Midsummer's Eve (36 page)

But he had gone.

A terrible sense of loneliness swept over me. I knew then that I wanted him back. Even if he
had
been there on that night, I loved him enough to be able to understand that he was carried away by his desire to watch the behaviour of people and compare it with what had happened long ago.

But he had gone and I had wounded him so deeply that he would never forgive me for what I had done. It was the cruellest blow one partner of a prospective marriage could deal another. If I had broken it off even a week ago the blow would have been less acute. But to leave it until the very day of the wedding, that seemed heartless. I knew that was what he was thinking. He must despise me.

No wonder I was unhappy. I felt I was losing everything I cared for.

That day which was to have been my wedding day seemed as though it would never end. There was no one I could talk to, not even Helena. I could not tell her of my fears, that I did not trust Rolf. Why did I doubt him? He had said he was not there. Until recently I should have believed him—but what had happened in London had made me doubt human nature … and Rolf was human.

How bitter he must be feeling! I tried to tell myself that he would be in mourning for Cador, not for me, but I could not entirely believe that.

If only my parents had not died our marriage would have been a joyous occasion. I should have known that he was not marrying me for my possessions. But would memories of that Midsummer’s Eve be as fresh in my mind even then?

I was afraid it was something I should never forget.

Helena had written to her mother to tell her that the wedding was not taking place for she would be expecting us to arrive in London.

“I haven’t given her any reason,” she said. “I have just written to say that the wedding is off and that we shall be here for a while.”

She did not attempt to probe. Gentleness was one of her greatest qualities which went with a certain acceptance that things did not always go right. That was something she herself had learned through bitter experience.

The days dragged on. When I rode along the quay I was aware of furtive looks. They were all wondering why I had almost reached the altar before I decided to run back.

I did not see Rolf, but I heard he had left Luke Tregern in charge and gone away. No one was quite sure where.

That was a wise thing to do. Trust Rolf to be wise.

Helena said to me one day: “Annora, I think you ought to get away. Bob Carter can look after everything. He does now so what difference does it make? My mother is urging us to come to London.”

I knew that she was right.

It was a relief to leave Cador.

Aunt Amaryllis was so kind and no one asked embarrassing questions. They just took it for granted that I had changed my mind.

Helena was welcomed back and Jonnie became everyone’s favourite.

Peterkin said: “You’ve come just at the right time. You’ll be able to come to our wedding.”

Then he looked a little shamefaced as though it was tactless of him to refer to weddings. I hastily assured him that I should be delighted to come.

He had changed a good deal. He was wildly enthusiastic about his work and he and Frances were obviously very pleased with each other. Frances had been able to extend her activities considerably and it was all due to the support she had received from Uncle Peter. It was true that in the press there were constant references to the mission work which Miss Cresswell and Mr. Lansdon were doing. It was a piquant story for they were the daughter and son of those two men who not long ago had been in the news, suspected of questionable behaviour.

Uncle Peter amazed me. He was more ebullient than ever. He was full of energy, always engaged in some project, and I believed his business was flourishing. No one could shut down his clubs because he kept within the law. He maintained that worldly insouciance implying that they were a necessity in a less than perfect world and he almost succeeded in giving the impression that he was a benefactor to society.

In spite of my sorrow in my loss which still persisted and my guilt in having treated Rolf so badly, I began to feel a little better in London.

I remembered that there had been talk, when my parents were alive, of having a season. Had things gone differently this would have come about. But there was no question of it now.

Aunt Amaryllis could have launched me, I suppose, but the recent scandal might have made it a little awkward even if my parents’ death had not made it quite undesirable.

Aunt Amaryllis had referred to it vaguely, but I had hastily brushed it aside.

“Perhaps later …” said Aunt Amaryllis.

But I did not feel like a young debutante. I certainly did not want to join that band of girls who were led forth to display their charms, both physical and financial, in the hope of acquiring a husband. I felt old by comparison; if not in years, in experience.

But there were moments in London when I could forget these matters which weighed so heavily on me. Aunt Amaryllis was determined to lighten my spirits. There were visits to the opera; there were rides in the Park and visits to the Mission in the East End. I was beginning to feel alive again.

I found the papers interesting. There was a great deal going on. The Flora Hastings affair was still being widely discussed and the Queen was decidedly out of favour on this account. Moreover there was another matter over which she was being severely criticized.

Her relationship with Lord Melbourne was the subject for sly jokes; his government had been defeated and she, being so devoted to him, had developed a great antipathy to Sir Robert Peel.

Uncle Peter discussed these matters at length when he dined with us. They were not frequent, those occasions, because he was usually busy somewhere else but, oddly enough, I found myself looking forward to them. I knew that he was amoral and my mother had hated him because he had blackmailed her—or rather they had blackmailed each other—before she married my father, and, of course, I knew the nature of his business; yet there he was, setting aside his misdemeanours, snapping his fingers at scandal and giving the impression that he had outwitted all his critics. I should not have admired him, but I could not help it; and his conversation was always lighthearted and amusing.

He told us wittily about the Queen versus Sir Robert Peel; how she called him the “music master,” because of the nervous way he pranced on the carpet when he was talking to her, for she would not ask him to sit down and etiquette prevented his doing so without that invitation.

“Of course he is nervous in her presence. No cosy têtes-à-têtes as with dear Lord Melbourne. Odd, to think of a great statesman being nervous of a young girl … for that is all she is. But it is the crown, of course. Peel wants the Whig ladies dismissed from the Bedchamber and Tory ladies to replace them. The Queen says No; and Peel says, No Tory Bedchamber Ladies and no Peel for P.M. It is an impasse. And the result, the return of Melbourne to totter along in power for a few more months. An early election is inevitable and even Her Majesty cannot stop that. Then it will be the retirement of Lord M and the Whig Bedchamber Ladies, I fear.”

“And what do you think will happen at the election, Uncle?” I asked.

“No doubt about it. A majority for Peel and the Tories.”

I looked at him intently. It was the election he had been waiting for. But for the scandal he would have been standing and I had no doubt that he would have been elected. Then, of course, with his power and his money and his adroit cleverness it would have been a ministerial post for him. Being Uncle Peter he would most certainly have had his eyes on the Premiership. Yet there he was smiling nonchalantly, discussing it all amusingly with no sign of any deep regret. Yet he had wanted advancement in that direction so fervently that he had sought to disqualify Joseph Cresswell.

It was a wicked thing to have done. How could I admire him for anything after that? It seemed that I was becoming tainted with that worldliness myself, or was I beginning to understand that people are complicated with good and bad closely entwined?

The days slipped by. I was sleeping better and was a little more interested in food and what I should wear. Helena and I went shopping. We bought clothes for ourselves and Jonnie. The streets were full of activity and there was always something new to see. I was fascinated by the Flying Pieman, who did not sell pies but hot puddings, running through the streets with his tray on which his puddings steamed. He hardly stopped to serve his customers for he had deposited his wares early in the morning at various public houses where the food could be kept hot; then he sped through the streets from one to another so that the puddings could be served steaming hot. The ballad singers also interested me. They did a big trade if there was an execution. They would have accounts of the murder or verses reputed to have been written by the condemned on the eve of execution. It was all rather grim and for that reason attracted many buyers. There were ballad singers and groups singing madrigals. Those streets were so lively, and it was impossible not to get caught up in the excitement.

News came that Flora Hastings had died and that her death was due to a malignant growth. This had made her body so swollen that the false impression had been given that she was pregnant. The indignation of the people was great.

So easily swayed, they sanctified Flora Hastings and vilified the Queen—for they had to have a scapegoat. The papers were full of the affair. People walked about the streets displaying placards on which were written: “Murder at Buckingham Palace.” The Queen was hissed when she rode out in her carriage.

“We shall see sparks flying at the funeral,” said Uncle Peter. “The Queen and Melbourne must be uneasy. It’s bad for them that she died at Buckingham Palace and the cortège will start from there. I’d be ready to swear that they will leave earlier than stated because they’ll be hoping to get well away before the crowds become unmanageable. Anything could happen. It’s to be hoped the Queen’s advisers won’t let her attend. I don’t think it would be safe for her little Majesty.”

She did not attend but she sent her carriage. A stone was thrown at it.

I said to Uncle Peter: “Why do they blame her? I suppose she only listened to her advisers.”

“A monarch cannot afford to take the wrong side. No, Her Majesty is not to blame. She has the kindest of hearts and is most sentimental. This has been worked up between the Queen’s household and that of her mother. Things are never quite as they seem, Annora my dear. There are intrigues and feuds where you would least expect them. Don’t fret. Her Majesty is quite safe on the throne.”

“But when she was crowned they cheered her so madly. They really loved her then.”

“They’ll love her again. The crowd’s love is very fickle. It’s like the weather. You can never rely on it. It is well to remember that it changes quickly. But everything blows over eventually.”

It seemed to me that he was quite fond of me. He often talked to me which I thought was rather strange, as I must have seemed very young and inexperienced to such a worldly man.

One late afternoon when Helena and I returned from a visit to the shops, we were told by one of the maids that a gentleman was in the drawing room with Mrs. Lansdon and we were to go there as soon as we came in.

Giving our parcels to the maid to be taken to our rooms we went into the drawing room.

To our amazement Matthew was there.

Helena gave a little cry. He came to her, and putting his hands on her shoulders, kissed her.

Then he turned to me.

“I am so pleased to see you, Annora,” he said, taking my hands. “I … heard. I was so sorry I was not there to help.”

I shook my head and tried to fight back the emotion which reference to the tragedy always aroused. I said: “Matthew, how are you? How long have you been back?”

“Some little time,” he said. “I went to Cornwall. Your letter said you would be there. They gave me hospitality for a night and then I started on the journey here.”

Aunt Amaryllis said: “Isn’t it wonderful? You must be very happy, Helena. You have been so long apart.”

“How is Jonnie?” asked Matthew.

“He is well. You’ll want to see him, of course.”

I thought: Helena is keeping up the pretence that this is an ordinary marriage—and Matthew is helping her.

“He’s in the nursery,” went on Helena. “Come up.”

They went. Aunt Amaryllis looked at me and said: “He seems a very pleasant young man. And so earnest. Before you came he was telling me about his research and his book. I do hope it is soon published. I think he is a very
good
young man.”

I was amazed at the impact Matthew made on the family. He had always seemed to me rather insignificant apart from his ambition to do good. He had never shown great interest in anything but prison reform.

It was Uncle Peter, of course, who was behind it all.

When he had heard that Matthew had collected his material and had already written it in the form of a book he wanted to see the book and Matthew willingly showed him. Having read it Uncle Peter was enthusiastic.

“It must be published without delay,” he said. “Leave it to me. It is a matter of making sure it receives notice. I know people, I know how these things are done. People should know of these evils.”

He gave me a broad smile for he saw the amazement on my face; he knew that I was thinking of the work that he had kept secret for so long.

There was some motive behind Uncle Peter’s interest. With Uncle Peter there would always be a motive.

Matthew was delighted. Before he had been in the house a few days he was Uncle Peter’s devoted disciple. He listened to his views with reverence; he must have known the nature of Uncle Peter’s business but like so many before him he was ready to forget that. It must have seemed to him that anyone who cared so much about prison reform was a good man.

Uncle Peter acted quickly. He found a firm which was eager to publish the book. A few adjustments would have to be made.

“Always the case,” said Uncle Peter lightly, “with people who are not professional writers. The sooner we get the whole thing ready and out, the better.”