Darkwater (21 page)

‘But I am serious. Never more. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I recognised it the first moment I saw you.’

‘Mr Barlow—’

‘No, please listen.’ His face was quite pale. Perspiration glistened on his brow. There was no doubting his intensity. ‘I know your circumstances. All that makes not the least difference to me. I want to marry you. I want to take you back to China with me. I’ve spoken to your uncle. Now it only requires your consent. Fanny! Fanny, are you listening! I want you to be my wife.’

She had been gazing into the distance, trying not to hear his words. Trying not to hear Adam Marsh’s words, if ever they had been spoken,
‘She deserves a good husband…’

She had known this was going to happen at some time during Hamish Barlow’s stay. A woman couldn’t fail to sense that kind of thing. But she would have given anything for it not to have happened. Now she had to be graceful, grateful, and flattered. Her first kiss had been George’s violent searing one, and now her first proposal—perhaps her only one—came from a man with a foxy face whose hands were covered with blemishing freckles.

She wasn’t grateful or flattered. She was furious with the fate that had done this to her.

‘Mr Barlow, you’ve tricked me, and I don’t enjoy that. Will you please take me back to the shore immediately.’

‘But, Fanny! How extraordinary you are! How different! You came out here to hear about a dead woman and you’re angry because I offer you life. Yes, life, my dearest. Don’t think I haven’t seen how you live here only through your uncle and aunt’s courtesy and sense of duty. You’re a woman who needs her own household, her own family. And I would give it to you. I’m not a poor man. I’d show you the wonders of the East, and later you could choose your own house, in Peking, Shanghai, Hong Kong, wherever you pleased. I’d show you the world, Fanny. Doesn’t that interest you? Answer me!’

‘Mr Barlow—later I will thank you for the compliment you have paid me—just now I am not interested. I never will be interested. So please row back to the shore.’

He stared at her in growing resentment and incredulity.

‘You can’t mean this! To choose to be a poor relation, little more than a governess—’

‘Cousin Fanny! Cousin Fanny!’

The children were on the bank staring across the lake. Nolly had sensed something. She was agitated.

‘Cousin Fanny, come back. Our house fell down.’

‘Come back!’ Marcus echoed.

‘What is wrong with me? Why do you dislike me!’ He was leaning nearer. His eyes had a reddish glow. ‘Don’t you want a husband who would adore you?’

His hand was on her skirt. It came nearer, intent on clasping hers. Fanny drew back sharply, forgetting the precariousness of her position, and her movement made the boat rock violently. For one heart-stopping moment she felt the water coming up close to her face, and that other long-ago memory swept over her, the cold, the choking, the darkness…

Then the boat steadied, and she was aware of Mr Barlow, temporarily forgetting his ardent courtship, looking at her anxiously.

‘I am afraid of water,’ she murmured. And then, unaccountably, ‘Ching Mei drowned.’

He picked up the oars.

‘I’ll take you back,’ he said curtly.

She would have given a great deal not to go down to dinner that night. She was still shivering intermittently. Nolly had been wiser than she. Nolly had known Hamish Barlow for an enemy immediately. An enemy? When he wanted nothing but to love and cherish her? The thing was, what he might do if he didn’t get his desire. She recognised the driving force in him, the refusal to be thwarted.

What
could
he do?

She was overwrought and hysterical, or she would not be imagining that disasters could follow a simple refusal to marry a man she did not love. She would go down to dinner simply to disprove any accusation of cowardice.

And as it happened, the conversation at the candlelit table couldn’t have been more innocuous.

Hamish Barlow, impeccably dressed, was calm and seemingly contented. He had turned the conversation to his youth, comparing it with that of the children today.

‘Our toy soldiers wore a different uniform,’ he said. ‘The Duke of Wellington was the great hero. Poor old Boney was in prison, and harmless, but we still played at battles defeating him. Then we had hoops, and skipping ropes, and of course marbles. By the way, Marcus seems to be grieving about the loss of his marbles. Do you know anything about them, Miss Fanny?’

It could not have been a more innocent question. She could only wonder why the table seemed so silent.

‘I never saw them here. I think they must have been left behind on the ship. Yes, he has complained about their loss.’

‘If that’s all he wants,’ Uncle Edgar said, ‘we must get the little fellow some more. Nothing could be easier.’

U
NCLE EDGAR SENT A
message to Fanny that he must talk with her. She found him in the library, strolling up and down, his thumbs tucked in his waistcoat pocket—he was wearing a silk waistcoat of maroon stripes on silver grey that gave him a peacockish air. He had a habit of showing small vanities in his dress that was pleasing because he carried it off with such an air of boyish pleasure. He was, Fanny saw at once, in an affable and relaxed mood.

She hoped the traces of her own disturbed night didn’t show too clearly on her face. Last night she had never felt so alone. There was no one to whom she could talk or turn to for sympathy. Hamish Barlow’s taunt had kept returning to her, ‘To choose to be a poor relation, a governess!’ and at last she had wept into her pillow. Courage belonged to daylight. In the morning, she would face her chosen future more calmly.

‘Well, Fanny,’ said Uncle Edgar pleasantly, ‘Mr Barlow has been surprising me.’

‘Surprising you, Uncle Edgar?’

‘Indeed, yes. I didn’t think you would be foolish enough to refuse an offer such as, speaking candidly, you are never like to receive again. You have decided hastily, of course.’

So Uncle Edgar wanted this to happen. Probably Aunt Louisa did, too. Only by marriage would they be rid of her. Otherwise she was likely to remain an encumbrance to them, and later to George or Amelia, until the end of her life.

Fanny bit her lip, and answered, ‘Hastily, perhaps, Uncle Edgar. But quite finally.’

Uncle Edgar smiled and patted her shoulder. ‘Finally is a long word, my dear. Mr Barlow will be here another three or four weeks. He understands young women can be over-emotional and too precipitate. He will give you an opportunity to change your mind.’

‘Would you have me marry a man I not only don’t love, but actually dislike?’

‘There you are, you see. You are over-emotional. Now sit down and let us talk about this. What is it about Mr Barlow that you don’t like?’

‘How can I explain that? It isn’t a list of criticisms, it’s a matter of one’s senses.’

‘Illogical, too!’ Uncle Edgar chuckled gently. ‘I told Barlow you wouldn’t be able to put a finger on your reasons for refusing him.’

‘But I can!’ Fanny cried hotly. ‘It would be terrible to travel to a foreign country with a man one didn’t love. To spend the rest of one’s life…’ She paused a moment, contemplating the appalling prospect. Then she added more quietly, ‘Besides I can’t leave the children. I have promised them.’

‘The children don’t come into this question.’ For the first time Uncle Edgar’s voice had a hint of harshness. ‘You can’t sacrifice your life for them. They will be cared for very well whether you are here or not. After all, you didn’t have a kind Cousin Fanny when you came here as a child. And you survived, didn’t you? So put them out of your mind, and think of the brilliant future you can have. Mr Barlow has told me his financial position, and his prospects, and all I can say is that for a young woman without a dowry you are extraordinarily fortunate. Now, Fanny, your aunt and I won’t let you throw away this chance.’

‘But Uncle Edgar, marrying Mr Barlow is the last thing I wish to do.’

‘The young man has been a little impetuous, I grant you. I told him so. But you must be tolerant, Fanny. He is quite infatuated with you. By George!’ Uncle Edgar chuckled again, ‘I’ve never seen a man so smitten. I want you to reflect again. For instance, would you regard my brother’s children as an obstacle if you were really in love?’

If it were Adam Marsh who had sat in the gently rocking boat telling her of his undying love? Fanny’s eyes fell. What could she answer?

‘You want to be rid of me,’ she murmured.

Uncle Edgar leaped up, his face flushed with distress.

‘Fanny! Don’t you ever dare suggest such a thing again! Haven’t you always been one of the family! Haven’t George and Amelia been a brother and sister to you? This makes me ashamed. How have I failed you?’

Remembering a thousand things she remained mutinously silent. If she showed gratitude at this moment she would be lured into making a promise she could never keep.

She watched Uncle Edgar stare at her with such earnest appeal that at last she had to say defensively, ‘It’s just that I won’t marry a man I don’t love.’

‘And you think your unfeeling and heartless uncle is forcing you to? I won’t force you, child. But I will do my best to make you change your mind. Have you contemplated the life of an unmarried woman in this country?’

‘Do you imagine for a moment I haven’t!’

‘And yet you still say no to such an eligible suitor? Illogical, emotional, romantic… I think you have more than a little of your Irish mother in you, my dear. Amelia, three years your junior, has far more good sense.’

(
But Amelia has a dowry and is free to choose. The wonderful forbidden wealth of that word, choose!
)

‘All the same,’ Uncle Edgar had regained his comfortable placidity, ‘I think you will come to look at this matter in a different light. Mr Barlow is remaining with us until after Amelia’s ball. Between now and then I expect you to have a complete change of heart.’

It was an order. Uncle Edgar’s most serious orders were always given in that over-soft kindly voice.

Fanny lifted her chin.

‘Am I the kind of person to have a change of heart, Uncle Edgar?’

His eyes narrowed.

‘It is a possibility for everyone. Everyone, my dearest Fanny. What is more, your aunt and I will give you as fine a wedding as we intend for Amelia. And you will make a very beautiful bride.’ He patted her hand again. ‘Now run along and make Amelia jealous. She always expected to be the first to marry, the little rogue.’

Amelia, it was true, was full of curiosity, but it was Aunt Louisa who behaved in the most disturbing way. While Fanny was being fitted for her ball gown Aunt Louisa said to the dressmaker, ‘You had better make arrangements to stay on for a little while, Miss Egham. Miss Fanny will be requiring a bridal gown.’

‘But I won’t, Aunt Louisa! Didn’t Uncle Edgar tell you—’

Aunt Louisa behaved as if she were nothing but a dressmaker’s dummy.

‘She has a pretty waist, hasn’t she, Miss Egham? I am always telling my own daughter to control her appetite for sugar plums.’

‘Fancy, ma’am! And where will you be going to live, miss?’

Miss Egham’s eyes were popping with curiosity. The roundabout question was intended to give her a clue as to whom the bridegroom was to be. If there were to be one, since this seemed to be a remarkably reluctant bride…

But the question presented a much bigger problem to Fanny. Where would she be going to live when this dismal affair was over? Supposing they wouldn’t let her stay with the children…

‘You have made the waist pinch a little, Miss Egham. Aunt Louisa, can’t we discuss this—other matter another time?’

‘Certainly, my dear. But I wasn’t aware there was anything to discuss.’

So Aunt Louisa had adopted her husband’s bland attitude that Fanny would allow herself to have a change of heart. A reluctant bride was no uncommon thing. She was none the worse for that in the end.

Amelia, knowing Fanny’s stubbornness, was not so certain. She was only cross that Fanny refused to talk to her about either Hamish Barlow or her own feelings.

‘A proposal and you won’t tell me how it happened,’ she sighed. ‘Fanny, you are mean. Did he kneel at your feet? Did he kiss your hand? Or your lips, Fanny? Is that why you won’t tell me?’

George said nothing at all. He only seemed to be around more than usual, seldom now going out to ride although he was inordinately proud of his new hunter. He watched Fanny, but he watched Hamish Barlow even more. For once Fanny was not afraid of what he might do. She even had a dark dream of Hamish Barlow at the bottom of the lake, tangled in the waterweeds…

It was inevitable that Nolly should sense what was happening. She said very little, but it was difficult to persuade her to eat, and Dora reported that she pined all the time Fanny was not in the room. Fanny worried, and wondered what to say to the child, and then was saved an explanation by Nolly herself suddenly clinging to her and saying fiercely, ‘You promised! You promised!’

‘I promised what?’

‘That you would never leave us. Marcus thinks you’re going to leave us.’

‘Then you must tell Marcus that he’s wrong.’

Nolly’s face was taut and unchildish. She wouldn’t let it relax.

‘I don’t think he will believe you.’

‘Then he’s a silly little boy. I’m sure you have much more sense, and know that people don’t leave other people they love. Nor go away with people they don’t love…’

The child’s black eyes bored into her. What she saw must at least have satisfied her for she gave the smallest nod.

‘That’s what I told Marcus,’ she said.

What Adam Marsh thought—and he must surely have heard such a brilliant piece of news through Amelia—she hadn’t the faintest idea. She only suspected that he, too, didn’t care for Hamish Barlow. Or had she imagined that faint antagonism when the two men had met?

There was no reason for antagonism, she thought bitterly. Mr Barlow must have noticed how Mr Marsh was Amelia’s lapdog, a role that couldn’t have suited him less. But perhaps it would get him what he wanted, where Mr Barlow’s own tempestuous tactics in love had failed.