White Water Page 39

  He waited, puzzled, for her to continue, but her self-control was fragile and she took a moment to master het emotions.

  ‘I have thought it out this way, Allan. I will not part with my little boys and you want them at Heron. Then why not wed me?’

  He was completely taken aback by her suggestion and his dismay showed fleetingly before he could hide it.

  ‘I see,’ said Felicity. ‘Your expression has answered me.’

  She turned towards the door, intending to pass him, but he put out a restraining arm to block the way.

  ‘Wait. I have said nothing yet,’ he protested. ‘You are too hasty. I gave you more time to consider my proposition.’

  That was true and she hesitated. ‘Then take a little longer,’ she said coldly. ‘Let me put the facts before you as I see them. You wish to bring up Martin’s sons and I will not part with them. If you wed me I will bring the boys to Heron. I do not love you but I scarcely know you. I hope I may love you in time. You, for your part, do not love me, and you have caused my lover’s death. That might stand between us, although for my part I have already said that I accept it was an accident. You may love me in time. On the financial side — ’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘You will not be gaining a rich wife who will help re-establish the Heron mine. I have almost twenty gold pieces left and you are welcome to that. Also the share of Romney House which Maria intends to settle on the boys. That would be our contribution, small though it may be. I would care for Piers and Lorna when Maria returns to Arnsville — she has told me she is determined to do so. I would be to you all that a wife should be. In fact I should try to make up to you for all the unhappiness of the past few years. Together I believe we could prove, once and for all, that the Gillis curse is meaningless. I would give you sons and daughters and Martin’s memory will not stop me from loving you — if you will help me.’

  The last five words of the breathless little speech touched Allan’s heart more than all the rest. He was astonished and full of admiration for the girl.

  ‘And will you give me time to consider?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye. Five minutes. I will sit here and wait your answer.’

  He burst out laughing as, stony-faced, she sat down on the bench beside the beer-stained table, still littered with the remains of last night’s carousing.

  ‘Felicity! Forgive me but — oh, this is so unexpected. You have astonished me.’

  ‘You find it humorous,’ she said.

  ‘No — that is, in some ways. Did ever a man receive such a proposal! I am not laughing at you but at the two of us. No, maybe at myself. I have been very blind yet thought myself so clever.’

  Slowly she allowed herself a glance at his face and at once her own face relaxed a little as she saw the genuine humour in Allan’s eyes.

  ‘You have made me laugh!’ he told her. ‘I think the first time for years. My sweet Felicity, I ought to be angry with you — ’

  ‘Angry?’

  ‘Your plan is so much better than my own. And I spent days perfecting mine and you have bettered it in an evening!’

  ‘What do you mean, Allan. I have had no straight answer as yet.’

  ‘And my five minutes? Is it up?’ he mocked gently. ‘I see it this way. We have both been abandoned in our own ways. Martin and Eloise.’ He sighed. ‘Yet we both have a lot of love to give. You are a clever girl, Felicity, to put together such a plan. I’m truly dazzled by its brilliant simplicity.’

  ‘But what is your answer, Allan?’

  ‘I accept your offer unconditionally.’

  She said ‘Oh’ and looked down at her fingers, which twisted in her lap. Then she said ‘Oh’ again in quite a different tone. He moved towards her a step and she stood up.

  ‘Are you going to say “Oh” again?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Felicity. ‘I’m trying to think of something more original. You must give me time.’

  ‘Five minutes?’

  She laughed tremulously and put up her hands suddenly to hide her ravaged face. ‘My face,’ she whispered.

  ‘If I must wed an ugly maid — ’

  He shrugged and she lowered her hands. ‘I have not slept all night,’ she said.

  ‘Poor Felicity. I’ve caused you so much grief. Will you forgive me?’

  ‘I think it has ended well.’

  ‘You think so? Are you still unsure?’

  ‘Is it settled?’ she asked him. ‘I mean, are we — are you — ’

  ‘Am I going to wed you and are you going to bring those two handsome sons to Heron? The answer is “aye” to both questions. I am such a fool, Felicity. I should have offered you that solution.’

  ‘’Tis of no matter now.’

  They looked at each other in disbelief.

  ‘Felicity!’ he said. ‘We have two yards of filthy floor between us! Why is that do you suppose?’

  She looked down, seeing for the first time the dirty straw, scraps of food and splashes of ale.

  ‘Is this really happening?’ she whispered, her eyes downcast. ‘I can scarce believe it. I was so sure you would say “No”. Then I felt that I could tell the twins the truth at some stage and — they would not think so badly of me. And you did not say “no”!’

  ‘Come to me, Felicity.’

  He held out his arms and after a moment’s hesitation she moved to him and his arms closed round her. He felt her shudder with fresh tears. ‘No more tears,’ he told her. ‘You are ugly enough already — Ah! that’s better. Now you are smiling.’ He kissed her gently. ‘Felicity, let us make a pact. To be happy together. You and me and the boys.’

  ‘And the other children.’

  ‘And the others. What d’you say?’

  ‘Aye, let’s be happy, Allan. I believe we deserve it.’

  They regarded each other solemnly and kissed again. A sound from the door startled them and they found the innkeeper’s wife watching suspiciously from the doorway.

  ‘I said no nonsense,’ she reminded Allan sourly.

  Allan looked at Felicity. ‘No nonsense!’ he mimicked. ‘D’you hear that?’

  She smiled shakily and then they both began to laugh and then hugged each other again.

  ‘We are going to be wed,’ Allan told her.

  ‘I thought as much,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Knocking a body up before sun up! ’Tis always the way.’

  He didn’t bother to disillusion her but asked instead for breakfast. ‘And for pity’s sake sweep us a clean corner to sit in while we eat it.’

  Over breakfast it was decided that Felicity would go back to the cottage to tell Dorothy and Lucas what had happened. She insisted on doing that in her own way, refusing Allan’s offer to accompany her. Allan would wait at the inn until she was ready to leave for Heron, refusing to go without her in case she changed her mind while he was gone. He would send a letter home to prepare Maria for their arrival and then he and Felicity and the children would travel back to Devon together. They would wed without further delay.

  ‘And our new life will begin,’ said Felicity, her eyes shining with hope.

  And Allan, looking into her eyes, felt that it had already done so.

  *

  The events of the next few days were confusing. By the time Allan’s letter reached Heron, Maria, with Matt and a pack pony, was on her way back to Kent for the sale of Romney House which had been delayed by nearly a week because of the auctioneer’s ‘indisposition’. He was an elderly man frequently troubled by gout but he was the best in his profession and Maria was not prepared to accept another member of the firm in his place. It therefore came about that while Maria rested and dined at the Blue Boar just outside Salisbury, Allan, Felicity and the twins passed within yards of her. In fact had she sat on the opposite side of the table she would almost certainly have seen them pass the window. She went on towards Kent unaware of the outcome of Allan’s visit to Felicity.

  The auction attracted a large number of prospective buyers, many from London, one or two from
the surrounding area and even two from as far away as Oxford and Aylesbury. The house was full of strangers on their various tours of inspection and their many footsteps echoed on the stairway. The few articles of furniture that Maria was keeping had been stored in the barn prior to despatch. While the auction was in progress Matt would take the relevant items over to Felicity and the rest they would take home. The remainder had been sold already and the rooms were bare. She could not bear to see it so and sat on a stool at the back of the Hall while the room gradually filled up. Benches and a few stools had been provided by the auctioneer, and at the far end a tall lectern had been set up beside a small table on which various documents had been neatly arranged beside a jug and beaker and the small hammer. Maria watched and listened as groups of people drifted in and sat down, intent, comparing their impressions of the property and mostly unaware that Maria was the present owner. She recognized a local man who lived on the outskirts of Rye and he, recognizing her, joined her for a brief chat before the actual proceedings began.

  Promptly at two o’clock the auctioneer introduced himself and the auction began. To Maria’s surprise and heartfelt relief, it was all over in less than fifteen minutes. The reserve price had been passed with a comfortable margin and she was well pleased with the final price, which was a little more than they had anticipated. The purchaser was from Aylesbury and later he was introduced to Maria and told her how delighted he was to be the new owner.

  He was a printer by trade and was planning to move the business further south. The stables would be extended to house the machines, the barn would be demolished and …

  Maria did not want to hear the details. She wanted to remember the house as it had always been but already it sounded different — empty and cold — and it grew harder to summon up the images of Ruth and Harold. She made her excuses and spoke quickly to the auctioneer about the few matters which remained, then left the house without a backward glance.

  From there she rode to Arnsville. Matt would wait for her and she would be able to see Martin’s sons before they returned to Devon. Arnsville drew her inexorably and she experienced the strangest lightening of spirits with each passing mile. Once, as a young woman, she had approached it with near dread, but now it seemed to beckon like an old friend. She had not seen it for nearly twelve years, but when she first glimpsed it time stood still. It had not changed at all — but no, that was impossible, she told herself. Always, everywhere, there is imperceptible change. If the buildings were the same then the inhabitants would be altered. She had grown older. They would have aged also. Some would have died. She knew they had a new prioress, Dame Margaret, the wealthy daughter of a family of London merchants. An occasional letter from Katharine had kept her in touch for a few years, but then they had ceased. She reined in her horse and sat looking down at the place which had once been her entire world and one day would be so again. The thought comforted her. Seeing it again crystallized in her the longing for the tranquil lifestyle which she had once found so hard to bear. Now she craved the small quiet cell, the simple life and the companionship of holy women. Astonished and strangely excited, she rode slowly on, savouring the moment, anticipating her arrival with childish eagerness.

  A young novice opened the door to her but then Katharine was hurrying towards her, hands outstretched in a welcome so genuine that tears sprang into Maria’s eyes.

  ‘Katharine! I cannot tell you — ’

  ‘Oh how good to see you, Maria! So many years and yet you look no older.’

  They clung together for a moment and the novice was sent away — to tell the prioress of Maria’s arrival and to alert the kitchen so that refreshment could be sent to the prioress’s quarters.

  ‘Is it true, Maria? You are coming back to us? Tell me with your own lips or else I dare not believe it.’

  ‘’Tis true, Katharine. So much has happened — I cannot tell it all now, ’tis too painful — ’

  ‘Then don’t! We shall have plenty of time and I so look forward to hearing everything. Life is as dull as ever!’

  ‘Dull? Oh Katharine, if you knew how I crave a dull existence! I’ve changed, Katharine. I have changed so much.’

  ‘But your husband is dead? The prioress spoke of it. I was so grieved for you. We prayed for you. And those that remember you talked of your letter that told us you were not coming back.’

  ‘That I was going to wed Hugo!’

  ‘Aye. Such a stir, you can imagine! That set the cat among the pigeons, I can tell you. And now he is dead. My poor Maria.’

  ‘We won’t speak of it,’ she said hastily.

  At that moment the novice returned to say that the prioress would receive Maria.

  ‘I’ll speak to you again,’ she promised Katharine and followed the girl through the familiar cloisters, past the chapel where she had made her first penance and from where she had crept out for a clandestine meeting with Matt. A smile lit up her face at the memory. She had been inattentive during the study period which she and Katharine shared: Dame Augusta, who instructed the novices, reprimanded her not once but twice and finally gave Maria a penance of an extra hour’s prayer on her knees after Compline.

  ‘This way,’ said the novice shyly.

  Maria smiled at her. ‘I know the way like the back of my hand.’

  The girl nodded, opened the door and Maria came face to face with the new prioress.

  Dame Margaret greeted her quietly and expressed her regret at Maria’s recent loss. They sat down and the question of Maria’s return — at a time unspecified — was discussed to their joint satisfaction. The financial aspect was then raised and that, too, proved to be in order.

  ‘You will no doubt find many changes,’ said the prioress. She was a tall woman with an angular face and cold grey eyes. Her voice betrayed her London origins and her manner was confident to the point of arrogance. Not a woman to tangle with, Maria thought, but with her own maturity the thought gave her no qualms. She was no longer a headstrong young girl, resentful of the limitations of a cloistered existence. She was a tired, lonely woman craving security and a small corner of the world that was hers alone. In Arnsville she would find just that. This austere woman would keep a tight rein on the little group of women and her forbidding presence would deter the troublemakers, maintain the efficient running of the establishment and ensure the even tenor of convent life. Maria could appreciate the need for such a woman and would, she knew, find occasion to be grateful. They drank sweet ale together and Dame Margaret encouraged Maria to talk about her family and the responsibilities which delayed her return to Arnsville. She then spoke briefly of her own connections and of her earlier life in London. Her young husband had died at sea without giving her a child. She had refused to wed again and her parents had settled her at her own request in a convent in Arundel which had been closed like many others by the Dissolution of the monasteries. After two more such setbacks she had moved into Arnsville.

  ‘So you see,’ she concluded, ‘I, too, have tasted marriage and the ways of the world. But I thank God daily for my decision to take Holy Orders. I have never regretted it. You are making the right decision, my dear,’

  ‘I know I am,’ said Maria. ‘I shall look forward to my return.’

  She little knew, as she spoke, quite how soon that would be.

  Katharine was waiting for her when she left the prioress and the two women walked in the flagged courtyard, talking animatedly but in low voices.

  ‘I’m Mistress of the Novices now,’ Katharine told her. ‘And Dame Agnes has died of a fit, God rest her soul. Dame Augusta left us. She began to quarrel quite dreadfully with the old prioress and the bishop was consulted. On his advice she moved to Ealing, where no doubt she is quarrelling still!’

  ‘Dame Augusta!’ said Maria. ‘I recall she escorted me when I went to Harold’s funeral. She was not quarrelsome then. Strict and so pious — but not quarrelsome.’

  ‘’Twas her health. She had a troublesome stone and was often laid low wi
th the pain of it. So, I am Mistress of the Novices in her stead. But you, Maria, in those clothes! You look so worldly. How can you bear to give it all up?’

  ‘I cannot speak of it yet, Katharine. My griefs are so recent but I will tell you all in time, if you will be patient. I would come back tomorrow were it not for my two children. I cannot leave them until Allan has wed again. I love them dearly but — ’ She laughed a little shamefacedly. ‘Hugo was the light of my life — ’

  ‘As I well recall!’

  ‘Aye. Even the children did not replace him in my affections. My worldly life ended with his death.’

  Katharine was silent. Then she said cheerfully, ‘How’s the devoted Matt? Will he return with you?’

  ‘No. I would not ask it of him, poor Matt. He is happy at Heron, and must end his days there. And, indeed, I don’t need him with me the way I did before. Then he was a link with my old life. Now, I do not need such links. But tell me of your own life while I have been gone.’

  Katharine threw out her hands despairingly. ‘There is nothing to tell,’ she said. ‘I teach the novices but I have no Maria among them so I am fortunate!’ They both laughed. ‘I am quite reconciled to my life here and can enjoy the company of most of my sisters — with the exception of Dame Martha. You will not care for her, Maria. She is a thorn in our flesh but we pray for her and are hopeful of a transformation. She fills the dorter with her snores, eats like a pig and smells like a farmyard! But she brought great wealth with her — we have a new orchard full of plum and pear trees and the stables were rebuilt. But there, we tolerate her. We are all God’s creatures.’

  Katharine’s words brought back so clearly the essence of spiritual life. Maria glanced down at the black velvet of her travelling outfit and felt a sudden distaste for the rich fabric and fashionable detail. She thought of the rose-red taffeta and the blue silk and discovered that they had lost their charm. She envied Katharine her sandalled feet, and dark shapeless tunic with its simple cord at the waist. A deep sigh shook her. She would be patient a little longer and then this coveted way of life would be hers again.