The Favoured Child

  Uncle John nodded his approval, but I saw the shadow cross Richard’s face. ‘I know everything comes second to the Wideacre crop,’ he said.

  ‘It is not that,’ I said softly. ‘It is just that I promised to work here today and I cannot break my promise.’

  ‘Well, come home as soon as you are done,’ Mama said tactfully, ‘and do be home in time for an early dinner, Julia. Mrs Gough is planning something special for you.’

  ‘I will, I will,’ I said, smiling.

  Richard came close to help me up into the saddle. ‘I shall be waiting for you,’ he said softly. ‘You are mine.’

  I knew it was wrong.

  I knew he was wrong to say it and I should contradict him at once. I should remind him that the childhood betrothal had not been a serious wish of his for many years now. It was me who had clung to that game long after it should have been outgrown. The last time we had been together he had not behaved anything like a lover.

  I let it go for now. The shock of seeing him at the gate when the world seemed so lush and fresh and fertile, when I had seeds still clinging to my hands like some spring goddess, had been too much for my thin veneer of town gloss. If he had wanted to lie with me in the furrow then and there, I would have done so. I was as amorous as this morning’s wood-pigeon, as naturally fertile as the new-turned soil. I was a Lacey woman on Wideacre, and Lacey women care for nothing more than love and the land. This morning, with Richard waiting for me at the side of a newly ploughed field, I could not resist.

  But we would not always meet at a field gate. As I rode home, I knew there would be words between Richard and me and that when we spoke, I should use the wisdom I had learned in these last few months. I should use that wisdom to defend myself against him. I was not the child who had left for Bath, left her home to be run by someone else, frightened of herself and of the land, and ready to give the land away as carelessly as a shanty cottage. I was not the child who feared her own nature, who feared male authority, who feared everything.

  I had stood against the most fashionable doctor in Bath and shrugged aside his influence as if he were an outgrown toy. I had raised my voice in the best modiste’s shop in Bath and felt my cheeks blaze with anger. I had looked into the eyes of the man I loved and learned that he was just an ordinary man, with ordinary failings; and loved him just the same. I was no longer Richard’s plaything for the bidding or the breaking. I might have been in a dream of pleasure with seeds in my hands this morning, but this afternoon I would be my own self.

  I cantered home in an easy stride with the dusk falling around me and a clear sky above me promising good weather for a working day tomorrow. Behind me were two fields, nearly ploughed and sown, under the sickle moon, and around me were acres of land waiting for the plough under the cold skies.

  I tossed the reins of my mare to Jem and made my way indoors and up to my bedroom. Stride was crossing the hall as I went upstairs. ‘You’ve not long before dinner, Miss Julia,’ he said warningly.

  I gave him a grimace and put my hands together in a mock prayer. ‘Stride, have a little pity,’ I said. ‘I have been in the fields since early morning. If you want to eat Wideacre bread again, you must treat the sowers well. Please delay dinner for me for half an hour so I can soak in a bath and get the stiffness out of my body. I feel like an old lady.’

  It was another measure of the way things had changed that Stride did not scold me as he would a naughty child late for dinner. Instead he looked at the grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs and said, ‘Very well, Miss Julia, I will tell Lady Lacey and Dr MacAndrew that dinner will be delayed.’

  So I had a bath so hot that my skin turned as pink as a river trout, and I came downstairs with my face damp from the sweat at the heat of it, smelling expensively of best Bath soap and toilet waters and dressed in a silk gown of pale blue.

  Richard saw my newly acquired confidence. He saw it in the way I joked with Uncle John, and in the way I nodded to Stride. He saw how I had changed towards my mama – no less loving and tender than in the childhood days, but we now talked as equals. Bath had put a veneer of fashion on me. Bath had curled my hair and taught me how to dress and how to dance, and how to make small talk. Conquering my fear of Beatrice and my fear of the sight had turned me into a woman who could make decisions, who could give and take orders, who could make a promise and keep it and who would never, never be bullied by imaginary fears.

  Or so I thought that evening.

  It was my evening. There were hot-house flowers at my place and a basket full of prettily wrapped presents from as far away as James’s hotel in Belgium, and as near as Jimmy Dart’s cottage. But it was also Richard’s evening. We all wanted to know how he found university life and whether he had made many friends. We wanted to know about his lodgings, and about his tutors, and whether he liked his studies. Richard laid himself out to be entertaining and had us laughing and laughing with tales of the older students in his college.

  ‘They sound fearfully wild,’ Mama said anxiously. ‘I hope that is not your set, Richard.’

  ‘Nonsense, Mama-Aunt!’ Richard said cheerfully. ‘They are the greatest of fellows, but they won’t have a thing to do with me. Students who have just arrived in town are just about the last entrants on the great chain of being, I assure you! They have no time for me at all!’

  He laughed heartily at that, but I knew my cousin Richard, and I knew that a state of affairs in which he was not highly regarded would not strike him as amusing at all. It was odd indeed that at the very time when I had been finding my feet on the land, discovering I was a young woman with desires of my own and finding a serious job to do, Richard had become the youngest and least important young man in a town where young men were not taken seriously.

  I looked at him with judging eyes. He would always be my darling cousin, and today the earth and the sky and the humming in my head had been too much for me and I had gone to him and he had held me and he could have taken me, as if I knew nothing of the indoor Quality life at all; but when I was back in my senses, I could see him clearly. I think I saw him that evening for the first time…and I saw a young man whom I would not trust with a ploughing team.

  I laughed out loud at that thought and Mama asked me what had amused me, and I had to invent some taradiddle to divert the attention away from me. For now Richard was home from Oxford and I had been out on the fields all day, it was obvious, as it had been obvious at the start to Acre, to Ralph Megson and to Uncle John, that I was the one who had inherited the Lacey love of the land, and Richard would never love it and care for it and work it as I did.

  19

  Mama had held Acre, and all of us in the Dower House, to strict observance of the sabbath, and even in the middle of ploughing she could not be moved from it. To my surprise Ralph Megson agreed with her, and when I had said, ‘Lose a ploughing day?’ he had given me one of his sideways glances and asked, ‘And you would add up all the Sundays worked and give the village a week’s holiday every month and a half would you?’

  The carriage took us to church in the morning and back for breakfast, but Mama agreed that provided we stayed inside the boundaries of the estate, we might ride in the afternoon.

  ‘I have to leave tomorrow first thing,’ Richard said, ‘so will you come out at once, Julia?’

  ‘Indeed I will,’ I said, ‘but I shall have to change.’

  ‘Be quick, then!’ he said in his familiar peremptory tone of command.

  I fled up to my bedroom. I had a choice of three riding habits now: my original one in cream, now sadly shabby, and the two newer ones, one in a soft grey with a grey tweeded jacket, which matched my eyes and which I thought fearfully smart, and the other a deep purple. When I had first worn the grey one downstairs, John had drawn in his breath with a little hiss and his eyes had met Mama’s in a look I could not fathom.

  ‘It is just that she always wore her riding dress,’ Mama had said, ‘and she had a grey one that she wore in second mour
ning after their father died.’

  John had nodded, and I knew they were speaking of Beatrice. ‘The resemblance is so striking…’ he started.

  ‘Not at all,’ Mama had interrupted in a forceful voice without her usual courtesy. ‘It is just the dress.’

  ‘But is it a nice dress?’ I had demanded, impatient with the past, free from superstition. ‘Don’t you think it a lovely dress, Uncle John?’

  ‘I think you a very vain Bath miss,’ he had said fondly, ‘fishing for compliments like a hussy. Indeed, it is a very nice dress, and you are a very nice niece, and you have a nice horse. Matched greys, the two of you! Now, go and preen elsewhere, Squire Julia. I have work to do!’

  ‘I am working too!’ I had said, stung. ‘I am going down to Acre to see if they have gravel and sand ready to put down on the lane if it becomes too boggy.’

  ‘Squire Julia indeed,’ John had said, smiling. ‘Go and do your work, then, and call in at the hall on your way back. I want to know if they are able to carry on with their work. The foreman yesterday was saying that if the wind got up too high, they would have to stop.’

  I had nodded and gone, unperturbed that my resemblance to Beatrice could still make John catch his breath. He and I had agreed that we had to live with the ghost of Beatrice, and we were both increasingly easy with our understanding.

  Richard had not seen the riding habit on that day, for he had been away. I could not help wondering if he would think it was pretty too.

  He did.

  I could tell from the way he looked at me. He was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and I walked down towards him with the velvet skirts shushing on every step. His eyes narrowed as he watched me, and he lifted my hand from the banister and kissed it, watching my face.

  ‘You are lovely, Julia,’ he said softly. ‘I can hardly believe it, because I grew up knowing you all my life, but without my noticing, you have grown into the loveliest girl.’

  I flushed scarlet up to the roots of my hair and looked at him. I could think of nothing to say. This was a Richard I did not know. I felt oddly uncomfortable. I was used to Richard as my brother, as my friend, as my tormentor and trusted companion, but words of love from him made me uneasy.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said like a fool, and I gave him an apologetic smile. ‘I feel so silly, Richard,’ I said. ‘I can’t think what to say when you speak to me like that.’

  He frowned at that and went before me towards the kitchen door to go out of the house the back way, but Mrs Gough stayed him with a loving hand on his sleeve and made him eat a fresh-baked roll and drink a cup of coffee before he went out into the cold air. ‘For you’re all skin and bone from that lodging-house food of yours,’ she said anxiously. ‘I doubt you are fed as well there as you are at home.’

  Richard was charming, and ate what she wanted and praised last night’s dinner and begged for his favourite dish this afternoon. I watched him with a smile. He was always so very persuasive. He could charm his way into any position, into anyone’s heart.

  Mrs Gough was wrong, though. He was not all skin and bone. He did look a little taller, and I thought he had grown. He was still a head taller than me, but he had filled out and become broader. He would never be weighty – he would always have that lean, supple look – but he had lost his coltish awkwardness and was no longer a gangling youth.

  I turned my eyes down to my own cup of coffee. I could not look at Richard critically and assess the changes in his appearance. He was dazzling. Even at his youngest and most awkward stage, he had had looks which anyone might envy, with eyelashes as long as a girl’s, a complexion as clear and as vital as a healthy child’s, and a rangy leanness.

  He had caught my eyes on him and he half raised an eyebrow in a silent question. I tried to smile but found that I was almost trembling. Richard nodded, as if he knew something that I did not, and his smile at me was very, very confident.

  ‘We must go, Mother Gough!’ he said firmly. ‘I want to ride all around before dinner.’

  ‘Aye, it’s a fine estate they’re making for you,’ she said, opening the door for us.

  ‘Just half for me,’ Richard corrected her gently.

  ‘Ah, nonsense,’ said Mrs Gough roundly, with a smile for me but with her eyes on his face. ‘The hall and land like this need a handsome young squire to run them on his own. You’d want Master Richard to be master here, wouldn’t you, Miss Julia?’

  I tried to find some light reply, but I found I was blushing furiously and could not put a sentence together. I stammered something, and got myself out of the kitchen and into the cold garden and towards the stables before Mrs Gough could be even more indiscreet.

  Jem had my mare ready for me, but had not known Richard would be riding.

  ‘How’s this?’ Richard asked. ‘Do you ride every day, Julia?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. Richard tossed me up into the saddle. ‘We have been so busy on the land and Uncle John is not well enough to be out all day. Mr Megson cannot be everywhere at once.’

  ‘You are busy,’ Richard said, and his tone was not approving. I felt uneasy and shifted slightly in the saddle.

  ‘There has been a lot to do,’ I said defensively.

  ‘And I can see you do it all,’ Richard said. The words sounded like praise, but I knew Richard was not pleased. ‘What a wonderful little miss squire you are, Julia. Acre must adore you.’

  ‘Stuff,’ I said awkwardly. ‘It is just work, Richard, as Beatrice used to do.’

  He would have said more, but Prince came out of the stable with his head thrown up and Jem clinging on to the reins. ‘He’s rather fresh,’ Richard said, and he sounded almost apprehensive.

  ‘He’s not been ridden very often,’ I said. ‘Jem has taken him out, but John has been too tired to ride much in the cold weather.’

  Richard nodded. ‘Hold him still, can’t you?’ he said abruptly to Jem as the animal shifted when he was trying to mount. Jem nodded, but shot a disrespectful wink at me which I pretended not to see.

  Once Richard was in the saddle, he seemed more confident, though he was a little pale. ‘I shouldn’t think he’s been out of his stable for a sennight,’ he complained. ‘Really, Julia, if you are squiring it around the estate so much, you might ensure that the horses are properly exercised.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said neutrally. I knew Prince would settle down soon. He was too well mannered to let his enthusiasm for being out overcome his normal steadiness. ‘Mr Megson stables one of his horses here,’ I offered. ‘If you don’t like Prince, you could try him.’

  ‘I’ll ride our horse,’ Richard snapped, and he let Prince start forward and brushed past me to trot down the drive.

  ‘Prince is all right,’ Jem said reassuringly. ‘He’s got no vices. If he bolts, he’ll only come home. All Master Richard has to do is to hold on tight and stay on top. I suppose he can do that, Miss Julia.’

  ‘Thank you, Jem,’ I said repressively, and I trotted out into the sunlit drive after Richard.

  I had hoped we would go towards Acre, because I wanted to see what they were planting in the common strips, but Richard turned to the right before we got to the village and led the way up towards the downs.

  ‘I thought we would ride along the top of the downs and then drop down to the common,’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. I could at least check the sheep as we rode past the flock. They were out on the high downs at last, and I wanted to see if the lambs were looking well enough and standing up to their first days out.

  ‘Why do you not know what to say when I tell you how much I admire you?’ Richard asked abruptly as the two horses breasted the rise of the track and came out at the top of the downs, blowing hard.

  I coloured again. ‘I suppose because we have known each other for so long…’ I said awkwardly, ‘and been friends for so long, Richard. It just seems so strange to hear you speak to me like that.’

  ‘But your Bath friends, James Fortescue
and the others, no doubt pay you compliments, don’t they?’ Richard continued. ‘Does it sound odd to you from them?’

  ‘Not from them,’ I said honestly. The horses fell into an easy walk side by side, along the old drovers’ way that runs along the top of the downs. Looking to my left, I could see Acre and the Wideacre woods, the London road and half of Sussex, and Hampshire as well. Looking southwards, I could see the gleam of the sea and the thousand little mud islands of Chichester harbour.

  ‘Is that because you prefer them to me?’ Richard suddenly demanded. I jumped and switched my eyes from the view to Richard. He was breathing fast; his colour came and went in his cheeks, and his eyes were blazing blue. ‘Tell me, Julia,’ he said urgently. ‘I have to know! You wrote me a letter which I could not begin to understand. That is why I came straight home to see you. I believed us to be betrothed. You have given me your word; and then you write to me as if it were a little piece of gossip and tell me that you are affianced to someone else!’

  ‘Richard! No!’ I said. I stopped my horse and put my hand out to him. He jumped down from Prince and lifted me down from the saddle. When my feet touched the frosty grass he did not release me, but kept hold of me in a tight grip, looking down at my face.

  ‘Tell me, then,’ he said huskily, ‘tell me that you have not changed towards me, even though your clothes have changed, and you are so grown-up and confident. Remember how it was when I came to the field just yesterday? Tell me that you still love me.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said simply. ‘I always have done. From as far back as I can remember I have always loved you, Richard. How can you doubt that?’

  ‘You love me as a cousin, I know,’ he said tightly, ‘but you have promised me more than that, Julia. I love you as a lover, I think you know that. We both know what it means. I am asking you, do you love me too?’