Road to Paradise Island Read online

  But it is the fear in my mind which produces these thoughts.

  Why do I feel so intense about him? It is almost as though it is a premonition, a warning.

  It will be better when they come home, I keep telling myself.

  Just another week.

  May 3rd Today I remembered my journal. I could not find it at first and I had a horrible fear that I had lost it. I started to wonder what I had written in it and what my stepmother would think if it fell into her hands. I was sure I had written something unflattering about her.

  Perhaps I should be careful what I write in it but what is the sense of having a journal if one does not write exactly what one feels at the time?

  To my great joy I found it. It was where I had put it at the back of the drawer which seems to be a good place for it, behind the gloves and scarves, well hidden away.

  It is some time now since they came back. I was there to greet them. I studied Papa carefully. He looked very happy. Miss Gilmour— I must remember to call her my stepmother—looked radiant. She had new clothes, very smart, "Continental" they call them in the kitchen. 'That Frenchy touch." Though they hadn't been to France, of course.

  I have begun to think that I may be mistaken about my stepmother. Everyone says what a good match it is and how pleased they are for Papa to have "found happiness again." He had been a widower too long, they all agree, and people have to learn not to mourn forever.

  The same cliches are brought out over and over again and I have been thinking what a boon they are for they roll off the tongue in such an easy manner and people can always feel they have said the "right thing."

  My stepmother has set about changing the house. There are new

  furnishings in several of the rooms. She does not interfere much with the servants and that makes her quite popular although there are certain members of the domestic staff who think it is not quite proper that one who had been more or less a servant in the house should now be elevated to the role of mistress.

  However, they seem to be forgetting that and it is clear that my stepmother is enjoying her new position.

  It has been decided that I could very well do without a new governess, though my stepmother has suggested that I do a certain amount of reading every day which she will supervise. My father listened to all this with approval and I have to admit that he seems more like a father than he has done since the death of my mother.

  The supervising of my reading is dwindling and I believe that in due course it will cease. I am pleased about that.

  There has been a little controversy about what I should call her. There have been one or two occasions when I have forgotten and the name Miss Gilmour has slipped out. That did not please her... nor my father.

  It is amazing how one can manage for a long time without calling people anything—and that was what I did. One day, just as we were leaving the dining room, she put her arm round me and said in that cosy little voice which she uses now and then: "Wouldn't it be nice if you could call me Mother... or Mama... or something like that?"

  "Oh ... I couldn't," I blurted out.

  "Why not?" Her voice was sharp and I could see that my father looked pained.

  "Well," I stammered. "I remember my mother so well. There couldn't be anyone..."

  My father looked impatient but she said, soothing now, "Of course ... of course ..." She sighed a little and then smiled sweetly. "Perhaps, Stepmamma. Could you manage that?"

  "Yes, I suppose so," I said.

  So I am to call her Stepmamma.

  But I know that for quite a lot of the time I shall succeed in calling her nothing at all.

  June 1st Mr. Featherstone is still here. He waylays me just the same as ever, and I still avoid him when I can. I have decided not to be polite any more, and there are certain verbal battles between us which I find easier to handle than all that forced politeness.

  When he said: "You were hoping to dodge me, weren't you?" I replied: "Yes, I was."

  "Why?" he demanded.

  "Because I want to be alone."

  "A clash of wills! I want to be with you."

  "I can't think why."

  "I find you beautiful and stimulating. How do you find me?"

  "Neither beautiful nor stimulating."

  "I asked for that, did I not?"

  "Indeed you did."

  "What a forthright young lady you are!"

  "I hope so."

  "Very truthful."

  "I try to be."

  "Unkind."

  "No, I don't agree."

  "You cut me to the quick."

  "You should not lay yourself open to cutting."

  "What can a lovelorn fellow do?"

  "Take himself off to more fruitful ground."

  "But where would I find such beauty and wit?"

  "Almost anywhere on Earth," I retorted.

  "You are wrong. It is here ... only here ... and this is where my heart is."

  I could laugh at him now. I was losing my fear of him. Everything seemed a little better since the return of my father and his wife. The pursuit of me was not quite so intense. I could ride out some days and never see him.

  I wondered sometimes about the future. I was now seventeen. My stepmother said we should entertain more. "Don't forget," she told my father, "you have a marriageable daughter."

  "I was lax in my duties until you came to look after me, my dear," he said.

  "We have to think of Ann Alice," she insisted. "I'll invite people."

  Desmond Featherstone came to the house to dine this evening. I was dreading it. I always hate to think of his being in the house. It is an odd creepy feeling, which is quite unaccountable, for what harm could he do? I wondered if I could plead a headache and not appear for dinner. I supposed that would be too obvious. Moreover it would not be so bad with others present.

  I was right. It was not. I was aware when he looked at me across the table that it was different. He was now indulgent ... as he would be to a very young person. He carefully addressed me as Miss Ann Alice, and he made it sound as though he thought I was just out of the schoolroom. I could hardly believe that this was the same man who

  had been trying to convince me that I was the young woman with whom he was in love. I could easily have convinced myself that he had been playing a game all the time.

  I had the feeling that it was something to do with my stepmother and a strange quirk of fate enabled me to confirm this.

  After the meal when they went into the drawing room, I said I would go up to bed. I often did this because they would drink port wine and usually stay up until very late, and although I dined with them as an adult, this part of the evening was considered to be a little unsuitable for my years.

  I was very glad to escape so I came up to my room to write in my journal and to think about the strange behaviour of Desmond Featherstone and how different he seemed at some times when compared with others.

  As I sat writing I heard sounds from below—the clopping of a horse's hoofs coming from the stables.

  I went to my window and looked out. It was Desmond Featherstone coming from the stables on his way to his lodging. I dodged back quickly. I did not want him to see me.

  Then I heard a voice and I recognized my stepmother's.

  She spoke sharply and her voice was quite distinct.

  "It has to stop," she said. "I won't have it."

  Then his: "It is nothing ... Only a game."

  "I won't have it. You shall go straight back."

  "I tell you it's a game. She is only a child."

  "Sharper than you'd think. In any case, it is going to stop."

  "Jealous?"

  "You had better not forget ..."

  Their voices faded. I turned swiftly to the window. He was riding away and my stepmother was looking after him. He turned to wave and she waved back.

  What did it mean? I knew they had been talking about me. So she was aware of his attempts at flirtation and she did not approve of them. Sh
e was warning him that it had to stop.

  She had sounded angry.

  I was glad.

  But I think it is very strange that she should know and be so vehement.

  When I have finished writing I shall put my journal away very carefully in future. I am glad I started it. It is so interesting to look back and remember.

  June 5th I have taken out my journal today because something astonishing has happened. Desmond Featherstone has gone away. It is so strange. He did not say goodbye. He just went.

  I had seen him only once since that night when I overheard the conversation between him and my stepmother and then he seemed somewhat subdued. I think he really must have taken heed of her warning.

  I have been thinking lately that perhaps I have misjudged her. I have disliked her without reason. One should always have a reason for liking or disliking people. Now I come to look back, I ask myself did I dislike Lois Gilmour simply because she was not Miss Bray to whom I had grown accustomed? People do unreasoning, illogical things like that.

  She has been very pleasant to me always. She has gone out of her way to be kind and she really does seem concerned about getting eligible young men to the house as possible husbands for me. My father is delighted with his marriage so I suppose he has good reasons for being so.

  A few days ago he was not very well. I did not hear about it until the afternoon because I do not normally see a great deal of him. He does not always come to breakfast, but then we take it at odd times and always help ourselves from the chafing dishes on the sideboard, so that if anyone is absent it can easily pass unnoticed.

  But at lunch time my stepmother told me that he was spending the day in bed. She had insisted that he stay there because he was a little unwell. It was nothing to worry about she said. We must remember that he was not as young as he sometimes believed himself to be and she had insisted on his staying in bed.

  She nurses him most assiduously. When I went to see him in the afternoon he was sitting up in bed looking, I thought, rather pleased with himself because my stepmother was fussing over him, wondering whether he was in a draught from an open window and whether he should have his dressing gown round his shoulders.

  "You spoil me, my dear," he said.

  "Get along with you. You're unspoilable."

  "But you do fuss, you know, Lois."

  "I worry about you, of course."

  I watched them. He seemed so happy—and so did she.

  Yes, perhaps I have misjudged her.

  I will try to like her. I have promised myself to do so. It has been rather silly to dislike her just because I was so upset at losing Miss Bray and then again because she has taken the place of my mother.

  I must be sensible. And really she has made my father very happy and everyone says what a wonderful solution it is for him.

  September 2nd I feel so ashamed because I have neglected my journal for so long. I really forgot about it. Then a little while ago I was searching for a pair of grey gloves to go with my new gown. I knew I had a pair and could not find them. And there they were caught in the back of the drawer and when I was trying to get them out I found my journal. I felt so ashamed—after all my resolutions to write in it more or less regularly. But I think this is a fairly common way people have with journals. They have—as I had—such good resolutions—and then they forget.

  This is a good time to start again. I have read through what I wrote before. How it brings it all back! And how young I seemed when I wrote some of it.

  I have come to live fairly peacefully under my stepmother's rule. I have tried very hard to like her but I can't really although I often think it is unfair of me not to. She is so good and kind to my father. She has looked after him so well when he has his turns. He has had about three in all and she insists on nursing him and he says she makes much more of them than they really are.

  I have heard the servants talking about men who marry women so much younger than themselves. They whisper together mysteriously. "It's too much for them. They can't keep it up."

  My stepmother insisted on his seeing the doctor. Dr. Brownless could find nothing really wrong. He merely said he must take life more slowly. My father is following his advice and does not go every day into Great Stanton as he used to. My stepmother is not very interested in the Shop, as we call it. I believe it is a very profitable business and highly respected throughout the country. Quite a number of people in the business of cartography come to Great Stanton to see my father and his manager. They are often entertained at the house and as far as that is concerned my stepmother is proving an excellent hostess.

  I heard my father say to her: "It was the luckiest day of my life when you came to teach Ann Alice."

  And she replied fervently: "And of mine."

  So it is a very contented household and I am sure my father is quite happy to stay at home more so that he can be with my stepmother; and in any case there is an efficient manager at the Shop to deal with everything there.

  We went to Bath during the season. My stepmother thought the baths might be good for my father; and he said that to humour her, he would try them.

  My stepmother hinted that among the company there might be a suitable husband for me. It seemed hardly likely that I should find

  anyone among the gouty old gentlemen—mostly accompanied by their gossipy wives; and those exquisite young gentlemen, the beaux of Bath, could hardly be expected to notice me. More than once I had heard them declare in loud voices that they found the place devilish dull and that they felt inclined to desert the place and join H.R.H. without further delay. There were the fortune hunters, quizzing young women through their monocles, and doubtless comparing their charms with their alleged fortunes; there were simpering young girls and not-so-young ladies presumably looking for husbands.

  I felt rather homesick for the fields and meadows and a life of freedom. I suffered emersion, which everyone seemed obliged to endure, and felt very ridiculous in my jacket and petticoat and most unattractive bonnet.

  How long the days seemed! Drinking the water, taking the baths, going to the Abbey for the religious services, to concerts and the occasional ball at the Assembly Rooms.

  My stepmother fitted perfectly into the life. Most people thought her charming. I noticed that quite a number of beaux ogled her, but although she was obviously aware of this and I thought I detected a secret satisfaction, she never strayed from my father's side.

  She appeared to be interested in putting me forward, but I sometimes wondered whether she really was. That was how I constandy felt about her. I was never quite sure.

  I did ride a little but always in the company of my father and stepmother and as she was not very keen on the exercise we did not do it often. But I could walk in the meadows and I did so every morning. There were people there so I was able to go alone and it was there that I encountered Desmond Featherstone. I was completely taken by surprise, not having seen him for so long.

  He gave that exaggerated bow which always irritated me. "If it is not Miss Ann Alice herself! Well, who would have thought of meeting you here... and what a joy... alone! I am surprised that it is allowed."

  "It is early morning, and I am older now, you know."

  "And as beautiful as ever."

  "Are you staying in Bath, Mr. Featherstone?"

  "How formal! I had hoped I would be Desmond to you. Yes, a brief visit. And what do you think of Bath?"

  "Very beautiful. I like the rocky wooded hills and the architecture is most elegant."

  "And you like to mingle with the beau monde?"

  "Not particularly."

  "I wish I could see you alone. There is so much I want to say to you."

  "I see nothing to prevent your saying it now."

  "There is so much to prevent me. You for one thing."

  "I have asked you to speak."

  "If only you would like me a little!"

  "Why should my likes or dislikes interfere with your powers of speech?"

>   "It is such fun to be with you."

  "I daresay if you are staying here you will meet my family sooner or later. People here seem to get to know each other quickly and many know each other before they arrive."

  "Ann Alice."

  He had come close to me and gripped my arm. I shrank from his touch as I always do.

  "Better not tell your stepmother... that we met like this, eh?"

  "Why not?"

  "She er... she might not approve."

  "I don't have to get her approval before I speak to people, you know."

  "I am sure of that, but on the other hand ... just don't mention it."

  "It wouldn't have occurred to me to. I shall probably have forgotten it by the time I see them again."

  He looked at me reproachfully and then laughed.

  "I don't think you forget me quite as easily as you pretend," he said.

  I flushed, for he was right. Even now I have those odd dreams about him and they could easily fill me with disquiet. Now there, even in the open meadows, he could make me feel uneasy.

  "I must go," I said. "Goodbye."

  "Goodbye. I wish..."

  But I did not give him time to say what he wished for I hurried off.

  I think about him a great deal. He had been very earnest when he asked me not to tell my stepmother I had seen him.

  I thought then: She does not want him to pester me. She really is trying to protect me.

  That was another reason why I should try to like her.

  I was glad when the visit to Bath was over.

  Almost immediately after we returned my father had one of his attacks—a little worse than before. My stepmother wanted to call in the doctor, but my father said it was not necessary. He had been told it was due to overdoing things and it was obvious that the visit to Bath had been too strenuous for him.

  However she did call the doctor, but that was after my father had recovered slightly. She said she was anxious and wanted him to see a physician. So to please her he agreed.

  Apart from the visit to Bath and my encounter with Mr. Featherstone there seems to have been nothing worth recording, and I suppose that is why I did not think of my journal until today.

  So now I sit here biting my pen and thinking back. Have I missed something important? Events should be recorded at the time they happen. That is the only way of getting the real truth. But looking back, I cannot see that there is anything of any great significance that I should remember.