The Victory (39 page)

*

Very early on the morning after the ball, when the servants
might properly have supposed that their masters and
mistresses would remain decently abed until noon, Parslow
and James's groom Durban were standing in the courtyard,
enjoying the air and chatting. Durban had got his pipe
drawing nicely, and Parslow, whose hands never liked to be idle, was weaving a hay wisp for strapping his horses. Hens
were croodling and fluffing in the sunshine, sparrows perched
in fat rows along the guttering, and the yard dog had just
rolled over on to his back and was scratching an itch on his haunches deliciously against the ground, tongue lolling and
legs waving in the most foolish manner.

‘My father had a dog once ...' Parslow began, when
Durban, who was looking towards the house over his shoul
der, nudged him, and Parslow turned his head to see Lucy coming out through the buttery door, the great door being
still closed and bolted. 'Well, dang me,' he said mildly.

‘
Dancing until all hours, too,' Durban answered the spirit
of the comment. 'What's to do, Mr Parslow?'

‘
Dressed for riding,' Parslow murmured without moving
his lips. She looked very pale, and rather grim about the
mouth, but that might be the effect of a late night. 'You best
scarper.’

But Lucy, her long skirt folded over her arm, walked
briskly, and her eye encompassed both men as she said, 'Good morning.'

‘
Morning, my lady,' Parslow said, and Durban ducked his
head in greeting.

‘
I wish to go riding, Parslow, and you are to accompany
me. What is there here for me to ride?’

Parslow and Durban exchanged a perplexed glance. 'Well,
my lady, the good horses are all out, or up at Twelvetrees,'
said Parslow.

‘
We could fetch you one down in an hour or so, my lady,'
Durban offered. 'Have it groomed and tacked up for after
breakfast.'

‘
No, I must go now,' Lucy said firmly. 'Surely you have
some horse that will carry a sidesaddle?'

‘
There's Missy, the dun mare, my lady, that Mrs Morland rides sometimes.' Durban said doubtfully. 'She's always kept
up, because she doesn't do well at grass. Her paces aren't so
very good, but —'

‘
Her ladyship, ride a horse with hocks like that?' Parslow
protested, shocked.

‘
Never mind that now,' Lucy said impatiently. 'Saddle her
up at once will you, and something for yourself, Parslow.’

Parslow exchanged a speaking glance with Durban, and the
two men went into the stables, while Lucy waited, biting her
lip and slapping her crop restlessly against her leg. In a few
minutes the horses came clopping and blinking out into the
yard. Parslow threw his mistress up and helped her drape her
skirt, and then he mounted the bay Durban was holding for
him and they were off. All this time Lucy did not speak, not
even to tell Parslow their destination, but when they came up
to the Thirsk road just past Overton, she did not seem
surprised when he pointed out to her the best way to go across country.

They stopped when they reached Huby to breathe the
horses, and to let them drink at the little stream that ran
beside the village street. Parslow jumped down and went to
the mare's head, and holding both horses, glanced up covertly
at Lucy's face. It was pale and set. He saw that she had made
up her mind to do something she did not much want to do,
but he could not yet guess what it was.

At last she sighed and, catching his eye, said, 'You know
where we're going, I suppose?'

‘Yes, my lady.'

‘
You always know everything. I've thought and thought
about it. It never occurred to me to go back, and yet the
Captain was surprised that I hadn't. Do you think I should
have gone before?’

Parslow knew her too well to say 'It isn't for me to say, my
lady' — the standard servant's answer to the unanswerable question. 'There was no need to go, my lady,' was what he
said. 'The arrangements were all made.’

She twisted the mare's mane between her fingers. 'I don't
want to go now. I wonder why? I would sooner run away. But
I need to find out something.' She gave him a crooked smile.
‘Idle curiosity, you sec.' She gathered up the reins with a
restless movement. 'Let's get on.’

The little house looked even smaller than she had remem
bered; the front garden behind the white paling fence was full
of the tarnished flowers of August. The bedroom windows
were open to air the rooms, and the curtains within hung
motionless in the still, warm air.

Parslow came to jump her down. 'I'll tie them up in the
shade, over there, my lady, where there's a little bit of grass. I
dare say they'll give me a bucket of water for them in the kitchen.’

Lucy knew he was talking to comfort her. I must look
nervous, she thought. She stood undecided as he walked the horses away to the big chestnut tree at the end of the garden
wall, and then walked up to the door of the house, and
knocked on it with the head of her riding crop.

The door was opened by Stephen, whose self-control was so
magnificent that he blinked only once to betray his surprise before stepping back to invite her in, saying, 'I'm afraid the
mistress is not at home, my lady. She and Miss have gone for a ride in the carriage. She ought to be back before very long,
though.' He took her crop and gloves. 'Would you care to
wait, my lady? Can I get you something?'

‘
Nothing, thank you. Only some water for my horses.’

 
‘
I'll see to it, my lady. And a glass of lemonade for you?'
She licked her dry lips. 'Yes, lemonade. Thank you. Where is everyone else?'

‘
Madame Chouflon is in her room, my lady. It's one of her
bad days, and she hasn't been down yet. I could tell her
you're here —'

‘No, don't disturb her. And the others?'

‘
Marie has gone to visit a friend, and the children are in the
garden, my lady.'

‘
I'll go out, then, and wait for your mistress there,' Lucy
said. Stephen bowed and escorted her to the back door, and she stepped out into the heat and fragrance of the walled garden.

The children were sitting on the warm, flaking red brick of
the path, between the lavender bushes, oblivious of the full
sunshine. Sophie was in a white muslin frock and a wide
straw hat, which looked comfortable and cool, and her thick,
dark hair had been braided into a long plait at the back to
keep it out of her way. She was playing fivestones with great
concentration, explaining every movement in great detail to
her companion.

Lucy stood still just outside the door. The baby was not
quite two, a chubby child, made stouter in appearance by the
bundling of baby clothes under his faded blue frock. He had a
white linen sun-hat over his silky brown hair, and he was
sucking the forefinger of one hand while using the other to
interfere with Sophie's game by picking up the stones out of
turn. Sophie retrieved them with enormous patience, as
absorbed in teaching the baby as in playing herself.

She looked up as she felt Lucy's eyes on her, and jumped
up to make an automatic curtsey, but she was clearly puzzled
by the visitor.

‘Don't you remember me, Sophie? Come, it's not so very long ago that I was here.’

Sophie's face cleared, and she smiled. 'Oh yes, of course,
madame, I remember. Have you come to see Maman? She
isn't here.' A look of consternation crossed her face. 'You
haven't come to take Thomas away?’

The baby, hearing his name, looked up, and Lucy found
herself regarded by a pair of solemn brown eyes underneath
fine, delicate eyebrows whose exact shape and texture she
knew with such intimacy that it made her feel faint. Oh, I was
right not to come before, she thought, staring and staring to seek out what exactly it was that was Weston in that face. It
was a likeness so vivid, so haunting, that she felt it must
reside in some particular feature, and yet when she tried to pin it down, it became elusive. It was as if Weston himself
were there, looking at her through a veil that both obscured
and revealed him.

‘
No,' she managed to say at last. 'No, I haven't come to
take him away.' She dragged her eyes from Thomas to look at
Sophie. 'Would you mind so much if I had?'

‘
Well, I would,' Sophie said politely but firmly. 'Because
you didn't really want him, did you, and I look after him now,
and Maman said that he wouldn't have to go away until he
was quite grown up. Except,' she added with scrupulous
fairness, 'perhaps to visit.’

Lucy had nothing to say to this. She wished they would not
look at her so with their bright eyes. ‘Shew me what you're playing,' she said, and Sophie obliged. Lucy sat nearby and
watched, and soon both children had forgotten her presence.
Stephen brought out her lemonade, and she sipped it, and felt
guilty that she had not brought anything, presents for the
children, something for the boy — a dress or a pair of shoes or something — a gift for Héloïse.

She felt very strange. It was too hot here in the garden.
The air was too heavy with fragrance, and the boy's likeness
to Weston was confusing, making her feel as though she were
in the grip of a dream. She stood up, swaying a little, and
said, 'I have to go,' and her voice sounded strange too in the
enclosed space. And then there were sounds from behind her,
and Héloïse came running from the house with exclamations
of surprise and pleasure.

‘
Lucy! How lovely to see you! But why didn't you let me know you were coming, then I should not have gone out.’

 
‘
I came on impulse — I can't stay,' Lucy said.

Héloïse looked concerned. 'But how pale you are! You have
been sitting in the sun, it is too hot for you. Come at once into
the house, cousin Lucy. Here, take my arm.’

Héloïse helped her inside. The darkness after the bright sunlight made her dizzy, and for a while she could not see
properly. Everything was red and black, and faces came and
went indistinctly. A tall girl with red hair pinned up and a
grown-up gown — could that really be Mathilde? A cold, wet
nose pressed helpfully into the palm of her hand was Kithra,
instantly banished, with the children, out into the garden
again. Héloïse hung over her affectionately, bathed her
temples with lavender water, and made her sip more
lemonade, and her vision cleared to find that they were alone
together in the peace of the parlour, dim and cool with the
sun on the other side of the house.