Too Close to the Sun (52 page)

‘It was always meant to be mine.’ She heard him take in a breath. ‘In God’s plan. I’m talking about in God’s plan.’

His words were bewildering; and he was making her increasingly uneasy.

‘All those people who have it so easy,’ he said. ‘They don’t know what it’s like to have to work and graft and scheme and gamble to make headway. I know what it’s like. It’s what I’ve always had to do. Nothing fell into my lap, nothing at all.’

The springs creaked as he sat up and then got out of bed. She opened her eyes and in the dim light saw him move in his nightshirt across the carpet. On a small table near the door was a tray holding a jug of water. She watched him as he refilled his water glass and drank from it. ‘I’ve got such an almighty thirst,’ he said.

‘Perhaps you’re coming down with something,’ she said. ‘There’s influenza and colds going about.’

‘I haven’t got any cold,’ he said dismissively. ‘I don’t get colds. It’s the wine; it’s not a cold.’

‘As you wish. Have it your way.’

‘Yes, I’ll have it my way.’ He drank more water. ‘I always do. Sooner or later.’ He moved back to the bed, his feet padding softly on the carpet. She heard the sound of his glass being set down on the bedside table, and then felt the mattress sink on his side as he climbed back into bed. ‘Like with Asterleigh,’ he said as he pulled the covers back over himself.

He seemed to want to talk about it, she thought. The house, it seemed to be on his mind.

‘No, Asterleigh didn’t fall into my lap,’ he said after a moment. ‘Though it should have done. It was rightly mine.’

‘What do you mean? The house came to you with your marriage.’

‘Oh, yes, eventually it did. And my wife had got the house because on Joseph Gresham’s death everything went to her – being his nearest legal relative. His nearest relative – on paper. Everything – imagine it. Asterleigh, and the land around it, and the mill, everything. It all went to her, his niece – the daughter of his sister – a sister whom he’d barely spoken to in well over twenty years. He didn’t even like the woman, by all accounts. They never did get on. So he’d never have any feelings for her daughter, his niece. Are you listening to me?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She paused. ‘If he didn’t have any feelings for his niece, why did he leave her everything?’

‘He didn’t. He left no will – or at least not one that could be found. So everything as a matter of course went to his next of kin – his acknowledged next of kin. And as her mother had already died, that was Eleanor.’

‘She told me she couldn’t remember anything about her uncle.’

‘I doubt that she could. As I say, he and his sister never got on, so he’d hardly have been a regular caller at the house.’

A little silence went by. The house was so still, but then into the quiet came the distant harsh and eerie sound of the barking of a fox. The sudden noise only served to emphasize the silence that surrounded the pair on the bed. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Grace said.

‘I’m your husband. A wife should be close to her husband. If she doesn’t know what there is to know about him, who should? I’m telling you things.’ He was sitting up
beside her in the bed, looking ahead of him into the candle-lit dark. ‘I might not feel like saying these things again.’

She was growing increasingly uneasy. She could not understand why he was talking in such a way. Although all desire for sleep had left her, she wanted only that he would stop and find sleep for himself.

‘I shouldn’t have had to do some of the things I’ve done,’ he said after a moment. ‘But there are times when you’re left with no choice. There’s no other way out.’ He turned to her, looking her directly in the face. ‘You’re not stupid,’ he said belligerently. ‘You can add two and two together.’

‘Edward …’ She put a hand to her mouth. His manner was a little alarming. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You don’t know what I’m talking about,’ he said contemptuously. ‘You’re not an idiot, and you must have heard the gossip over the years.’

‘Gossip? I don’t listen to gossip.’

He laughed derisively. ‘Well, my God, if that isn’t what they all say. And they’re the first to listen to any bit of tittle tattle that comes along. Don’t play me for a fool, Grace. I’m anything but that, and you know it to be so.’

‘I haven’t heard any gossip,’ she insisted.

‘No, well, I s’pose that’s because of who you are, who you’re married to. You’re involved, so you and I would be the last to hear it.’

‘I remember my aunt telling me about Mrs Spencer,’ Grace said. ‘She told me she’d inherited all her uncle’s property.’

‘And did she tell you anything about Joseph Gresham?’

‘Not that I recall. Should she have?’

‘He had an eye for the women. Weren’t you told that?’

‘Oh, yes, now that I think about it. There was something.’

‘Well, the way I was told it, his own marriage wasn’t up to much. A loveless, childless thing it was.’

‘And how do you know all this?’

‘From my mother. She knew a lot about him.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘Me? No.’ A little pause, and he turned and looked at her. ‘You’re not getting the picture, are you?’

‘What are you talking about?’ She turned to face him. ‘I told you, Edward, I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

‘No, you don’t, you truly don’t. Are you that naïve? Perhaps you are.’

‘Perhaps I am.’

‘Well, to spell it out for you: I’m his son. I’m Joseph Gresham’s son.’

The fox barked again into the quiet. And as the echo of the sound died away Grace became aware again of the beating of her heart. It was almost as if she had been anticipating some such revelation from him; that he had been preparing her for such. And perhaps he had. Perhaps all of it tonight had been leading to this.

She did not speak. But at the same time she knew her silence would not end it. After a few moments he said:

‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Joseph Gresham’s son.’

‘Yes. I heard.’

‘Not that he ever recognized me. Certainly not publicly, and barely in reality in any way. Afraid, you see. Afraid of it getting out. The scandal. Nothing was allowed to besmirch his good name. So when I was born there was no whisper of who my father was. It couldn’t be allowed to get out.’

‘Is Spencer your mother’s name?’

‘No. She was born Tatten, Ellen Tatten. Spencer was Thomas Spencer, a farmhand who lived nearby. And I suppose he always had an eye for my mother. She was a
beautiful young woman, by all accounts – which of course was how she came to attract the attention of Gresham in the first place.’

‘So she married Mr Thomas Spencer.’

‘Yes. She was pregnant with me when they married. He must have known, of course. But he was so taken with her that he accepted it, her pregnancy, or so I believe. Anyway, he gave me his name, and cared for me as if I’d been his own son. My birth certificate gives his name as that of my father – and I always called him that. I didn’t know any better. There were no children born to my mother after me, so I think perhaps this helped to cement the relationship between me and my stepfather. Later, when my mother told me the truth she said that Gresham gave her money when she was pregnant with me – and you can bet your life that this was partly to ensure her silence. I know the rest of her family never knew – her mother and sister, she never told them.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She told me so. They asked her so many times, but she never told them. She didn’t tell her husband, my stepfather, either. I know that; she told me,’

‘Did no one have suspicions?’

‘Well, of nothing that was near the mark, I believe. People can keep their counsel when they absolutely need to. And I think my mother’s relationship with Gresham was unexpected and very brief. I doubt anyone knew of it, other than those concerned. And those who knew weren’t talking.’

‘When did you learn about – Mr Gresham being your father?’

‘When I was eighteen. My stepfather was long dead by then, and it was just the two of us at home. My mother had become ill, and I think she decided I had to know then or perhaps I never would. I suppose she thought that if she
waited she might take her secret to the grave. I don’t know what good she thought it would do, telling me. I suppose she just thought it was something I was owed. Which I was.’

‘What did you think – when she told you?’

‘Well, obviously I was very surprised. First of all that Thomas Spencer, whom I’d always thought of as my father, was in fact not. And then to learn that my real father should turn out to have been a rich man, a powerful man. Not like poor old Thomas, poor as a church mouse.’

‘Did you believe it – when your mother told you?’

‘Why should I not?’

‘Well – it’s quite a piece of news to tell a young man.’

‘Oh, it was that.’

‘You must have been very curious about so many things. Did your mother tell you very much?’

‘She told me a few things. Of course after her death I thought of so much I wanted to ask her. But that’s always the way. I remember I asked her where he was then – my real father, Gresham. She said he’d died when I was ten. And it turned out that he’d acknowledged me to the point where he sent my mother money every year at Christmas. Apparently there was never any letter or note with the money. It was just the money, wrapped in paper, sealed in an envelope. No sender’s name or address. I don’t know why he chose to send it at Christmas – perhaps he didn’t know the date of my birthday. Though I suppose Christmas is as good a time as any.’

Grace could hear the note of bitterness in his voice, and thought perhaps it was not so surprising.

‘I remember my mother saying to me that everything should have come to me. Asterleigh, the mill. “It was yours by rights,” she said. “You’re his only child.” Unfortunately it didn’t come to me.’

A little moment of silence, then Grace said, ‘It went instead to his niece.’

‘As I said, he left no will – so it all went to his niece, his niece Miss Eleanor Addison. And she didn’t particularly want it. She didn’t move into the house. It was too much for her to deal with. She was accustomed to a quiet, very simple life. She was not one for activity and getting about and meeting people, and having lots of servants at her beck and call. No, so she didn’t move into the house; she came and looked it over and that was it. She decided to stay put in her little cottage on the outskirts of Swindon.’

‘Then who looked after it, the house?’

‘Oh, she kept on a couple of Gresham’s servants to run the place and keep it from falling down. And her solicitor arranged for payment to be made to them. Like with the mill. She had no interest in that, either. She told me she never even visited the mill. And the place was making hardly anything. I think the whole thing would have collapsed if I hadn’t come along when I did.’ He turned in the bed and leaned towards her and she could smell the warmth of his breath. His hand touched her shoulder, grasped it for a moment then let go. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me, then?’ he said. ‘Eh? Aren’t you going to ask me how I got it?’

She kept silent, while a deeper chill seemed to invade her blood and her bones.

‘Well,’ he said, ignoring her silence, ‘it didn’t drop out of the sky into my lap, did it?’ He hooted a laugh that rang in the room, and made Grace grip the sheet around her. ‘I told you just now, that whatever I set my mind on getting I usually get. Like you, when I saw you in your father’s yard one day. I saw you and –’

‘Edward –’ she broke in, ‘please …’

‘What? What’s the matter? You think it’s a bit indelicate, do you? Well, maybe it is, but on the other hand you should be flattered. It’s true – what I set my mind on I generally get. And I set my mind on you.’ He gave a deep sigh, reflective,
as if looking back over the years and examining the past. ‘Yes, I did. And before that I set my mind on Asterleigh.’ He was looking directly at her now, his face only inches from her own, as if determined not to miss one nuance of any change in her expression or the tone of her voice. ‘But don’t run away with the idea that that was easy, because it wasn’t. I had to plot and plan for it.’

‘Edward – why are you telling me all this?’ She did not think she could stand to hear any more. In her heart there was a growing fear, a fear of what other possible revelation she might be forced to listen to.

‘Aren’t you interested?’

‘I don’t know why you’re telling me it all.’

‘I thought you’d be interested,’ he said. ‘After all, I’m your husband. You should be interested in everything about me – particularly in learning a little about my past.’ He paused briefly. ‘And I’m not ashamed of it. You don’t think that, do you?’

‘Of course not.’

He hiccuped, and it sounded loud in the room. She heard him hold his breath, and then hiccup again. He sat in silence until the momentary disturbance had passed, then said, ‘Miss Eleanor was not an easy woman to get to know. At least she wouldn’t have been in the ordinary way, but I managed without too much trouble.’

‘Mrs Spencer said it was through her paintings.’ Grace said.

‘That’s right. But not quite in the way she thought.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. I made all kinds of enquiries about her, and over a short space of time learned a great deal. I found out so much. She kept to herself, I found out, and hardly went anywhere. Her one passion was her painting. You see, that’s where a person is vulnerable, did you realize that? In their passions. Find out what it is that drives them, find out
the nature and the subject of their passion, and you’ll find you have power.’

‘Is that what you wanted? Power over her?’

‘Well, that’s a rather brutal way of putting it, isn’t it?’ He waited for a moment or two as if she might answer, then went on, ‘Yes, her passion was her painting. She’d had no great loves in her life. Due to her damaged leg she hadn’t done all those things that girls of her age had done. She hadn’t gone to dances and soirées, she hadn’t played tennis or gone skating. Even a walk could prove tiring for her, the way her leg put so much strain on her back.’ He sighed. ‘So there she was – a very inexperienced woman, well into middle age, and seeing nothing before her but a continuation of her life as it was, living alone with just one maid to help out, and spending her days at her easel.’