Saddle the Wind (49 page)

‘Will you miss me, Blanche?’ he said again.

‘Yes – of course.’

And yes, she would miss him, she said to herself. She would miss him for a while. He was a striking man, in his own way, and he had a warm, outgoing personality. And he was good company in these times when part of her mind was so concerned with anxieties over Gentry and Ernest. But for all that she liked him and enjoyed being with him, she could not return the affection he so clearly felt for her.

They were walking beside a park, and his footsteps paused and halted in the cover of a tall yew tree. Taking her arm he drew her gently towards him.

‘Blanche …’ He was gazing down at her. ‘Listen to me …’

She wanted to move on, but she had to stand there, his eyes burning into her own.

‘Blanche,’ he said, ‘by this time you must have gained some idea of how I feel for you.’

‘Alfredo …’

‘And you like me too, don’t you?’

‘Yes – of course I do.’

‘You must do – or you wouldn’t be here with me, walking with me on this cold night.’ He pulled up the velvet collar of her ulster a little more closely about her chin. ‘But I more than like you, Blanche. You must realize that by now.’ His breath vapoured in the air. After a little silence he said:

‘Blanche – I want to marry you.’

She gazed at him in astonishment.

‘Will you?’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’

She had not been expecting such a question and she was quite unprepared. ‘Oh – Alfredo,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘I can’t – I can’t …’

‘Why not?’

‘– Oh, Alfredo …’

‘I know it has come – very suddenly to you. But I mean it, Blanche. With all my heart.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps I’m being foolish where you’re concerned, but I can’t help it. I have to speak now because I have so little time. I must return to Palermo, you know that.’ He paused. ‘Marry me, Blanche. Marry me and come with me.’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, Alfredo, I’m sorry. I can’t – can’t marry you.’

‘Don’t you feel anything for me?’

‘Of course. I like you very much.’

‘But you don’t love me,’ he said. Then he shrugged. ‘But that’s all right. I don’t expect everything at once. You could learn to love me in time, I know you could. Just give it a chance.’

Wrapping his arms around her he drew her close to him, bent his head and kissed her. His kiss was firm, insistent. As he drew back his head a moment later he murmured. ‘I love you, Blanche. I never thought I could say that to any woman – after what happened with my wife, but …’ He gave a wondering little shake of his head. ‘From our very first meeting in London I was attracted to you. I never expected ever to see you again, but I did. Suddenly, there you were in the tearoom. It was – as if it was fate. We were meant to meet again, Blanche, I know we were.’ His ungloved hands lifted, gently touched her cheeks. ‘And now that I’ve found you I don’t want to let you go.’

She did not answer. He said again:

‘Marry me, Blanche, please. Tell me you’ll marry me, and let’s leave for Sicily together. We could get a special licence and be married at once. I’ll look after you. You’ll never have to work again. Living in Marsh’s dingy little house – you deserve better than that. And I can give you better. Come with me. You’ll love Sicily.’

‘Alfredo – I can’t marry you.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, believe me.’

He gazed at her with his disappointment in his eyes, then he said: ‘Is there someone else?’

How could she speak of Gentry? She shook her head.

‘Well, then,’ he said with a little nod of satisfaction, ‘there’s a chance for me. And I shan’t give up. I shall ask you again when I come back to England.’

‘– Please, I –’

‘There’s nothing you can say that will deter me, Blanche. I know you’ll love me in the end.’ His arms came around her again, drawing her to him. ‘You will be mine some day, I know that.’ He smiled. ‘And you might as well accept the idea too.’

When Marianne did not receive her monthly allowance for February at the anticipated time, she was not overly concerned, expecting it to arrive any day. When March came and she had still not received it – and now the March payment was also due – she wrote to her uncle to remind him of the situation. Three weeks went by, however, and there was no word from him. Puzzled at the silence she then wrote to Mrs Callow, asking whether her uncle was sick or whether there was some other reason to account for his silence. Mrs Callow replied to the effect that he had left the house towards the end of February, saying that he had to go away on business. She had heard nothing from him since that time, she added, though a great deal of post addressed to him had been delivered to the house.

Growing a little uneasy, Marianne then wrote to Mr Baron, her father’s solicitor, asking him if he knew what was happening. Baron’s reply was extremely disquieting. He wrote that he had not handled the Savill legal affairs for some time, and that such matters were being handled by another firm,
Dusop, Marlin and Sams
. He was somewhat surprised, he said, that Mr Harold Savill had not mentioned the matter to her. However, he would make some discreet inquiries as to her uncle’s whereabouts, he added, and would communicate with her as soon as he was able to find some answers.

The communications back and forth between Sicily
and England took time and it was the end of May before she heard anything further on the matter. Judging by what he had been able to discern, Baron wrote, the situation appeared somewhat clouded. Certain things were clear, however, he added, among them being that no one seemed to have any idea where Harold Savill was at present, and also that there appeared to be a great deal of confusion over the Savill business affairs. He ended his letter by suggesting to Marianne that she return to England as quickly as possible, and that in the meantime, if she wished, he would assume responsibility for her legal affairs and do what he could to clarify the situation. Marianne replied that she would like him to do this, and that she would return at once.

Saying nothing to Edward Harrow of her real concern, she merely told him that she wished to return to England to take charge of her affairs. He insisted that she take with her one of the maids to assist her on the journey. She agreed and immediately set about preparing for her return.

The next day,
en route
to Calais, she bought a newspaper at one of the railway stations, and discovered that Britain’s war with the Boers was over.

The Peace of Vereeniging, on 31 May, had put an end to the conflict. The Boers had accepted British sovereignty, in return being promised representative government and £3 million for restocking their denuded farms. The cost of the war had been high. The vanquished Boers had lost 4,000 killed in action against nearly 6,000 of the victorious British troops. Further swelling the numbers of Britons lost were some 16,000 who had died from disease.

It was George Marsh who brought the news to Blanche and she wept with happiness. The fighting was over. From now on Gentry and Ernest would be safe.

Soon afterwards she received a letter from Ernest saying that he expected soon to be sailing for England. To her great disappointment, however, he added that on disembarking he would go back to Yorkshire for a while where he had a good job waiting for him. ‘But you’ll hear from me again soon,’ he said, adding that he would write to her when he was settled, and then come south to see her.

The day after receiving Ernest’s letter Blanche heard news of Gentry’s impending return.

That Saturday, having taken Clara to the shop to meet her father, Blanche had got into conversation with one of his customers, a woman whose son, Blanche discovered to her secret joy, was in the same regiment as Gentry. And, she learned from the ecstatic woman, her son – along with the rest of his regiment – was due to sail for Bristol the following day on board the
SS Maine
.

Blanche hugged the news to her.
Gentry was coming back
, and for a little while, before going on to Sicily, he would be in Bristol – so close, so close.

Later, in the solitude of her room, with Jacko lying at her feet, she sat gazing, unseeing, out of the window. It was time now to face up to reality. The war had given her a brief respite from the knowledge of what must happen, but now it had to be faced. With Gentry’s marriage to Marianne postponed and his being so far away she, Blanche, had managed to avoid the truth of the situation, hardly looking further than his safe return. Now, though, the war was over, and she must live again in the real world. And in that real world she had to face the truth, and in that truth he had promised himself to Marianne.

Over the following days the newspapers were full of news of the returning victorious troops, and of the movements of the transport ships. If victory had been hard won
at least the war had ended and the survivors were returning – albeit many of them wounded, or sick with disease. And Blanche, though so deeply involved, felt left out in the cold. Ernest was going straight to his promised employment in Yorkshire, while Gentry – whose ship, the
SS Maine
, was expected at Bristol within days, and whose imminent arrival was even reported in the morning paper – would waste no time in returning to Sicily.

And then, suddenly, in the schoolroom where she was teaching Clara, she found she could bear it no longer. She would go to Bristol. If she left today, now, she might be in time to meet Gentry’s ship. What would happen if she did she did not stop to imagine; she did not think beyond her decision, her determination to meet him, to see him again.

Telling Clara to continue with her work alone for a few minutes, Blanche took the newspaper and went to see Mrs Marsh. Ernest’s ship, she told her, pointing to the relevant item in the paper, was due to dock at Bristol. She would like to go and meet him, she said.

Mrs Marsh herself grew excited at the prospect. Of course Blanche must go to meet him, she said. ‘Do you know
when
his ship is due?’ she asked.

‘No, but it must be any time now. It could be today; it could be tomorrow.’

‘And you’re sure that your brother is on it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Blanche lied. ‘He wrote that he would be.’

‘And if the ship doesn’t come in today – what will you do?’

Blanche shrugged. ‘I’ll find a hotel, and wait.’

In just over half-an-hour Blanche, carrying a small, hurriedly-packed valise, set off from the house. At the corner of Almond Street she managed to get a cab and within twenty minutes of arriving at the station she was on a train bound for Bristol.

As soon as she arrived in the city she took a cab to the docks where, amidst all the seeming confusion, she eventually found someone who could give her the information she sought. To her joy she found that she was not too late. The
SS Maine
was still a day out. It was estimated that it would berth sometime during the evening of the following day.

Holding on to the good news, Blanche then set off to find lodgings for the night, eventually securing a room in a small hotel not too far from the docks. That done it only remained to find some way of passing the hours until the ship’s arrival.

She was afraid to stray too far away and the next morning found her making her way back towards the quays, there to begin her waiting. As the day wore on she was joined by others who had arrived to welcome the returning soldiers. Shortly after one in the afternoon she reluctantly hurried off to a nearby hotel to get something to eat, but less than half-an-hour later she was back on the quay, rejoining the burgeoning crowd of watchers who stood looking out across the sea.

And then at last, in the late afternoon, she saw on the horizon a little thread of smoke rising up. Eventually, as the ship drew nearer, she saw that it was the
SS Maine
.

She watched, almost breathless, as the ship slowly hove into the port, as it docked and was secured, and as, eventually, after what seemed an age, the gangplank was lowered. She found herself caught up in a throng that surged like the sea itself, carrying her forward while people cheered and cried out, and somewhere behind her a brass band played. Her head lifted, her eyes ran back and forth over the faces of the uniformed men lined up at the rails who stood looking over at the throng below. She could see no sign of Gentry.

The able-bodied soldiers had to wait for disembarkation, however. Down the gangplank stretchers were carried one after the other by bearers, some with female nurses in attendance. Blanche, trying to get close, but prevented from doing so by the crowd, was terrified in case Gentry was one of those borne on the stretchers and that he should be carried to one of the waiting ambulances without her knowledge.

Then, eventually, the last of the sick and injured soldiers had been helped from the ship and after a short delay the first of the able soldiers came down the gangplank, his kit-bag carried on his shoulder. One by one they descended, and as each one appeared Blanche’s anxious eyes lighted upon his face, and she watched as each stranger passed by into the throng, many to be greeted there by anxious families and sweethearts.

And then all at once her heart lurched as her darting, eager eyes lit on the face of Gentry.

Not expecting to be met by anyone he was making no attempt to look into the crowd, but instead was looking ahead of him.

‘Gentry …’

She cried out his name as she pushed her way through the waiting crowd, but her voice was drowned by the shouts and cheers and the continuing, blaring music of the band. She called out to him again, but still he did not hear. Suddenly there was desperation in her movements to get to his side, and the crowd in her path, hearing her calls and seeing the anxiety in her face, made way for her, and so gradually she was able to find a way through the dense body of waiting people. By the time she came anywhere near the foot of the gangplank, however, Gentry had left it and was striding off across the quay. Blanche hurried after him. Then she saw that he had stopped to say goodbye to one of his comrades.
Coming to a halt some feet away she watched as the two men affectionately clasped hands and clapped one another on the shoulder. A moment later the other young man was walking on and Blanche took a breath and called out Gentry’s name again. He himself was just about to move away, but hearing the sound of his name he was held, and he turned.