Sea Gem (34 page)

Mary blinked. ‘Margaret?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘If, as you say, Margaret suspects, it will be most imprudent to leave those two alone. Where is she?’

Mary shook her head. ‘Back at the house but Raoul and Amelia will be with the two of them.’

Tante shook her head. ‘Get William out of the house somewhere,’ she advised quickly and thought deeply. ‘Can Amelia or Gwen take him in for the moment? Yes, that’s it,
I’m sure one of them would and you can make arrangements then for Margaret without him around. Margaret is going to be in shock and be filled with cold rage too. It would be wise to send the
child away somewhere fresh.’

‘She’s done nothing wrong!’ Mary protested, springing to her daughter’s defence.

‘Not yet she hasn’t because she’s lacked the opportunity,’ Tante said sharply, her wits working quickly now. ‘But let her and William be alone—no, Mary!
You’ll have to separate them for the time being. Let me see—James has a girl at school in England. He has family there—why don’t you see if Margaret can spend a few terms
completing her education there? Then you’ll only have William at home. Margaret might welcome a change of scenery too and it wouldn’t be a bad thing to separate her and Michael as well.
If they are both on this island all the while they could well spend too much time together when they are too young. A little absence will harm neither of them.’

‘I’ll not force Margaret to go,’ Mary said slowly, ‘and what happens when she comes home for holidays? William will still be at home.’

‘Then you send William away somewhere. Find a Continental family who would take him in. You say he’s keen on languages. Let him go and learn them.’

Mary pondered these suggestions which held wisdom. It was just that the thought of Margaret leaving was hurtful and she dreaded the idea of living at home with just William. Somewhere she had
read that the Jesuits said if they had a child until he was seven years they had made the man. At twelve William’s character was certainly formed and she had reservations as to whether she
could do anything more with him. There would always be a barrier between them, yet she could not throw him from his home. He was only a child and she had no real proof of her suspicions.

Slowly she nodded in dull agreement and the old lady regarded her carefully. Should she tell her now instead of in the morning? She certainly had to know. Wasn’t it better after all to
have all the shocks at once than one per day? She made up her mind.

‘You are a brave, strong girl, Mary. You have proved this time and again without today. I’m afraid I have another bit of news for you, which has upset me, too. You have to know, so
here it is. Sam is dead. He died sitting in his chair smoking his pipe. It was so peaceful no one knew he had gone until his pipe tumbled on the floor.’

Mary sprang to her feet, her eyes flaring horror. ‘No!’ she wailed, one hand to her mouth. ‘No! Not Sam too!’ Shudders rippled through her body then she opened her mouth
and let out a screeching scream of protesting agony.

Tante struggled from her chair, stepped forward and let fly with her right hand. Then she whipped her hand backwards across Mary’s other cheek.

‘Stop that!’ she grated harshly. ‘Control yourself, girl! Don’t you think I don’t know what it’s like? Look what I went through in ’99. My son died.
Christine died. My daughter-in-law also died and I was left to rear two grandchildren when all alone and one new baby. But life has to go on. You still have a fine daughter and even if you loathe
William at this moment, he is still your flesh and blood. Pull yourself together, Mary! This is no time for screaming hysterics.’

The harsh words rang in Mary’s ears, echoing and reverberating back and forth as she stared aghast at the wrinkled old face only a foot from hers. Tante’s eyes blazed and her face
was a cold mask of iron will. She stood upright with her back straight, just as if she were on parade, exactly as Mary remembered her that first day on St Peter Port quay all those years ago.

As her words penetrated Mary’s mind, she closed her eyes a moment while her jaw went stiff. When she opened her eyes again they were clear and blue, still salty with tears sliding down her
cheeks but their flow was abating as self-control returned. She nodded wanly as Tante’s hand touched a shoulder with reassurance and comradeship. Mary took a number of a slow, deep breaths
and visibly relaxed.

‘Thank you, Tante,’ she whispered heavily and looked ruefully at her dear friend. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

Louise’s lips went tight. One day Mary would have to manage without her and cope she would. Louise knew she was living on borrowed time.

Aloud she said, ‘It was a shock but you had to know, didn’t you?’ she said cleverly, hitting the ball back into Mary’s court.

The young woman nodded miserably and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.

‘Everything always happens at once, doesn’t it?’ she questioned sadly. ‘First Edwin and now Sam. Dear God, I’ll miss both of them so much, far more than words can
ever say.’

‘But you are a fighter and will go on—Sam would expect this of you,’ Tante pointed out quickly. ‘He had no time for a quitter, had he?’

Mary could only shake her head. A great weariness filled her but she knew she would never sleep. She must go home though.

‘Send William down to me for the night if no one else can take him,’ Louise offered, ‘and give a lot of attention to your daughter. The best thing you can do is to take a large
brandy and you might let Margaret have a drop too. It won’t hurt her just this once.’

Mary knew she was right again. She must get William out of the house away from Margaret. She knew how her daughter could react and William would have no chance against her. Dear God, she asked
silently, do other families have such problems?

The next day, after an uneasy, brandy-induced sleep Mary woke as the sun streamed through her window. She knew something dreadful had happened but her bemused mind took time to
slip into gear again. When it did and memory returned, so too did the tears, flowing unchecked as she sobbed her heart out for her beloved Edwin.

It was Margaret who slipped into her room. The girl had white cheeks and was quiet, lacking all her normal bounce and noise. She sat on the side of her mother’s bed as gradually
Mary’s tears slowed and their hands met and held firmly.

‘Oh Margaret!’ Mary moaned, shaking her head. ‘The words just won’t come today.’

Margaret felt she was a new person. Her girlhood had ended on Alderney. All of a sudden she had been shot into premature adulthood and she knew she was different even if she looked the same. To
her surprise she had slept well, not realising it was emotional shock that had driven an exhausted mind into the oblivion of sleep. She woke early, lay thinking, then slipped from her room to find
her mother.

‘Where’s William?’ Margaret asked carefully.

Mary half sat up, pulling the girl nearer, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

‘He stayed the night elsewhere,’ she explained slowly. ‘I don’t actually know whether it was with Granny, Gwen or Amelia.’

Margaret sensed she did not really care as long as her son was out of the house.

‘William killed Edwin,’ Margaret stated flatly.

Mary eyed her carefully. Was it possible her features had matured overnight? Mary knew this was nonsense yet there was a change in her daughter. It was not easy to pinpoint the alteration but
the young eyes which held hers were clear and steady, even if hard. She waited for her mother’s reply.

‘We have no proof,’ Mary said, stalling. To agree with Margaret wholeheartedly would simply turn a difficult situation into an impossible one.

‘I just
know
he did,’ Margaret repeated flatly. ‘William is a nasty bully and always has been. Edwin was afraid of him. I tried to protect him and it’s partly my
fault he’s dead,’ and Margaret’s voice broke.

‘Margaret! Margaret! What do you mean?’

Margaret’s tears started to flow. ‘I always try to watch him when he is alone with William but I forgot yesterday. I went off with Michael and never thought,’ she wailed.

Mary’s lips tightened. They had all forgotten that Edwin was without his usual companion. William wouldn’t have tried anything with Margaret present. They were all guilty in their
own little ways.

‘Hush!’ she soothed. ‘What’s done is done.’

Margaret sniffed and looked at her mother. ‘I hate William. I have never liked him but now I loathe him,’ she said fiercely. ‘I could beat the truth out of him. I’m
bigger and stronger than he is.’

Mary sighed and shook her head. ‘I don’t think you could,’ she said patiently, ‘because even if we are both right, no matter what we do to William he is never going to
admit such a thing, now is he?’

Margaret started. ‘You think the same as me, Mother!’ she exclaimed.

Mary nodded miserably. ‘I do,’ she admitted, turning to her daughter as another adult, ‘but we cannot prove it.’

‘And without proof—?’ Margaret began, frowning, trying hard to understand an adult’s world.

‘We can do nothing. William is only twelve. He is too young to have to account for his actions in law,’ she explained heavily.

‘I hate him. I don’t want to live with him,’ Margaret blurted out hotly.

Mary snatched her opportunity. ‘My dear,’ she began nervously, not having had time to sort out her words, ‘would you like to go away to finish your education so that you
wouldn’t have to see William?’

Margaret went stiff and quiet, then turned solemn eyes to her mother. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Dear daughter, this is a terrible time for both of us with Edwin gone and the way we think but, as I say, our hands are tied. William is still my flesh and blood and is my responsibility
to rear and train. Do you want to live in this house with him?’

‘No!’ Margaret said vehemently. ‘But I don’t want to leave you!’

Mary hugged her passionately. ‘You are very precious to me and I don’t want you to go but perhaps it might be better all round. It would be a new experience for you. You could
stretch your wings and think how wonderful it would be when you came home on holidays. What fun we could have together and—’ Mary paused. ‘I promise William would not be here
during those times. You see, William could then go away to the Continent to concentrate upon his languages. Much as I hate to say it, William is clever. Indeed, Margaret, although he is younger
than you, in many ways he is your academic equal. Now if you went away to a fine school you could end up better qualified than him,’ she ended cunningly.

Margaret considered this, well aware it was the truth. She felt an intense love for her mother as they sat talking as adults.

‘Where?’ she asked nervously.

‘Well, Mr le Canu’s daughter goes to a splendid school in England and I expect arrangements could be made for you to start in the autumn term but only if you want to do this. No one
is forcing you. You are not being driven away. The choice is yours entirely,’ Mary added hastily.

‘What would happen until then?’ Margaret asked quietly.

‘William can stay elsewhere for the time being,’ Mary replied with a smoothness she did not feel.

‘I’d miss Michael,’ Margaret said a little plaintively.

‘But think what fun you’d have in your holidays getting together again,’ Mary pointed out quickly.

Margaret let this new idea roll about in her mind. It would indeed be fun to go to England, particularly as it meant she never had to mix with William again.

‘But what about you, Mother, with William I mean?’ she whispered apprehensively.

Mary’s face went hard. ‘I can handle William,’ she said shortly. ‘Don’t you get any fears about him and me,’ she added grimly.

‘I think I’d like to go,’ Margaret said suddenly. ‘But William is going to pay. I don’t know how or when but something awful is going to happen to William for what
he did to Edwin. I only hope I am there to see it,’ she said soberly, looking at her mother, her young face rigid and hard.

Mary gathered her in her arms. Dear heaven, she thought. What a way for a child to grow up. This one child, this precious daughter was so like herself in many ways.

‘Go and see Gran,’ she whispered. ‘I think I’ll lie back and doze again,’ she said in a low voice. It was an excuse to try and compose her harrowed thoughts and let
Tante talk to Margaret. There was rapport between them despite the generation gap and Margaret must now be kept occupied until the necessary arrangements could be made.

Mary was not aware she had fallen asleep again until her senses, always highly tuned, warned her she was not alone. She lay still, a second or two, awake but unmoving, then her sixth sense
warned her. His aroma was powerful.

‘Victor!’ she gasped.

‘So!’ he drawled gently. ‘You have come back to us and I have you in bed at last,’ he said with a feeble joke.

He was uncertain how to behave, for the first time in his life he felt nervous. The news had appalled him and after taking Michael home he had been compelled to return to his grandmère
and it was she who had spoken frankly. The tale she related had chilled his blood. Brother killing brother! He had been torn in two. Should he keep away because of the Noyen family grief or be with
his darling Catherine? It was Grandmère who pointed the way and he had driven over this morning. Amelia had shown him upstairs and he had sat patiently on the bedside, studying her face,
seeing the lines left by tears. His heart ached as he wanted to pick her up and cradle her against his strength but he had sat quietly and patiently.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Mary gasped.

‘You look beautiful,’ he said gently; once again she did something to his heart Nicole never managed. ‘Oh! My sweet girl, what a terrible event. Grandmère has told me
all,’ he said quietly, ‘and you have been wise to get that boy away from your home for the time being.’

He paused, looked down at this hands then up at her again. ‘I wish I could do something to help you.’

Mary sat up and pulled a shawl around her shoulders. She took a deep breath. It was wonderful to see him, but even now, he did not know the whole truth and she wondered whether today was the
moment to tell him. Commonsense warned her not to. Victor accepted Edwin as Duret’s son. What good could come from raking up the past again, especially now? Yet she knew one day she would
tell him. She looked over and saw his eyes.