CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
Love Thy Neighbour
Before Frances could greet her newly arrived guests, a tearful Louisa lurched towards her with open arms. ‘Oh, Frances!’ she ventured, encircling Frances with firm, yet loving arms, ‘I cannot tell you how exceedingly good it is to see you again!’
Frances surrendered to her aunt’s embrace, but over Louisa’s shoulder she gave Edwina and Michael puzzled looks. ‘Likewise, Aunt Wentworth,’ she answered in a voice muffled by her aunt’s hair.
Louisa soon relinquished her hold on Frances and stepped back several paces to where Michael was standing. ‘My dear girl,’ she resumed, ‘my dear, dear niece.’ She extracted a handkerchief from one of the sleeves in her gown and began to dab at her eyes.
Despite Frances’s growing confusion, she was able to make an answer. ‘What’s wrong, Aunt? Is something the matter?’
‘The matter? No, my dear, not at all.’ She sniffed loudly and turned obliquely to Michael. He smiled at her reassuringly and she continued. ‘It seems that I owe you both an apology, and heartfelt gratitude.’
Frances was curious. ‘You do? What for?’
‘I do not want to go into specifics, Frances. Heaven knows I have spent the last few months or so dredging up the past. It doesn’t help in the least. Suffice to say that Charlotte has told me everything. I now know the real reason why you left Wintersleigh, and why you couldn’t explain your actions to me. Agnes had told me earlier that you left because you were trying to get away from George Brearly. I believed her of course and didn’t give it a second thought. Now I realise that you were acting in Michael and Agnes’s best interests. By putting everyone’s interests before your own, you acted nobly and selflessly. For that I sincerely thank you.’
Frances resisted the temptation to grin. ‘It was nothing, Aunt. Really, there’s no need for you to thank me.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Louisa retorted. ‘Now,’ she added, turning to face Edwina Ballard, ‘while I am in the process of making apologies, no easy thing for me to do these days, I want to offer you an apology, Edwina.’
Edwina, who until this moment had been mute in the background, diffidently stepped forward. ‘Yes, Louisa?’ she said, tightening her grip on her basket of flowers.
To Frances’s surprise, Louisa’s proud face reddened, and she had difficulty meeting Edwina’s eyes. ‘There is no easy way for me to say this, Edwina, so, so I will just come out with it. This whole episode with Agnes, whilst it has been heartbreaking for Doctor Brearly and me, has served as a painful reminder of what Harold and I did to you all those years ago.’ Tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes. ‘Until recently, I never really understood all the pain and suffering I caused you. I am exceedingly ashamed of what I did.’ She retrieved her handkerchief again and blew her nose loudly. ‘We were friends until that point, and in one foul swoop, I ruined it. I ruined everything. In gaining a husband, I lost the best friend I ever had. I am so sorry, Edwina. So very, very sorry.’ At this point she burst into tears.
Frances had not seen her aunt cry before and she was momentarily unsure of how she should react or behave. For a fleeting moment she rejoiced at seeing her aunt exposed and vulnerable, but spitefulness was not in Frances’s nature, and the sensation vanished as quickly as it had surfaced. A new and more powerful feeling rose up from within Frances, and she realised with no small degree of surprise, that she loved her aunt, in spite of all her weaknesses. This new awareness compelled Frances to act, but before she could take one step towards her aunt, Edwina Ballard herself surged forward, dropped the basket of flowers at her feet and gathered Louisa in her arms.
‘Oh, Louisa,’ she murmured, ‘please do not cry.’ She was also overcome with emotion, and for a brief moment, it seemed that she too would burst into tears. ‘I forgive you,’ she gasped through quivering lips. ‘How could I not? I forgave you years ago.’
Louisa slowly lifted up her head and regarded Edwina with a questioning look. ‘You did?’
‘Of course I did.’
Louisa subsided into her friend’s arms with an overwhelming sense of relief. Edwina tightened her grip on Louisa, and for some time they clung to each other. Gradually, they grew aware of their surroundings, and realised with some embarrassment that they had onlookers. After relinquishing their hold of one another, they turned to face Frances and Michael, who, in turn, were watching them. Louisa and Edwina exchanged glances, and they both erupted into laughter.
‘Oh, my dears,’ Louisa cried, ‘don’t you mind us. We are just two silly old women.’
‘Speaking of silliness,’ Edwina replied, ‘why are we standing outside in the cold? Let us go inside and get a hot cup of tea. I might even have some scones, if you are lucky. That is if Crispin has not eaten them all.’
Frances smiled her reply to Edwina Ballard’s suggestion, but the scowl on Michael’s face proclaimed to all and sundry that he wished to remain where he was.
‘Come on, Edwina,’ Louisa said. ‘You and I will organise the tea, and Frances and Michael can come in later when they are ready.’ She threw Edwina an expressive look.
Edwina retrieved her basket of flowers. ‘That sounds like a very good idea, Louisa. It will also give me an opportunity to fix myself up. I feel positively frightful in these clothes.’ She transferred her gaze to Michael and Frances. ‘Now, you two, mind you do not stay outside for too long. I do not like the look of those clouds over there.’ She then linked arms with Louisa and the two women receded down the garden path.
Once the women’s figures grew indistinct, Michael spoke. ‘Was that your aunt,’ he asked good- humouredly, ‘or a woman in disguise?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve never seen that side to Louisa before. It suited her immensely.’
Frances hesitated. ‘I’m sorry for what I said before, Michael,’ she suddenly blurted out. ‘I got a little bit carried away. I had no right to say what I said.’
Michael turned sharply towards her. ‘Are you genuinely sorry for what you said, or are you sorry that I overheard you?’
‘Both.’
A strange light came into Michael’s eyes. ‘I don’t blame you in the least for what you said earlier. After all, it was the truth. I wasn’t the only one George treated badly. You were also right about me shunning the people I care about most.’ He met her eyes. ‘I just couldn’t face seeing you. Not then, anyway.’
‘And now you’re here. What has changed?’
‘Everything, Frances. My whole life.’ All at once his face softened. ‘I have so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start.’
‘Let’s take a walk then and you can tell me all about it.’
Michael agreed, and without saying another word, they set off together down the path that led to the fernery. It was only a short walk, but by the time they reached the misty green folds of fern, their cheeks were red and they were breathing out little clouds of vapour. They came to a standstill at the edge of a stream, and in companionable silence they sat themselves down on one of the large fern borders. Around them the wind jostled the canopy of leaves, and the flowing water near their feet burbled away over pebbles and moss covered rocks. It was several minutes at least before either of them spoke.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Michael murmured. ‘It’s like another world.’ He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, steady breath.
‘I come here to get away from Crispin, so as you can perhaps appreciate, I know every conceivable detail of this place.’
Michael chuckled. ‘I could get used to this. Spending time with you, I mean.’ He turned towards her and looked lovingly into her eyes.
Frances snuggled closer to him. ‘I suppose I could put up with it too, if I had to.’
Michael nudged her playfully, but said nothing immediately. ‘I hate to spoil this moment, Frances, but I’m aware that we don’t have much time left. I have these dreadful images of Louisa ploughing her way through these ferns, just to tell us that the scones ar
e ready.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for then?’ Frances asked cheekily. ‘You’d better get on with it.’
Michael took another deep breath. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure where to begin. I feel certain that I am about to shock you, whatever I say.’ Frances remained silent, but urged him to continue with her eyes. ‘After a great deal of consideration, Frances, I have decided to give up practising medicine.’
‘Good heavens!’ she cried. ‘Are you in earnest?’ She studied him with penetrating eyes.
‘I most certainly am. It has taken me years to come to this realisation, but I now know that I entered the profession for all the wrong reasons, namely to impress my late father. I’ve never enjoyed what I do, and quite frankly, I’m tired of being around sick people. I’ve spent six years putting my patients’ welfare first, often at my own expense, but enough is enough. I can’t do it anymore.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I have made all the necessary preparations for my retirement.’
‘But what about your work? What will you do as a career?’
‘I have no idea,’ Michael said. ‘Isn’t that novel? I have no idea at all. I might return to university, but then again, I might not. I just don’t know.’
A perplexed Frances continued to stare at him. ‘And that doesn’t worry you?’
‘No. Why would it? When my parents died some years ago I inherited Rosewood. By the time I was twenty-six I had my own home and career and my expenses were minimal. I’ve saved a great deal over the years, enough for me to be self-sufficient for the present. Actually, speaking of Rosewood,’ he added slowly, ‘that leads me to my next point.’
The caution in Michael’s voice made Frances stiffen. ‘What about Rosewood?’ she asked.
‘I’ve just put Rosewood on the market and I’m looking to buy a smaller house closer to town.’
‘But why, Michael, why? Rosewood is such a dear old house. What on earth would compel you to leave it?’
‘Bad memories, I suppose you could say. I want to make a clean start as soon as possible.’
Frances considered his words. ‘I can see your point, but it all seems quite sudden. I scarcely know what to think.’
‘Then why don’t you consider helping me find another house,’ Michael suddenly suggested.
‘Me? Oh heavens no, I know nothing about all of that. Why don’t you ask my aunt? She’s very experienced with all that sort of thing.’
‘But I don’t want to ask Louisa,’ Michael said, lowering his voice, ‘I want you to be there when the decision is made.’
‘Why?’
Michael paused, then gathered up Frances’s hands in his. ‘Because I want to marry you, Frances.’
Frances almost fell from the fern edging she was sitting on. ‘Marry you?’ she repeated mechanically. ‘Oh dear.’ She looked confusedly about her. ‘You cannot be serious.’ She pulled her hand away from Michael’s, and seeing the look of earnestness in his face, she rose hastily to her feet. The abruptness of his declaration had taken her so much by surprise, that if she hadn’t clutched a nearby tree trunk when she did, she felt sure she would have fainted away.
‘Of course I’m serious,’ Michael replied, getting to his feet and standing beside her. ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life. Why do you always question my resolve?’
‘Because, because this is all so sudden,’ she said, fumbling for words. ‘Not that long ago you were on the verge of marrying Agnes. Now you have abandoned medicine, relinquished Rosewood and are about to compound the mistake by asking me to be your wife.’
‘I love you, Frances,’ Michael declared, almost in a whisper. ‘How can that be a mistake?’ He paused for an answer, but she made him none. ‘It can only be a mistake if you do not return my love.’ He looked desperately into her eyes, as if searching for an answer in them. Frances said nothing. ‘Say something,’ he urged. ‘Please say something, anything.’
‘I, I can’t,’ was all Frances could manage.
‘What do you mean by that? Do you mean that you can’t say something, or that you can’t marry me?’
To Frances, the prospect of marrying Michael Brearly had always been intangible, like a ghost or a dream; a possibility, but nothing more. With that in mind, she had never seriously entertained the idea, and had certainly never prepared herself for the eventuality of a marriage proposal. Now that the dream had become reality, Frances was emotionally unprepared, not to mention frightened and overwhelmed.
‘I can’t,’ she heard herself whisper, and before Michael could grab hold of her, she fled from the garden into the safety of the house, passing the astounded Edwina and Louisa on the way.
Michael remained beside the creek for another few minutes, but when Frances failed to return, he found himself returning miserably to the house. Louisa and Edwina soon accosted him at the door and when they asked him what was wrong with Frances, and whether she would be coming down for tea and scones, he found that he could barely speak through his grief.
‘Please don’t ask me about Frances’s intentions,’ he croaked. ‘As for myself, I’m afraid that I must leave at once.’
‘Oh my poor dear,’ Louisa lamented, ‘what is it? What has happened?’
‘I wish I could tell you, Louisa, but I can’t. In fact, to be perfectly candid, I think I’ve said too much already.’