Wide is the Water (37 page)

‘I will do my best.' She flashed him a look of pure mischief.

Dick's clothes again. How could he wear Dick's clothes and imagine fighting him? No time now to be thinking of that. Mercy was putting on what she laughingly described as her ‘other dress'. She smiled at him over her shoulder. ‘We'll not tell Ruth tonight,' she said, ‘about the duel. Let us have one happy evening.'

‘Unless Dick comes. I should have thought he would have been here by now. You'll like him so much, Mercy. He's the brother I wish I'd had. One thing, and it comforts me, is that I know whatever happens, he will take care of you.'

‘Don't,' she said. ‘We are having our happy evening.'

It had not struck Hart before how much the servants at Denton Hall liked him, but when they got downstairs, they found the house bathed in a festive glow. While they were changing, someone had filled the saloon with flowers, and when they moved through into the dining room, it was to find it gleaming with glass and silver that Hart had never seen before. The special dinner Ruth had asked for had assumed the proportions of a Lucullan feast, and Soames, the butler, welcoming Hart as a prodigal son of the family, murmured that he had thought the ladies would like champagne. ‘We are celebrating in the servants' hall, too, if you don't mind me saying so, sir. It's another happy day for the family.'

Another? Thinking it over, as he helped Ruth to succulent chicken pie, he was afraid that the previous cause of celebration must have been George Purchas's death and Dick's accession as heir. Both the staff at the hall and the tenants on the estate must feel a great deal safer as a result of George's death. A strange thought struck
him. If Dick should die, who would be his heir?

Dick was not going to die. Mercy was raising her champagne glass. ‘We must drink a toast,' she said. ‘To our hosts. To the Purchas family.'

They sat late at the table, enjoying their miracle while it lasted, exchanging stories, interrupting each other with questions, with explanations. ‘Brisson?' asked Hart, when Ruth spoke of him. ‘Who's he?' And noticed that Ruth left it to Mercy to reply.

‘A good friend,' she said. ‘You remember, I told you of him earlier, the one we met on our way to Philadelphia,'

‘The one you saved from the outlaws? I did not catch his name before. Did you not pronounce it differently?'

‘Very likely. He pronounces it French or English as suits him for the moment. And Charles or
Charles
.'

‘A dubious sort of gentleman.' It was an effort to keep his tone light. ‘You called him Charles or
Charles
?'

‘I'd have called him George Washington if he asked me to. He's been the best of friends.' There was no time, now, to say more. One day, please God, she would be able to tell him all about Charles Brisson. ‘Hart, dear, it's getting late, and we should not be lingering here, keeping the servants from their beds. You are sure you do not wish to drink a peaceful glass of port?'

‘By myself?' All the time he was aware, and thought she was, too, of the minutes ticking away towards the duel with Dick. ‘Good God, no.'

Later, alone with her in the room she had shared with Ruth, he turned to Mercy, put his hands on her shoulders, looked down into her eyes. ‘This Brisson must have loved you very much.'

She met his eyes fearlessly. ‘I think so. It makes me a little proud.'

‘And you—'

‘Love you.' She smiled up at him. ‘I hoped for a while that he was in love with Ruth. Hart! What in the world are you doing?'

He had found the truckle bed tucked away under the
big one and was pulling it out. ‘Taking no more chances,' he said. ‘If you are to find yourself a widow in a strange land …'

‘I shall need a child – your child. But I'll not believe it. Hart,' she was busy with the fastenings of her dress. ‘Do you want me to think you are jealous of Charles Brisson?'

‘No!'

‘Then come to bed, dear Hart. Tomorrow is another day.' One last twitch of a ribbon, and the dress sank to the ground, half-supported by its own weight, as she stepped out of it and towards him, bare arms outstretched.

Much later Hart waked himself, crying out as he had in the Tower, and felt Mercy bending over him. ‘You were calling for me,' she said.

‘Of course.' They turned to each other and, presently, slept again.

Waked by the far-off familiar sound of the church bell, ringing for early service, Hart dressed quietly while Mercy still slept and walked across the park to the little church with its graveyard full of Purchases. Was George here? he wondered, and was answered by sight of a raw, recently turfed plot close to the church.

Mr. Pym, the vicar, was wearing buckskins under his cassock, and Hart remembered that Julia had described him as a hunting parson. He listened courteously enough to Hart's story but looked blank when he asked how soon he could arrange to remarry them. ‘Most unusual,' he said. ‘Highly unorthodox. I should most certainly have to consult my Bishop … Yes, the Bishop, of course. Married already, and on a French ship, too! A Roman wedding, no doubt? We would not want any taint of that kind of thing here in Denton, and at this time of all others. Yes, I will most certainly need a word with the Bishop about it.'

‘How soon can you see him?' Hart controlled impatience with an effort.

‘The Bishop? Oh, well, my dear Mr. Purchas' – he mispronounced it – ‘that is something else again. The dear Bishop; not at all a well man, you know, not at all well. Let me see, is it Cheltenham spa this year, or Harrogate? We do try to spare him just as much as we possibly can when he is taking the cure. I could write to him, I suppose, but on a subject so delicate, so complex, really I believe word of mouth would be better. After all,' – he paused, deciding how to put it – ‘you have lived together for some time as man and wife, have you not? There can be no
particular reason for haste, surely? Unless … unless the lady …' He made it a question.

‘I wish to take her home to America,' said Hart. He could hardly explain that the real reason for haste was his impending duel with Dick.

‘Oh, well, in that case.' Mr. Pym pounced on it. ‘Very much better to be married in your own country surely? Quite a different church, I have always understood. No Bishops, I believe. Extraordinary.' Somewhere behind the church a horse whinnied. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Purchas, urgent parish business, you know. Most urgent business …'

‘But this is urgent.'

‘Oh, my dear sir.' He smiled indulgently. ‘You young people! So impatient … so impetuous.' He pulled a huge bandanna handkerchief out of the sleeve of his cassock and tied a knot in the corner. ‘There! I will write to the Bishop tonight or tomorrow perhaps. I wish I could remember whether it was Harrogate or Cheltenham, but my dear wife will know the direction, I am sure. No need to look so anxious. We should have an answer in the course of the next few weeks.'

‘Don't trouble yourself,' said Hart. ‘I will take my wife to London and marry her there by special licence.'

‘An admirable idea,' said the vicar, relieved, and carefully undid the knot.

Hart strode back across the park, fuming with rage. All very well to tell that obstructive parson that they would go to London for a special licence, but how could they when by doing so, he broke his promise to Blanding and risked being rearrested? He had just reached the drive when he heard the sound of a horse ridden fast and turned to look back towards the village. Dick. What was he going to say to him?

‘Hart.' Dick jumped down from his tired horse. ‘When were you freed? And how?'

‘Yesterday. You did not know? You've not had my message?' But it was almost impossible that he should have.

‘No. I came because of a message from …' He hesitated. ‘From your wife. She's here? You knew?'

‘Not when I came here. It was sheer good fortune.' Hart quickly explained what Blanding had done. ‘I ought to be in Portsmouth by now. I came here – I felt I must – to give you the chance of a meeting. I wrote you I would wait twenty-four hours. Only now …' How could he explain his predicament? ‘Dick, I have to remarry Mercy, make her my wife indeed, before I can fight you. I have just been to see Mr. Pym. He won't help me.'

‘Old dodderer,' said Dick. ‘He's never helped anyone in his life. He'd not have had the living if I'd had any say in the matter. It will have to be by special licence then. I can help you there, I think. The Bishop of London is one of my Godfathers.' He looked at Hart ruefully. ‘Ah, poor Julia. I can see that this changes everything.'

‘Everything. When you meet Mercy, you will understand. She has had a desperate time of it, both in America and on the way here. None of her letters, reached me.' He stopped. He could not tell Dick of their suspicion that Julia herself had suppressed their letters. ‘She is my wife,' he said. ‘I'm sorry, Dick. I am ready to meet you, of course, just as soon as we are married. So long as I am not rearrested first.'

Dick looked as wretched as Hart felt. ‘Yes we will have to think of a reason – a pretext for fighting. To keep Julia's name out of it. Time for that when we have got you married. I'll go to London, naturally, and get your licence. Safer that way. It would be absurd if you should be re-arrested now. They are strange, the terms of your release. And stranger still that I knew nothing about it.'

‘Your English law, Dick!' They had reached the house. ‘Come and meet Mercy.'

One of the servants must have seen them walking up the drive together. A boy was ready to take the horse, and the staff were drawn up in the hall to greet Dick with loving respect. Watching him enquire after the butler's gout and the cook's granddaughter, Hart knew all over again that
there was no way in the world he could ever shoot at him. Well, he and Mercy would have the few days it would take him to get their special licence.

Mercy herself appeared at the head of the stairs. ‘Hart, where have you been?' She saw Dick. ‘Oh, you must be—'

‘Dick Purchas, and most entirely at your service, ma'am. I only got your message last night, or I would have been here sooner, but I am glad to find you in better company than mine.'

‘Thank you.' She looked from one of them to the other, suddenly hopeful.

‘No.' Hart read her thoughts. ‘It has to be, Mercy. But Dick, God bless him, is going back to London to get us our special licence, so we can be married before …'

‘You have to?' Seeing them together, so obviously friends, it seemed incredible to her that they should still be intending to fight each other. I will never understand men, she thought, and their absurd point of honour. ‘Please' – she looked from one of them to the other – ‘say nothing about it in front of Ruth. I haven't told her. She has had enough to bear. She feels that Hart and I are all her family now. Well, we are …'

‘Ruth?' asked Dick.

‘Here she is.' Mercy turned to look up at Ruth, who had appeared at the head of the staircase. ‘Ruth, dear, here is Mr. Purchas, ridden from London. Mr. Purchas, our cousin Ruth Paston.'

‘Mr. Purchas!' Ruth had put on her one white dress this morning in Hart's honour but had not troubled to put up her fair hair, which tumbled in curls round her face. She held out her hand and came drifting down the stairs towards them. ‘Oh, I am so happy to meet you. Your housekeeper has been telling me such things about you! It is no wonder this is such a happy house.'

‘Happy?' He took her small hand in both of his and gazed down at her for a long moment. ‘You feel it so?'

‘Yes. Do not you? From the first moment we got here,
Mercy and I. I have felt – oh, safe, I think. As if I had been here before.' She smiled up at him. ‘You will think me ridiculous, Mr. Purchas.'

‘I shall do nothing of the kind.' He wrenched his gaze away from her with an effort. ‘But why are we standing here in the hall? I am sure Mrs. Soames has something ready for us to eat by now. I did not stay for breakfast at Reigate.' A smile for Mercy. ‘I did not know then that you were in such good company.' He offered his arm to Ruth. ‘Let us see what Mrs. Soames has for us?'

She smiled at him. ‘Devilled kidneys, of course. Your favourite breakfast. And coffee, not ale, because you are not a drinking man.' And then, blushing crimson: ‘Forgive me! We have made such friends, Mrs. Soames and I!'

‘I can see you have made a conquest of her.' He took her arm to lead her into the breakfast room, and Mercy, following with Hart, felt rather than saw the electric current that ran sudden and strong between them.

‘I like your friend Dick.' She hung back a little to speak to Hart. And then: ‘Oh, Hart, must you two fight?'

‘My darling, you know we must. So come to breakfast, love, and smile.'

Finishing his last cup of coffee, Dick announced that he had business with Glubb, the bailiff. ‘There is much to be settled since poor George's death, but I hope to be able to finish today and start back to London tonight.'

‘So soon?' said Ruth, and blushed.

‘The sooner I go, the sooner I will be back. Believe me, I'll not stay away a moment longer than I must.' He turned to Hart. ‘I shall enjoy presenting old Pym with the special licence. In fact, I think I will call in on him on my way over to Glubb's house and warn him to be ready to perform the ceremony early next week.'

‘Thank you,' said Hart, knowledge of the reason for this haste heavy between the three who shared it.

‘A wedding!' exclaimed Ruth. ‘I've not been to one since' – her face clouded – ‘since Naomi's.'

Alone with Hart in their room, Mercy went straight into
his arms. ‘Did you see?' she asked. ‘Your friend Dick and my dear Ruth? Love at first sight if ever I saw it.' She shivered and looked up at Hart. ‘Nothing must happen to Dick,' she said. ‘Ruth's been through so much.'