice. “Do I have to talk to those hunting people?”

“Of course. You should talk to everybody. Surely you know that?”

The scolding whisper made Hetty’s cheeks flush. Now the room was full and very noisy. Words reached her from Julia’s friends. “Nice filly he’s got, ha ha.” Did that mean a horse or herself? “The one in the stables is better,” Julia answered, and there was a burst of laughter. Hetty sought for innocuous people, the nice bank manager, the vicar and his wife. Clemency, she knew, would not have behaved like this. She would have made herself the centre of attention all the time. But no one here knew that, except Hugo, and still there was no sign of him. As time went on she had an overwhelming urge to be near the door, not only so that she would be the first to welcome him when he came, but to breathe some fresh air.

A hand closed gently round her bare arm.

“I was right from the beginning. You
are
a mermaid.”

She had jumped at his touch.

“Oh, Lionel, I’m so edgy, waiting for Hugo.”

In contrast to the pallor of his face, his eyes looked deeply black.

“Jacobina waited longer than you have. Don’t you remember what she wrote?
You had been away so long and I was lonely
… It’s appallingly hot in here. Do you think we could stroll outside for a while? We won’t be missed now Julia has her gaggle of elderly colonels. Do people like that ever lower their voices, you were going to say. No, never.”

“Those young officers—”

“Nurse Kitty has taken command there. And Mother’s got all her old admirers round her. The Hazzards at play. We haven’t exposed you to this kind of nonsense before, have we? Do you want to run away from it?”

“I can’t, can I?”

“You can do anything in the world you like.” She wondered if he were a little drunk, but already he was guiding her towards the door, and she was longing for the cooler air, and the darkness.

“Are you very upset that Hugo hasn’t turned up?”

“Of course I am. I’m desperately worried.”

The gravel crunched beneath their feet. They walked towards the yew walk and the black glass glimmer of the lake. It was very dark, with no stars. Surely that massing blackness over their heads was thunder clouds. Kitty had said to Lionel,
“That little cheat from New York.”

With some subtle questioning, was that description what he was setting out to establish now?

“If Hugo never came home again—”

“Don’t say that!”

“There would be me and you still.” He drew her closer to him, in the darkness, and then she was in his arms. The radiant excitement was blotting out all discretion, all sense. She had so longed for this kiss.

And now I am with child …
Jacobina’s forlorn words slid in and out of her mind. Lionel, this is wrong … Kitty, Freddie, Hugo, they’re all watching. Everyone watches me all the time.

But what was wrong about such a natural melting together? It had been inevitable from the day of their first meeting when he had stirred in the chair by the fire and gazed at her.

“Hetty!” He drew away. “Let’s sit by the lake. We have to talk.”

Before they could move however, there was a brilliant flash of lightning and the flowers in the garden sprang out at them, roses, night stock, rosy petunias, in an arabesque of colour that almost instantly vanished. A portentous roll of thunder shook the warm air.

“Damn!” said Lionel. “Do you mind getting wet?”

The merest quiver of dread touched her.

“Not on this hot night. Lionel, I should tell you, I overheard something you and Kitty were saying this evening. She accused you of being in love with me, and then she called me ‘that little cheat from New York’. Why did she say that?”

“They’re all jealous of you.”

“Do you think I’m a cheat?”

“Only when I’m not allowed to kiss you.”

There was a rustling in the bushes and trees, as raindrops began to fall. Hetty felt her bare arms splashed, and her face.

“Lionel, how can we be in love? There are too many complications.”

He was quiet and persuasive. “Let’s just enjoy ourselves at this minute. Later—”

The thunder crashed again, and in mid-sentence Lionel’s words were drowned as a cloudburst descended on them. Water ran down Hetty’s neck and into her eyes, blinding her, and trickled into her mouth chokingly. Cold drenching streams of water that brought back powerful memories of drowning, of being weighted down by heavy skirts, unable to move, to see, to breathe. The nightmare was so vivid that she momentarily lost consciousness.

She recovered, to feel the rain still falling on her face, and Lionel holding her, and a dim memory in her head of screams.

“Clemency! Clemency!” The distraught voice floating over the sea.

Had that been her voice? Oh, dear God!

“We ought to get out of this,” said Lionel. Was there just the least stiffness in his voice? “It’s easing off a little. We’ll slip in the back way. Don’t worry, we won’t be the only ones to get a drenching. Feel better now?”

Hetty stirred. She felt achingly tired.

“Yes. Sorry. What happened?

“I think you fainted. Scared of thunderstorms?”

“No. Only of water.”

“Of course. I understand. Afraid your dress is ruined.”

“I’ll have to change. So will you. Oh dear, you won’t catch a chill, will you? This time Kitty will never forgive me.”

Kitty, the wife.

“Lionel, we haven’t talked.”

“No. We were rudely interrupted. By God, I imagine.”

“I thought I heard someone screaming.” Her voice was tentative. “Was it me?”

“Yes.”

The thunder crashed again, farther off, a retreating menace.

“Words?”

“Not very intelligible.”

But she knew he had heard her crying for Clemency who was drowning. What was he to make of that?

Trembling, her cold wet fingers clinging to his they made their way back to the house and were able to slip up the garden stairs unobserved. They did have a little luck.

Not much, however, as the next day proved. The yellow telegram with its stark message, that Major Lord Hazzard was seriously wounded in France, arrived just after breakfast.

This time it was Julia, not Hetty, who fainted.

“D
O YOU WANT TO
talk, Hetty?” asked Lionel in his gentle courteous voice, catching up with her as she walked up and down, up and down, the gravel drive.

“What would I say?”

He shook his head slowly. “There isn’t anything to say, I suppose. You’ll have to stay with Hugo. I’m sure you’ve already made that decision.”

“Yes, I have. Of course.”

Of course I have, she added silently and furiously. Because I am not so heartless as to leave a sick husband, and besides that would mean leaving Loburn. Which is one thing I will not do, now or at any time. It was the only thing in this rocking world which represented stability. Clemency would have agreed, had she been faced with this situation. They were both granddaughters of a highly successful American property man, after all.

“Kitty tells me I fantasise.” Lionel looked hollow-cheeked, and very tired. “Perhaps I do.”

Was he telling her he didn’t love her, he had only been playing a game? Her chin went up.

“We’ve encouraged you,” said Hetty. “Freddie and I. We loved your
Iliad
stories. I expect it’s dull, being a convalescent. Hugo will find that, too.”

“But he’ll have you,” Lionel said briefly.

No, he’ll have Julia. And you’ll have Kitty and Freddie, and their life won’t be messed up and there won’t be any more of those iridescent dreams. Besides, you don’t entirely trust me after last night, do you, Lionel? I can see it in your eyes … Why, why? Why is it always me who is the outsider?

This thought came back to her frequently in the days that followed. She thought of Julia’s regal beauty in her white satin dress. No wonder she had been mistaken for the lady of the house on the night of the party. She would have been much more suitable in that role than this volatile American who, even after a year, remained a stranger. As if there were some insurmountable barrier between her and an English family.

Of course there was—but this was not as they thought, her nationality. It was her guilt.

After two anxious weeks of trying to get news of Hugo and the extent of his wounds, they heard at last that he was in hospital in France, and would be sent back to England when he was fit to travel. He had suffered severe injuries, losing a leg, and an eye.

The last, no doubt, explained the letter from his batman to Hetty.

Dear Lady Hazzard,

I been to see the Major in hospital and he has asked me to write to you and tell you he don’t want anyone to try to come and see him. Specially you. You’ll have to be patient, my lady. Nasty wounds upset a man’s mind. I know this as well as anyone, having been 1 year and 6 weeks at the front. You better respect his wishes. I’m ever so sorry to lose him, he was kind and considerate, a real gentleman.

Yours respectfully,

Andy Wright (Cpl)

Lady Flora was unexpectedly kind.

“Come, my dear. Sensitive men don’t like their wives to see them in extremity.”

But Hetty had never thought Hugo a particularly sensitive man. If he had been, how could he have allowed his mistress to stay on in the house after his marriage?

“Why am I always being punished?” she burst out.

“Punished? I don’t know what you mean. You are only one of thousands of young wives whose husbands have suffered dreadful injuries. You simply must be brave and accept things as they are. Wait patiently until Hugo comes home. That is what we all have to do.” She added thoughtfully, “Unless there is some special reason why you think you ought to be punished.”

“Why ever should I think that?” Hetty said aggressively.

The big limpid eyes surveyed her. After a long pause, Lady Flora said, “Perhaps because you’re an American and aren’t buoyed up by patriotic feelings, since this isn’t your country’s war. Though I would have thought by now that you would have felt completely on our side.”

At last she escaped from Lady Flora’s subtly barbed tongue. The gloom of the winter drawing room on a summer afternoon was exactly suited to her mood.

Serve you right, serve you right. This is your punishment for your wicked deceit, being tied to a disabled bad-tempered difficult husband for the rest of your life.

But she was still Lady Hazzard, she told herself over and over. She was still entitled to be mistress of this lovely old house, even if she had an impotent husband. Impotent? No one had suggested that, except perhaps by innuendo. As Lady Flora had wisely counselled, one must wait and see. But her chances for love had gone. Lionel, with his beautiful face, his charming fantasies, had taken that away.

If she sometimes thought she heard Clemency laughing at her in those haunted days, she told herself it was pure fancy. Clemency couldn’t go on tormenting her all her life, could she?

People forgot. One day no one would remember how she had been a shivering naked waif dragged out of the sea. With only the badge of gold round her wrist to establish her identity. The bride from the sea.

Freddie, at least, remained her friend. His shining owlish eyes were fixed on her in awe and sympathy.

“Daddy says Uncle Hugo will have a black patch over his eye. He’ll look like a pirate. Will you like that, Hetty?”

“Oh, I expect I won’t mind it too much for myself. Only for Uncle Hugo.”

“You won’t be frightened?”

“Of my husband? Goodness me, no.”

“Mummy says he’ll be a bad patient. Does that mean he’s going to die?”

“No, no, it means he may be a bit difficult. Angry. That will be a good sign. It will mean he’s getting better.”