The Shadowcutter (12 page)

“Oh, don’t be angry with me! Please!” she said, taking another tiny step towards him. “Oh, why do I always make you angry these days? I so wanted to see you. I was worried. You have been away so long, I thought you were cross with me, because of what I said today. You aren’t still angry are you? I didn’t mean what I said.”

“No, I’m not angry,” he said carefully. “But –”

She pressed her fingers to her lips and threw her head back smiling, as if she was offering up a prayer of thanks.

“Did you see the roses?” she said. “We found them on our walk. I thought you would like them.”

“They don’t cut well,” said Felix. “They are better left on the branch.”

“You are angry with me,” she said. “Oh –”

“Go back to your room, ma’am,” he said. “Go back upstairs and rest. I beg you!”

“Why are you always so harsh with me now? Why can’t I do anything right? I used to please you.”

“You still do,” he said, and then knew he should not have said that. “What I mean is, that I am pleased with your progress. What I want or feel is not what you should be concerned with. You should be looking to please yourself. Other people’s approbation is…” He broke off, feeling how ridiculous it was trying to get such a point across as he stood here, still holding that wretched dirty shirt against him. “Please, will you just go?”

She twisted up her lip. She looked as if she were about to break down and cry just as she had done the previous day.

“I see how it is,” she said. “It is always the same. There is no kindness in anyone. There is nothing.”

She reached out for the flowers, and pulled them dripping from the jug, holding them against her as if they were precious. “And you, sir, are the worst of them all!”

Then to Felix’s profound relief she stormed out of the room, leaving the door wide open. But his relief was only momentary because Sukey was coming upstairs with his water, and would have seen her flight. He dashed to slam the door shut to hide himself. He scrabbled into his dressing gown and then opened the door.

“Go and see to Mrs Vernon,” he said. “She’s...” He faltered. He had no words for her state.

Sukey nodded, handed him the jug, and said, “You might think about drawing the bolt when you are dressing.”

He finished washing, and dressed himself again. He went cautiously out onto the landing, and stood there, wondering if he should go up to her, wondering if there was any good he could do, but after a few moments, Sukey came out of Mrs Vernon’s room, and carefully closed the door behind her.

He moved towards the stairs, and gave her a questioning glance. He was relieved when she shook her head. Thank God she was there and able to deal with her, he thought, as they went downstairs together.

They went into the dining room, still in silence.

Felix pushed up the sash and reached for his cheroot case. He had just put one to his lips when Sukey said, with a gesture towards the open box, “Might I? My husband used to smoke them, so I...” She gave a slight shrug, that implied she was embarrassed to ask but needy all the same. He understood perfectly.

“Of course,” he said, and offered her the case. She took one and sniffed it with evident appreciation. He struck a lucifer and bent to light it for her, then watched her take the same obvious pleasure in that first glorious mouthful of smoke. He lit his own and they stood for some moments in silence, smoking by the open window.

“She cried herself out,” she said, at length. “That’s something.”

“What are we to do?” he said. He had no difficulty being so honest with her.

“What do I know?” she said.

“As much as I do.”

“Pray it will pass?” she said. “Maybe when the weather breaks.”

“There isn’t much sign of that,” said Felix, leaning against the window embrasure, attempting to catch what cool breeze there might be coming from the common opposite.

“It will break, soon enough,” said Sukey, coming to the window and standing beside him. “Maybe in the small hours. I can feel it coming.”

“Wishful thinking,” Felix said.

“Maybe,” she said. “I hope so – just to prove you wrong.”

Their eyes met for a moment through the cheroot smoke and they both smiled.

“It would be pleasant,” Felix said, “If we might be somewhere else at this moment, don’t you think? If just for an hour of two, we could put away all this, and be entirely careless... You have been too hard at work for too long. I don’t how you stand it.”

“Because I’m needed. That is something. But you’re right. I would like to be away.”

“Over the hills and far away?” he said.

“For a while. For a rest, yes,” she said.

“I know the spot – just about a mile from my parents’ house – an easy mile, mind, that would do the trick. A waterfall in a shady forest. The Birks of Pitfeldry. We could sit and be cool and quiet. Or bathe in the pools,” he could not resist adding. The vision of Sukey, her skirts kilted up and stockings removed, wading into the milky waters of the foaming burn was a powerful one.

“You think you can charm me with your Scottish waterfalls?” she said, with a smile which suggested she knew exactly what he was thinking. “It would be grand to be able to compare, certainly,” she continued. “And I am sure you would make a good guide, Mr Carswell.”

“I would take the greatest pleasure in proving to you the superiority of my Perthshire scenery,” he said.

“And I will probably say ‘it’s very fine’ but it is not my country, which is the finest.”

“We may have to agree to differ,” he said, with a grin.

“I think so. Oh, we have a visitor.” she said, as a carriage came rolling down the street towards them.

“It’s from Holbroke,” he said, recognising the livery of the coachman.

The carriage drew up and Major Vernon climbed out.

“Quick,” he said, and snatched the cheroot from Sukey’s hand. “If he sees you smoking that –”

“Or you,” she said. Hastily he stubbed them both out and tossed them into the empty grate.

“We both look guilty,” he said. She nodded, waving away the smoke, just as the front door was opening.

“Welcome home, sir,” Sukey said going straight out to the hall. She dropped a curtsey, the perfect servant once more. “Can I fetch you anything? Mrs Vernon is upstairs resting.”

“No thank you, Sukey. I’ll just go straight up.” He looked from one to the other, with his searching gaze. “Is everything all right?”

“Martinez is dead,” said Felix.

Major Vernon exhaled. “Poor fellow. Was he alone?”

“No, I was there. I lost him.”

Major Vernon nodded.

“Those Spaniards are putting up at the Queen’s, I understand. You should call on them.”

“I’ll go and do that now,” said Felix. “You should go up to Mrs Vernon.”

“Yes, I need to speak to her. We are leaving for Holbroke as soon as possible.”

“We?” Felix said.

“Lady Rothborough has asked her to join the party,” said Major Vernon. “And you must come too, Sukey.”

“Of course, sir.”

Major Vernon went upstairs and Sukey went back to the dining room grate and took up their half-smoked cheroots. “I’ll take these down to the kitchen,” she said. “Perhaps going there will be good for Mrs Vernon.”

“I don’t know,” Felix said. “I find the place a torture. I can’t imagine any pleasure in going there.”

“It’ll do her good not to be treated like an invalid,” Sukey said. “Don’t you think?”

“I don’t think my opinion about anything is worth sixpence,” said Felix, “to be frank.”

Sukey paused at the door and said,“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You did all you could for the poor man.”

“But I still lost him.”

“He was a consumptive, what could you have done?”

“But it was so wretched.”

“He had you, that was something,” she said. “Well, more than something.”

He saw her bite her lip, as if she regretting saying so much, and it moved him to reach out and lay his hand on her arm.

Then in a moment, he stepped a little closer and brushed his lips across her forehead. She did not move or make a sound of protest. He kissed her again, this time on the lips, and she laid her hand on his cheek, before gently moving away. But she did not leave the room at once, but looked straight at him, breathing hard.

“You should go and see those people,” she said.

He nodded, and then as he went by her, into the hall, he saw her smile and his heart leapt.

Chapter Ten

Laura was lying on the bed, wrapped in the embroidered shawl Giles had recently given her. He was pleased to see his gift in use. She had received it with the barest minimum of gratitude and he had been seriously discouraged for a day or two, feeling nothing he did would make any impression upon her, before he had sternly told himself that he should not expect miracles.

It was midnight blue silk, with peonies embroidered on it, and in the subdued light of the room the soft lustre of it looked well against the pale skin of her hands and arms. She did not lie facing the door but diagonally across the bed, her hair loosened, and flowing across the counterpane. The shawl and her flimsy chemise were twisted round her, showing the dip of her hips and the curve of her bottom. He remembered a time, early in their marriage when he had returned home to that stuffy, primitive little house they had shared in a dusty Ontario township, and found her sleeping, in just such a pose. Then he had roused her with kisses and they had made love, and ignored the rest of the world.

She stirred, having become aware of his presence. She rolled over to face him. She did not smile in greeting nor did she stretch out her hand to him, but he hardly expected that. Yet she looked at him with wide eyes and without hostility, which pleased him, and he wondered if she, like him, remembered that delightful afternoon and evening.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the spare corner of the bed, so that he might perch there. She did not seem to mind when he did, so he took her silence as consent. “Did you pick those today?” he said, noticing a posy of wild roses in the water glass by the bed. They were wilting somewhat and some of their petals had fallen onto the floor.

“Yes. And you will tell me I was wrong to,” she said rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling.

“No. Why?”

“Because to pick them is to murder them.”

“Hardly. Who says so?”

“Mr Carswell. He was cruel to me,” she said, turning round again, so that she faced away from him. “I think he hates me.”

“Oh, I do not think so –” He wondered if he should pull her gently back to face him. He settled for resting his hand lightly on her shoulder.

“Why do I ruin everything?” she said. “Why does everything I touch spoil? Perhaps you should put me away again where I can’t do any damage. Why did I have to pick those roses? They would still be alive if I had not –” As she spoke, she pulled herself into a tight, tense, ball.

“They never last long, even on the branch,” he said, kneading her shoulder a little with his fingers, hoping it might soothe her. “And I will never put you away again. Upon my honour.”

At that she suddenly leapt up and, half on her knees, faced him, her hands now on his shoulders.

“Perhaps you should!” she exclaimed. “Given what a horrible, wicked person I am! Wouldn’t you rather be rid of me? I am such a trouble to you, such a terrible nuisance.”

Then to his astonishment, she flung herself against him, her face pressed to his chest, sobbing.

“No, no,” he said. “You are not a trouble to me. It is your illness that causes the difficulty – and we are chasing that away now, a little more each day, and each day you are improving.”

He wrapped his arms about her, almost giddy with the pleasure that she had chosen him to comfort her. He kissed the top of her head and she inched closer to him, and tightened her grip, as if to remove every tiny chink of space that might separate them. She was crying violently still, and he felt his shirt soaked through with her tears, and felt his own tears on his cheeks.

After a while, the storm of her misery subsided a little and she lay with her head in his lap. As he combed her tangled hair with his finger tips, her breathing became steady and regular again.

“Lord and Lady Rothborough are anxious for you to go back with me to Holbroke tonight. Do you think you might oblige them?” he asked at length, when he had composed his own thoughts and feelings.

The question, as he had expected, cause her to sit up. She pushed back her hair and gazed at him.

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“You did not say no on my behalf?”

“No. It is for you to decide. Of course, I would rather –”

“That I stayed here?”

“I was going to say ‘came with me.’”

“Oh,” she said. “Are you sure?” He nodded. “But what if –”

“It is for you to decide,” he said, again. There was no knowing what might happen, but he felt it was a test that needed to be attempted. “If you could manage it, then you would feel the worth of all you have accomplished.”

“But –”

“It is grand, but it is also extremely pleasant. Lord Rothborough will treat you like a Duchess, and his daughters will be friends to you, I’m sure.”

She got up from the bed and walked over to the dressing table, standing before the glass looking at herself, dressed in only her shift, with her hair cascading down her back, her eyes red with tears. She frowned.

“I don’t look like a Duchess,” she said.

“Who is to say what a Duchess looks like in her bedroom?” said Giles getting up from the bed and wrapping the shawl around her. “There.” She spent some moments arranging it to her liking. “You will be fine enough for all of them.”

“And you will not be angry with me if I disgrace you?” she said, turning back to him.

He took her hand and kissed it.

“No,” he said. “And you will not.” She pulled back her hand and looked down at her fingers where he had kissed them, rather as if she expected to see a mark. “Trust me, please. And trust yourself. And if you do not care for it, if it frightens you, you can come straight back here. And you will not be alone. I will be there, and Sukey.”

“But not Mr Carswell,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.