Gwendolen (4 page)

*

The charade's climax was the miraculous animation when I, the statue, came to life and Leontes knelt to kiss the hem of my dress. Herr Klesmer was to strike the chord of animation. He sat at the piano. I stood immobile, elevated on a sort of plinth. Leontes gave permission for Paulina to make the statue speak and move. ‘Music, awake her, strike!' mamma declared. Klesmer crashed the piano keys. As he did so the panel in the wainscot opposite the stage flew open. There again, illumined by candlelight, was the dead face and fleeing figure. I screamed, collapsed to my knees and covered my face. Mamma and Rex rushed to help me from the room.

The perplexed guests conjectured whether or not the scene was intended and wondered about the provenance of the panel. I was mortified. I forced myself to reappear quickly as if nothing was amiss. ‘We have to thank you for devising a perfect climax,' Klesmer said, and I flushed with relief and embarrassment and half took him to mean he recognised my acting talent. Later I learned he and everyone else concluded it was an unplanned mishap. His new-found tact was prompted by pity. As witness to my frailty, not my talent, he chose to spare me further mortification. Rex, who already loved me, saw proof of my sensibility and loved me the more. Other guests let the matter drop.

*

I was disturbed that the helpless fear which beset me in private could show itself in such a public way. Apparently Isabel, curious about the image that caused me acute distress, had taken the key and unlocked the panel. She trembled as she asked my forgiveness, which I granted out of a wish not to mention any of it ever again.

I did not understand my eruptions of madness. Mamma called them my sensitiveness, but there was something else, a spiritual dread. None of uncle's exhortations in church helped me. I came to think you might reconcile me to this inner darkness and guide me to a place of peace with myself. ‘Safeguard your fear,' you were to say to me. Down the years I have so often said that to myself: ‘Safeguard your fear, Gwendolen. Safeguard your fear.' I might have managed that with your arms around me.

*

Rex was one of the men I spurned. Oh and poor Mr Middleton. And poor Mr Clintock. Rex and Anna were devoted siblings. He was the light of her life, her guide and mentor. I liked his company and found him handsome and clever. The three of us would sing and play the piano, go riding, walking and on picnics.

Anna observed his love for me and rightly feared I would reject him. The simplicity of his devotion made me cruel. Though I loved him as if he were my brother, I could not return his passion. He was so upright, so defined by Pennicote: the dutiful son, loyal to his family, ambitious to serve as a lawyer, respectful of polite society. Anyway uncle would never have countenanced our marrying: young as we were, first cousins and without money.

Rex loved my frailty, strength and beauty. He laughed at my jokes and respected my moods. Had we married, he would have been my attentive husband and wise, judicious friend. He would have encouraged my ambition, adored our children, provided a smart house and secure income. He was so opposite to mamma's feckless husbands. But his virtues were a problem to me.

*

I recall with shame the morning I inveigled him to ride with the hounds. I chose to ride despite forbiddance from uncle and dissuasion from mamma, who was conscious of how my father died in a riding accident. Uncle said no lady rode with the hounds except Mrs Gadsby who until she married the Yeomanry Captain had been a kitchen maid and still spoke like one. I scorned their concerns and lightly disobeyed. Lord Brackenshaw, who owned the hunt, had invited me. (His pink coat was always stained and from his appearance it was hard to believe him a man of fabulous wealth.)

His daughters Beatrix and Maria were to ride with him, so I urged Rex to ride with me. Uncle was away. Rex reluctantly agreed and, without asking, took the old horse Primrose. It was a beautiful January morning, the branches of the elm trees bare, the air fresh, the hedges sprinkled with red berries. As we trotted along, Rex asked what I hoped to do in my life. I feared a forthcoming hint at marriage. I was amused by his adoration but alarmed lest he might overtly make love to me. I did not want to hear the words or sense a desire to embrace me. The idea made me shrink. I told him I should like to go to the North Pole, compete in steeplechases, dress like a man and be Queen of the East like Hester Stanhope.

‘You don't mean you'd never be married?' Rex asked. I said if I married I should not do as other women did, nor be like them. He then made some silly speech about a man who loved me more dearly than anything in the world and would let me do just as I liked. I asked if he meant Mr Middleton, then cantered away after the hounds.

I was soon far ahead. Primrose, stiff and slow, was not a hunting horse and Rex struggled to catch up. In the effort Primrose caught her hoof in a hole, fell, broke her knees and threw Rex over her head. He was stunned, his shoulder dislocated. Joel Dagge the blacksmith's son found him lying alone in Mill Lane, wrenched his shoulder back into its socket and helped him home.

I knew nothing of all this. I supposed Rex to have given up and gone home. I enjoyed the chase and thought no more of him. All those taking part commended my spirited riding. At the end of a triumphant day, escorted by Lord Brackenshaw, I rode home with the fox's tail fastened to my saddle.

*

At the rectory uncle chastised Rex for taking Primrose without asking, using her as a hunter and allowing me to ride with the hounds. He ordered him to leave Pennicote next day, spend the rest of his vacation in Southampton then go back to Cambridge.

Rex cried and said he could not leave without first telling me he loved me. Uncle told him it was impossible: he was too young, first cousins should not marry and I must ally myself to rank and wealth. Rex, he said, would soon recover; life was full of such brief disappointments. Uncle sent Rex to his room and told him they would talk again in the morning.

He then came to Offendene to tell mamma and me of Rex's fall. Rex had suffered no great damage, so I could not care about it. I thought the incident absurd: I had a picture of him, ridiculous on Primrose, stumbling in the lane, his cheeks puffed and red. I am afraid I laughed. Uncle saw I was not the least in love, but he forbade me to hunt again. ‘When you are married it will be different,' he said. ‘You may do whatever your husband sanctions. But if you intend to hunt you must marry a man who can keep horses.'

I made some pert retort and left the room. The exchange wiped away my elation of the morning. I abhorred the idea of the wife as a chattel. I intended to hunt without a husband's sanction. The previous evening I had told mamma men were too ridiculous and I could never fall in love. Of the men who wooed me, Rex was an adoring boy, Clintock wrote risible poems about croquet, and Middleton the assistant clergyman had watery blue eyes, pale whiskers and yellow teeth.

Uncle, satisfied by my lack of concern, gave Rex permission to walk over and see me next day.

*

Offendene was two miles from the rectory. Rex, his arm in a sling, arrived in the early morning. I, tired from the previous day, was not yet down from my room.

He waited in the drawing room. I did not want to see him. I suspected he intended to inflict embarrassment on me. I wore a black silk dress and a black band in my hair. I stood by the fire, viewed him coldly, then said formally, ‘I hope you are not much hurt, Rex. I deserve your reproach for your accident.' He responded with some gracious remark about the small price of paying for the pleasure of my company with a tumble.

He talked about going to Southampton, said it would be an empty place without me and how all the happiness of his life depended on my loving him more than anyone else. I loathed such drivel. It felt like invasion. He tried to take my hand and I backed away. ‘Pray don't make love to me,' I scolded. ‘I hate it.' He went pale and his mortification compounded my contempt. I glared. He was twenty, like me. ‘Is that the last word you have to say to me, Gwendolen?' he asked. ‘Will it always be so?'

I observed his wretchedness, felt anger with him for subjecting me and himself to this, and regret for the companionship I supposed we now would lose. ‘About making love? Yes,' I said. ‘But I don't dislike you for anything else.' I resented being forced to say such things. He looked entirely crushed. There was a pause. He said goodbye and left the room. I heard the hall door bang behind him.

The whole scene was intolerable. I sat on the couch by the fire and sobbed. Mamma came in, circled her arms around me, pressed her cheek against my head and tried to tilt my chin to see my face. I crumpled in her arms. ‘O mamma, what can become of my life,' I sobbed. ‘There's nothing worth living for. I shall never love anybody. I can't love people. I hate them.'

‘The time will come, dear, the time will come,' mamma said. I put my arms around her neck, clung to her and said, ‘I can't bear anyone but you to be very near me.'

*

And it was true. It was as if a key were needed to unlock my heart and turn me from a child into a woman so that I might love someone else besides mamma. That key I came to believe was held by you.

Of course aunt and Anna blamed me for Rex's distress. It must ever be the woman's fault. Anna remained courteous but became wary and distant. My aunt believed if Rex adored me I must have behaved like a coquette and led him on. She thought mamma spoiled me. But if I could not say yes to Rex what could I say but no.

*

Rex became depressed and unreasonable and announced a wild plan to give up studying law, go to Canada as a forester and live as a peasant in a hut. Anna vowed to go with him to cook and mend his clothes. She said it would be an escape from crinolines, feathered hats, gloves and after-dinner small talk. Uncle dismissed such ideas as nonsense and talked of obligations and ties. He allowed Rex a term out from Cambridge, forbade any further mention of his feelings for me and ‘the whole business' and said the less it was mentioned the sooner it would blow over.

*

Time passed: February to April, May to June. There was the Italian question, the Polish question, the Schleswig-Holstein question. In Chipping Norton rioters tried to free the sixteen women known as the Ascott Martyrs, and in London Alexandra Palace was destroyed by fire only a fortnight after opening. But Wancester was peaceful and unchanging. Horse dealers and saddlers plied their trade. Farmers sold their hay. The most exciting news in Pennicote was that Sir Hugo Mallinger's nephew, Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt, was to visit and stay at Diplow Hall until the hunting season.

*

We had heard rumour of Sir Hugo's dislike of this nephew; how poor Lady Mallinger was afflicted with a sense of failure for having borne four daughters and no son to inherit the Mallinger estates; how this Henleigh Grandcourt, already rich beyond the dreams of most, stood to inherit, because of the law of primogeniture, Topping Abbey, Ryelands, Diplow and the rest.

There was much anticipation about the arrival in Pennicote of such a wealthy bachelor. He was thirty-six, his mother also owned land and there was some hereditary title, so given a couple of other judicious deaths, more riches and status would be his. Provided he was not too gross in appearance or irredeemably venal, any shortcomings of character were as nothing in the light of these virtues.

*

Mamma told me
you
were commonly supposed to be Sir Hugo's beloved son, the result of a passionate romance with a foreign princess, but as you were illegitimate you could not inherit from him. I thought you sounded mysterious, the victim of an injustice on a par with those directed at women.

*

Mr and Mrs Arrowpoint hoped their Catherine would win Henleigh Grandcourt's hand. Quetcham Hall was magnificent and Catherine already worth half a million, but the rich like to become richer. To their chagrin she had recently turned down Lord Slogan, who owned much of County Cork. Uncle and mamma, seduced by the prospect of country estates, a London town house and hunters and racers, hoped for Grandcourt to be smitten with me. Uncle chose not to hear gossip from male acquaintances about Grandcourt's personal life. Mamma saw no solution to my ambition except through marriage and hoped, even if Grandcourt did not win my heart, I would find him suitable or at least acceptable. I was aware that after the fuss with Rex, I would provoke harsh criticism if Grandcourt evinced interest in me and I then spurned him.

*

Grandcourt was expected to appear on the 25th of June at the Brackenshaw Park Archery Club competition which was to be followed by a dinner and dance at the Castle. Tickets were for the privileged. I was invited as a new member on uncle's recommendation for he and I shared an enthusiasm for archery. He was one of the best bowmen in Wessex and I thought it an elegant, artful sport – my namesake Gwendolen was the Lady of the Bow.

*

This was our first summer at Offendene, we had been there eight months, the hours of daylight were long and the weather warm after months of rain. On the day of the meeting I chose to wear white cashmere with a pale-green feather in my hat. I sensed mamma's anticipation as I dressed. I teased her: ‘You and uncle and aunt all intend me to fall in love with this Grandcourt,' and I made a gesture as if drawing my bow. I assured her that with me in the fray no other girl had a chance of piercing his heart.

*

Brackenshaw Castle, built of limestone, was set high on a hill among beech and fir trees and its park spread far into the valley. On that June day some of Lord Brackenshaw's tenants and their families were allowed into the white arcaded archery hall to watch the competition.

Klesmer was in the Arrowpoints' party. Gesticulating, animated, out of place in this most English of gatherings, with his mane of hair and chimney-pot hat, bowing at the ladies, his hand on his heart, he looked like Genius in an allegory. Catherine, in a gold dress, looked like Wealth. ‘What extreme guys these artistic fellows are,' Clintock said to me.