"But what are we going to do?" asked Timothy.
"There is nothing we can do. I can't storm her home and take her away. She's gone back to them of her own accord. I'm sorry. It's disheartening, but there is nothing we can do. It is just another of those cases which didn't work out the way we wanted it to. There are many of them."
I realized how much our concern for Fanny had drawn Timothy and me together. We had shared our delight in her progress and now our sorrow and disappointment at her departure.
I was trying not to think of Ben, working hard in Manorleigh for the coming election.
Timothy came again to dine at the house in the square. He was about as different from Uncle Peter as a man could be, but they liked each other. I knew what Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis were thinking. They were fond of me, concerned for me, and they were weighing up Timothy as a possible husband for me. Aunt Amaryllis in particular believed that the married state was ideal for every woman. Uncle Peter took a more practical view. He would like to see me settled and he had obviously decided that Timothy's background, financial standing and character fitted him for the role of husband.
I saw through them, of course. But I did not want to think beyond the present which Timothy was making tolerable for me. Yet again and again my thoughts went back to Ben.
I heard from the family that his campaign was being successful and he was making a very good impression on the voters.
One evening when I was having a talk with Uncle Peter, Ben was mentioned.
"I feel sure he is going to win," he said. "It'll be an achievement. It's been a Tory stronghold for a hundred years. I don't think it will be a big majority ... but comfortable enough. It will be a feather in his cap."
"Do you really think he'll win?"
Uncle Peter looked at me and smiled. "I have reason to say that I think his opponent is getting rather rattled."
"How is he doing it?"
"Oh, you know Ben. It's that vitality. A certain power. A determination. He believes he's going to win and he gets everyone else believing it too. I flatter myself that he gets that from me. His grandmother was a fighter too. She was a milliner." He smiled, looking back. "I came near to marrying her. I couldn't though. It wouldn't have done."
"You mean ..."
"Just not quite right ..."
"Yet you were in love with her."
"I have always been able to regulate my emotions."
"They didn't stop your having an illegitimate son."
"That's not what I mean. I set her up in her own shop in Sydney. I sent her money. She got on very well. We were in a way two of a kind. She understood how it was. What I am telling you is that Ben gets his fighting spirit on both sides."
"You must have had a very eventful life, Uncle Peter."
"I think life should be eventful. Ben will make his so and I am pretty certain that before long he'll have a place in the House." He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said: "It's a pity he married Lizzie. She's not the wife a politician needs."
"I think she appears with him, doesn't she?"
"Yes, but there is more to it than that. Grace is with them. Now she knows it all. I believe she is quite an asset. But it is not the same. It should be the wife who is there."
"I know Grace helps Lizzie quite a lot. Lizzie herself said so."
"That's what I'm saying. Lizzie should be doing all this. She shouldn't need prompting. It doesn't go down so well. No, I'm afraid Lizzie is a bit of a handicap for a man like Ben."
"A handicap!" I cried. "Where would he be without her? She brought him the gold mine, didn't she? Without her help he would still be scrabbling for gold in Golden Creek."
"You are very vehement, my dear."
"Well, it is true. I hate all this talk about Lizzie's being a handicap when it is only because of her that he has become in a position to do all he is doing."
Then he said a strange thing. He put his arm about me. "I, too, wish it had been otherwise."
"What do you mean?" I stammered.
But he just smiled rather sadly at me and I knew that Uncle Peter was aware of my feelings for Ben ... and his for me.
We had betrayed ourselves in some way.
There was a letter from my mother.
My darling Angelet,
Amaryllis tells me how hard you are working at Frances' Mission and finding it so rewarding. I am glad. I told your father that you needed something like that. It must be interesting and harrowing too, but Amaryllis tells me that Frances is delighted to have you there and what a great help you are to her.
We miss you very much and I have written to Amaryllis telling her that I should love to come up ... just for a few weeks. Your father can't leave the place at this time, nor can Jack. But I feel I want to see you. I want to hear all about the work you are doing and see for myself that you are well and getting happier.
Everything here goes on much as usual. And how is darling Rebecca? It is wonderful for her to have Pedrek to play with. And Morwenna is so close and you help each other with the children, so giving you those opportunities to go to the Mission.
Josiah Pencarron tells me that Justin is doing a fine job in London and he wonders why he did not think of opening the office up there years ago.
So everything seems to be going well. I shall see you soon.
Much love,
Mother
I knew what this meant. Aunt Amaryllis had reported my growing friendship with Timothy Ransome, and my mother wanted to know how far it had progressed.
I wished that they were not so interested in my affairs. Of course, it was all for my benefit. There was a hint of seriousness in my friendship with Timothy. I was aware of that in Timothy's manner.
But I did not want to think of it. I liked him. I enjoyed his company; but I did not want to go farther than that. My heart was in Manorleigh. There was nothing I should have liked better than to take part in that campaign and everything else seemed only a makeshift and a poor consolation.
Now that Fanny had gone, Timothy and I returned to our old task of shopping in the markets for the provisions. We did so in a somewhat disenchanted mood having been told by Fanny that we were not much good at it.
We had lost the excitement we used to have in the project, perhaps because it reminded us of Fanny.
One day we set out. I was telling him that my mother was coming to London for a short stay and he was saying how pleased he would be to meet her.
"I am sure you will be invited to," I told him.
He pressed my arm and said: "I'm glad of that."
We stopped at one of the stalls to buy fruit. I chose it and while Timothy was paying for it, I turned suddenly and stared. There among the crowd was Fanny.
"Fanny!" I called and started after her.
She must have heard me but she began to run.
"Fanny! Fanny!" I called.
But she ran on pushing her way through the crowds.
Perhaps I should have let her go, but some impulse would not allow me to. I had to talk to her. I had to ask her why she had run away.
We had left the market behind. But she was still ahead of me.
"Fanny!" I shouted. "Come back. I want to talk to you."
She did not glance back but sped on. I followed without thinking where I was. On she went. We were in a maze of little streets where I had never been before and still Fanny was running. She darted round a comer and I nearly lost sight of her. I rushed on.
I was only vaguely aware of my surroundings. The houses were nothing more than hovels and I noticed an unpleasant odor of old clothes and unwashed bodies. There was a gin shop on the corner of the street into which Fanny had turned; and as I dashed past, I caught a glimpse of people in there. Outside one man sprawled on the pavement.