“His son-in-law!”
“Didn’t Paul tell you he’d married Gwennie Arkwright and that brought the property back to the Landowers?”
I hoped she did not notice my reaction. I was sitting up straight in my chair and I knew the colour had drained out of my face.
“No-no.” My voice sounded as though it came from a long way off. “He—didn’t say anything about that.”
I could not believe it and I was fighting hard to hide my emotions.
“You’re tired,” said Cousin Mary. “I shouldn’t be keeping you up.”
“Yes … I am tired. It comes over one suddenly. I didn’t notice how tired I was …”
“Well, come up to bed.”
“Just a little longer, Cousin Mary. It’s so interesting. There was a marriage then …”
“Well, it’s quite three years ago. Yes, it must be. I think little Julian is two.”
“And there is a child?”
“Everyone said how sensible it was. Even old Arkwright. He died not long ago. A contented man, they said. It was soon after Jonas went, and the two men got on quite well at the end. Mr. Arkwright used to say he’d made his pile of brass and had used it to buy an estate and the standing he’d always wanted for his daughter. Brass wasn’t good enough without breeding, but he always used to say, ‘What you don’t have, you buy. You’ve got the brass, you’ve got what it needs.’ I liked the old man. I became quite friendly with him. He was a man of the people—though brass-coated, he said. He had a colourful style of language; he was outspoken … and straight. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who put forward the proposition. I could imagine his saying, ‘Marry Gwennie and the house will be hers, which means yours, and it’s for the children Gwennie will have.’ His triumph was supreme when Julian was born, and he told me once that the best thing he’d ever done—apart from going into the building trade at the right moment— was to buy Landower and marry his daughter to the man who would have owned it if his family had known as much about making brass as the Arkwrights did. ‘It’s an unbeatable combination—brass and breeding, and that’s what my grandchildren will have.’ “
“I can see it worked out very satisfactorily for the Landowers.”
“Yes. They’re back in the old house with the money to settle Jonas’s debts, to restore the house and keep it up. A good stroke of business, wouldn’t you say? Everyone was happy. All the people around in the cottages. They’re real snobs, Caroline … much more aware of class than we are. They didn’t want the Arkwrights for their squires. They wanted the old reprobate Landowers … and they got it. Julian is a regular little Landower by all accounts. Like a fairy story, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I said, “a fairy story.”
“Well, I filled you in with the picture. That’s what’s been happening at Lancarron. So now we have Landowers back at Landower, and Paul will see that the Arkwright brass is not frittered away. The estate is now as healthy as mine, and the rivalry to excel each other is once more rampant. Come on, my dear. To bed.”
She kissed me goodnight at my bedroom door.
I was glad to be alone. I felt bruised and humiliated. It was like reading that letter from Jeremy all over again.
I shut the door and leaned against it.
What a fool I had been! Once more I had let my dreams take possession of my life. All men were the same. They looked to the main chance—and they took it.
I thought of Jeremy holding me in his arms, kissing me passionately, telling me how much he loved me. I thought of Paul Landower standing outside my window. Suppose he had come in! How dared he! He would dare much, I knew. Could it really have been that he was contemplating coming in, taking advantage of my gullibility? Had I betrayed myself so much?
And all the time he was married—married to someone who could give him Landower—just as Jeremy was married to Olivia, who could give him her fortune!
The pattern was the same. That was how men were. At least the Jagos of the world were honest. I thought of Robert Tressidor, the good man, the philanthropist. How shocked he had been by my mother’s liaison with Captain Carmichael. He had turned her out of his house and turned his back on me. And all the time he was sneaking off to indulge his sexual appetites with prostitutes! And Jeremy Brandon had loved me most passionately until he found I had no fortune, when he turned his affection to my sister who had. And now Paul Landower. He had not attempted to make love to me, it was true, but somehow he had conveyed something … Or was I so foolishly fascinated by him that I had imagined it? He had gone away and left me with my dreams and hopes. I had not cared that he had no fortune. I had none either. I would have been prepared to live in a farmhouse … anywhere with him.
I wanted to cover my face with my hands to hide the shame I felt. I wanted to weep, but I had no tears. I felt my heart was bruised far more than my body had been by my fall in the mountains—and the scars that resulted were deeper and would never be cured.
I went to the window and looked out. Somewhere out there lay that great mansion which was more important to him than anything on earth. And somewhere far away Olivia and Jeremy were together, making love possibly … and what he really loved was the fortune which would be his. Such men do not love women—they love possessions.
“I hate men,” I said aloud. “They are all alike.”
And, as I had when Jeremy had wounded me so deeply, I found solace in hating.
During the night, when I lay sleepless in spite of my tiredness after the journey, I told myself that I would not stay here. I would go right away. But where? Where could I live? I had no home. Alphonse had said my home could be with him and my mother. No, that would not do. Olivia had said there would always be a home for me with her. What! Shared with Jeremy Brandon, my one-time false lover! Cousin Mary implied that she would like me to stay with her. I had wanted this until I had discovered that Paul had married in the same manner as Jeremy had.
I can’t stay here, I told myself. Yet in a way I wanted to. I wanted to show him my contempt. I wanted him to know that even though I had not the slightest interest in him, which was quite false, I despised him, which was a contradiction. What I must show was my indifference to him, my unawareness of him.
That would be difficult. It would be better to go away. But where?
All my joy in my return was gone. I must not let Cousin Mary realize this. She was so very pleased to see me; she wanted me to stay. I came back to the perpetual question: How could I? Yet where else could I go?
I started to make plans. I would get some sort of post. What post? I had gone into all this before. A governess to unruly children? Companion to some demanding old woman? What could one do? Why were women never trained to be independent? Why was it presumed they were worthy only to serve the needs of men?
Men are all the same, I told myself. They may seem charming but their charm is superficial and they use it to get what they want. All they think of is what is best for themselves.
I hate them all. Never will I allow myself to be deceived again. If ever I have a chance of showing my contempt for them, I shall seize it.
In the morning, in spite of an uneasy night, I felt better. There is something therapeutic about the daylight. One sees clearly that during the hours of darkness one has been a prey to one’s emotions, unreasoning, letting one’s heart, as they say, rule one’s head.
Why should I feel so angry with Paul Landower? What had he done to me? Nothing? Except fascinate me—yet he had made no attempt to do so. It had just happened. It was true he had stood outside my bedroom door. Might it have been that he was just looking in to see if I were all right? After all I had taken a nasty toss and one could never be sure what effect that would have. Had I misconstrued his intentions? How many times had I been wrong in the past? I had been a fool to imagine that he wanted to be with me, to be my lover. Because I had been attracted by him, it did not mean that he had been by me. And yet …