At that moment, Janet pulled Mary’s hair and Mrs Hampson’s attention was distracted, so that fortunately Hilary was not called upon to say any more about Esmerelda.
‘I’ll take the children up to the schoolroom,’ said Hilary.
‘Oh, yes, do,’ said Mrs Hampson, laying back against her pillows. ‘I’m ever so tired all of a sudden. But bring them to see me again this afternoon.’
The girls set up a wail, but at last Hilary managed to manoeuvre them out of the room and take them up to the attic, where she settled them down to work. As their protests gave way to the sound of chalk on slates, she found her thoughts wandering. They were not with the Hampson girls in the low room with its cosy cream paintwork and its bright rug on the floor. They were with Marcus.
* * * *
Marcus looked down at Lyme from his vantage point on top of the cliffs. He had ordered his coachman to stop in a fit of restlessness and had climbed out, walking to the edge of the cliffs in order to survey the scene. It was bleak, and yet its familiarity and pleasant memories soothed his troubled spirit.
Below him, the grey sea was choppy. It was dotted with boats riding the waves, which were being whipped into white peaks by the wind. His eyes moved inland, coming to rest on the Cobb. A few hardy souls were walking along its length. There was a solitary gentleman on the upper Cobb, and on the lower Cobb there were two gentlemen supporting their wives as they hurried along, the ladies holding on to their bonnets to prevent them from blowing away.
He turned his attention to the beach. A little boy, his trouser legs rolled up to his knees, was running across the sand before presenting his mother with a strand of seaweed, which she took as though it had been as precious as a string of pearls. Nearby, a labourer was struggling to remove an abandoned bathing machine.
Marcus felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The familiar sights, together with the tang of salt, were working their magic. He was glad he had brought forward his visit. In the abbey, his thoughts had been too full of Hilary, but here he had a chance to distract them, even if it was only for a short while.
His eyes wandered to the houses that clustered beneath him in picturesque confusion. Their stone walls and pitched roofs were rugged, and fit in well with the seaside scene. He picked out the one belonging to Maud, who had been his mother’s nurse, and then his.
Reminded of his reason for the visit he returned to the coach, the wind blowing his caped greatcoat round his ankles as he did so. He was soon on his way.
His arrival in the main street caused many a curious glance. Visitors were not common at this time of year, particularly visitors with coats of arms on their coaches, but their curiosity quickly gave way to recognition. His visits, whilst infrequent, were regular, and he was a familiar sight in Lyme.
The coach finally pulled up before his nurse’s door.
The curtain twitched and he caught a glimpse of Yvonne, his nurse’s sister, before the curtain fell back in to place again. He growled with pleasure as he imagined the bustle that would be taking place inside the house: the instructions to the maid, the plumping of cushions, and the examination of the larder to see if there was any cake to be had. His nurse and her sister had always been very particular about the receiving of guests, and earl or rector the preparations were always the same.
He climbed out of the carriage slowly, giving them time to attend to the small details that meant a great deal to them, then opened the gate and went up the path to the door.
Everything seemed to be in good order. The gate was newly painted, and the worn timbers in the door had been replaced. Those had been the things he had seen to on his last visit. But a rattling sound drew his attention upwards. One of the windows was fitting loosely, and would need attention if it was to keep out draughts. He would have to give instructions for it to be seen to before he left.
He rapped on the door and a minute later it opened, to reveal a white-haired old woman. She was wearing a high-necked grey gown with a cameo pinned at the throat. The cameo had been left to her by his mother, and she wore it every day. She had a large shawl wrapped round her shoulders, and on her nose was a pair of pince nez.
‘Marcus, my dear, what a pleasant surprise!’ She spoke to him as though he was still seven years old. ‘We didn’t expect you for another three weeks. But don’t stand out there in the cold, come in.’
The door was low. He had to stoop to pass through it, and remain stooping as he went through the hall, but once in the parlour he could straighten up to his full height. It was just as he remembered it. There was gold paint on the walls, and a large brick fireplace with a healthy fire. His eyes swept the room to make sure there were no signs of neglect on the part of the maid, but evidently she looked after her mistresses well. The fire irons were polished, and the brass scuttle on the hearth was full of coal. The knick-knacks that cluttered the three small tables, including silhouettes of his mother, Esmerelda and himself, were properly dusted. The carpet was swept, and the sprigged curtains hanging at the windows were freshly laundered.
He was satisfied.
‘Let me take your coat. I have rung for the maid, but she is seeing to the chickens and it might take her a minute or two to get here. It is such a pleasure to see you,’ she said, as she took his coat from him and went out into the hall, returning a minute later without it.
‘We did not look for you so soon,’ said Yvonne. She was a small, round lady, with sparkling eyes and hair even whiter than her sister’s. Her ruby red gown strained at the seams, but the creaking of corsets showed that she had not yet abandoned all hopes of taming her figure. ‘That makes this a double treat.’
The two ladies sat down, and Marcus followed suit, settling himself in a comfortable armchair by the fire.
‘I hope I haven’t put you out?’ he asked.
‘You could never put us out, dear.’
Marcus smiled. Just for the moment he did not mind being treated as though he was a small boy. It took him back to happier times, and it was balm to his troubled spirit.
The door opened and the young maid hurried in.
‘Yes, your lordship? What can I get you, your lordship?’ she said breathlessly, making Marcus an awkward curtsy.
‘There is no need to curtsy, Poll,’ said his nurse kindly to the girl. ‘And you should still address your mistresses, even if there is an earl in the room.’
‘Yes, my lady, I mean Miss Maud,’ said the girl, flustered.
‘We will have our tea now,’ she said.
Bobbing another curtsy, the girl left the room.
‘How are you finding her?’ asked Marcus, amused. ‘Is she efficient? She seems eager to please, at least.’
‘She is,’ said Maud with a twinkle. ‘She is a dear girl and looks after us very well, even if she is rather overawed by your visit!’
‘It is not to be wondered at,’ said Yvonne. ‘It is not every day she sees such a splendid coach drawing up in front of the house, particularly not one with a coat of arms on the door. In fact, as she is new, she has never seen it happen before. She will have something to tell her mother when she goes home this evening, that’s for sure!’
Marcus smiled. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs to the fire.
‘You both look well,’ he said.
‘We are. Yvonne had a chill a few weeks ago —’
‘Really, Maud, it was nothing,’ protested Yvonne.
‘But she has thrown it off,’ continued Maud, unperturbed. ‘The air here is wonderful, and we make the most of it by walking along the Cobb every day.’
‘I noticed several people out walking as I arrived, though it hardly seems the weather for it.’
‘Nonsense! There is nothing wrong with the weather. It is bracing,’ declared Maud.
She took up her knitting.
‘What are you making?’ he asked her.
‘A blanket for old Mr Johnson.’
‘Old Mr Johnso
n is five years younger than you are!’ he smiled.
‘That’s as may be, but his knees are troubling him and he has to keep them warm. Besides, it gives me something to do.’
‘You are not too dull here?’ he asked.
‘No, indeed. We have all the interest of the guests in the summer, and then there are the assemblies and the balls. We like to see the young people enjoying themselves! Then, too, we have made so many friends here. There are the Johnsons, and the Westons and the Armitages. Lyme suits us very well.’ She looked up from her knitting, and pushed her pince nez further up her nose. ‘Now, tell me, how are things at the abbey?’
Marcus shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘How is Esmerelda?’
Marcus’s shoulders slumped. Thoughts of his sister were not happy ones. ‘No better.’
Maud spoke softly. ‘It is not to be expected. But is she happy?’
‘Yes, in her own way, I believe she is.’
‘Then that is all we can hope for.’ Her eyes wandered to the silhouette of Esmerelda on the table, and she sighed.
‘And the Lunds?’ she asked, returning her attention to her knitting. ‘They are keeping well?’
‘Yes. Lund grumbles constantly, as usual, but they are both fit and healthy.’
‘Then what is it that is troubling you?’
He looked startled.
‘It’s no use looking like that. I’ve known you since you were born, and I always know when there’s something you’re not telling me. When you threw a stone through the window of the greenhouse on your fifth birthday I knew straight away there was something worrying you. And when you took Blaze out of the stables without asking and brought him home lame. And when —’
‘Enough!’ he said, laughing, as he remembered his childhood worries.
‘So why don’t you tell us what is troubling you now?’
His mood darkened. He was not sure that he was ready to tell anyone about his troubles. He was about to deny that there was anything wrong when he hesitated. Maud had brought him up, and it would be impossible to fool her.
‘Is it a young lady?’ she asked, peering at him over her pince-nez.
‘What makes you say that?’ he prevaricated.
‘Ah, good. So it is. And about time too. Now, who is she?’
Marcus bowed to the inevitable.
‘Her name is Miss Wentworth,’ he said.
‘Wentworth.’ She stopped her knitting and put her head on one side. ‘I don’t think I know any Wentworths. There was a Sir Toby Wentworth, I recall, but I did not know that he had any daughters.’
‘She is not related to Sir Toby, or any other Wentworth, or at least none that you and Mother would have known. She is the daughter of a country doctor.’
‘Ah. I see. So that is the problem. She is beneath you in rank. It does not bother you, of course, but it bothers her. She feels that you should marry someone from your own background, an earl’s daughter, perhaps, or at least the daughter of a baron. Very proper. It shows great delicacy on her part.’
‘No. That is not the problem.’
‘No?’ She looked at him enquiringly. ‘Then what is? You love her, I take it?’
‘I do. With all my heart and soul.’
‘And she loves you?’
‘Yes. She loves me as fiercely as I love her.’
‘Then ask her again. She has refused you once, I collect, very properly, so now it is up to you to press your suit. You must tell her that the difference in your stations does not signify, that your mind is made up, and that you are determined to marry her. She needs only your reassurance, and she will be yours.’ She put down her knitting. ‘I am so glad. It is not good for you to live in the abbey on your own. You need a fresh start, a future, and your Miss Wentworth can give you one. ‘
‘You talk as though the thing were possible,’ he growled.
‘Well, of course it is,’ she returned. ‘What is there to stop you? You are over age and she - she is also over age, I take it? You never did like simpering young chits.’
‘Yes, she is over age. She is three-and-twenty.’
‘Well then?’
‘Well then?’ he demanded. He pushed himself out of his chair and strode over to the window, looking out at the sea to calm himself. Then, turning round, he said, ‘You know that it can never be.’
She looked genuinely surprised. ‘I don’t see why not. Unless —’ A look of understanding crossed her face. ‘Ah. I see. It is because of Esmerelda.’
‘Yes.’
‘Your Hilary, I take it, thinks she should be cared for in an asylum? She does not like the idea of a mad woman sharing the abbey with her?’
It was Marcus’s turn to look surprised. ‘No, of course not. She has no more love of asylums than I have. She thinks it is nonsensical to beat the mad, as well as cruel. She does not approve of what passes for "treatment" of those poor, tortured souls who, through no fault of their own, have lost their reason. Moreover, I would not love her if she wanted to put Esmerelda away.’
Maud put down her knitting. ‘Then I can think of no other reason why you cannot marry her,’ she said in exasperation. ‘Really, Marcus, you did not used to be so contrary.’
He looked at her as though she was being wilfully blind. ‘You know why I can’t marry. You, of all people, must know that it can never happen.’
She abandoned all pretence of knitting. ‘I don’t know why not. And sit down, if you please. I cannot speak to you if you continue to tower over me like that.’
He sank into his chair and put his head in his hands. Then he sat up straight. ‘I can never marry Hilary because I won’t let her go through what my mother went through,’ he said. The words were wrung out of him. ‘I won’t let her watch me slowly go mad.’
There was silence.
Everything seemed to have stopped.
The logs crackled in the fire. They sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness.
Then Maud said, ‘So that’s it. I never imagined ... I never thought ... but of course, with what you know, it is not surprising. I should have seen it sooner. I knew that you seemed reluctant to marry, but I thought it was because you had not met anyone you loved. Which, of course, you had not. But now —’
The door opened and the maid entered the room with a tea tray.
She looked apprehensive, struck by the strange tension in the room. Instead of coming in, she lingered by the door.
‘Thank you, Poll,’ said Maud. ‘Come in and put the tray down on the table.’
Poll did as she was bid, then bobbed a curtsy again before leaving the room.
‘I think I should leave you now,’ said Yvonne, with a significant glance at Maud. She stood up. ‘It is very tiresome, but I have a headache. I hope you will excuse me. I cannot bring myself to take tea, and I will have a rest in my room instead.’
‘A good idea,’ said Maud. ‘The fire is burning up nicely there. You will feel better after a nice lie down.’
Marcus was under no illusions regarding Yvonne’s headache. He knew it was merely an excuse to enable her to leave the room, and if he could have made a similar excuse he would have done so. His nurse was evidently going to give him a lecture on not being able to see the future, or believing in Providence, or not abandoning hope, but he was in no mood for one of her homilies. But he couldn’t avoid it, not without being rude to one of the few women he admired and respected. She had endured some terrible times at the abbey, when his father’s madness had raged out of control, and through it all she had been a source of endless support to his mother, for which he would always be grateful.
Yvonne wrapped her shawl round her, then withdrew.
Marcus’s nurse picked up the teapot. She poured out a cup of the amber liquid.
‘I see now why you are so unhappy. You are in love with Hilary, but you will not marry her because you do not want to put her in danger, and you do not want her to have to watch you descend into madness.’
‘Yes.’
His voice was close to despair.
‘In that case, I am going to do something I have never done before, and hope never to do again. I am going to betray a confidence.’
Chapter Eleven
Hilary was in the schoolroom, trying to interest the children in the globe, but her efforts were not meeting with success. Sara was staring into the middle distance, clearly engaged in a daydream, whilst Janet was sighing heavily and little Mary was engrossed in a fly which, almost dead with cold, was staggering round her desk.
‘Who can tell me what this country is?’ asked Hilary, pointing to England.
To her surprise and delight, Janet put up her hand.
‘Yes, Janet?’ she asked, encouraged by this sign of interest in her young charge.
‘When is it time for tea?’
Hilary gave a sigh. ‘Not yet. Now, can you tell me what this country is called?’
‘America,’ said Janet.
‘No, it’s not America, it’s England. This is where we live, in England. See, here is America.’ She twirled the globe. ‘It is much bigger than England, and a different shape.’
‘It’s a different colour, too,’ said Mary, taking an interest in the lesson as the fly staggered to a halt.
Hilary gave an inward sigh. Teaching the children was proving to be far more difficult than she had anticipated.
‘Now I want you to draw me a picture of England on your slates,’ she said, making the most of the fact that she had their attention. ‘I want you to copy it carefully from the globe, looking particularly at the shape. Make sure your drawing is this shape as well.’
‘I’m no good at drawing,’ said Sara with a long-suffering air.
‘Then this is your chance to practise,’ replied Hilary.
She handed out the slates.
There was a sudden commotion outside the door, and Hannah rushed into the room. Her eyes were as round as saucers, and her whole demeanour spoke of her excitement.
‘Oh, miss, you’ll never guess, there’s a lady as wants to see you downstairs.’