‘Forgive me. I cry at the slightest thing – ask anybody. It’s only that… a more tragic tale would be hard to imagine.’
‘Do you understand what ails him, then?’ asked Rachel, curious in spite of herself.
‘Indeed. Thanks to my husband’s close association with him during the war… Perhaps I ought not to say. It is not really my place to, and perhaps Mrs Alleyn would not thank me, if you are to be further acquainted with her.’
‘It is my feeling that his current condition cannot solely be ascribed to the treatment he received from Alice,’ said Rachel, tentatively. In the back of her mind, her shadow companion stood up, and called for her attention.
‘But, then you know some of it already? You know about Alice Beckwith?’
‘I know a little. Only what my husband has told me, and then Mr Alleyn… mentioned it. He loved Miss Beckwith a great deal, I think.’
‘Truly. As much as any man ever loved a woman. There was some impediment to their being wed, I know not what it was. Yet they were betrothed, and determined to marry. Jonathan went into the army, and went with my husband to fight the French in Portugal and Spain, in the year 1808. Early in 1809 they returned to England, and were billeted in Brighton when he got word from Miss Beckwith that she was breaking off their engagement. Captain Sutton has told me… he has told me just how grievously Mr Alleyn took this news. He took leave of his regiment and rushed home immediately, only to find that she had already taken off with a new suitor, and presumably wed him forthwith. Mr Alleyn never saw her again, and had no word from her since that last letter she sent him in Brighton.’
‘But… where did she go? What became of her?’
‘Nobody knows. She and her new companion made good their escape. Alice Beckwith was the legal ward of Mr Alleyn’s grandfather, you understand – of Mrs Alleyn’s father. So her disgrace was a disgrace to them all.’
‘And so it is this alone that has driven Mr Alleyn to… that has left his health so ruined?’
‘In part. It is at the root of it, to be sure. He waited for word from Miss Beckwith for as long as he could, but to no avail. Then he returned to the war, and did not set foot on English soil until after the siege of the fortress of Badajoz, in 1812. He was injured in the battle, and fought no more after that. And upon his return he… he was most altered. Those of us who knew him before could hardly believe how altered he was.’ Mrs Sutton shook her head sadly. ‘I’m talking too much, I know I am. But you must know, if you are to call on them, how greatly that family has suffered. And that Jonathan Alleyn was one of the gentlest souls I have ever encountered. Before the war.’
‘Gentle? Truly?’ Rachel thought back to the violent fury in his eyes, and her hand went unbidden to her throat, where the marks of his fingers had only just faded. She swallowed, and could not make the two versions of the man meet up.
‘Oh, yes. He was a sweet, kind boy. Young man, I should say. Thoughtful, and prone to introspection, perhaps, but bright and loving and full of joy. To remember him as I last saw him… oh, it breaks my heart!’
‘When was that?’
‘It must be four years past, now. We took my daughter along to see him. I thought… I thought a child might help to remind him that there is still good in the world. But he ordered us to leave, and bade us not return.’ She sighed. ‘To my shame, we have heeded his wish. Cassandra was so upset, so frightened by the way he spoke to us. I forgive him, of course, but I will not put her in that position again. I had hoped… I had hoped he would realise – there is still time for him to make a new life, to start again. To find a wife and have a family. It isn’t too late. Though he seems older than his years, he is young enough to begin anew.’
‘He doesn’t seem to want to try,’ Rachel murmured. Mrs Sutton might still see the sweet boy she knew in him, but Rachel had seen only a man, dark and mad and violent.
‘No. I fear you’re right. I hope it wasn’t ill-mannered of me, to speak so much about them? But I sense that you are a gentle soul too, and will understand that I only hope to mitigate for him any… extreme impressions you might have formed.’
‘It is a sad story indeed.’ And I look just like her. I look enough like this faithless Alice to make them both mistake me. But I know of another. I know of another who also wore this face. She swallowed against a sudden hollow feeling beneath her ribs, a strange bubble of expectation. Could it be?
‘Can you tell me, where did Miss Beckwith come from? Who were her parents?’ she asked.
‘I cannot tell you.’ Harriet shrugged. ‘But you must come to call, Mrs Weekes. Promise that you will,’ she said impulsively.
‘I do promise – it would be my pleasure, and I should very much like to meet your daughter. Before my marriage, I was governess to a family. I find that I miss the children a great deal.’
‘I should be delighted to introduce you to her. Oh, look – it’s nearly nine. Let’s go in for tea before the mad dash begins.’
There was already a crush of people around the tables of food and drink that had been laid out beneath the arches at one end of the tea room. People jostled and reached and chafed with impatience, like a flock of pigeons around spilt grain. Rachel and the captain’s wife managed to snatch some jellies and a glass of punch each before retiring from the throng to sit in a quieter part of the room. They talked of simple things, and Mrs Sutton shared harmless pieces of gossip about the people they saw, introducing Rachel to some of them. They were in conversation with a doctor and his wife when Richard and Captain Sutton emerged from their card game, late on in the evening. Richard was flushed, his eyes bloodshot in a way that Rachel was fast coming to recognise, and she took a steadying breath. He looked angry, and downcast, and was barely able to be civil as he was introduced to the doctor and his wife.
‘Are we come too late for tea?’ said Captain Sutton.
‘No, I think not – but make haste, or it will all have been eaten,’ said his wife.
‘Mr Weekes – may I bring you something?’ Rachel offered, since Richard didn’t look like he had the energy left to fight his way to the food.
‘No, indeed. My thanks. Unless it be a cup of punch,’ he said, his voice low and sulky.
‘Allow me,’ said Captain Sutton, making his way towards the tables.
‘Is everything all right, Mr Weekes?’ Rachel asked, in a low voice at Richard’s ear.
‘Yes. I… I had little luck at the table, is all.’ Richard found a weak smile for her. His lips were pale, and stood out against his reddened cheeks.
‘Not too much was lost, I hope?’ Rachel asked, carefully.
‘Nothing that I can’t recoup, at some later date.’
‘Here now, have this to combat the heat in here!’ Captain Sutton handed Richard a glass, and he gulped at it gratefully. ‘And how have you enjoyed your evening, Mrs Weekes?’
‘Oh, very much, thank you, Captain Sutton. Save for one thing, that is.’
‘And what is that?’
‘I have not danced once,’ she said.
‘Well now, that will not do at all, and if it does not offend you to stand up with so ancient a partner, I would be glad to escort you to the floor. By your leave, sir?’ he asked Richard, as he held out his arm to Rachel. Richard waved them on with a sickly smile and sank into a nearby chair. They joined another couple in a well-known quadrille, which Rachel had learnt from Eliza’s dancing master years before. Captain Sutton was a lively partner, more graceful than his appearance suggested, and Rachel was smiling and out of breath by the time the music stopped. ‘There now – will that suffice?’ he asked cheerfully.
On the way home, Rachel looked out of the chair’s small window at dark streets and rain-streaked walls sliding past, and thought. Hearing the story of Jonathan’s fall into madness made her much more sympathetic, both to his plight and the pain it must cause Mrs Alleyn; but if he had banished a good, close friend like the captain, why on earth would he wish to see her again? It could only be because she resembled his lost betrothed, Alice Beckwith, but apparently his urge was to hurt her for it, not to love her for it. But Rachel was curious, in a way she hadn’t been before. Curious to know what he would say to her if they met again; curious to know more about the girl she so resembled. My mirror image. My echo. Harriet Sutton’s words gave her courage, and the evening had been the most uplifting since her wedding day. She knew, by the time she’d helped Richard out of his sedan and up to bed, that she would go again to the Alleyns to find out.