Obsession (16 page)

The result of his sister’s erratic behaviour thus explained as customary for females, Paul had elected to remain a bachelor, amusing himself when he felt like it with chorus girls who were always available to wealthy young men like himself. Their jolly behaviour never reminded him of the worrying side of his sister’s dark moods.

It had been a relief when Felicity agreed to marry the man her father had chosen for her before he died. George Goodall was almost the same age as her father, and was every bit as indulgent. For a year or two all had been well with the marriage, Felicity lacking for nothing that her wealthy husband could buy for her. Then, without known reason, he had suddenly died. The doctors were unable to discover the cause of death. His heart and other vital organs all seemed to have been in excellent condition for someone his age, and it was only after his body had been released by the authorities for burial that Felicity had said quite casually to Paul, ‘Now at last I can go on a steam ship to America. George would not even consider it no matter how hard I pleaded, silly man, saying he would be ill on board ship.’ She had gone on to say that although her husband had bought her anything she asked for without question, and paid all the bills she ran up, he would never give her money of her own. Now that he was dead, she told Paul, she was free to do as she pleased without having to ask for money or permission to do so.

‘Did you not love him?’ Paul had asked, shocked by her indifference to her husband’s death. ‘When you agreed to marry him, despite my warning that he was too old for you, you insisted upon accepting George’s proposal.’

Felicity’s reply had shocked him still more. ‘I didn’t dislike George. For one thing, I knew that, being an old man, he would almost certainly spoil me the way Papa always did. If I had married one of the silly young men who proposed to me, I would have had to lead the kind of life expected of a wife, catering to their husband’s wishes, their demands. Had I been born a boy like you, Paul, I could have done as I wished when I grew up. I made up my mind a long time ago that I was not going to waste my life having to obey a husband’s wishes. George so doted upon me, he almost always agreed to whatever I wanted – that is, until I asked him to take me to America.’

Surely, Paul had thought at the time of her marriage, his sister was not devoid of the usual feminine wish to fall in love and be loved? All the poets, writers, dramatists had love as their main topic, yet since her husband’s death his sister had seemed quite shockingly pleased with her widowhood.

For one distressing week, Paul was unable to get out of his mind the suspicion that somehow Felicity had contrived the untimely death of her elderly spouse. The thought was all the more distressing because, much as he wished it to be so, the suspicion did not seem utterly ridiculous: in the past, his sister had quietly disposed of anything she disliked or did not want. Least of all did he wish to remember the episode of the unfortunate governess who, as a child, Felicity had so disliked.

It was with a sense of relief when, at first, after the funeral, Felicity had retired to the country for the necessary period of mourning. Visiting her there as often as he could, Paul managed to persuade himself that he must have been out of his mind ever to have considered such a shocking thing as his sister contriving her husband’s demise. He recalled how she had always been a bright, carefree, amusing companion, popular wherever she went in society and with her neighbours. It was no less than shocking of him, he told himself, ever to have had such unlikely suspicions of someone with Felicity’s vivacious, outgoing personality contriving her indulgent husband’s death.

Paul had expected Felicity to fulfil her desire to go to America when she came out of mourning, but by then she had made new friends in the neighbourhood and become exceptionally close to the newly married Edgertons, who she saw several times a week.

Paul liked Brook Edgerton, who never failed to invite him to his shoots, and was charmed by his lovely young wife, Harriet, who had become Felicity’s best friend. He well understood his sister’s laughing comment that if Harriet had not married Brook Edgerton first, she would most certainly have tried to ‘nab him as a husband!’ as she put it. Sharing the joke, Harriet promised that if anything ever happened to her, she would bequeath Brook to Felicity in her will. She had no cause to be jealous as Brook treated Felicity much as he might treat a sister or a male friend, and shrugged off what he termed her childish teasing.

As time passed, Paul did find himself questioning whether this banter might have a more serious side, at least where Felicity was concerned. For the first time ever, she was behaving in a far more feminine way – as if she was intent upon winning Edgerton’s admiration. In her conversations alone with Paul at mealtimes, she seemed to mention Edgerton’s name particularly often. Edgerton, however, had eyes only for his wife, who he so clearly adored.

Not altogether easily, Paul managed to put his disquiet to the back of his mind, helped by the fact that he had fallen in love with a charming young French girl who had been sent to live in London with her aunt in order to learn English. He had neither the time nor the inclination to delve further into his sister’s life, and spent less time with her at Melton Court.

It was only at night, after an evening carousing with his friends, that he found himself waking in the early hours unable to prevent the dark thoughts surfacing from deep inside his throbbing head. If Felicity really did want Edgerton for herself, she was certainly not going to be able to break up such a devoted couple, he told himself, nor was Edgerton the type of philanderer who might be tempted to take her as his mistress.

What, he asked himself, would his sister do when she finally realized the desires he suspected her of having were thwarted? How serious was her mental state, which had been so determinedly ignored by their father?

Tossing uneasily in his bed, Paul’s thoughts went round in circles. He had always shied away from the suspicion that his sister’s mind was at times undoubtedly deranged, still less that she might have caused her husband’s unexplained death. The memory returned of her driving deliberately over a young dog she had disliked, surfacing with other such thoughts: the day when she had screamed at him, her face distorted with fury, when he’d told her he would not take her to France with his friends. He had never quite forgotten the look on her face that day.

When Paul awoke next morning, it was to the awareness of a very unpleasant hangover which he must overcome before he met his French
demoiselle
for luncheon at her aunt’s house. Then, as so often in the past, he pushed all thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind – the only place where his fears could be forgotten.

H
arriet sat on the flagstone terrace in the autumn sunshine embroidering a new, prettily-frilled collar for the blue-and-white-striped frock her little boy was wearing. It was one of several Felicity had bought for him, and Harriet sighed as she recalled how upset Maire had been at the time. As a rule she made Charlie’s clothes, and she had been quite put out when Felicity had ordered three fashionable outfits to be made for him by her own dressmaker. Pretty as they were, they were not nearly as practical as his usual workaday attire.

On the lawn below the terrace, Harriet could now see Brook with the little boy. It was warm enough for him to have removed Charlie’s woollen jacket, which now lay discarded on the lawn along with his sailor hat. Harriet smiled happily, thinking how it had now become habitual for Charlie, whenever he espied his father, to run as fast as his little legs could carry him, calling, ‘Papa! Papa! See horsey!’ As now, Brook would stop whatever he was doing and take Charlie down to the stables to see the horses. She should, she supposed, smiling, be jealous of the fact that Charlie’s speech, which had developed so remarkably quickly, was nearly all words he needed to converse with his father.

Felicity had remarked that Brook was without doubt in danger of spoiling him, an observation with which Harriet could not disagree. In truth, it was a matter of great joy to her, tempered with relief, that Brook doted on Charlie, sometimes almost excessively. Whenever he had been away from the house, his first enquiry was for Charlie’s well-being even before hers! Seeing the two most precious people in her life so united, she told herself, had finally removed the last vestige of fear that she might have done a terrible thing allowing Brook to believe he had fathered the little boy.

Father and son now disappeared round the side of the house in the direction of the stables and Harriet told Maire there was no need for her to wait for them to return; she would bring Charlie indoors in due course for his tea. As Maire disappeared, it struck Harriet not for the first time that Una’s recommendation of the young Irish girl was in no way misplaced. When they had first arrived back at Hunters Hall, Maire had been no more than a nursery nurse but she had proved so capable in every respect, and Charlie seemed so contented and thrived so well in her care, that she, Harriet, had promoted her to the superior position of Nanny. Harriet’s thoughts now turned to Felicity. In the past six months, she and Felicity had become even closer friends than before, despite the almost ten-year difference in their ages. She never objected when the older woman offered her advice, and Felicity had become like an older sister to her. That was not to say they always agreed. One difference between them was Brook’s habit of putting Charlie’s demands on his time before their own.

It was simply not normal, Felicity would reiterate, frowning, for a gentleman to behave in such a way, putting a baby’s interests before that of his guests, even such a frequent one as herself. Still less that a man should bother himself with children as young as Charlie. She had been hard put to conceal her irritation when she and her brother had invited Brook to attend an important horse sale they knew would be of interest to him, and he’d declined the invitation for no good reason. He had arranged to see his father’s carpenter, he told her, who was making a Noah’s Ark and miniature carved animals to go inside it for Charlie’s birthday. As she remarked to Paul, Brook could perfectly well have seen how the man was progressing on a different day!

She had sounded so vexed, Harriet had laughed. Felicity could not understand it.

‘I would have thought, Harriet,’ she remarked, ‘that knowing how you adore your husband, you would resent his preference for the boy’s company to yours! I most certainly would be jealous!’ Which
she
already was, Felicity had told herself, even though she was not Brook’s wife but merely a friend.

All too often of late, she had lain awake at night imagining that one day … one day in the future, if she could find a way to make Brook fall out of love with Harriet, he would turn to her for consolation. She had only to bide her time before an opportunity arose for her to find or fabricate a reason for him to turn against his wife.

For the time being, Felicity lived in hope that sooner or later the maid, Ellen, would report some discord between husband and wife – one she would quickly magnify until such time as it became a serious rift in their relationship.

It was usually after a day spent in Brook’s and Harriet’s company that Felicity was beset by such thoughts. There had been men in her past to whom she had been attracted. After her marriage to a husband the same age as her father and partially impotent, she had taken the occasional lover, but more for entertainment than because she enjoyed their physical attentions. Ever since she’d first seen Brook’s tall, handsome figure across the room, watched the habitual, slightly quizzical smile light up his face, she had realized that this was a man she instantly desired.

For a while, Felicity had tried ineffectually to ignore such hopeless yearnings, but it soon proved impossible to subdue her longings, which now seemed to intensify every time she saw him. The desire he had woken in her had become an obsession, dominating her thoughts as well as her actions.

Assured of her welcome, Felicity went more and more frequently to Hunters Hall, compelled by her need to be in close proximity to Brook. Whenever she was near him her heart would double its beat, her legs tremble and her whole body ache with the desire to be in his arms, to be a part of him. She wanted his kisses, his touch, to be naked in his embrace. Most of all she wanted to feel him deep inside her – for him to belong absolutely to her and her alone. She ceased making any effort to subdue such feelings. The need to be near him was, she sometimes thought, as compelling as opium – a drug in which she sometimes indulged.

Over a year ago, Felicity had told herself that provided she could force herself to be patient, in time she could achieve her desire. Adoring as Brook found his charming, pretty wife, she had learned that men could tire of a willing consort when the delights of those first early years of marriage had worn off; and that they would go looking for fresh conquests. When that happened with Brook, she reassured herself, she, Felicity, would be there.

Felicity was fully aware of Harriet’s past miscarriages, and how disappointed Brook had been not to have the son he wanted: to not be able to enjoy the start of the large family he and Harriet had planned. It had not then escaped her mind that if Harriet remained childless Brook might well decide his marriage had been a mistake. Although realistic enough to appreciate that even if Brook did divorce his wife, he might not consider marriage to someone of her lower origins, she would be willing to accept second best, she admitted, simply to be his mistress. Her frustration had grown as time passed with no sign of Brook’s discontent.

When Harriet had returned from Ireland with the baby which no one had known she was carrying, Brook had become even more what she, Felicity, chose to describe as besotted with his wife. At first his interest in the child did not much differ from the ordinary behaviour of a father, but gradually, as the baby had become a little boy, Brook had become captivated by him.