Road to Paradise Island Page 12

  you, and has been in love with you for a long time. A man who is older... and shall we say ... more steady?"

  "I really don't know what you are talking about," I said.

  "I was thinking of Mr. Featherstone."

  "Mr. Featherstone! You must be joking. I don't like him. I have never liked him."

  "Sometimes great affection starts that way."

  "Does it? It never would with me ... and that man. I dislike him. And as you are being frank with me I will be equally so with you. What is he doing here? Living here... in this house. It is my house now. Why has he come to live here?"

  "He is not living here. He is a guest. Your father was always hospitable and encouraged me to be the same. He said that all my friends would always be welcome in this house."

  "Well, as he is a friend of yours, perhaps you can persuade him to confine his attentions to you. He always seems to be where I am and I do not like it."

  "He is in love with you, Ann Alice."

  "Please do not say that. I do not believe it. Nor do I want to discuss this man any more."

  My stepmother put her hand to her eyes and shook her head.

  "You must forgive me," she said. "I have spoken too freely. I am only thinking of your good."

  "I am eighteen years old," I reminded her. "That is quite old enough to marry and to choose a husband for myself. Understand this, I shall choose whom I wish and no one ... no one ... is going to force me into marrying someone I do not want. I should never have allowed even my father to do that. Certainly no one else shall."

  "My dear, forgive me. I see you are distraught. Remember, always remember, I only want to do the best for you."

  "Then please do not speak of this matter again. It is distasteful to me..."

  "I am forgiven?"

  She came to me and put her arms about me. I laid my cheek against hers briefly. It was strange but I could never bring myself to kiss her wholeheartedly.

  "Good night, my dear child, good ni^ht."

  When she had gone I sat down by my bed and the words she had spoken kept ringing in my ears. Mrs. Masters niece!

  "It is not true," I said aloud.

  I thought: She is trying to stop my marrying Magnus. She is trying to force me into marrying Desmond Featherstone.

  That could almost make me laugh and I should have done so if I could have forgotten Mrs. Masters' niece.

  Then I took my journal again and am writing this in it.

  November 7th All is well. I am happy again. I knew I should be as soon as I saw Magnus and talked with him.

  He laughed at me when I told him what my stepmother had said about Mrs. Masters' niece. Yes, she had a niece and she was staying at the house. I should go with him now and meet her.

  So I did. She is a plump and friendly woman. She must be at least thirty-five. She is a widow and has a son who is away at school. She is what is called homely. There is nothing of the femme fatale about her. She is fond of Magnus as all the Masters are. It is clear to me that my stepmother's hints are completely without foundation.

  We laughed over it when we were alone. I said: "She talks about long engagements... and I told her that was out of the question as far as we were concerned."

  "Perhaps March," he said. "How would that be? That gives you three months in which to prepare yourself."

  "I don't need preparations," I told him. "I'm ready."

  "I wonder what you'll think of my home."

  "I shall love it."

  "Do you always make your decisions before you have had time to test them?" he asked.

  "Always where you are concerned," I retorted.

  How happy we were and when I am with him I feel how foolish I am to entertain doubts.

  It was different as soon as I went into the house. I dislike November. It is a gloomy month. I love the spring and the early summer, not so much because of the temperature but because of the light. In November it is almost dark by four o'clock. That is what I hate. It is such a long night.

  It was about four-thirty when I came in and already I had to light a candle. They were kept in the hall and we took them as we came in. The servants collected them from wherever they found them and there was always a good supply waiting for use.

  As I entered the corridor which led to my room that eerie feeling came over me. I soon knew why. Desmond Featherstone was standing at the end of the corridor.

  I lifted up my candle as he came towards me and the light from my candle threw his elongated shadow on the walls. I felt my knees begin to tremble.

  "Good evening," I said. I turned to my door but as I touched the handle, he was beside me.

  I did not go into the room. The last thing I wanted was for him to come to my bedroom.

  He came very close. "How nice to see you alone," he said softly.

  "What did you want?" I asked curtly.

  "Just the courtesy of a few words."

  "Could you make them very few. I have much to do."

  "Why are you so unkind to me?"

  "I had no idea that I was. You are enjoying hospitality in my house."

  "You are so beautiful... and so proud. Ann Alice, why won't you give me a chance?"

  "A chance? A chance for what?"

  "To make you love me."

  "No amount of chances could make me do that."

  "Are you determined to hate me?"

  "It is not a matter of determination."

  "Why are you so hard on me?"

  "I did not think I was. I just have other things I must do."

  Still I hesitated because I feared he would follow me in if I opened the door.

  I said: "I must ask you to leave me now."

  "Not until you have listened to me."

  "I have asked you to say quickly what it is."

  "You are very young."

  "Oh, please, no more of that. I know how old I am and it is not so very young."

  "And you know little of the world. I will teach you, my dearest child. I will make you very happy."

  "I am happy, thank you. I don't need any lessons. Now, if you will go...

  He was watching me ironically. He knew that I was afraid to open the door lest he should follow me.

  "You are heartless," he said. "Just one little moment... dearest Ann Alice."

  He put his arms out to take me in them and I was so horrified that I pushed him back. He was taken off his guard for a moment and fell against the wall. I opened my door quickly and went inside, shutting it behind me.

  I stood leaning against it, listening. My heart felt as though it were bursting; my breath was coming in short gasps and I was trembling violently.

  How dared he! Here in my house at that! He must go. I would tell my stepmother that I would not allow him to stay under my roof.

  I pressed myself against the door. I had a notion that he might try to come in. How vulnerable I was! There was no key to the door. I had never felt the need of one before. There must be a key. I would never sleep in peace while he was in the house and my bedroom door unlocked. I believed he would be capable of anything... just anything. I must be on my guard.

  I listened. I could hear nothing. He was silent-footed. I had said to Magnus: "He walks like a cat." And so he did.

  No sound at all. All was quiet in the corridor. Still. I stood there. I was afraid that if I opened the door, I should see him standing there.

  In time my heart began to beat more normally, though I was still trembling. Cautiously I opened the door and peered out. The corridor was empty.

  I came in and put a chair against the door.

  It was time to dress for dinner. In a short time one of the maids would bring up my hot water.

  I moved the chair away from the door. I did not know what construction the maid would put on that if she found it there, but I could be sure that she would report to the kitchen and there would be conjecture.

  How far away April seemed! Perhaps it would be March though. Even so it was a long time to wait.

/>   He seemed quite normal at dinner and made no reference to that scene in the corridor. But then I supposed he wouldn't.

  When I retired to my room that night I barricaded myself in. I knew if I did not I should never sleep.

  The last thing I said to myself before I went into an uneasy doze was: "Tomorrow I will have a key made."

  November 8th I feel triumphant. I study the key lovingly. It represents security.

  The first thing I did this morning was to go down to see Thomas Gow. He has a small cottage on the Green which he uses as a workshop. He ekes out a small living by acting as carpenter and locksmith and doing odd jobs in Little Stanton. There is a firm of carpenters in Great Stanton and I have heard it said that they get the best jobs and poor Thomas Gow the unimportant ones.

  I went to him and told him that I wanted a key and asked if he could make one. He said he could, and I told him I wanted it quickly and must have it today.

  That could be done, he said.

  t

  He came to my room and before the end of the day he called at the house with my precious key. He came up to my room with me and we tried it in the door.

  I cried: "Oh, thank you." And I paid him twice what he asked.

  He could not know how much that key meant to me.

  Now I am about to go to bed and the last thing I am doing is writing in my journal. From my chair I can see my blessed key in the lock. It is turned, shutting me in.

  I feel peaceful and secure. I know I shall sleep well tonight to make up for the wakefulness of the last.

  December 1st Christmas will soon be here. Time is passing slowly. I am so relieved that Desmond Featherstone is not here all the time. He goes to London frequently, but when he returns he comes to the house just as though it is his home. I have spoken to my stepmother about it and she always shakes her head and says: "He was a great friend of my family. There is nothing I can do... really." And she invariably added: "Your father always said that any friends of mine were welcome here."

  I console myself. It is only three months to March. Magnus says that we should make the wedding the beginning of March. So it is getting closer. The thought is a great comfort to me.

  In a way Desmond Featherstone's absences—although it is such a relief to be rid of him—in themselves create a tension. One is never sure when he will return and every time I go upstairs I think of coming across him in the corridor or some unexpected place. It is like being haunted by a ghost; and that is almost as bad as the reality.

  Sometimes I wake in the night and fancy my door handle is being slowly turned. How thankful I am for my key! I am very grateful to Thomas Gow and have tried to find one or two jobs for him, and I have decided that when we have something which needs to be done, I will not go to the big firm in Great Stanton but give Thomas Gow the chance to do it.

  I believe he is quite ambitious and he certainly is prepared to work hard. Such people should be given a chance to get on.

  I had an unpleasant surprise today.

  I had thought that Christmas would be celebrated in the usual way. When I suggested to my stepmother that we ought to set about making the usual preparations she looked horrified.

  "But, my dear, this is a house of mourning. We shall spend Christmas quietly. I could not agree to anything else."

  "I was not suggesting that we should have a riotous feast ... just a few friends."

  "There cannot be any guests. It is such a short time since your father died."

  I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, perhaps just Magnus Perrensen."

  "Oh ... but no guests at all."

  "But my father said we must make him feel at home. He won't have any family of his own. We will just ask him."

  I smiled to myself. That would be best of all. Just Magnus. We would ride in the morning and have a quiet day together.

  "I had thought of that," said my stepmother. "And I have already spoken to Mrs. Masters about it. She said that naturally Mr. Perrensen will have his Christmas with them. He came in while we were discussing it and she suggested it to him there and then, and he was most agreeable."

  I was angry. "It seems that plans are made without consulting me.

  "Oh, I am sorry. But it was not exactly planned. It seemed just the only thing to do in the circumstances."

  There is something about my stepmother. I suppose it is her worldliness. But in a situation like this one she has a gift for making one feel unreasonable, foolish, making a fuss about something quite trivial. She does it so well that she almost makes you believe it yourself.

  December 27th Christmas is over. I am glad. I am glad of everything that brings me nearer to March.

  It went off reasonably well, except that we had the odious Desmond Featherstone with us.

  He came to church with us in the morning. They stood on either side of me singing "O Come, All Ye Faithful." He has a deep loud bellowing sort of voice which can be heard above the rest of the congregation, and all the time we were standing singing he seemed to edge closer to me.

  We walked across the Green home.

  My stepmother was a little sad. She told me she could not help thinking of last Christmas when my father was there.

  I saw Magnus in church, sitting with the Masters, and when he looked at me I was happy. His eyes were clearly saying: Not long now. This time next year, where shall we be?

  I gave myself up to blissful wondering.

  And so Christmas passed.

  Soon we shall be into the New Year.

  January 2nd 1793 What a strange beginning to the New Year.

  I had been out with Freddy. He is beginning to ride quite well

  although when he came to us he had never sat on a horse. I often take him out with me.

  As we came in one of the servants appeared and told me that two gentlemen had called and were asking either for Mrs. or Miss Mallory.

  "Who are they?" I asked.

  "They did not give a name, Miss Ann Alice. But they said it was important."

  "Where is Mrs. Mallory?"

  "She is out at the moment."

  "I'll see them then. Are they in the parlour?"

  She said they were so I told Freddy to go up to his room and I would see him later.

  I went into the little sitting room which we call the parlour. It is a small room leading off the hall.

  One of the men was familiar to me and as soon as he came forward I recognized him.

  The last time he had come he had brought bad news.

  "It's James Cardew, Miss Mallory," he said.

  "Oh yes ... yes ... I remember."

  "And this is Mr. Francis Graham."

  We exchanged greetings.

  "Mr. Graham has just arrived from Australia and in view of what he had to tell me I thought I should come to see you immediately. It concerns your brother, Miss Mallory. I am so sorry that you suffered such a shock on my last visit. It seems that your brother was not lost after all."

  "Oh..." My voice sounded faint. I was filled with joy. Charles was alive! This was wonderful news. Mr. Cardew turned to his companion. "Mr. Graham will explain."

  "Please sit down," I said faintly.

  So we sat and Mr. Graham told me the story.

  It appeared that Charles had been picked up after several days in the water. He was more dead than alive. The ship had been on its way to Sydney, and Charles had been in such a state of shock and exhaustion that he had been unaware of who he was.

  "His memory had completely gone," said Mr. Graham. "He was in an emaciated state. It was thought he could not live. And even when he recovered a little, his memory was gone, which explains why you have heard nothing of him all this time. I was a passenger on that ship. I do business between England and the new colony. When we picked up your brother, I was very interested in his case and when we arrived in Sydney I said I would keep an eye on him. It was obvious

  that he was of good family and English, and when we were on the ship I had tried to help him recover his memory. He
did remember enough to give me some indication of his background, and when we came to Sydney I took him to some friends of mine and asked if they would keep him there, which they did. When I returned to Sydney I was able to see him. Well, to get down to what really matters, I discovered that his name was Charles... Not an unusual name and we were looking at some maps recently and the name Mallory was mentioned. That set something working in his mind.

  "I knew of Mallory's maps. Mr. Cardew was a friend of mine. It was some time before I could get in touch with him but finally I did and we are certain that this man is your brother. I did not want to bring him over until I had checked out a few facts with Mr. Cardew and yourselves—so he is still with my friends. But we are convinced now that this man is your brother. He will be sailing shortly and arriving in England perhaps in March."

  I cried: "It's wonderful news. I only wish my father had lived for this:'

  "He died, did he?" asked James Cardew.

  "Yes. He had been ill on and off for some time, but hearing of my brother's death seemed to undermine him completely ... and he just succumbed to his illness."

  "I wish I had never brought that news to you."

  "It was good of you to come. We had to know. We were worried about that long silence before you came."

  "I thought I must let you know as soon as I could. This is a happier visit than my last."

  My stepmother came in then. She had heard we had visitors and that they were in the parlour.

  "This is Mr. James Cardew and Mr. Francis Graham. They have brought wonderful news. Charles is alive!" I cried.

  "Charles ..."

  "My brother whom we thought was lost at sea. He was picked up."

  "Picked up ... " She stared. "It can't be! After all this time."

  I had an idea that she wanted to prove that the man who was picked up was not my brother.

  "Strange things happen at sea," said Francis Graham. "I have heard of cases like this before. It is a fact that Mr. Charles Mallory was shipwrecked but picked up. He suffered from loss of memory among other things and was therefore unable to communicate with his family."