His One Woman (8 page)

The three of them woke up the next morning with the thickest of thick heads—Alan's being the worst. None the less, they all honoured their promise to ride with Marietta after breakfast.

Alan groaned at the mere idea. ‘I don't recover from these sessions so quickly as I used to. You young things—' and he gestured at Jack and Charles ‘—have the advantage of me now.'

Jack thought that Marietta looked superb in her bottle-green riding habit and her saucy little black hat with its high crown and silver buckle on its scarlet band. Its severity suited her and she controlled her mount as though she had been born in the saddle.

He and Charles galloped off with her, leaving Alan to trot gently beside Sophie's carriage. He was gallantry itself, talking nonsense to her to divert her attention from the other three, particularly when, later on, they dismounted and walked their horses along, talking animatedly. She was pleasant enough to him, but the sight of Jack, Charles and Marietta together served only to increase her dislike for Marietta.

‘My father has asked me to invite you all to a
dinner party on Saturday evening,' Marietta was telling them. ‘He understands that Jack's brother will be leaving for England soon and that Charles will be journeying South. Unfortunately, Sophie will not be able to be present. She is off tomorrow to stay for a short time with another of our cousins who has a summer home on the outskirts of the city.'

Not unfortunate at all, was Charles's inward response, while Jack, who had once seen Sophie as a pretty girl well worth cultivating, was only too happy that it was she who would be absent, and not Marietta, who fascinated him more every time he met her. Both he and Charles expressed their pleasure at the invitation since they had come to respect the Senator, not only for the pleasure of his company, but for his shrewdness, both in the political and the social sense.

Alan, watching Sophie's expression while she was jealously staring after the other three, was thoughtful when the party was reunited and they all rode back together. Part of him was thinking of his journey home to Eleanor and his children by way of New York and ‘the steep Atlantic stream', as an old poet had it, and the other part was preoccupied by Jack's relationship with the two Hope cousins and its possible consequences.

M
arietta dressed herself more carefully for the Senator's dinner party than she usually did, putting on a low-necked velvet evening gown whose rich chestnut colour echoed that of her hair. Instead of her hair being pulled sharply back from her face it was softly disposed to frame it: she had remembered Jack's determination to let it down. Emerald ear-rings, a matching bracelet, and a small gold band in her hair decorated with tiny emeralds and diamonds—all inherited from her mother—completed the ensemble.

Its effect, of which she was not fully aware, was stunning. It proved that, properly presented, she possessed an austere beauty far removed from the current conventions of fashion.

Seated opposite to her redoubtable father at table, with Aunt Percival and three handsome men to make up the company, she shone and glittered as much as her jewellery, and all four men wondered how anyone could ever have dubbed her plain.

It was Jack's doing, and Marietta knew that. Whether he felt anything for her or not, was not the point. The point was that he was paying her all the attention which men usually paid to youthful beauties and at the same time was enjoying her informed conversation. It had been said of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, another clever and not conventionally handsome woman in the eighteenth century, that ‘to love her was a liberal education'. Whether or not Jack thought that of her, Marietta knew that to love him was a liberal education, and in the doing she had freed herself of the continuing disappointment of being ‘the plain Hope cousin'.

She also thought that, if she had never met Jack, she might have fallen in love with his brother or with Charles Stanton. Alan, eating fruit at the end of the meal, was entertaining the Senator and Marietta who, by now, had heard of his performance at Willard's.

‘You see, sir and madam,' he explained to them, ‘like my brother Jack here, I am not truly an English gentleman, although back home I am accepted as one because of my marriage to the heiress of an old family in the north. Otherwise I am as big a buccaneer as Jack, or any of your self-made Yankees. My effete veneer deceived all whom I met because it was what was expected of me. Instead, I treated them to something of which my redoubtable father would have approved.'

He began to talk in a droll, languid manner, pointing a lazy finger at Charles. ‘Now, haw, you see, haw, a dem'd fine specimen of an aristocrat, haw.
Only he don't choose to behave or, haw, talk like one. Dem'it, Chawles, what possesses you to let the side down. Hey? Hey? Do not laugh, Miss Marietta. If you ever come to England I assure you that you will find more in England like that, than like Chawles and me.'

He finished in his normal voice. ‘Your hothouse peaches are excellent, sir,' he said to the Senator. ‘Pray accept my compliments on them.'

‘You should have gone on the stage,' Marietta told him. ‘When did you acquire such a power to mimic? Did you learn it, or was it inborn?'

‘Oh, inborn,' he told her. ‘I inherited it from my father who was even more accomplished than I. Jack possesses it a little and our brother Thomas, I mean Fred, not at all. He's too serious, you see.'

‘Oh, Mr Alan Dilhorne,' Marietta told him softly, ‘do not deceive me. Beneath all the charm you, too, are serious—and Jack as well, I do believe.'

‘Pray don't tell him so,' murmured Alan. ‘You'll make him conceited.'

‘Don't listen to him, Marietta,' Jack said, laughter in his voice. ‘He's the world's biggest tease. I remember how he ran me round when I was a little fellow. I always knew where I was with Fred, but never with Alan. He's the original chameleon.'

‘And very useful that is in politics,' said the Senator, who had been listening to all this, amusement written on his face. ‘You, sir, managed to bamboozle everyone in Washington, and as a consequence go
home full of information, I'll be bound, having given nothing away.'

‘Now, that,' said Jack, before Alan could reply, ‘is surely the first, last and best task of the diplomat—and the businessman—is it not?'

His hearers laughed together. Aunt Percival, watching Marietta blossom in the presence of so many handsome and clever men, thought that she had never looked to greater advantage than she did on Alan Dilhorne's last night in Washington. God send that Mr Jack is beginning to care for her, for by her manner she is attracted to him. Like the Senator, I would see her married—and to a good man. It's a blessing that Sophie has disappeared for the time being and can't spoil things by throwing her selfish tantrums.

Later, she watched Jack and Marietta settle themselves side by side on the sofa in the parlour. Alan was watching, too. More diplomatic work by the Senator, was his conclusion. And I do not blame him. Little brother is a good man, Miss Marietta is a prize worth winning—and the Senator means to have her won.

‘So your brother is off to New York before you, Jack,' said Marietta.

‘Yes. I once thought that I might go with him, but I have undertaken certain commitments for Ezra Butler and I must fulfil them before I leave. Had I known earlier that Alan would be in the States I might not have agreed to them.'

‘Washington might not be the safest place in the
USA if war is declared,' Marietta told him. ‘Father thinks that the rebels will advance immediately on the capital in the hope that we are not prepared for them. They may think that a rapid attack would win the war for them in short order if, in the doing, they could capture the capital. He says that they must know that if the war becomes a long one they must surely lose.'

‘I expect that that is what the Senator and my brother are looking so serious about. But what of you, Marietta? Will you stay here?'

‘Of course,' she said simply. ‘It is my duty to be with my father and he would not think of leaving while the North is in danger.'

They fell silent for a moment. Moved by a sudden impulse, Jack took Marietta by the hand which lay loosely in her lap with the idea of comforting and supporting her. It was the first time that they had ever touched—apart from lightly in the dance—and the effect on them both was remarkable.

Marietta had never experienced anything like it before. Her whole body began to vibrate, her eyes opened wide and she stared at Jack as though she had just seen him for the first time. She knew at once what her strange interior trembling meant. She both loved and desired him—a man she had only known for a few weeks but who, in some mysterious way, she had known for ever.

Jack was equally transported. He had known many women and made love to some of them, but never before had he felt so overwhelmed by the merest
contact with one. The feeling was so strong and sudden that it was like a thunderclap in a clear blue sky. The words his father had used once ran through his mind. ‘You will know the one woman when you meet her, Jack, and once you do you will be lost. Claim her, for you will never forgive yourself if you lose her.'

‘Marietta,' he said hoarsely, gazing into her dazzled eyes and wishing that they were alone, so that he might…might what? He hardly knew what to say or do.

‘Marietta,' he said again, ‘I would like, of all things, to drive you to the Potomac one afternoon—as soon as it can be arranged. I am told that the views there are splendid. If it is not proper for us to go alone, then we must take Aunt Percival with us—although, if I am honest, I would prefer your sole company.'

Such a stilted thing for him to come out with when what he really wished to do was to tell her how much he loved and desired her.

Marietta was silent for a moment, scarcely capable of answering him sensibly: no man had ever looked at her as Jack was doing. At last she said, ‘Of course I will go with you, but we must follow the forms, Jack, and take Aunt Percival with us.'

‘Then that is settled,' he said softly. ‘Though we might have to revise our plans if war is declared.'

Marietta shook her head. ‘I think not. Father says that once it begins life will become more hectic, not less. There will not be less balls and gaiety, but more.
In the face of death and destruction, he says, we always celebrate life by enjoying it come what may. A strange thought, is it not?'

‘What I find strange,' Jack said, ‘is that, so far as I can tell, one of the main causes of the war is the South's wish to retain slavery. It seems barbaric that they should insist on it so strongly.'

The Senator had overheard him, and said, sighing, ‘There is more between North and South than that, but it is the question of slavery which divides us completely. Our family possessed slaves once, but they were all freed long ago. I fear that when the North wins the war—as I am sure it will—the hatred generated by it will create divisions in our country which may not disappear for generations. Man is a sinful creature; I will not say more than that.'

Aunt Percival spoke, her kind face troubled. ‘Perhaps we can all pray that war will not come. God could not be so unkind as to allow such a dreadful thing to happen.'

In the silence which followed this heartfelt speech, noise could be heard in the distance. Shouts, pistol shots and cheering were followed by the sound of a tolling bell. The Senator, who was nearest to the window, drew back the curtains and looked out.

There was the noise of running feet as men fled by, howling indistinctly. The Senator threw open the window, all dignity gone, and called out, ‘What is it? What is it?'

A large black man, his face alight, stopped in order to answer him.

‘It's the day of Jubilo, sah,' he cried. ‘Sumter has fallen, they say, and the war for freedom has begun.'

The Senator lowered the window, pulled back the curtain and turned into the room. His face was grave, his manner heavy.

‘It is as I thought,' he said sombrely. ‘Like Caesar of old, the South has crossed the Rubicon: the worst of all wars is upon us and brother will fight brother. Not even President Lincoln can hold it off much longer, however much he wishes to avoid the final conflict.'

The noise outside grew ever louder, and the sound of cheering grew and grew.

‘They are cheering now,' said Alan. He was nearly as heavy as the Senator, and was showing his years and the gravitas which lay behind his normal, easy manner. ‘I fear that they will weep before it ends. I wonder how many men will lie dead on the battleground between now and peace.'

There was silence in the room where a moment ago there had been pleasure: the earlier, happier mood of the evening had disappeared. Alan rose. ‘I do not like to leave so early,' he said, ‘but I must visit the Envoy immediately. Late though it is, I must be instructed by him on these developments before I leave Washington. You will excuse me, sir, I am sure.'

‘Indeed,' said the Senator. ‘You have your duty, sir, as I have mine. Do you also leave for England, Mr Stanton?'

‘Not with my master, Alan,' said Charles. ‘My
way lies South. You understand, sir, that Britain will remain neutral and it is important that one of us goes there. Because of my interest and because Mr Dilhorne must report back home as soon as possible I shall remain behind. I will, with your permission, pay my respects to you again before I leave Washington.'

‘You are always welcome here,' replied the Senator. He held out his hand to Alan. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you and Mr Stanton, sir. I shall think differently about English gentlemen now that I have met the pair of you.'

Before they left Jack found a moment to say a private goodbye to Marietta and to renew his invitation to her for a drive to the Potomac with him. War or no war, life would go on, and he intended to live it to the full.

War had been officially declared before Jack found time to drive Marietta and Aunt Percival to the Great American Falls on the Potomac. It was not quite the peaceful trip into a rural paradise which Marietta had imagined it would be. Driving along, they found that tents were already being pitched and preparations were being made all along the route in order to provide an improvised garrison for the troops who would shortly be arriving in Washington.

‘The President has already asked for nearly half a million men to be recruited into the Army,' the Senator had told Ezra Butler and Jack when he arrived at Butler's office to invite him and Jack to meet yet
another government committee in order to give it the benefit of their advice.

He sighed heavily. ‘He does not think that it will be difficult to find them. The Army already has recruiting officers meeting the immigrant ships when they berth in Baltimore and the other East Coast ports. They are barely off the boat before they are persuaded into the Army. New Americans will fight old ones to the death, I fear.'

‘True,' Jack said, ‘the North will not be short of private soldiers, but Ezra has just been telling me that the majority of West Point officers who trained in the pre-war army have gone to join the South, which must be a great advantage for them.'

The Senator nodded. ‘True, but however great their generals—and Robert E. Lee is a great general—or their officers, they cannot match our numbers or our industrial might. They have few railroads, and as fast as they build them we shall destroy them. No, Jack, they cannot win—particularly if the war is a long one.'

‘Time will tell,' Ezra said soberly. ‘It is worth remembering, though, that victory does not always go to the most powerful.'

‘The thing I most fear,' said the Senator, ‘is that, whoever wins, war will inevitably change and harden us.'

Jack could not but agree with him. There was a ruthless determination beginning to show itself in the North and now that the war had begun it was becoming almost frightening in its intensity. The men pour
ing into Washington to make their fortunes in the war were hard-headed and single-minded in a way which his brother Alan understood but few others in Britain or Europe could or would.

Alan had spoken to him of it shortly before he had left for New York. They'd been in Willard's bar which had been more crowded and even rowdier than on the night in which Alan had shown his true colours.