Seasons of Love (2 page)

But when she got home, she found that someone had already told her father about the players.

Over the evening meal, he mentioned it to his wife. ‘I’m disgusted to think of such a - a
contagion
coming so close to Dendleford. Actors are all thieves,’ he lowered his voice meaningfully, ‘
and the women are worse
.’

‘Yes, indeed, Septimus,’ murmured Mrs Merling. ‘Very shocking.’

Her mother would have spoken in the same tone of voice if the bread had failed to rise, Helen thought mutinously. And why were the female players so shocking? What did they do that was worse than the men? She knew better than to ask. Certain subjects were not to be mentioned, but one day she would find out more about life, she promised herself. Realising her father was speaking and looking towards her, she jerked to attention.

‘I tell you plainly, I wouldn’t willingly have an actor step inside the door of my church, not even one foot.’

‘Certainly not, Septimus.’

There was a long discussion between Mr and Mrs Merling that night, after their daughter was in bed, about the wisdom of allowing her to continue her market trips.

Helen listened carefully, for they had no idea how sound carried in the small house, since no one else dared make any noise. She clenched her hands at her flannel-covered bosom and waited in terror for their final decision. If they stopped her going, how would she bear it? How would she bear anything if she didn’t have her Thursday outings?

‘I do think she’s growing more sensible. She’s nearly seventeen now, after all, and we’ve brought her up most carefully,’ Mrs Merling pleaded. ‘She saves us a lot of money at the market.

And she’s very innocent. She’s not at all like your mother.’

‘A young woman should be innocent. It is for her husband to educate her as he sees fit.’

‘Yes, Septimus.’

‘I shall ponder upon it and pray for guidance.’

That Sunday in church, Helen prayed even more fervently than usual and prayed again later, quite voluntarily, to thank the Lord for his help. Her mother had said she was allowed to continue her weekly excursions, but must not, under any circumstances, linger in Stowby or go near the players.

The following Thursday, on her way home from market, Helen was again tempted by the long spell of hot dry weather to linger in the woods. Dreamily splashing her feet in the cool water of the stream and watching the sunlight sparkle on the droplets that were thrown up, she didn’t hear anyone approaching until a voice behind her laughingly declaimed, ‘A dryad! A nymph of the woods!’

She was horrified at being caught with her bare limbs exposed, and jumped to her feet in a panic.

‘Please don’t go!’ begged the owner of the voice.

Helen caught her breath at the sight of him, for he was the most handsome man she had ever seen in her life, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. Not tall, but with a face like the statue of a young Greek god in one of her father’s books. And he had a smile which would have melted anyone’s heart - except her father’s, of course.

The stranger swept her a bow, which made her heart thump in her chest, for some strange reason. She hastily twitched her skirt down over her bare legs and stood there, feeling herself blushing. Her hair had escaped from its knot and was spread over her shoulders, which further added to her embarrassment.

‘My name is Robert Perriman.’ He executed a perfect bow.

‘Oh. Well, my name is Helen - Helen Merling.’

She received another bow. ‘Helen. A perfect name for a beautiful wood nymph.’

‘Oh, sir! Please don’t tell anyone you saw me here!’ she begged that first time.

‘My lips are sealed,’ he promised gravely. ‘But won’t you tell me why you’re so worried about being seen? Are you trespassing? Will the keeper lock you up if he catches you here?’

It took Helen a moment to realise he was teasing her. She laughed. ‘Oh, if that were the only problem, I shouldn’t mind at all, for I know all the Squire’s keepers.’

‘Then what is the problem? Pray linger for a moment, nymph, and enlighten me!’

No one had ever addressed her as
nymph
before, let alone bowed to her like that. She was tempted, hesitated and was lost.

‘The problem is my parents, sir. My father is the parson of St. Matthew’s, in Dendleford. And he - he wouldn’t like me to be here in the woods. Nor would he like me to speak to a stranger.’

As she spoke, she began to pin her hair up in frantic haste, realising she’d lingered far too long today.

‘Ah, leave it down for a moment longer!’ he begged. ‘You have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen in my life!’

She blushed even more violently, but shook her head and continued to subdue the hair. ‘I dare not. I must be on my way or I shall be late.’

But the thought that someone considered her hair beautiful filled her with wonder, for her father seemed to hate the bright chestnut colour and unruly curls. He often told her to ‘tie that disgusting messy hair back’, for it would pull out of its pins when she was helping with the housework.

‘May I walk with you for a while, then, fair maiden?’

She found out later that most of Robert Perriman’s flowery speeches were culled from popular theatrical farces, but she had no idea then that she was being seduced by second-hand words.

‘Oh, no! Someone might see us.’ The hair was up. She glanced down, wondering how she was to put on her stockings again.

‘Shall I turn my back while you complete your toilette?’

‘Thank you, sir.’ She was grateful for his understanding of her predicament. What a kind person he was! A true gentleman. So very unlike Mr Wintermaine. Keeping one eye on him, she hastened to complete her toilette, but he didn’t even attempt to peep.

‘I - I’m ready now.’ Hair pinned up, bonnet in place, basket in hand, she still hesitated to leave. ‘I always get home before four when I go into Stowby market.’

Helen walked home with stars in her eyes, but wasn’t so lost to reality as to forget to stop outside the village and check once again that her clothes bore no traces of the woods. Nor did she mention to her parents the encounter with a man who must, she realised when she thought about it in bed, be one of the actors.

At the road, Robert swept her a bow which had taken him weeks to perfect when he first left his father’s butcher’s shop and ran away to join a theatrical touring company as boy actor and general dogsbody. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again,’ he murmured in his softest voice, his eyes warm and his expression openly admiring.

‘Oh, I do hope so!’

He watched her walk away then walked home smiling. Until now, he hadn’t found any willing maidens in Stowby, but this one was not only beautiful, she was stupid. Just made for a man like him. She should be grateful, really, that he was taking an interest in her. She would probably dream about him for the rest of her life.

‘What have you been doing, Rob?’ Roxanne asked that evening, as they were waiting to go on stage. ‘You’re looking particularly smug.’

‘Never you mind, dear.’

‘I hope you’re not pursuing the milkmaids again.’

He didn’t deign to reply. Milkmaids or fine ladies, they were all much alike in bed. Made to serve a man’s needs.

He was waiting for her in the woods the following week, and for several weeks thereafter. He called her his water nymph and he made her laugh. She lived for those meetings. Suddenly there was something beautiful in her life.

The afternoon Robert first kissed her, she was upset about something, and he was trying to comfort her. When the kiss led on to other familiarities, she didn’t at first understand what he was trying to do and it was a moment before she realised that he had bared her breasts.

‘Oh, Robert, you mustn’t!’ she protested, then gasped as his hands caressed her. And those hands were so delicately sensitive to her needs that before she knew what was happening, she was clinging to him, gasping and writhing in ecstasy. She hadn’t known such exquisite pleasure existed. Surely, surely something so marvellous couldn’t be wrong?

And as he continued to murmur endearments and assure her that this was the way all men and women showed their love to one another, that he loved her so much, so very much, she somehow couldn’t protest again. No one had ever used the word love to her before. No one had ever held her, cuddled her, whispered sweet things to her.

Afterwards, when it was over, he kissed her again and begged her pardon. ‘I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you, my little love.’

But she couldn’t regret anything. If Robert loved her, then they would no doubt get married one day soon.

She had found a way to escape Mr Wintermaine!

She floated home on a cloud of ecstasy.

Robert was thoughtful as he tramped back into Stowby. It got actors a bad name to seduce young virgins, and she’d been so willing, he hadn’t expected her to be untouched. If what he’d done got known, the company might not be invited back here - or anywhere else.

No! Surely it couldn’t matter that much. Her father was only a country parson. He would have no power to do anything to harm the company. And the chit was damned pretty, in spite of that dreadful brown rag she always wore. Besides, the damage was done now, so he didn’t see why he should stop enjoying himself. He grinned as he walked along. She was a very responsive young woman, for all her inexperience. She’d enjoyed it, too, even the first time.

When he got back to his lodgings, the feeling of pleasure faded and he began to frown. He wasn’t looking forward to the evening’s performance. He’d had several quarrels lately with his leading lady. Roxanne didn’t like anyone else to get more applause than her and she’d even dared to criticise his acting skills. Since she had joined the company after buying a half share in it, things had been rather awkward at times. Maybe he should look for another position. But not yet. He intended to enjoy the rest of this season in Stowby very much indeed.

The weather conspired to allow the two lovers to meet several times more, for every Thursday but one was fine and the woods deserted of all but them. Each time they met, Robert made love to her - though it was the kisses and cuddles Helen craved most. No one had ever cuddled her in her whole life before and she found herself dreaming of the way he held her close, waking with a warm feeling in her belly, absolutely longing for their next meeting.

And he loved her. He said it so often. Mr Wintermaine had never even hinted at feeling any affection for her. She was so glad she was going to marry Robert instead.

When Helen returned home from market one day in early September, the bubble of joy burst abruptly. The maid was waiting for her on the kitchen doorstep. ‘You’re late. And your father wishes to see you. Immediately. In his study. You’re in trouble again, miss.’

Mary’s words shocked Helen rigid. It had been a long time since she’d received a formal summons like this. ‘What have I done?’ she whispered, desperately trying to think.

‘Don’t you know?’ When the girl did not move, Mary clicked her tongue in annoyance and gave her a push towards the study. She didn’t want to get in trouble with the master for not delivering messages quickly enough. He was in a foul mood today and taking it out on everyone else, as usual. He’d made the mistress cry twice in the past hour. That poor lass was for it.

Helen tiptoed along the corridor and raised one trembling hand to knock on the door of her father’s sanctum, a room she only visited for the purpose of dusting it - or when she was in serious trouble.

She was so desperately afraid that she nearly turned and ran away, for she could guess what had happened. They must have found out about Robert. It could only be that. They would be so very angry. But at least she couldn’t marry Mr Wintermaine now, so it would be worth a scolding, or even a beating. Robert had brought her the only happiness she had ever known and she wouldn’t allow it to be taken from her. She would not.

She took a deep breath and knocked.

Chapter 2

When Helen entered the study, both her parents were waiting for her, standing together at the other side of her father’s desk. It was unprecedented for her mother to be there as well. Helen’s heart began to thump and knock in her chest.

She went to stand before them, eyes lowered, hands clasped, fear paralysing her throat muscles.

The study had been the scene of so many scoldings, she couldn’t even enter it to dust the bookshelves without becoming nervous.

Septimus Merling was finding it no easier to speak. He pressed his lips tightly together to keep the rage in and as he looked at his daughter, he knew such bitterness of failure that bile rose in his throat. For she was as like his mother in character as she was in looks, in spite of the careful way he had brought her up.

He remembered his mother quite clearly, though he’d been scarcely ten when she caused a scandal by leaving his father and running away with another man. It was this scandal which had prevented him from getting on in the church, he was sure.

His mother too had had chestnut hair curling naturally around an oval face. She, too, had had that creamy complexion and those hazel eyes which sparkled with intelligence and mischief. Why could Helen not have resembled his wife, who was the most modest and virtuous of women?

Beauty was of no value to the daughter of an impoverished country clergyman. And it was a snare for any woman.

As the silence continued, Helen could bear it no longer and raised her eyes inquiringly.

To Septimus, her face seemed suddenly more beautiful, more sensual, more
knowing of evil
than ever before, as he later declared to his wife. He set his hands on the desk, leaned forward and glared at her. The inquiring look faded from Helen’s face and was replaced by fear.

‘
Who is the man?’

‘Papa? I - I don’t understand.’ But she did understand. This summons was definitely about Robert. How could they possibly have found out about her meetings with him?

‘Don’t lie to me, wretched girl! Who is the man? Who is it who has got you with child?’