I love you. I want you and I did not think beyond that. You will be my wife in every way . no matter what ceremony. That is words. My feelings for you go deeper than any words. “
I could only say: “You would have kept it from me.”
“Only because I was afraid you might not agree.”
“I think,” I said slowly, ‘that is what shocks me more than any of this. I feel there are secrets which I do not know. “
“Secrets?” he said with alarm in his voice, which made my heart leap in fear.
“Crispin,” I said, ‘why don’t you tell me everything? Just as you have told me this? “
He said: There is nothing more to tell. “
I did not speak, but I thought: You have told me this because you could do nothing else. Aunt Sophie saw you and if she had not I should not have known. I should have gone through a form of marriage with you. And you would have let me do that. You would have deceived me as far as that.
“Frederica,” he was saying, ‘my darling, I love you. You know how much. It sounds so inadequate. I want you with me night and day . for ever. There is nothing nothing on earth which can hurt me if I am with you. “
“I feel stunned,” I murmured, ‘bewildered. “
“It is the shock, but you will not have to worry. I shall look after everything. We’ll tell no one about this. It’s no one’s affair but ours. It concerns only us. She will go away and if she ever comes back I shall know how to deal with her.”
I could only think: His mind is full of secrets. He would have kept this from me. If we are to be close, how could this be?
I did not know what to say. I must get away, I must think. Nothing was as I had believed it to be.
One thought kept hammering in my brain: he would have married me and said nothing . knowing this. It would have been another secret in our lives.
Another secret? What was the other?
I thought of Gaston Marchmont walking into the shrubbery, lying dead there, killed by a gun from the St. Aubyn gunroom.
He would talk to me of his love. It was love which had made him act as he did. I wanted that love. I rejoiced in the depth of it. I wanted to believe that it would be there for ever. I dared not.
I must get away. I must think ration ally. There were many questions I must ask myself.
“Crispin,” I said, trying to speak calmly, “I have to think about this. It has been a great shock. I must go home.”
“Of course, my darling,” he said.
“You must not worry. You are going to leave everything to me.” He held me fast and kissed me tenderly.
“I’ll take you home.”
“No, no … I’ll go back alone.”
“It’s late. I shall come with you. The rain is teeming down. I’ll get the carriage. I’ll drive you back.”
I let him go. From the porch I watched him and as soon as he disappeared, I ran out.
He was right. The rain was falling heavily. There was thunder overhead: lightning streaked across the sky. And I ran. My hair was falling about my face a damp cloud; my clothes were soaked. I had not stopped to put much on under my coat. I was unaware of my condition. I could only think that a chance happening in Devizes had revealed something of which I should have been kept in ignorance though it concerned me deeply.
He would not have told me, I kept saying to myself.
I reached The Rowans where Aunt Sophie was waiting for me. She looked very frightened.
“You’re soaked to the skin,” she cried.
“Come along in quickly. You shouldn’t have gone.”
She was hustling me to my room, getting off my wet clothes, running off and coming back with towels and blankets.
She roused Lily.
“A fire,” she commanded.
“God help us!” said Lily.
“What is all this in aid of?”
“She’s been out in the rain.”
“God give me strength!” prayed Lily.
I was shivering. I was not sure whether it was due to the cold. I suppose I had never in my life faced such a shock.
They brought me hot-water bottles. A fire was soon blazing in the grate. Blankets were piled on my bed and Lily was trying to force hot milk down my throat.
I pushed it away. I could only lie there shivering.
They were up with me all night, hovering about me and in the morning they sent for the doctor.
I was quite ill, he said. I had caught a bad chill. We must be careful that it did not turn into congestion of the lungs.
My illness was, in a way, not without its advantages. My mind was in a turmoil. I was often delirious. I thought I was married to Crispin but I could not be happy. I had seen the shadow of a woman whom I had never met but who was clear to me; she hovered continually in the background. I might be married to Crispin but I was not his wife. She was his wife an ever-menacing figure. I longed to be with him. I wanted to say, as he did, let’s forget she came back. If Aunt Sophie had not been in Devizes on that day it would have happened differently. I should not have known anything about it.
Sometimes I wanted to lie in my bed, feeling limp and tired, too weak to think of anything. There was a certain comfort in that. I was lying in limbo. I could take no action. I was too ill to do anything.
Aunt Sophie was constantly there. So was Lily. There were flowers in the room. I believe I knew who had sent them. I did not see him.
Though I know he came for once or twice I heard his voice.
There was a time when I thought I heard Aunt Sophie say: “It’s better not. It might upset her.” Then I heard his voice pleading.
I wondered if he would come in spite of Aunt Sophie, but he did not.
He would be remembering that scene which had taken place before I had run off through the storm.
I was getting better. They were trying to make me eat.
I had grown very thin, said Lily. That was no way to be, but if anyone knew how to tempt an appetite, she did.
She would bring some tasty dish to my bedside.
“Now eat this up or you’ll worry your poor Aunt Sophie into her grave.” So I would eat it.
As I grew better I went on asking myself what I must do. I was very uncertain. I could not imagine life without Crispin. Sometimes I felt weakly acquiescent. I wanted to let him take care of everything. Then I thought of what he was prepared to do and keep secret from me, and I said to myself: I feel as if I shall never truly know him. There are things he is holding back. It is like a screen which comes down between us. It was not only this. There was something else.
Aunt Sophie was sitting by my bed.
She said: “You’re getting better. My word, you have given us a fright.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My dear, I wish I could have borne it for you.”
I knew she meant more than my illness.
“What am I going to do, Aunt Sophie?” I said.
“Only you can decide. You can go the way he wants, or…”
“I shouldn’t be truly married to him.”
That’s so. “
“If there were children … We should never be sure when she was coming back.”
“That is a point.”
“And yet, I can never be happy without him.”
“Life changes, my dear. If you have doubts, you should hesitate.
That’s why I think you should get away from here. When you are close you can’t see things clearly. This is something you can’t hurry into.
You need time. It’s wonderful what time can do. “
“I feel so tired,” I said.
“Aunt Sophie, I want to listen to him. No one will know. We could go through with this.”
“It is not lawful. If you had been in ignorance of the fact that he had a wife living, you could not be blamed. But you would go to the altar knowing that he has a wife living.”
“I must not do it.”