The Black Swan (27 page)

It was, to Belinda’s disgust, a very quiet wedding. We had decided that it should be at Manorleigh which would ensure that the press was not so likely to get wind of it. I could not fancy walking out of the London house over that spot where my father had been struck down. Not on my wedding day! It was Celeste who had suggested Manor Grange. She had been staying there for a week before the wedding, planning everything.

Rebecca had come, too, with Pedrek and the children. This was a very special occasion, she said; and we had decided that Alvina should be a bridesmaid and Jake a page. Pedrek would “give me away” and Jean Pascal had offered to be Roland’s best man.

“Roland doesn’t have anyone else here,” explained Celeste, “and Jean Pascal offered himself, half in fun, and was accepted.”

It seemed ironical that a man who, a short time ago, had asked me to marry him, should take that role; but I believed it was a situation which would appeal to Jean Pascal’s type of humor.

Belinda and Robert were staying at Manorleigh, too. We had invited very few other guests.

“It is really just our immediate circle,” said Celeste.

Mrs. Emery had prepared for us what she insisted on calling the Bridal Suite. It was on the floor above my old room—one of the largest in the house, with a dressing room attached. It had big windows which looked down on the oak tree and the haunted seat. In fact the view was exactly the same as mine below.

Fresh curtains had been hung and the carpet cleaned. In the room was a large four-poster bed … the one which had been used by Sir Ronald Flamstead and his young wife … that Lady Flamstead who, it was said, had come back from the dead to be with the child whose birth had killed her.

After the ceremony we were to spend one night before leaving the following day for our honeymoon, which, after a certain amount of debate, we had decided should be spent at Amalfi.

We were to leave early on the morning following the wedding; and Phillida would stay on at Manor Grange with Celeste. They had become very good friends, although they were so different—Celeste so quiet and restrained, and Phillida so ebullient. I was surprised at the friendship which had sprung up between them, but of course delighted.

I mentioned it to Roland. “Oh, Phillida is determined to be friends with everyone,” he said. “She is so happy … about us … and she has made up her mind to love everyone connected with you.”

“What a wonderful nature she has! Life must be easy for her.”

He looked at me tenderly and said, “Since the death of our parents she has not had to face tragedy. It is my earnest wish that she will never again have to. And that is how I want it to be for you, my dearest Lucie, and I am going to do all in my power to make it so.”

I thought then: yes, I was right. This was the way for me.

The wedding was over. I was Mrs. Roland Fitzgerald; there was a gold ring on the third finger of my left hand to prove it.

It was the first step away from all that unhappiness. Of course I would be reminded of it from time to time. Such momentous happenings cannot be dismissed so easily … but I
was
moving away from them. I
was
going to start a new life.

I was a little afraid of the inevitably intimate nature of my relationship with Roland. I felt so ignorant. I thought of Jean Pascal. Suppose I had married him! I should have been terrified of a man like that. But of course I would never have married Jean Pascal, and my husband was Roland … dear, kindly Roland, whose only concern was to comfort me and make me happy.

I need not have feared. Roland was tender and understanding, as I had known he would be. He realized my uneasiness and respected my innocence.

When I looked at the big four-poster bed I wished that we had had another room. I kept thinking of the beautiful young Lady Flamstead and I did not want ghosts on my wedding night.

I went to the window and looked out on the oak tree and the seat below. Roland came and stood beside me.

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “All I want in the world is to make you happy. What is it about that spot which seems to have a morbid fascination?”

I told him of the ghost who had sat there; and while I was talking I was thinking about my own mother who, Rebecca had said, had come to her, although she did not see her, but had insisted to her that she must take me into the household.

Did people return after death? If so, what of the man whom I had helped to condemn?

I dismissed the thought … or tried to. It was an unsuitable subject for a wedding night.

I turned to Roland who took me into his arms.

“Dearest Lucie,” he said, “don’t be afraid of anything. It shall be as you wish. I am going to take care of you from now on.”

He led me back to the bed. I lay quietly in his arms for a time and later … gently and tenderly—he made love to me. And I was not afraid anymore.

I often look back on the two weeks spent in Amalfi. In spite of everything it was a wonderful honeymoon.

It was an excellent choice. There can be few more beautiful spots in the world. It was warm without being too hot; we stayed in a charming hotel near the Cathedral and from the balcony of our room we looked out on the bluest of seas.

Everyone seemed friendly and glad to see us. We went for long walks and reveled in those magnificent views of high precipices and little white houses on the hillside. We would sit for hours talking idly … just being happy. I had not felt such peace since my father’s death.

I felt I could not be grateful enough to Roland for what he had done for me. He was very moved when I told him how I felt. He took my hand and kissed it.

“I have never known such happiness,” he said. “Thank you, Lucie.”

“I have a feeling now,” I replied, “that everything is going to change for me. I am going to be happy. I really believed that I never could be again. It was terrible, Roland. My father was so important to me … and to have him taken away like that. If he had been ill … if I had been prepared … perhaps … I don’t know. But to go like that. And then the trial …”

He put his hand over mine. “Don’t think of it. It’s over, Lucie.”

“It must be. But I can’t stop thinking of it. You see, it was my evidence. That man …”

“He died,” said Roland in a quiet voice.

“He had killed my father. What could he expect?”

Roland did not answer. He was staring out at the blue sea with a strange expression on his face. Then he turned to me, smiling. He kissed me … lightly at first then with passion.

“Roland,” I said in surprise.

“Dear Lucie,” he replied. “Please don’t worry.” Then he added slowly, and there was a note of something I did not understand in his voice, “What has to be has to be.”

We sat for a long time looking over the sea.

I loved exploring the town. There was so much of interest to see; both Roland and I were enthralled by the past and loved to make discoveries. Amalfi had been just a name to us before. Now we learned that the little town had become quite important in the sixth century under the Byzantines, and later it was one of the first maritime republics in Italy.

I loved to visit the Cathedral of St. Andrea with its beautiful bronze doors which, we learned, had been standing there since the eleventh century; then there was the campanile and the cloister near the Cathedral. There was so much to see and how I loved to linger in those little streets and to sit under a blue and white sunshade drinking wine or coffee.

We talked about most of the places we had seen and made plans to see more.

Roland said as we were nearing the end of our stay that we should visit Naples. We spent a few days there and each morning would look out over the bay at the menacing peak of Vesuvius. We spent an exciting day at Pompeii. It was exhilarating and at the same time sobering to pick one’s way over those excavated ruins of what had once been a great city until the molten ash from the giant volcano had destroyed it. It brought home to me how precarious life was and how in one day death and disaster could change the whole course of a life.

Roland said, “I think Pompeii, while it interested you, saddened you a little.”

“How could anyone look at such destruction and not be saddened?” I asked. “How could one walk over those cobbles which had once been streets, and not think of that terrible day when disaster struck?”

He knew, of course, that I was thinking of another disaster which had struck, perhaps even more suddenly.

We were a little somber that evening when we returned to Naples; and I could not forget while we stayed in that town, for everywhere I looked I felt the scene to be overshadowed by the looming, menacing volcano.

We went back to Amalfi—beautiful, peaceful Amalfi; and there we spent the last few days of our honeymoon.

I
HAD BECOME A
different person. I was no longer an ignorant girl. I was a woman. I was seeing things differently. Roland and I were lovers; and love, people say, and I suppose they are right, is the most wonderful thing in the world. I felt that I was no longer alone. My husband was closer to me than anyone had ever been before … even my father, Joel and Rebecca. This was a relationship of greater intimacy; and I felt more at peace than I had felt would be possible since my father’s death. Roland had given me all this and there was nothing I needed more.

I tried to explain this to him and he was very moved.

Everything seemed different now. I was looking forward to being home. We had to make plans and decide how we were going to live. I wanted to keep Manor Grange and why should we not? It would be difficult to find a more attractive house.

I had seen what he called his
pied-à-terre
in London. It was a narrow house with two rooms on each floor—there were eight in all, and that included two in the basement.

“It seemed quite enough for Phillida and me while we were up here,” he explained, “and we saw no reason to change.”

He had recently sold the country house in Yorkshire, he told me. “That was about a year ago. It seemed the wise thing to do. We could not get there very often. We were never very happy there after our parents died. We should have sold it long ago. When I am in Yorkshire now I stay at an hotel in Bradford.”

So the
pied-à-terre
was his only home.

“Phillida and I never cared much about possessions,” he explained.

“In that case, we’ll make Manor Grange our home, and when you have to be in London there will be the
pied-à-terre.
”

“Yes. Perhaps it is best to leave it like that for a while. Let’s see how it goes. We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

There was a great welcome for us at Manor Grange.

Phillida was in the hall, her eyes wide with excitement. She hugged us both.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she cried. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ve just been counting the days. My goodness, you look well … both of you. You’ve had too much sun. You have to be careful of foreign sun.”

“It’s the same old sun, you know,” said Roland.

“Yes, but at a different angle or something. However, I must say you look well.” She looked a little anxious for a moment. “And you
have
had a wonderful time.”

It was almost as though she were urging us to tell her so that she could be reassured that everything had gone well. I thought what a delightful person she was to care so much for us.

“We
have
had a wonderful time. We’ve seen Naples,” I told her.

“Don’t they say ‘See Naples and die’?”

“That means it’s so wonderful you must see it before you die.”

“It’s an odd way of expressing it, don’t you think, Lucie? ‘See Naples and die.’” She laughed as though it were a great joke.

Roland said rather sharply, “It was all wonderful. We’ve had a most thrilling time.”

“And now you’re back, and it is lovely to see you. I’ve had a hot bottle put in your bed.”

“Was that necessary?” I asked.

“I thought it might be a little damp. And I told them to light a fire. It’s chilly in the evening.”

“How have
you
been getting along?” I asked.

“Splendidly. I love it here. It’s a wonderful old house.”

We went to our room. It looked comfortable and inviting. I resisted the temptation to go to the window. Roland would know why I did it, so I desisted.

Roland left me alone to unpack and while I was doing this there was a knock on the door and Mrs. Emery came in.

“I trust everything is satisfactory, Miss Lucie. Oh … I suppose I mustn’t call you that anymore. It’s Mrs. Fitzgerald I suppose now.”

“You may call me what you like, Mrs. Emery. I think it is going to take a little time to get used to Mrs. Fitzgerald. Everything is fine.”

“Oh.” She nodded, but I could see that something was wrong because of the pursed lips and the tilt of the head. I was on the point of asking but I decided to postpone it, for there was little time now as dinner would be served in half an hour.

I said, “We’ll have a little chat tomorrow, Mrs. Emery.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Thank you, Miss Lucie. I’d appreciate that.”

“It’s good to be home.”

“I hope it was a happy honeymoon.”

“It was wonderful.”

“Emery will be glad to hear of that … and so am I.”

“Tomorrow then, Mrs. Emery, we’ll have our little chat.”

She was satisfied temporarily, but I was faintly disturbed. What could be wrong? However I did not give a great deal of thought to the matter for I knew that, good housekeeper that she was, she easily took offense if she thought her authority had been flouted.

Phillida chattered throughout dinner—in fact, she scarcely stopped.

“My tongue is running away from me,” she said. “I can hear Roland saying, ‘Nothing extraordinary about that,’ but I
am
so glad to have you back. I’ve spent the time thinking about what I could do to make things comfortable for you. Oh, I don’t mean that this isn’t a comfortable house … and the servants are just wonderful … but, you know what I mean … that extra something. I put flowers in the room. I hope you liked them, Lucie.”

I said indeed I did and I thanked her. It was true that I had noticed them in passing but I had been so eager to unpack and, when Mrs. Emery had come in nursing some grievance, I had forgotten about the flowers.