The Victory (24 page)

‘The priest did not have to tell me. I knew already.'

‘
But
why?
I want to understand, truly I do. Why be
unhappy all your life? Surely you can't believe that's what
God wants for you?’

Héloïse sighed and put down her work. 'I will try to
explain,' she said, 'but it is hard, because it is a thing I know in here,' she tapped her chest, 'without words.' She thought a
moment, and Lucy waited, almost holding her breath, for
what she hoped would be the great illumination.

‘
So,' Héloïse said at last, 'I have a garden; and Stephen and
I work in it, to make the flowers grow, and the trees bear
fruit, and it is very beautiful. But sometimes we have to pull up the weeds, or cut back a branch, or kill a nest of ants, for
the good of the garden. And how much do you think the
weeds, or the branch, or the ants, will understand of our
purposes? But so it is in the world, I think, which is God's
garden. And though I am not able to understand why things
happen as they do, I believe that He knows best. If I go
against His will, I shall never know what He had planned for
me; but if I obey Him, it will all become clear one day.’

Lucy waited for more, and when it was plain that Héloïse
had finished, her disappointment was so transparent that
Héloïse laughed.

‘
Oh Lucy, did you think I would make everything suddenly
clear for you, like a great light from the sky?'

‘
Of course not,' Lucy said with dignity. ‘Do you take me
for a simpleton?'

‘
Nothing that is worthwhile is understood without effort,'
Héloïse said. 'When you were a child, did you not struggle
with Latin and Greek?'

‘
That was easy, compared with this,' Lucy sighed. 'I think I
had better stick to what I know. Like horses.'

‘
Horses are very holy, I think,' Héloïse said comfortably,
taking up her sewing again. 'They do what is in them to do,
which is a good way of praising God.’

Now Lucy laughed. 'You bring God into everything.’

 
‘
But how can you leave Him out?' Héloïse replied.

*

A milder wind blew, and the snow dissolved, and there was
brown earth to be seen, and patches of green grass, and
snowdrops, and fat green spikes that would be daffodils.
Suddenly the air was almost tangible with smells, and the
robin's solitary song was augmented by the great tit, the
chaffinch and the wren. Not spring yet, they said, but soon.

The empty roads beckoned to Lucy too strongly to be resisted. She had almost a hunger for her horses and for
freedom. The little house, which had been a haven for six
months, was now a prison, intolerably full of women and too
far from London.

‘
I shall miss you,' Héloïse said as Stephen carried Lucy's
bags out to the waiting post-chaise. A small crowd of village children had collected, drawn by the irresistible sight of four
horses, and two post-boys in drab coats and black caps.
Parslow had gone ahead with the curricle and her chestnuts,
to meet her at St Albans, so that she could have the pleasure
of driving herself into London.

‘I shall miss you, too,' Lucy said, discovering it to be true.

‘I have so much to thank you for, Héloïse.'

‘
I will take care of Thomas for you. Be sure to write to me
as often as you can.’

Lucy went along the line with a hug for everyone, even for
Barnard, who had emerged — as he very rarely did — from
his kitchen on purpose to say goodbye, and to hand up into
the chaise a large basket of food to guard against the horrors
of post-house cooking. Despite her delight at the thought of
getting away, Lucy was forced to bite her lip as she parted
from the last pair of loving arms, and climbed into the chaise
to drive away from what had become her family over these
last months. She abandoned dignity to lean out of the window
and wave, and Kithra ran alongside as far as the bend in the
road, and stood there waving his tail until she was out of
sight.

 
When Lucy halted her curricle outside the house in Upper
Grosvenor Street, Hicks beat Ollett to the door and flung it
wide, and beamed at his mistress all the way up the steps.

‘
Welcome home, my lady!' he cried feelingly. 'It's such a
pleasure to have you back, my lady, if you will forgive me.’

Lucy blinked. 'Thank you, Hicks. I suppose it's still very
quiet?'

‘
A number of the great families are still in the country, my
lady,' Hicks said, receiving Lucy's gloves, tut there is a
tolerable degree of company. Quite a dozen invitations have
arrived since it was heard that you were coming to Town, and
a number of people have left their card: Lady Tewkesbury,
Mrs Fauncett

‘
Oh yes, they would! Longing to know where I've been, of
course.'

‘
As you say, my lady. And Lady Chelmsford and Lady
Barbara Morland; and Major Wiske called this morning, but
hadn't a card about him. He wished me to say he is entirely at
your service, and will call tomorrow if he does not hear from
you sooner.'

‘
Very well,' said Lucy. She cocked an eye at her butler, whose expression was that of a cat accidentally shut into a
dairy. ‘And what else have you to tell me, Hicks?’

Hicks actually smiled. ‘His lordship is here, my lady. He
has been staying in his old room since Tuesday. He is out at
the moment, my lady, but will be back before dinner, and
means to dine here, if you have no objection.'

‘
None at all,' Lucy said, bemused. Chetwyn, staying here
and not in his lodgings? What could his reason be? It was clear
that Hicks was in ecstasy, believing his master and mistress
were to be reconciled, but whether he had more to go on than
Chetwyn's simple presence, she had no way of knowing. ‘Pray
tell Jacques we shall be two, then; and send up hot water at
once. Docwra, bring my cloak-bag please.’

Lucy had washed away the dust of the journey, changed
into a dress of pale yellow embroidered muslin, and was
sitting in the breakfast-parlour going through the pile of
invitations, cards and letters, when Chetwyn walked in.

‘
Lucy, welcome home,' he said cheerfully, crossing the
room to kiss her cheek in greeting. 'You're looking very well,'
he went on, stepping back to regard her.

‘
So are you,' Lucy said, with little effort to hide her
surprise. The last time she had seen him, he had looked
drawn and tired, and though his cordiality to her had been
greater than for some time, there had still been a gravity and
reserve in his manner. But now he looked much more like his
old self, healthy, rested, and above all, cheerful. 'What has
happened?' she asked bluntly.

‘
Happened? Why, what do you mean? Are you surprised
that I'm looking well? It must be the effect of a long spell in
the country,' he said with a smile. 'Fresh air and healthy
exercise. I have been out twice a week since January, you
know.'

‘Hunting? You?'

‘
Yes, me! I have a new horse, called Ranger: bought him
from Mildmay, for next to nothing. You wouldn't think much
of him, I know, but he suits me perfectly. He has a sweet
temper, and looks after me very well.’

Lucy regarded him doubtfully. Chetwyn had never been
particularly fond of hunting, preferring always to lie about in
an armchair than to exert himself, but there was no doubt
that something had brought a healthy colour to his face and a
light to his eyes. ‘I'm very pleased for you,' she managed to
say. ‘I've sorely missed hunting this year. Has someone been
taking my two out?'

‘
Oh yes, they've been exercised regularly, just as you
ordered.'

‘Good. I was especially worried about Minstrel, since I had
Parslow with me. Anyone could ride Mimosa, but Minstrel's
so strong. Who did you find who could hold him? Not your
man Thorn, I hope — his hands are like sides of beef.'

‘
No, no, Thorn had nothing to do with either of them, I
promise you. Your instructions were heeded to the letter.
You'll find their mouths just as you left them.' He gestured at
the cards in Lucy's lap. 'Have you made any plans for this
evening?'

‘
Not yet. Docwra says I haven't anything fit to wear, and
that I ought to stay home until she has had time to get me
some new gowns.'

‘
Then we'll have a chance to tell all our news,' he said,
sitting down opposite her and laying his hands on his knees.
‘First of all, though, I'm afraid I have a rather disagreeable
task to perform. I was at the club this morning. I just stepped
in to read the newspapers, and I met Tonbridge, who'd been
talking to Admiral Scorton.’

Lucy's hands had clenched themselves in her lap, crushing
an invitation to Mrs Fairfax's rout. Her face, even her lips
had paled. 'Bad news?' she managed to say.

‘
It's about your brother William,' Chetwyn said, wishing he
might not notice her quickly drawn breath of relief at the
name. 'As you know, he and his family sailed from London
Dock in the
York
in December; and it seems that she did not
arrive at her destination. You'll remember that there was a
terrible storm which swept up from the south-west on Christ
mas Day?'

‘
Yes, it was quite a hurricane,' Lucy answered automatic
ally.

‘
Some fishing boats out of Yarmouth which were caught in
the storm and trying to ride it out, reported sighting the York
at dusk on the 26th, but so far enquiries have not been able to
discover any further trace of her. It's to be feared that she
may have foundered.'

‘
But there is no report of a wreck? No evidence of a
mishap?'

‘
Nothing. She seems simply to have disappeared, and all
her crew with her. Of course, there is still hope that she may
be found. It's early days yet.'

‘
If they were driven off course and ran aground on some remote island, it might take them many months to get back
home,' Lucy said.

‘
Indeed. There's always hope. But I thought I had better
prepare you.'

‘
Thank you.' Lucy considered the possibility — probability
even — that William and his wife and child were dead, but
found it hard to feel anything other than the sort of remote
shock that would be aroused by any reported disaster.
William came from the other end of the family, was fifteen
years her senior, and had been almost continuously at sea
since before she was born, and it was hard to feel more deeply
for him than for a stranger.