That night my father took a turn for the worse. He had. had a stroke which left him slightly paralysed and unable to speak clearly. The doctor told us it could not be many weeks before the end.
I was with him most of the time and I could see death coming closer and closer.
Polly wrote. If anything happened I should come to her immediately. We'd talk. There would be a lot to say. I wasn't to rush into anything. Polly was the only one who seemed to think that marriage with Colin Brady was not the most desirable thing that could happen to me.
Fabian arrived at Framling the day my father died. I heard from Mrs. Janson that he was home. I was with my father at the end. He held my hand and I could see that he was at peace.
Colin Brady was very good. He took charge with sympathy and efficiency and if he thought he was a step nearer to his goal he did not show it.
Lady Harriet was displeased that the rector should die just as she was preparing for her son's return. Immersed as she was in parish affairs, the event was, to say the least, inconvenient. I imagined her mentioning the fact somewhat reproachfully in her prayers. There should have been a little more consideration from On High towards one who had always unflinchingly done her duty.
I heard from Mrs. Janson that she had been planning important festivities ever since she had heard that her son was coming home. Lady Geraldine Fitzbrock, with her parents, was coming to stay at Framling and it was an important visit. The Fitzbrocks were of lineage as impeccable as Lady Harriet herself and it was quite clear that she had settled on Geraldine Fitzbrock for Sir Fabian.
I wondered about him now and then, but mostly my thoughts were preoccupied with the past. There was so much in the house to remind me of my father. It seemed oddly quiet, and alien almost, now that he was lying in his coffin behind the drawn blinds of the sitting room. Everywhere there was something to bring back memories ... his study with the book-lined walls; volumes with bookmarks in his favourite places. I kept thinking of his hunting for his spectacles when he wanted to remind himself of a particularly beloved passage ... living in another age, halfheartedly trying to tear himself away from it and come back to the affairs of his parish.
I should have been prepared. I could see his furrowed brow when he contemplated me. He had been deeply concerned about my future—as I supposed I should be. In his unworldly heart he had believed I would marry Dougal. How he would have welcomed him as his son-in-law, visualizing long visits when they would delve into the past together. Dougal had been a young man not greatly endowed with worldly goods at that time—a scholar, a man of great gentleness, lacking ambition, a man made in my father's own mould.
Looking back, I realized how disappointed he must have been when it had not turned out as he wished. Not only had he been deprived of a son-in-law whom he would have welcomed, but there was the problem of his daughter's future, which had become an anxiety. Then he had hoped I would marry Colin Brady. That would have been a very sensible conclusion. Colin Brady, true, would have been second best, but very acceptable all the same.
People were thinking that I should take what I could get. Opportunity came rarely in life and when it did must not be lightly turned aside. Lady Harriet had implied that I was foolish. I daresay I was. It was not that I disliked Colin Brady. No one could, really. He was so kind and considerate to all. He would be the perfect priest. But somehow at the back of my mind was the feeling that if I did "the sensible thing" I would regret it, for I would be choosing a way of life that would be so predictable, it would rob me of all the excitement that made up the savour of living.
If I had never known Dougal ... if I had been a more conventional person ... perhaps I should have married Colin. But I was myself; and instinctively I rebelled against the suggestion of marriage in such circumstances.
Fabian came over to the rectory to see me. He looked really concerned. "I am so sorry," he said.
"Thank you. It was not unexpected."
"No. But a shock nevertheless."
"It was good of you to call."
"But of course I called."
"I hope your stay in India was successful."
He lifted his shoulders.
"And shall you be here long?" I went on.
"No. Briefly. Very briefly."
"I see."
"And you will be making ... plans?"
"I shall have to."
"I am sure you will. If there is anything we can do up at Framling ..."
"Nothing, thank you. Mr. Brady is a great help."
"I was sure he would be. I hear the funeral is tomorrow. I shall be there."
"Thank you."
He smiled at me and soon after left.
I was glad when he went. I did not want him to see how emotional I was. I almost wished that he had not come to see me.
The church was full when my father was buried.
Lady Harriet and Sir Fabian were in the Framling pew. I could think of nothing but my father, and I kept going over all the little things I remembered of him. A feeling of desolation swept over me. I had never felt so lonely in my life.
Colin Brady was brisk and businesslike. He conducted the mourners back to the rectory and we drank mulled wine and ate sandwiches prepared by Mrs. Janson. An air of solemnity enveloped the house.
It was no longer my home. It could be, of course, if I married Colin. I had to think very seriously what I should do.
The will was read. There was little to leave, but what there was was mine. The solicitor told me that it would provide me with a minute income—not enough to live on in any degree of comfort, but something to fall back on if need be. He added that he expected I had already considered the situation, which must be no surprise to me.
I said I was considering.
I was aware of the expectancy around me. Mrs. Janson looked prophetic. I was sure she thought I was going to marry Colin Brady and the household would go on in the way it always had. They knew my ways; they were fond of me; they did not want a stranger in the house.
It seemed inevitable to them, for it was clear that Mr. Brady was willing, and where would I find a more suitable husband? It was high time I settled down and there was the right place just waiting for me.
Colin talked to me on the night of the funeral. I was sitting by the window staring out on the graveyard and an infinite sadness had taken possession of me. I had come to the end of a path and I did not know which way to go. And there was the easy road to take and everyone was pushing me towards it.
"What a sad day," he said. "I know what your father was to you. I was fond of him. He was a wonderfully good man."
I nodded.
"After all these years you have been together, except of course when you were at school."
Ah, there was the point. What had happened then had changed me. If I had stayed all my years in the rectory would I have felt differently? It seemed that I had briefly stepped into a world where people did wild things and paid for them; but it had made me see that there was more to life than being comfortable and living one day after another, quietly, unadventurously, almost like waiting for death.
"It's a great blow to you," he was saying. "Drusilla, won't you let me share it with you?"
"You are doing that," I told him. "You have taken on everything and done it perfectly."
"I would be only too happy to care for you from now on."
I wanted to say that I did not particularly want to be taken care of. I felt capable of looking after myself. I wanted life to be adventurous, exciting ... I was not looking for comfort, pleasant as it might be.
"There could be an early wedding. Lady Harriet has said that would be best."
"I do not allow Lady Harriet to run my life, Colin."
He laughed at me. "Of course not. But she is important, you know. Her word carries weight." He looked a little anxious. "She is worried about you. We are all worried about you."