Seasons of Love (19 page)

Helen's brother Edward was informed of it by Lord Northby. He was much relieved that she had seen the error of her ways and become respectable now and he felt it incumbent upon him to write to her once, at least.

Sister,

I am in receipt of a letter from Lord Northby, informing me of your second
marriage, to Charles Carnforth of Ashdown. I must congratulate you upon this
marriage and assume that you have seen the error of your former ways.

I regret to inform you that our parents have both passed away, our father of
a seizure three years ago, and our mother, soon afterwards, of a fever.

I hope things go well for your future comfort, but, given our differences, I
propose no further communication. Yours, etc

Edward Merling, Parson, Middle Wotherton

Comfort! Helen thought. Future comfort! What was wrong with the word happiness, for heaven's sake? She didn’t reply to the letter, nor did she show it to Harry. A few days later, however, she received another letter from Lord Northby, which she did show to her son:
My dear Cousin Helen,

I am writing to offer you my hearty congratulations upon your recent
marriage. I have the honour of being acquainted (slightly) with your husband, who comes from an old and well-respected family in the next county. It's an
excellent match and I wish you every happiness.

Yours sincerely

Basil, Lord Northby

Mrs Celia Carnforth also wrote to Charles and he didn’t show this letter to anyone else:
My dear Cousin Charles

I read your recent communication with great surprise. I do hope that at
your age you haven’t taken an unwise step in marrying a woman over twenty
years younger than yourself. And that you have chosen carefully one who will
be a helpmeet to you in your declining years.

Your heir, my dear son Daniel, has asked me to join his felicitations with
mine.

Your loving cousin

Celia Carnforth

‘How the devil did she find out how old you are?’ Charles demanded irately after telling Helen about it. ‘The woman's an inveterate gossip! I told her nothin' about you, except that you were a widow with one son and connected to Lord Northby.’ He screwed up the letter and threw it on the fire. ‘To hell with her! And to hell with her son too! He might be my heir, but I mean to make him wait a long time to inherit.’

Helen put one arm round his waist. ‘Poor Charles! It's not worth getting angry about. I assure you your cousin’s attitude doesn't worry me.’

‘Nor me. We shall not concern ourselves with the Celia Carnforths of this world, m'dear, not now or ever! There are too many other things - and people - to enjoy!’

But in her pleasant house in one of Bath's elegant terraces - not Royal Crescent, but one as close by as she could afford - Celia Carnforth continued to concern herself with her Cousin Charles and his new wife, for she was ferociously jealous about her son's inheritance, which might now be jeopardised by a late heir.

When she received Charles's curt note, informing her of his marriage, she first succumbed to an attack of the vapours then, when this got her nowhere, she summoned her son from his country estate on ‘a matter of direst urgency’.

While she waited for him to arrive, the imprudence of Charles Carnforth’s second marriage was her only topic of conversation. She cast doubts upon the marriage's validity and worried about the foolishness of a man of Charles's age marrying a woman so much younger. (What a piece of luck it had been to meet the brother of the ambassador's aide and find out something about this woman!

They were now fore-warned.) She also, very delicately, hinted that this female must have a dubious background. Why else would she be living by herself in an obscure Italian town?
What
was she hiding?

Daniel Carnforth came to Bath reluctantly, for when his mother took a pet about something, she could be a most uncomfortable companion.

‘Read this!’ she announced dramatically the minute he entered her parlour, picking up a crumpled piece of paper and thrusting it in his face.

He took it from her, sighed and read the letter slowly. ‘Surely you didn't ask me to come here just because of this? I got a letter from Cousin Charles, too, as is only proper, so I know all about it. Really, Mother!’

He sat down and leaned back with a tired sigh, watching as she jumped to her feet and began walking up and down the room, accompanied by the fretting and yapping of her little dog.

‘But what are you going to
do
about it, Daniel?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You must do something!’

‘What can I do? Charles has a perfect right to marry whoever he wishes. It’s none of my business.’

‘But she's young enough to have children! You could find yourself cut out of your inheritance by some puling infant! Oh, I could murder him! He was ever a fool!’

Daniel shrugged. ‘There's absolutely nothing I can do, Mother, except accept the marriage with dignity.’

‘Well, now that you’re here, you can stay for a few days, surely? The latest heiress is said to be as rich as a nabob and not too ill-favoured, though she is not, of course, a lady of the highest breeding. But you’re the last of the line, so it’s up to you to mend the family fortunes.’

He allowed her to introduce him to the heiress in the Pump Room.

‘There,’ she said afterwards. ‘The girl isn’t ugly, is she?’

‘No, but that laugh would drive me to drink within a month.’

When he’d gone, his mother sighed and tried yet again to work out how to persuade him to marry. He’d been such a serious little boy, a real cuckoo in the nest, she sometimes thought, and had stayed serious as he grew up - except for a deplorable sense of humour, which betrayed him into foolish pleasantries at the most inappropriate moments.

He’d displayed real brilliance at school and had continued to shine academically at university, to his mother's great horror. She didn't know where he got a taste for Latin and Greek from! There was no one like that on her side of the family, thank goodness! She blamed the Carnforths for that.

And for much else.

At least since his father's death, at least Daniel had given up all that book rubbish and settled down, devoting himself to farming the small estate which was all that was left of his patrimony. It had been part of his mother’s dowry, but who, pray, was interested in farming, except for a few cranks? A gentleman should employ an agent to deal with such mundane matters. A gentleman should marry money, not make it, and then he should get himself an heir.

And so she had told Daniel. Many times. But had he listened to her? No. He had not. She didn’t know where he got his wilful nature from.

Daniel sat lost in thought as he was driven home to Bellborough in his old-fashioned but comfortable carriage. His mother didn’t know just how perilously close to bankruptcy the estate had been after his father's dead. He’d pretended a sudden devotion to matters agricultural and applied himself to restoring the family fortunes as best he could. He not only succeeded beyond his wildest expectations, but discovered in himself a love of the land and a flair for the business of farming.

He’d been relieved when his mother bought herself a small house in Bath from her jointure, which even his father hadn’t been able to touch, and indulged her taste for an indolent, gossipy sort of existence.

She was right that he’d have to marry eventually, and as he’d turned thirty, the time was coming when he should take that step. For quite a while he’d had a pleasant liaison with a very obliging widow and been able to concentrate on restoring the family fortunes. Sadly, Georgina had found herself another man, one who seemed likely to marry her.

But he’d only consider a peaceful woman who had a bit of sense in her head, and he’d not marry a little woman who made him feel big and clumsy, as his mother did. She complained that he was a true Carnforth in appearance, but he couldn’t see what was wrong with that. She’d said this visit that his face was far too tanned from his outdoor life and that his hands, vulgarly roughened, were real ‘cowman's hands’.

He gritted his teeth and endured two days of his mother's company, fortunately able to laugh at her foolishness most of the time, though sometimes he felt like strangling her. After that he decided that he had more than done his duty and escaped back to Bellborough.

He would be sorry, though, if he didn’t inherit, for he’d visited Ashdown Park covertly once or twice and found it beautiful. A pretty manor house set in cleverly landscaped grounds, with plenty of fertile land attached, too, though that was much neglected because the agent didn’t know his business.

Bellborough came into view and he forgot about Bath and marriage, enjoying the peace and quiet. And if he missed Georgina’s company, well, no one else knew that. He certainly wasn’t going to amuse himself with the tenants.

Chapter 12

Fifteen months after their wedding, Helen became aware that Charles was having stomach trouble.

He said it was nothing and refused to let a touch of indigestion incapacitate him. Then one evening, when he and Helen were sitting after dinner on the balcony of their villa overlooking the Bay of Naples, he had a much sharper attack than ever before. As he was taking a sip of wine, he grunted, let the wineglass drop and doubled up, gasping in pain.

‘Charles! What is it?’

‘Pain. Stomach. Must have - unh - eaten something!’ He waved her away and concentrated on breathing deeply and not crying out.

She went quietly to the other side of the room and rang for Alfred, who came and helped his master upstairs. She had great faith in Alfred's common sense, as well as in his devotion to his master. She also guessed that Charles would prefer to suffer in private. He was rather sensitive to anything which put him in a bad light in front of his young wife. As if she could think anything but well of him, whatever he did. She might not be in with love him in a romantic way, as she knew he still was with her, but she loved him dearly, nonetheless.

After a while Alfred came down to report that his master had been sick and was now lying in bed, feeling somewhat easier. ‘He says he don't want a doctor fetched, Mrs Carnforth, but I - well, that is

’ He faltered to a halt.

‘But what? Please go on, Alfred!’

‘Well, I don't want to seem disloyal to the Captain, but he's had a few sharp attacks of indigestion lately, really sharp, which he's hidden from you - and - and that ain't something he's ever suffered from before, not even in India, where they put pepper in everything! So I thought - well, if
you
sent for the doctor, there'd be nothing the master could do but see him.’

‘Thank you for confiding in me, Alfred. I shall do that at once.’ She never called him Briggs, which seemed so impolite to one who was very much part of the family.

The doctor arrived half an hour later, having judged a rich Englishman to be of sufficient importance to warrant an instant response to this late call. With much grumbling, Mr Carnforth submitted to an examination and enumerated his symptoms.

When the doctor came downstairs, he refused very politely but firmly, to discuss his diagnosis with Helen. ‘That is for your husband to tell you, Mrs Carnforth.’ He bowed his way out again as quickly as he could.

Cold fear crept into Helen's heart. The fear darkened to an icy dread when Alfred came to tell her that his lordship would like to be left alone for an hour or so. ‘He’s sorry to keep you from your bed, ma’am.’

His face was so wooden fear shot through her. ‘It's bad news, isn't it?’ she whispered. When he avoided her eyes and said nothing, she pleaded, ‘Don’t keep it from me! I can bear anything but not knowing.’ When he raised his eyes to meet hers, she could see that they were full of tears and fear gripped her even more tightly.

‘I fear so, ma’am. But he wishes to tell you about it himself and I think we should do as he asks.’

She nodded, afraid that if she tried to speak, she would burst into tears, which would help no one.

‘Let me know when he's ready to see me,’ she managed at last, and her voice sounded strange in her own ears, far sharper than usual. ‘I shall be out on the loggia.’

Helen huddled there alone, staring at the reflection of the moon on the water, but not seeing the beauty with which she was surrounded. Crickets twittered away in the gardens and moths came to flutter around the lamps, but she paid them no heed.

At one point, the housekeeper came to see if her mistress needed anything, but when Helen didn’t even raise her head, the woman tiptoed out again. Briggs had threatened all manner of reprisals if Giuliana didn’t leave them all alone.

It was well past midnight when Alfred came to summon Helen to join her husband. She was running up the stairs almost before he had finished delivering his message. At the door to the bedroom, however, she slowed down, straightened her spine and walked in.

Charles, looking pale and drawn, very unlike his usual self, was lying on the bed. He held out his arms to her and she ran into them. ‘What is it? Oh, Charles, don't hide anything from me! What did the doctor say?’

He stroked her hair and held her close. ‘It seems - I have a growth in my stomach. He's pretty certain that’s what it is. Says he can feel it quite clearly. It's not – there’s nothin' they can do about it.

It will - grow bigger - and I shall not get better.’

She clung to him convulsively, but she didn’t have hysterics, or burden him with noisy grief, as he had half feared. ‘Oh, Charles - is he sure?’

‘’Fraid so, m'dear. Sorry to keep you out of the bedroom, but - well, the idea took a bit of gettin' used to!’

After a moment, she managed to ask, ‘What must we do?’

‘Nothin' we can do. That's the hardest part. There's nothin' at all anyone can do about it. The enemy occupied the fortress before war was even declared. So - all we can do is - enjoy the last few months as much as we can.’