Saddle the Wind (33 page)

‘Well, we can’t turn him out, can we?’

She frowned. ‘You want him to stay? But he’s so – so dirty and –’

‘He won’t be in a day or two, you’ll see. Just let ‘im get his health and strength back.’

Sarah said: ‘He might not want to stay. Surely he must have a home somewhere.’

Ernest looked back at the dog which now lay sleeping, head on its paws.

‘Ah, I reckon he has,’ he said with a nod. ‘And I reckon it’s ‘ere, with us.’

Under Ernest’s care there was a marked difference in the creature’s appearance and behaviour in only the space of days as its health and strength improved. Ernest called him ‘Jacko’. Blanche, calling at the cottage a week after the dog’s adoption, was surprised to see him there. She sat watching as Ernest brushed the animal’s coat. Seeing the love and trust in the creature’s soft, dark eyes as it looked up at Ernest she reflected that she had never before seen such naked adoration.

‘Is he yours?’ she asked.

Ernest nodded, smiling. ‘In a way. Though I think it might be nearer the truth to say that
I
am
his
.’

That Christmas guests were expected at Hallowford House. Edward Harrow and Gentry were to spend the holiday season there. Gentry was to visit from Oxford where he was a student at Trinity College, while his father planned to travel over from Sicily, both to see his son and to visit his old friend. Edward Harrow’s wife having died some two years earlier, he would be travelling alone. Another reason for his visit was to meet Marianne. She would be seventeen that December, and, like Savill, Edward Harrow had long had dreams of her and Gentry making a match.

Gentry, who had not been to Hallowford for several years now, was due to arrive at the house two days after the girls’ own arrival. The last time Blanche and Marianne had seen him they had been only twelve years of age. They recalled him as a tall, dark young man who had sometimes teased them, had sometimes played a few games with them, but who, for most of the time, had virtually ignored their presence. Since that time, when not able to return to Sicily, he had chosen to spend his school vacations with one or other of his fellow students, either going to stay with them at their homes, or else going off with them on various travelling holidays.

Now, on the day of Gentry’s planned arrival Savill had to go to Bath on business and he left instructions with James to drive to Trowbridge in the phaeton to
meet Gentry at the station and bring him to the house. Savill had suggested to Marianne that she and Blanche go along to welcome him, but Marianne had resisted the suggestion. She was well aware of her father’s unspoken wish with regard to herself and Gentry and silently she balked at the idea. Although she had no particular feelings at all for Gentry Harrow – she was nothing if not indifferent to him – she was quietly determined, on principle, to resist any thought that, simply because their respective fathers wished for it, there could ever be anything between them.

When the phaeton with Gentry inside eventually drove up Gorse Hill towards Hallowford House Marianne and Blanche were standing at the window of the first floor landing half-concealed behind the curtains, watching for his arrival. A minute or two later the phaeton was entering through the gates and coming up the drive.

‘Oh, Lord,’ Marianne whispered, ‘here he is. I can’t bear it.’ With her words she moved back behind the curtain. Blanche, continuing to gaze out, said, ‘Aren’t you curious as to what he’s like?’

‘Not in the least.’

The phaeton came to a stop on the forecourt below. Marianne said:

‘What’s happening?’

‘The phaeton’s stopped – and now he’s just stepping out. I can’t see what he looks like; his hat is hiding his face.’

‘Who cares what he looks like, anyway?’

‘He’s very tall.’

‘Who cares.’

‘Oh, you must give him a chance, Marianne. I’m sure he can’t be
that
bad.’

‘Are you? How can you be so sure?’

‘– Anyway, you’ll have to go down and welcome him.’

Marianne gave a resigned sigh. ‘I suppose so.’

As Marianne moved across the landing towards the stairs Blanche continued to gaze down, watching as the young man waved aside the offered help of the groom and took up his box. As he turned towards the house he glanced up and for a moment he and Blanche were looking into one another’s eyes. For a split second her gaze was held as she looked into his dark eyes; then the next moment, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks, she was stepping back out of sight behind the curtain. Marianne, half-way down the first flight of stairs, turned to her and whispered:

‘Aren’t you coming with me?’

Wild horses could not have dragged Blanche down the stairs at that moment. ‘Not for a minute,’ she said. ‘I’ll join you in a moment or two.’

Marianne shrugged, touched at her hair with a nervous hand and went on down the stairs. Blanche lingered there. Unlike Marianne she had been not a little curious about Gentry Harrow. Now, having been caught looking at him from the window, spying on his arrival, she felt she would be happier if they never met.

In seconds, however, she could hear the sound of Gentry’s entry into the hall below; Marianne’s voice and then his own – stronger and deeper than she remembered it. Turning to the mirror on the wall at the foot of the upper flight of stairs she ran a palm over her hair and ran a smoothing fingertip unnecessarily over the arching line of one eyebrow. Then, moving towards the stairs – she couldn’t stay up there forever – she started down.

As she neared the foot of the stairs she saw Gentry, his back turned to her, handing his coat and hat to the maid. She had a swift impression of black hair and broad
shoulders, and then Marianne was catching sight of her and saying, a trifle over-brightly:

‘Ah – and here’s Blanche, too.’

He turned to Blanche at the words and she found herself looking into his eyes once more – eyes almost as black as his hair – while he smiled at her, his teeth very white against the Medditerranean tan of his skin. He stepped towards her, hand outstretched.

‘Blanche,’ he said. ‘Hello. Was that you up at the window?’ Then, before she could frame a reply, he added, ‘Imagine – Blanche Farrar – still here after all these years.’

She felt the colour suffusing her cheeks for the second time in minutes. She gazed at him, horrified by his words. And he was still smiling at her, not knowing – or not caring – how his words had hurt. Then, still gazing down at her, he put his head a little on one side and said with a little nod:

‘And you’ve grown up as well, I see.’

Blanche, glaring at him, lifted her chin and said coldly:

‘I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you.’

With her words she turned, moved across the hall and walked quickly up the stairs.

Upstairs in her room, Blanche sat before her dressing table.
Still here
, he had said,
after all these years
. And his words had brought to the fore the constant awareness of Mr Savill’s generosity to her, reminding her too of all the Miss Bakers and the Helen Websters in the world. He, Gentry Harrow, she said to herself, was no better than any of them.

As she sat there there came a knock at the door. She called out, ‘Come in,’ and Marianne entered, closed the door behind her and came to her side.

‘Don’t be upset by it, Blanche.’

‘I’m not upset.’

‘He didn’t mean anything by it, I’m sure.’

‘It doesn’t matter to me. Forget it.’

‘He was just being thoughtless, that’s all. Don’t take any notice. What does it matter what he says, anyway?’

‘I just told you – it
doesn’t
. It doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.’

‘Good. It certainly doesn’t matter to
me
.’

‘Oh,’ Blanche said, ‘he thinks he’s so grand, walking in here in his new Chesterfield and his bow tie. Who does he think he’s impressing? Certainly not me.’

‘Me neither.’ Marianne gave a little snort of contempt. ‘Anyway, it’s only for this Christmas – and he’ll be gone soon afterwards.’

Later, over dinner, and afterwards in the drawing room, Gentry tried to entertain Savill and the girls with a few well-chosen and amusing stories of life in Messina and at Oxford. Although Savill clearly found the anecdotes amusing Gentry tried in vain to elicit a similar response from Marianne and Blanche. With secret signs to one another across the table the girls kept a united front against him and refused to be amused, greeting his words with smiles that were clearly nothing more than polite, and damning him with their very faint praise.

In spite of the girls’ reservations where Gentry was concerned, that Christmas was an unusually lighthearted time at Hallowford House. Marianne and Blanche – helped by Gentry – spent a good deal of time putting up festive decorations and trimming a tall tree which Gentry brought in from a nearby wood, and the house echoed with the sounds of laughter and animated voices. Two days before Christmas Gentry’s father
arrived, and he and Savill, after being apart for so many years, had a warm reunion.

After church on Christmas morning Savill, Edward Harrow, Marianne, Blanche and Gentry exchanged Christmas gifts – and once again Savill’s kindness was brought home to Blanche, for with his allowance to her she was able to give presents which were on a par with those she received. Afterwards, Savill sent her, carrying a hamper and various packages, off in the phaeton, driven by James, to see her mother and brother in Colford. When they reached the cottage James let her off, saying he would go on to have a drink at The Plough and come back to pick her up in an hour.

Blanche had written to say she would be coming that morning, and her mother and Ernest were expecting her. As she entered the cottage to be greeted by them she found that its small front parlour had been decorated with homemade paper trimmings and sprigs of holly and mistletoe. Sarah and Ernest asked her at once whether she could stay for Christmas midday dinner. She was afraid she couldn’t, she said. James was coming back for her in an hour, and she was expected back for Christmas luncheon at Hallowford House. Sarah nodded understandingly, and after Blanche was seated before the bright fire they brought her the carefully wrapped gifts that had sat waiting on the piano. From Ernest she received a little book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. From her mother came some lengths of ribbon and a pair of combs. After she had thanked them she gave them the presents she had brought, sitting eagerly watching as they unwrapped the finely-wrapped packages. Ernest first, who took from a box a fine wool muffler and six silk handkerchiefs. As he exclaimed over the gifts Blanche watched as her mother unwrapped a fine cotton night-dress with intricate lace at the throat and down the front.
Sarah shook her head in wonder, saying that she had never before had such a fine nightgown. For Jacko, Blanche had brought a fine meaty bone from the Hallowford House kitchen, and he at once lay down and began to gnaw away at it.

Sarah, meanwhile, clicked her tongue over the gifts they had given Blanche; they were so poor in comparison, she said. Brushing aside such comments, Blanche presented them with the hamper containing various consumable items, including a plum pudding, a cooked ham, an assortment of preserves, gentleman’s relish for Ernest and sugared almonds for her mother. ‘It’s too much,’ Sarah protested, but Blanche said laughingly, ‘No, no, it’s not too much at all.’

Ernest poured glasses of cider for them then and Sarah brought out some little spiced cakes which she had made early that morning. And as they ate and drank, the cider and the occasion lent to the meeting a lightheartedness that Blanche realized had not been there for some time. But even so, one part of her mind was aware, the camaraderie was only on the surface; the underlying reserve was still present.

When James knocked at the door close on noon Blanche put on her coat, kissed her mother and Ernest goodbye and, saying that she would call again soon, left the cottage. As the carriage drove along the lane she looked back and saw the two of them, Jacko at their side, standing at the gate.

The numbers at Hallowford House were swelled that evening by the arrival for dinner of Dr Kelsey and his wife, and also Savill’s brother Harold from Trowbridge. Marianne went downstairs to join her father in greeting them as they arrived; a few minutes afterwards Blanche herself went down. Wearing a new dress bought for the
occasion – a long gown of deep blue brocade with lace at the throat – she entered the drawing room where the walls were festooned with the decorations that she, Marianne and Gentry had spent so long arranging. As she gazed at the splendour of the room, the elegantly dressed guests assembled there, and the firelight reflecting in the crystal of the chandeliers and in the tinsel that hung in swathes from the tree, she could not help but contrast it with the little parlour of her mother’s cottage in Colford.

After all the greetings were over she helped Marianne in handing out canapés and refilling the sherry glasses. When that was done Gentry pointed out that the candles on the tree were still unlit and Marianne brought him a packet of Lucifers and stood beside him watching as, one by one, he lit the array of tiny candles.

Blanche, standing near Edward Harrow at that moment, noticed how he turned and caught the eye of John Savill; she noticed the brief, subtle glance they exchanged, and how their eyes then turned back to take in the pair at the tree – Gentry, tall and handsome in his dinner jacket, and Marianne beside him looking small and slender in her dress of lilac and lace.

When dinner was announced Blanche went in on the arm of Harold Savill, who was lavish in his compliments on her appearance. Over dinner he talked to her of his interest in the motor car, saying that on a recent trip to London he had seen numbers of them on the streets. It was the transport of the future, he said, and anyone with the opportunity should waste no time in investing in its promotion and manufacture. Later, the subject got around to the Jubilee celebrations of the previous summer, and Dr Kelsey spoke of the possibilities of the Empire’s expansion. ‘But where else is there to go?’ Savill asked. ‘To the north, south, east and west – a
quarter of the earth’s surface, and almost a quarter of its people, are beneath the Queen’s domination. We’ve got to stop somewhere.’