White Water Page 13

  ‘How goes the match?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Allan and Eloise — do you think they like each other? Has there been a sign or a hint? I thought of nothing else until Mark Wynne appeared on the scene. Hugo, do tell me what has been happening.’

  ‘I will, I will!’ he laughed. ‘If you have done with your questions, I may venture some answers! Do I think they like each other?’ He paused reflectively and Maria bit back an impatient comment. ‘I think Eloise is disappointed that he does not show her more affection, but knowing Allan as well as I do, I think he is giving her more attention than I expected.’

  ‘Hugo! What does that mean? Have you answered my questions?’

  He opened his hands with a helpless gesture. ‘How can I say more? As far as I can tell they do not quarrel and they spend a fair amount of time together.’

  ‘A fair amount! Is that all? Oh, what is the matter with the boy? There are times when I could shake him.’

  Hugo shook his head gently. ‘No Maria, he’s no longer a child. No one can influence him. I think he finds her more attractive than he cares to admit. His manner is — guarded. He needs more time, that is all.’

  ‘And Eloise? Is she all we hoped for? You have seen her this past week. What is your true opinion of her? I must know. Did we make a wise choice?’

  Again his reply was slightly guarded. ‘Eloise is — intelligent and has great charm but she is used to her own way, I feel. Her father has obviously indulged her in everything. That much was evident in the time he was here. She is also rather vain but who can blame her. She is already a beauty.’

  Maria was chastened by his observations and Hugo regretted her disappointment.

  ‘You did ask for a true opinion,’ he reminded her, ‘and ’tis hardly a calamity. On the other side of the coin she is interested in the management of the house and the mine — ’

  ‘The mine?’

  ‘Aye. We talked at some length on the subject and she is eager to learn all she can and has a ready ’understanding. She asked Minnie for her recipe for mincemeat and has won her heart completely. She has won everyone’s affection — Ellie, Ben, Matt. They all adore her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Maria felt a slight twinge of jealousy but quickly suppressed it, ashamed of her reaction. ‘So there’s hope for them?’

  ‘If Allan can give her all the love and attention she craves aye, there’s hope for them. We must put our trust in God. I think all will be well. But why are we still standing on the steps. We’ll go in and find you food and drink. Oh Maria, I have to let you go away, for ’tis so good when you come home!’

  Eloise was delighted to discover that Maria and Martin had returned. She had been looking forward to a supper at which the whole family was present and she could take her place as Allan’s bride-to-be and ‘second’ mistress of Heron. Since her arrival she had worked hard at winning hearts and influencing her future father-in-law. Her father had done his best to promote her, but she had finally grown tired of his constant efforts to convince Hugo that she was the perfect bride for Allan. Why did no one try to persuade her of Allan’s suitability as her husband? Her original doubts about him had mostly been dispelled for she sensed the suppressed desire which he believed well hidden and knew he could not maintain his passive role indefinitely. Twice during the week he had ridden out alone and he had spent one whole day at the mine. When they walked together in the garden he was polite and spoke earnestly on a variety of subjects, but Eloise Ballantyne was never one of them. So far he had proved impervious to her feminine wiles and despite her thinly veiled encouragements, had done no more than kiss her hand. But he longed to do more. That much she read in his eyes and knew intuitively that an admission of his feelings for her was just a matter of time. How much time remained to be seen. She was not known for her patience. She was curious about his relationship with Harriet and asked discreet questions of the servants. Their replies confused her. They had seemed an ideal couple, Ellie confided, and very much in love. Had Harriet been beautiful? Sweet-faced, Minnie told her, with a soft smile and gentle ways. Eloise was unimpressed and decided she had little to worry about. Maria and Martin would soon be back and with a little help from the latter she would soon jerk Allan out of his indifference.

  The meal was well under way and Eloise was enjoying herself immensely. Hugo, at the head of the table, was properly attentive and Allan, opposite her, was relaxed and unusually talkative. The talk flowed freely as Hugo told stories of his earlier exile in France and Maria spoke with affection of her protracted stay in the nunnery at Arnsville. Martin amused them with descriptions of some of the more eccentric boys and teachers at his school and the two younger ones endlessly extolled the virtues of the puppy who had finally been named Beazel.

  ‘Poor old Leonie,’ laughed Maria referring to the older dog. ‘I expect she is worn out by his youthful antics. She has had the house to herself for so long.’

  ‘Oh but she loves Beazel,’ Lorna insisted earnestly. ‘She plays with him and they chase in the garden. Tomorrow you must see, Mama, how they romp together.’

  Martin looked up wickedly. ‘Oh, there’s nothing like a young pup to liven an old dog — wouldn’t you agree, Allan?’

  ‘Allan’s not old!’ cried Eloise, quick to take the point of the remark, ‘he is mature.’

  ‘You make him sound like a good wine,’ said Martin.

  ‘And you make me sound like a scatterbrained pup!’ She pretended indignation but her eyes met his, challenging.

  ‘Talking of good wine — ’ said Hugo hastily, ‘my goblet is empty. Help yourselves and pass the flagon along.’

  Martin picked it up and offered wine to Eloise.

  ‘Have you had enough?’ he asked.

  She lowered her eyes fractionally and said, ‘Of wine? Aye.’

  ‘Only of wine?’ he persisted, refilling his own goblet. ‘What else do you lack?’

  He passed the wine to Piers and Maria said, ‘No more for you, Piers, you and Lorna have had enough.’ And she took the flagon and refilled Hugo’s goblet.

  Lorna giggled. ‘Allan’s twenty-two!’ she said. ‘He’s an old man!’

  Hugo leaned over and tweaked her ear. ‘Take care what you say, young lady. I’m more than twice Allan’s age remember. Would you have me with a long grey beard, then, and no teeth?’

  She clapped a hand to her mouth, shrieking with laughter.

  ‘You know the old saying,’ said Eloise. ‘Many a good tune is played on an old fiddle!’

  She glanced at Allan opposite her and then across at Martin.

  ‘Do you like music?’ he asked innocently.

  Maria was fully aware of the undertones, but unsure how to put an end to them. Hugo had drunk rather too well and was taking the exchange at face value.

  ‘I propose a toast,’ he said, ‘to old fiddles and mature wine.’

  Eloise raised her glass. ‘But some wines are best drunk young,’ she said and held Martin’s eyes steadily over the rim of her goblet. ‘Are you a connoisseur?’

  ‘What is a connoisseur?’ asked Piers.

  ‘A connoisseur — ’ Hugo began but Martin interrupted him.

  ‘A connoisseur is someone who knows what he likes. I know what I like so I suppose I am a connoisseur.’

  Martin knew by Maria’s expression that she was about to challenge him so he hastily turned his attention to the pile of walnuts on his plate and began to crack them.

  ‘So you can define the word connoisseur?’ said Allan. ‘It seems your teachers have taught you something. Let us be thankful for small mercies.’

  He stood up abruptly and turned to Eloise. ‘If you have finished you might care to walk down to the river with me before the light goes. There is often a kingfisher at this hour.’

  ‘A kingfisher? How splendid. I’ve never seen one.’ She stood up obediently and Maria breathed a sigh of relief which was short-lived for Eloise continued, ‘Will you join us, Martin? I should be flattered to have two handsome brothers to escort me to the ri
ver.’

  Martin hesitated. He dearly wanted to accept but dared not. The man in him longed to challenge his brother but the boy in him feared Maria’s wrath.

  ‘I think not,’ he said. ‘They say two’s company and three’s a crowd.’ And he watched them leave the room with regret. Avoiding Maria’s eye, he turned back to his plate, picked up the nutcrackers and gave the walnuts his undivided attention.

  *

  Allan and Eloise walked across the garden, past the orchard and down the steps to the stretch of garden that bordered the river. Neither spoke. Eloise was a trifle apprehensive but unrepentent. Allan was disturbed but anxious to conceal the fact. He was grateful that Martin had not accompanied them but knew well the reason. They stood side by side, looking down at the water which gleamed softly with the last of the light and lapped the stepping stones with a familiar sound that soothed Allan’s ruffled feelings. At last he said as calmly as he could — ‘So what d’you think of my young half-brother?’

  ‘You are very different.’

  ‘Neither of us took after our mother and we had different fathers. We do not look alike or think alike.’

  ‘He is mature for his years,’ said Eloise. She pulled the dead head from a yellow iris and threw it on the water and they both watched it being borne away.

  ‘But you like him,’ said Allan.

  ‘I do. Don’t you want me to like him?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then I’ll make you happy and tell you that I find him most agreeable. If Hugo was like him at that age I can see why Maria found him so irresistible.’

  A fish jumped and they watched the pattern of widening ripples as though their lives depended upon it. The silence lengthened and Eloise wondered nervously if she had overstepped the mark.

  ‘Mayhap,’ he said at last, ‘you should be betrothed to Martin.’

  His forthright words stung her. She had not expected such a direct challenge.

  ‘He has a boyish charm and pleasant manners,’ she retorted. ‘Most people find such qualities agreeable. He is cheerful company and makes me laugh. I do not wish myself betrothed to him, however, but I’m offended you appear so indifferent on the matter. Mayhap you wish me betrothed to him — and don’t, I beg you, speak to me of Harriet. I am aware of her virtues. If ’tis another Harriet you seek, then I am not for you!’

  ‘You are jealous of her ghost.’

  ‘And you are jealous of your brother!’

  They still did not face each other but addressed their remarks to the air above the river where a cloud of midges danced crazily in the cooling air.

  ‘If you find him such a paragon,’ said Allan quietly, ‘why do you choose me?’

  She shrugged. ‘You are my betrothed,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a poor answer.’

  ‘Then you answer this — why don’t I please you for ’tis plain I don’t. Is it Harriet’s ghost that comes between us? Was your love so perfect that no one else can take her place? Did you show her love and affection that you will not show to me? Oh you pretend to be cold, Allan, but I read the truth in your eyes.’ She was almost shouting now. ‘But what am I to do? Am I to throw myself at your feet, begging for a kindly word or gesture? If that is what you are waiting for you will be disappointed. I do not grovel, Allan Kendal. I don’t need you to tell me what I am. I know I am beautiful. I know I am desirable. I see it in men’s eyes — aye and boys’, too. I see it in Martin’s eyes. He is not ashamed to find me attractive. You are, it seems. Or else I do not please, you and I have imagined the passion in your eyes.’

  Allan’s face was white and his eyes blazed as he looked at her. Suddenly he caught her fiercely by the shoulders, but with an effort controlled his voice and kept it low. ‘You don’t please me if you flirt with my brother!’ he said. ‘You don’t please me if you want me to fall in love with your beauty and wit. That’s not what I see in a woman. My woman must be tender, with a loyal and loving heart. If ’tis a declaration of love you seek then I cannot make it. I scarcely know you. As to passion — I will declare it in my own time or not at all. Now I have had my say. ’Tis your turn. Say what you will and we’ll be done with this folly.’ She struggled to free herself but he would not release her. ‘Say it, Eloise. Say if ’tis Martin you want, not me.’

  With a last effort, she wrenched herself free from his grasp and stepped back. The colour burned in her cheeks. The words trembled on her lips but with an effort she refrained. She closed her eyes to conceal her anger and fought to breathe more steadily, and still the pounding of her heart.

  ‘’Tis not Martin I want,’ she said at last, her voice low. She opened her eyes, saw the hope spring into his, and hastily lowered them as with a muffled cry Allan pulled her towards him.

  She raised her head and looked into his eyes, and was shocked to feel a fierce longing sweep over her. So this man who was to be her husband could reach her emotions!

  Allan’s lips were close to hers. He is going to kiss me, she thought, and knew that if he did her body would respond. She would not let that happen. Not yet. He must wait for her.

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered drawing back slightly. ‘Not yet. This is a bad beginning but you are right. We have plenty of time.’

  His arms fell back to his side and his eyes darkened with disappointment.

  ‘Then say it again,’ he murmured. ‘Say that ’tis me you want. I need to hear the words again.’

  ‘I want you, Allan Kendal,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The two women sat in the kitchen on opposite sides of the table, each busy with her own thoughts. Melissa was chopping onions with fierce concentration. Thomas had developed another heavy cold and it had suddenly settled on his chest. She had insisted that he spend a whole day in bed, for the raw November weather aggravated the condition and the bouts of frantic coughing exhausted him. He was over sixty and had never been robust, although he had always denied this fact. Every winter a battle developed between husband and wife, with Melissa urging him to don his sheepskin vest and Thomas delaying as long as he dared. He no longer worked a full week and rarely went to the mine, but attended to the various accounts either at Heron or in the comfort of his own home.

  From upstairs came the sound of coughing and Melissa ‘tutted’ anxiously. ‘Listen to that!’ she said to Maggie. ‘And he’d have ridden over to Heron today if I’d allowed it. In this weather!’

  She waved a hand towards the window. Outside the fog swirled lazily, hiding all but the nearest trees. ‘A fog like pea-soup and Thomas would be out in it. ’Tis quite beyond me. Men are so stubborn.’

  ‘Aye, they are,’ Maggie agreed. ‘They’re most likely born stubborn.’ She was knitting a blanket for Beatrice’s baby, and her fingers moved jerkily as she worked, occasionally tugging a new length of woollen thread from the bag beside her. The wool had been bleached a soft creamy white and Maggie had spun it herself — a labour of love for, as she was first to admit, she had no talent for anything but pies and puddings. Melissa laid the knife aside and scooped the onion into a small iron pot. She added a cupful of cider-vinegar and a large spoonful of honey and hung the pot over the fire to heat.

  ‘Finest thing there is for a racking cough,’ she said. ‘’Twas Minnie taught me that. I must remember to tell that to Eloise. She’ll no doubt be collecting recipes and remedies for her household roll.’ She seized a cloth and wiped the chopping board.

  ‘I should be doing that,’ Maggie protested without conviction. ‘’Tis I’m cook, you know, and here we are with me knitting while you chop onions.’

  Melissa smiled. ‘Ah, but ’tis a remedy for my dear Thomas and I like to see to it myself. ’Tis foolish, I know. I daresay you think I mollycoddle him but since Oliver left I need someone to cosset. I’m like a mother hen with no chicks!’

  Maggie gave her an affectionate look. The two women were very close friends. The suggestion that Maggie should move into Ladyford had proved highly successful to all conc
erned.

  ‘Now,’ Melissa went on briskly, ‘I’ll strain that when the onions are soft and add another spoonful of honey. Minnie made it last winter and ’twas most effective. Another quick stir — ’ She sniffed it critically and then nodded, apparently satisfied with its progress.

  Maggie reached the end of a row and held the knitting up for inspection.

  ‘’Tis coming along well,’ said Melissa. ‘Beatrice will be astonished.’

  Maggie held it to her cheek. ‘’Tis not as soft as I’d like,’ she said dubiously. ‘I hope ’twill not irritate.’

  ‘Beatrice will not put it skin close,’ said Melissa. ‘Never fear. ’Twill go over the linen sheet so don’t fret on that score.’

  Another bout of coughing from upstairs held her attention for a moment and she went to the bottom of the stairs and called up, ‘I’ve a certain remedy for that cough, Thomas. I’ll be up with it directly.’

  His reply was lost in a further paroxysm of coughing and Melissa tried to hide her concern as she hurried back to the simmering pot and stirred it vigorously, in an attempt to hasten its completion.

  For a while neither of them spoke, then Maggie glanced out of the window. ‘I thought I heard a voice,’ she said and went to the window to peer out. ‘Can’t see a blessed thing, but I could swear I heard someone.’

  She just had time to resume her knitting when there was a loud rat-tat on the front door. They looked at each other in surprise.

  ‘You were right,’ cried Melissa. ‘Who can it be — with Thomas upstairs in bed and Jacob loaned to Heron until tomorrow?’

  ‘You’d best answer it and find out,’ said Maggie with another tug at her wool, and Melissa went through into the passage and along to the front door.

  A dark-eyed woman stood outside holding a young child in her arms. She was poorly dressed and her shoes were worn but she smiled cheerfully. Her dark hair was covered by a shawl and her skin was a dark golden brown. The child, who looked about a year old, was wrapped in a coarse blanket. She, too, had dark hair which curled over her head but her eyes were grey. The woman put a finger to her lips and shook her head and then pointed to a wedding ring on her left hand.