The Blind Years, page 9
‘Well, I have been a blasted fool, so drop it, for God’s sake…and suppose we don’t get the use of her money, just suppose. Would it be any use trying the bank again?’
‘No, I tapped Burnett after I’d seen you off, just in case. He indicated straight away that I could save my breath. Our red is red to the tune of seventy-five thousand. We are as near as dammit bankrupt…Look, Laurence, we are right up against it. If we sink, the lot goes…everything. You don’t quite take in what that means, you’ve had it so easy so long. Look here, Laurence, you go to Bridget, make a clean breast of it, throw yourself on her mercy. There’s nothing satisfies a woman so much as being able to forgive. I wish I had learned that earlier on. My life would have been smoother and easier. Once you are married you can go your own road again: only do it cautiously, have sense.’
Bridget had the sensation of choking. The breath was being pressed out of her by a mixture of emotions: incredible astonishment, shame, a feeling of being degraded and, threading them all, a cord of anger. She felt she could not bear to hear another word. If she heard one thing more her heart would burst. She was pulling herself away from the support of the door when she heard her Aunt Sarah’s voice breaking in on that of the men, saying firmly, ‘Well, what have you decided?’ So she was forced to remain to hear the answer.
‘Nothing much, except that the marriage must go through. By hook or by crook it must go through.’
‘For once I agree with you, Vance.’ The voice was cool, as cool as the night air had suddenly become. ‘And it’s just as well the wedding day is so near, for you may well have to shoulder an unexpected responsibility.’
‘What do you mean?’ Laurence’s words were slow and thick sounding and brought Bridget right onto the balcony now, her eyes staring towards the study windows.
‘I mean there may be results of Bruce Dickenson’s attack last night. I can’t think of anything else at the moment that would make her want to put off the wedding. I also think she has got a sneaking regard for the fellow.’
‘You’re saying…You mean there might be…?’
‘Just that.’
‘Well, my God! I didn’t bargain for this.’
‘There were lots of things you didn’t bargain for, Laurence. If there is an outcome it must have your name.’
‘Very nice, very nice. And what about Dickenson?’
‘What about him? It is unlikely that he’ll remember much. He was drunk and then he had his head split open by Ryder, as I’ve told you already.’
‘What if Ryder talks?’
‘He won’t.’
‘What if the Dickensons talk?’
‘I don’t think you need worry about them, they are not blabbers, whatever else they are. And it wouldn’t be to the young one’s benefit to admit he was trespassing and attacked a young girl. This Ryder would bear out if necessary…Now before we do anything more let us eat. Dinner is ready. Go in. I’ll join you in a moment, but first I must go upstairs and prepare her for your visit. And you must act quite naturally, Laurence. You have come home because you heard of her being attacked.’ Sarah Overmeer stopped talking for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, come in, Kate.’
Bridget could no longer see the light, for her face was awash with tears and her body was suffering under the pressure of all the sorrow in the world, deep shame-filled sorrow. Sorrow for the three people in the room there, people whom she had known all her life and in different ways had loved and respected. They were county folk, looked up to on all sides, but they were no better than a band of crooks. Kate’s voice came to her now, saying excitedly, ‘She’s not in her room, ma’am. Miss Bridget’s not in her room. I can’t see her nowhere…anywhere.’
‘Have you looked in the drawing room?’
‘Yes, ma’am, all over, and—’
Kate’s voice was shut off from Bridget now by the terrifying sounds of her own crying. It blotted out the sudden commotion in the study. The sound coming from her wide-open mouth mounted into a whirl: she could hear nothing but the awful sound of her own anguish and could see only dimly the figures on the terrace, the faces all ran into one with an expression of horrified amazement. She was mouthing words now, yelling them at the top of her voice, and when Laurence’s hands came on her she screamed as if she was being touched with hot irons.
She still continued to struggle as he carried her up the stairs, followed by the agitated cavalcade of Vance and Sarah Overmeer, and of Kate and MacKay. But when they reached the bedroom and he laid her on the bed and the door was closed on all but him and Aunt Sarah, she knew she was no match for them, and quite suddenly she became still. She even submitted to Sarah pushing three tablets into her mouth and making her swallow some water. Then she closed her eyes to blot out Laurence’s gaze, and she began repeating to herself, I loathe you, I loathe you. I do. Not until the sleeping pills began to take effect did the phrase lose its vehemence, but even so it slipped forcefully into her subconscious and laid its indelible print there.
Four
‘Speak to me, Bridget.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
Sarah Overmeer put her hand across her deep brow and brought it slowly over her eyes, and she kept it there as she said, ‘Anything…anything…only don’t sit staring like that all the time…I said I’m sorry. We’re all sorry to the heart.’
‘You’re sorry for what I heard, Aunt Sarah, but not for what you intended to do.’
‘Don’t say that, Bridget.’
‘You asked me to speak.’
Sarah Overmeer nodded her head slowly.
‘You were quite willing to tie me to Laurence, even when you knew he didn’t love me, had never loved me, just to save the firm.’
‘Oh, Bridget, what can I say?’
‘You could have asked me for the money; wouldn’t that have been a better way?’
‘You wouldn’t have been allowed to part with such a large sum; Grandma would have seen to that.’
‘It’s my money, not Grandma’s. I can do what I like with it.’
‘You know nothing about money, child. You don’t even know how much you are worth.’
That was true, Bridget thought; she didn’t know how much she was worth. Money had no real value to her; she had always had it and her tastes were simple. She had never once in the whole of her life spent her quarterly allowance. She had a private account which, over the years, had accumulated a considerable sum. Now and again when she had thought about money she had given someone a present, such as sending Yvonne a hundred dollars for her birthday. Even her grandmother was money conscious, although in a different way altogether from Aunt Sarah and her household. But now the cards were on the table she could, in a way, feel sorry for Aunt Sarah. But not for Uncle Vance, or Laurence. There was a feeling in her now towards Laurence that terrified her. It had emerged after the long sleep following the hysteria of last night. The sleeping tablets had done their work and she had awakened to the clock striking twelve and the daylight penetrating a chink in the curtains, and as her memory of the previous evening returned there had arisen this feeling, and so strong was it that it had returned her to full consciousness with its force. She had never hated or loathed anyone in her life, there had been no need, but now she was almost consumed with this feeling towards Laurence, and it was fed by one piece of knowledge that stood out from all the rest. It was that he would have married her knowing in his heart that he would return to Mrs Crofton, and that it was impossible for him not to. He would have used her only as a means to support the foundations of a crumbling business.
It seemed as if life had hit her between the eyes, and suddenly given her sight. Yet all the turmoil in her mind now was hiding behind the demeanour of the old Bridget. Although she had spoken plainly to her aunt it had been in the manner of the old Bridget, even though she was no longer the old Bridget. It was as if she were playing a part. She had joined their company and was matching her acting against theirs, yet curiously enough they seemed to have stopped acting; or at least Aunt Sarah had.
Sarah Overmeer was speaking again. She had asked a question and Bridget gave her an answer. She gave it with one swift movement of her head. Then she said, tensely, ‘No, Aunt Sarah, I cannot see Laurence. I will not see him. For the time that I am to remain here it is better that we don’t meet.’
‘What do you mean, the time that you are to remain here, Bridget?’
‘I intend to go to Grandma’s tomorrow.’
‘That is impossible; you are in no fit state to get up, let alone travel.’
‘We will see by tomorrow.’ Bridget’s voice was even.
‘I’ll send John in to see you before he leaves; he’ll make you see sense in this direction at any rate.’
‘Before he leaves?’ Bridget pulled herself up in the bed. ‘He didn’t say he was going anywhere.’
‘He wants to do a little fishing before his holiday ends; at least that’s what he says. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he went straight back to his practice. He’s itching to get away. I can always tell. I know John.’ Sarah Overmeer stared at Bridget for some moments but said no more. Then, heavily, she rose from her seat and quietly left the room. Her back was slightly stooped and again Bridget’s pity was invoked, but she thrust it aside with the thought: She didn’t care about what I would go through just as long as I married him, so that this house and all her possessions and her way of life would be secure. Sarah deserved no pity, yet the pity in Bridget remained. But now her mind jumped to John’s departure. Why hadn’t he told her he was going? She felt panic rising in her. Without John’s support she would have to stand alone. Although he had been very offhand with her these past two days he was still John, the only one apart from Grandma on whom she could depend.
Anyway that settled it: she was staying in bed no longer. She hadjust swung her legs out of the bed and shrugged her arm into her dressing gown when a knock on the door caused her to call out, ‘Come in,’ before she realised that it wasn’t John’s knock and that Kate’s tap was but a prelude to the actual opening of the door and the appearance of Laurence.
Her body was rigid as she stared at Laurence, and as her lips parted on an exclamation he raised his hand and said, ‘Don’t say it. Don’t say it.’ He was standing with his back to the door now, and she knew that he had spoken to the Bridget he had always known and that he could see her in no other light.
She watched him take slow, heavy strides towards her, and when he was about a yard from her she said sharply, ‘Don’t come any nearer, please.’
Her tone caused his eyebrows to rise slightly. ‘All right, my dear, I won’t contaminate you.’ She walked towards the window and sat down, because she knew that her legs would not support her. She heard him pull a chair forward, and then he was sitting opposite her, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped lightly together. This brought his face nearer and on a level with her own and she found that her eyes were not avoiding it, but were searching it, searching for something that would show the nature of the man beneath it. But the face betrayed nothing. It still had the attractive charm that had the power to fascinate. But as she continued to stare into Laurence’s eyes, she knew that for her his power was dead. Even as short a while ago as yesterday the fascination of him still held her, but not any more; that too had died, had been killed by hearing his voice coming from the study last night. And now a feeling of contempt was added to the new emotions he had created in her. She could at this moment have said what she had to say and so save him the plea he was about to make, but she remained silent, and he began to speak.
‘I’m going to make a confession, Bridget.’ He waited for some response, but when none was forthcoming he gave a little jerk of his head, then went on. ‘I did see Joyce…Mrs Crofton, the other evening, but I want you to believe this, and it’s true, no matter what you think.’ He accompanied the words with quick nods of his head. ‘I had no intention of seeing her again. I was taken aback when I found her in the drawing room, but when I saw her to the door she asked…she begged that I meet her later on. She was in great distress. I…well, I might as well admit that I was afraid of what she might do or say and so I promised to see her, and there…’ He now spread out his hands, palms upturned, towards her. ‘That’s the whole story.’
Bridget was leaning back in her chair and pressing her head into the upholstery, the index finger of her right hand scratching a pattern on the arm, and she heard her voice, which was not really her voice but one like that of a woman, a worldly woman, saying, ‘And you have met her a number of times since we became engaged?’
She watched his thick eyelids flick downwards. Then he was looking at her full in the face again. His lips were pressed together, pushing his cheeks up into what could have been taken for a self-conscious smile, but there was no reflection of a smile in his eyes as he answered, ‘Yes, I might as well put the cards on the table now that we are at it. Yes, I’ve seen her a number of times.’
It had been a shot in the dark, for she’d had no foundation for this surmise, and now she found her lips drawing back from her teeth in disgust. The effect was not lost on him and it brought him to his feet, saying, ‘I’m a man, Bridget, a man. You were a child, you acted like a child when you should have been a woman; you were old enough but you refused to be wakened, that’s the truth of it. You could have kept me tied to you if you had liked. I gave you the opportunity time and time again but you acted like someone who had been born and bred in a convent. But what am I saying? I have known convent-bred girls who were matured women at sixteen. You are twenty-two, Bridget, and you are still clinging to your fairytale world.’
‘Not any more, Laurence.’
‘What?’ Her tone brought his head thrusting forward.
‘I said, not any more.’
‘Well, that’s something to hear. Perhaps we can talk as two adults now.’
‘Yes, Laurence, perhaps we can.’ She watched now as a slow smile spread over his face and, with a quick movement, he resumed his seat. Bending towards her again, he said quietly, ‘Give me a chance, Bridget, and I’ll prove to you we can make a go of it.’
‘You must not have heard me right, Laurence. I said…not any more.’ She pulled herself up straighter in the chair as if to widen the distance between them, before adding slowly, ‘The thought of you touching me turns my stomach, and if you as much as attempt to, I believe I would kill you…Yes, that surprises you. Dreamy, far away, pliable Bridget, having the courage to say that. And I could kill you, Laurence, just for being what you are, what I couldn’t see, what I made myself blind to, for you are mean, ruthless…and dirty. Yes, dirty. Dirty in more senses than one, for you would have married me and made my life a hell, just to get your hands on my money, because dear Bridget’—she found she was mimicking her Aunt Sarah’s voice now—‘dear Bridget was so bemused and beguiled by dear Laurence that she and her money would be clay in his hands…that was it, wasn’t it?’ They were glaring at each other as she finished, ‘And now, get out. Get away from me, for I can’t stand the sight of you.’
Laurence’s face had turned a deep plum colour and even his eyes were tinted with it. He rose, jerking the chair aside with his feet. Then, after a deep intake of breath, he ground out, ‘It’s just as well you are who you are or I would…’
‘What would you do, Laurence?’
He swallowed as he glared down at her, then from deep in his throat he said, ‘There’re more ways of striking out than with the flat of your hand, and since there’s mud flying about and it’s all coming in my direction, I think I’m entitled to throw a little back. So we’ll now chat about Mr Bruce Dickenson, shall we? You can’t tell me what happened the other evening had no precedent, can you? And did I ever throw it at you that you used to go out at night when the house was asleep and meet him, and run wild with him through the woods?’
Bridget found that her mouth and her eyes had stretched simultaneously.
‘Yes, that surprises you, doesn’t it? Can you deny it?’
‘No, and I’m not going to. But it wasn’t what you think.’
‘Huh!’ He sneered down at her. ‘Doesn’t everybody say that? What proof have you to the contrary? I’ve only your word for it and I’ve got as much right to doubt it as you have mine…You look so startled, you’re wondering how I know, aren’t you? Well, how do I know? Brace yourself…Mrs Crofton told me. Yes, that surprises you, doesn’t it? It happened that Mr Crofton had seen you on two occasions and naturally he told his wife but, being a gentleman—oh, yes, he’s a gentleman—and thinking he saw the same gentlemanly qualities in Bruce Dickenson, he felt no harm would come to you…But someone else saw you, too. Who? No other than your rescuer of the other evening, Ryder. And Ryder informed his mistress. But my mother, being a very sensible woman, did not upbraid you; but if you remember you were whisked off to Grandma’s. Do you remember? So can you blame me for thinking that whatever happened between you and your friend, Bruce, the other evening was not the first time? You could hardly say you were strangers, could you? Now what have you to say, Miss God Almighty?’
It was a few seconds before she answered him, for in spite of her anger she was feeling weak and she found it difficult to keep her voice steady as she said, ‘I have nothing to say, except perhaps that I would consider Bruce Dickenson a better man than you could ever hope to be. So now get out. And my last word is that I am leaving here tomorrow and nothing you could say, and no persuasion from Aunt Sarah and Uncle Vance, will make me change my mind. The wedding presents will be returned and a notice put in the papers.’
She had to turn her eyes from his face now, and from the sight of him grinding his large, square, white teeth one across the other. The sound made her flesh creep and his next words brought a tinge of fear to her. ‘You said a moment ago you could kill me. Well, the strength of feeling which prompted those words is a mere flea bite to what I am feeling at this moment, for, dear little Bridget Gether, I could quite easily strangle you. Do you hear?’ He was hissing at her now. ‘I could strangle you!’ He glared at her a moment longer before swinging round towards the door. There he stopped and, jerking his head over his shoulder, added, ‘As for you running helter-skelter to dear Grandma’s, you are going to be disappointed. Father has already left to meet her in London this morning. They should be here this evening. And who knows, when Grandma hears about your little escapade, in her inimitable way, she might think it necessary to persuade you to change your mind. She might think it circumspect that you get married as soon as possible. That being so, you know what my answer would be…I would laugh in your face. You narrow-minded, suburban little prig.’
