Take, Burn or Destroy, page 27
“It was the worst timing,” Elizabeth agreed. “It does, however, put a question in my mind when his offer of marriage has been entirely lost in your grief for another. What does this say about your feelings for the two gentlemen, one whose hopes depend entirely upon you, and another who dashed your hopes in the cruellest fashion?”
“I should love Frank,” Henrietta stated. “I should love him with all my heart. Who is more deserving? Certainly not Charles Hayden, who injured me so.”
“And yet . . . ?”
“Just so,” Henrietta whispered, pressing down her tears. “‘And yet . . .’”
Henri dabbed at her eyes with a square of linen, looked at it and declared, “It is sopping.”
Elizabeth produced one from her pocket. “I have two others,” she informed her cousin.
“Oh, I have several more than that, secreted all about my person.”
They both laughed rather bitterly.
“A horse trough might be the answer. I could lean over it and fill it every hour or three. And then . . . I could climb in and literally drown in my own tears.”
“There will be no drowning,” Elizabeth informed her firmly.
“I was speaking in jest.”
“Do not jest about such matters, my dear. It unsettles me.”
“I am sorry, Lizzie. I did not mean it in the least. I am overcome with sorrow and many other feelings as well, but I intend to last through it and make a life all the same. And in the next few days I must decide if it will be a life with Frank Beacher. I cannot leave him wondering for too long despite my own situation. Certainly, he deserves better than that.”
“Yes, you are right.” Elizabeth took a long breath. “Henri? I have something in my pocket that I am loath to give you.”
“Whatever do you mean, Lizzie? What is it, pray?”
“It is a letter . . .” She caught her breath. “From Charles Hayden—written and sent before he lost his ship, clearly.”
Henrietta held out her hand immediately. “Lizzie, you must give it to me this instant. Whatever does it say?”
“I do not know, my dear. What Charles Hayden could write to you after what he did I cannot imagine.”
The letter was produced and passed to Henrietta, who once she had read the address hesitated to open it.
“It might distress you terribly, my dear Henri. Shall I take it back and hold it a few days until you are more recovered and able to bear up to whatever might be written inside?”
“No, thank you, Lizzie. If I might just compose myself but a moment . . .”
It took much longer than “a moment.” Henrietta rose and paced back and forth several times before the bench. Began to break the seal (her cousin had carried along a little clasp knife for this purpose), then stopped. Paced again.
After some time spent thus she settled upon the furthest edge of the bench, perched as though she might fly, and broke the seal with hands that trembled visibly. Immediately she read, a hanky pressed to her cheek with one hand, prepared to intercept any overflow. Elizabeth heard her breath catch and then she leaned back against the bench, a free flow of tears running down her cheeks. “He did not marry,” she managed. “It was all a lie.” A moment and then she pressed herself to sit back up and raise the letter again, but she could not read it for tears and pressed it on her cousin.
“Oh do read it, Elizabeth. I cannot see for weeping.”
Her cousin snatched it up, desperate herself to see what was written there, and with difficulty read:
My Dear Henrietta;
Before anything else is said, I must inform you, all rumours that I married while parted from you are utterly untrue. No such thing occurred. Two women, French émigrées, mother and daughter, have been making this false claim and using my name to amass a vast quantity of debt, and to acquire substantial sums from my prize agent. Neither Lady Hertle nor Mrs Hertle will speak with me nor read any correspondence I write, so I have been at my wits’ end to find some way to send you word of what has occurred. I am also very dismayed to think that the claims of these two women have caused you distress. The worst of all this is that, at the request of Sir Gilbert Elliot, I aided these two women in coming to England and they have repaid my kindness by using my name to defraud any number of merchants and my prize agent and to cause you pain. Seldom has a good deed been so unjustly repaid.
I do hope you will read this and understand that I did not betray your trust in any measure and that my heart has not changed in the least these past months except that it is even more your own.
Your Very Own,
Charles
“I should never have known a moment of doubt,” Henrietta managed. “Nor judged without having heard his own explanation. And how can I ever make it up now? My poor, darling Charles. I would have been in London and seen him one last time had not all . . . this occurred. It is more than a heart can bear, Lizzie. More than a heart can bear.”
“To think if I had but opened my door and had a five-minute explanation with him, the entire misunderstanding would have been swept away . . .” But Elizabeth could not finish, she was so distressed.
Mrs Carthew sat at the head of the table, sipping upon a cup of coffee. There were no others present. “We all have a burden of guilt in this unfortunate matter. Each and every one of us spoke most harshly against Captain Hayden . . . and now we learn he was both innocent . . . and dead. Not one of us can now apologise or make amends. We must live knowing we had so little faith in him, even though both Captain Hertle and my own daughter held him in the highest possible regard.”
Elizabeth was quite certain that her own guilt was vastly greater, as none of the Carthew family had known Charles but Henri, while she had known him for several years and had previously given him the highest possible character. “Captain Hertle will never say it, of course, but he will be most disappointed in me that I so readily thought the worst of Captain Hayden. I fear he will think me disloyal if not foolish.” She thought a moment. “If only I had not seen her with my own eyes . . .”
“Whom, my dear?”
“The French girl—Bourdage, I believe. She would be notable in a room full of the most handsome women. It was that beauty, remarked upon by all who met her, that made me believe Captain Hayden’s betrayal possible. Very few men could have resisted it, I dare say. But apparently he did.”
“There is nothing to be done for Captain Hayden now. No apologies to be made but in the silence of our own hearts. It is Henrietta for whom I am concerned. She has been wrenched first in one direction, and then another, and then yet another, poor girl. And that is not even to make mention of Frank Beacher finally speaking after all these years. Why in the world he should do so now after such a prolonged period of hesitation, I cannot imagine.”
This sentence, spoken in all innocence, had the effect of increasing Elizabeth’s guilt tenfold. If not for her—though she suspected that Mr Wilder played some part in it as well—Henrietta would more than likely never have said or done even the slightest thing that might have encouraged Frank Beacher, in which case he would not have dared speak for risk of having his suit rebuffed.
“As if Henrietta did not have enough to concern her, now she must think of Frank and his feelings as well.”
“You do not think she would say ‘yes’ to Frank, now, do you, Aunt?”
“It is not out of the question. And do not misunderstand me. Other than his propensity to be very timid in matters of the heart, I am more fond of him than I can tell. There is not a thing one can say against him. Why, many a mother has him under consideration for their own daughter. Mr Beacher and Henrietta are not unsuited to one another and would, I think, not be unhappy. But I am not certain that ‘not being unhappy’ is the same as being happy, nor might it suit a girl of Henrietta’s temperament.” She refilled her cup from a silver coffeepot. “Frank Beacher, however, is a matter for Henri to decide. Mr Carthew would certainly welcome such a match so there would be no impediment from that quarter. But what to do about Henri now? That is my concern.” She looked up at Elizabeth, considering. “I wonder if you should not take her away, Lizzie, perhaps to visit Lady Hertle. Not immediately, of course, but when she is a little recovered from all of these terrible blows she has been dealt.”
“It is not out of the question. I should not take her to London, which I believe would only increase her sorrows. Plymouth, I hate to say, might be little different, even though Aunt Hertle and Henrietta could hardly hold each other in greater affection. But Plymouth is the place where much of her time with Captain Hayden was spent and the memories that city might engender could cause her more heartache. We might consider going to some place she enjoyed as a child—the Lake District would be beautiful in May, and we would be far from the sea, which I believe a good thing.
“It might be the very thing. I think we must get her away. A little time and distance will allow her to see things more clearly, I am quite certain.”
As she left the dining room and crossed through the hallway, Elizabeth became aware that someone lingered upon the stair.
“Mrs Hertle?” the lurker asked.
“Mr Beacher. Can you not find a more comfortable seat than a stair tread?”
“Not at the moment. I have been hoping you would pass and that I might claim a moment of your time . . .” Frank Beacher appeared very subdued, as though the loss of Charles Hayden had been a blow to him—when in fact it was a great boon to him and his aspirations. Apparently, his concern for Henrietta and his unanswered question were depriving him of sleep.
“I should be most happy to oblige, Mr Beacher, on the condition that we walk out into this fine day even for a moment.”
“I should like nothing better.”
The two passed through the house, across the stone terrace and down into the garden, which had been artfully terraced towards the south, providing the house with a magnificent view while allowing the many varieties of trees to grow to their mature heights without any danger of obstruction.
“It is a lovely day,” Frank observed, “if one considers only the weather, of course.”
“Indeed it is.”
They walked on a moment.
“Mrs Hertle, might I enquire after Miss Henrietta? How is she bearing up to these terrible shocks?”
Elizabeth was about to provide one of the common replies—“as well as can be expected” or “far better than hoped”—but then she thought that Mr Beacher’s question was not a mere formality but asked out of a concern that was both genuine and deeply felt. He was not losing so much sleep for nothing.
“She is terribly distressed if not distraught, Mr Beacher, I will tell you honestly. Not that it should be unexpected given the nature of recent events. I have never seen her brought so low or melancholy sink its claws so deeply.” She turned to Mr Beacher, who took this in with great seriousness. “You have not spoken to her?”
“Not for several days—since you received the news from Captain Hertle.”
“If it is any comfort, Mr Beacher, she has spoken of you with both affection and concern these last days.”
“I am not the one requiring comfort, Mrs Hertle. Nor have I sought you out to learn Henrietta’s inclination on certain matters, though of great import to me, not to be considered in the present circumstances. It is Henrietta’s well-being that is my sole concern. If I may in any way be of service to Henrietta, do not hesitate to ask.”
It occurred to Elizabeth that she might suggest he visit elsewhere for a fortnight and relieve Henrietta of the burden of giving him a reply—which was weighing heavily upon poor Henri, Elizabeth knew. But any such response would injure Mr Beacher terribly, and she could not bear to do it. Frank was exactly that kind of person—no one wanted to bruise his feelings.
“I do not know what anyone can do for Henrietta at this moment. She must grieve, and grief is rather like a poison in one’s soul, Mr Beacher—the only poultice that will draw it is time.” Something caught her eye on a nearby hilltop. “Is that Cassandra?” she asked, pointing.
It was without question a woman on horseback, and then, from behind a stand of beech trees, appeared another—though this a gentleman equestrian.
“And Wilder,” Beacher replied.
“They both ride very well,” Elizabeth observed.
“Well, if you are going to explore distant lands, being able to sit a horse is certainly a necessity.”
“Not to mention elephants and dromedaries, though I do not know how one learns to ride those.”
“I shall get them each a pair for their birthdays,” Frank declared, which made Elizabeth laugh—something she had not done in several days.
Beacher stopped walking suddenly. “You will tell Henrietta, I hope, that I am most concerned for her?” He stopped an instant. “And as to an answer to my question—she need not even consider it until her mind and heart are much recovered.”
“Your patience in this matter, Mr Beacher,” Elizabeth said with feeling, “is . . . is . . . well, very noble.”
“It is the least Henrietta could expect of me.” He considered. “I suppose at some point I shall begin to look a fool—though Wilder assures me, when it comes to this matter, I have looked a fool for many years.”
“Never for a moment, Mr Beacher,” Elizabeth assured him, though of course it was a lie.
“Good riddance to him, I say. Yes, yes,” Cassandra went on, “I know we all judged him unfairly, and without question he was a very brave man and served England dutifully, but would he have made my sister a proper husband? I rather doubt he would. Henrietta requires a husband who will be at home with her, to appreciate all of her finest qualities.”
“A devoted admirer, then?” Wilder enquired.
They had just cantered up the hill and now walked their horses side by side, allowing the poor beasts to catch their breath—hardly a necessity, as Cassandra and Wilder had spent the morning riding just as they were now so as to further a free flow of conversation.
“Well, something more than just an admirer, but, yes, Henrietta is a creature worthy of great admiration. Do you not agree?”
“Entirely, and so too does my friend Beacher.”
“The rather sad end of the Navy man has cleared the way for them. The sooner Henrietta comes to her senses on the matter, the better off she and Mr Beacher will be—and I shall not hesitate to tell her so—when she is somewhat recovered. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“I am sure that Mr Beacher would approve of your intentions, though perhaps you might wait a bit longer—a sennight, perhaps.”
“Do you think?”
“Mmm.”
“I shall wait, then.” A small pause. “Do you not think there is a bit too much . . . melodrama in Henri’s response to all of this?”
“The man she hoped to marry did just die. Before that, she believed he had betrayed her.”
“I suppose . . . but even so, she is getting a great deal of attention . . . which is rather like her, actually.”
“Sibling jealousy?” Wilder asked, trying not to grin.
“It certainly is not!”
“Not even in the smallest degree?”
“Mr Wilder! I am deeply offended at the mere suggestion! My sister is very dear to me!”
“I have no doubt of it, if only she would stop mooning around over this dead sailor and get on with it.”
“I said no such thing!”
“Perhaps not, but it was certainly what you meant.”
“Mr Wilder! How could you think me so heartless? I believe you—like Frank Beacher—are in love with my sister.” She turned up her nose, gave a heel to her mount, and set off at a canter. Immediately, Mr Wilder was urging on his own horse, and dodging clods thrown up by the hooves of Cassandra’s mare as it raced along the crest.
In a moment they were climbing the next hill, and as they reached the top they allowed their horses to walk again. Both Wilder and Cassandra were red-cheeked and laughing.
“I will be completely frank with you, Mr Wilder; your inclination to point out my shortcomings is rather a disagreeable quality.”
“Then you prefer flattery?”
“I do. The more extravagant and embellished, the more I like it.”
“Then allow me to say your devotion to your sister in her time of need is exemplary, even selfless. I am surprised that she has not sallied forth to thank you, on bended knee, no less, for the sacrifices you have been willing to make on her behalf. Your heartfelt offer to exchange places with the late Captain Hayden was particularly touching, if a bit impractical.”
“Now, that is how I prefer to hear a gentleman talk! Do go on, Mr Wilder, I am certain you cannot have exhausted the catalogue of my virtues in so brief an account as that.”
“Why, Miss Cassandra, I have not even begun. Have I yet mentioned your superior understanding?”
“No, but I believe you should.”
“I do not know if I have the superlatives to do justice to its superiority.”
“I believe if you think deeply upon it, you will acquit yourself in a manner that would make your family very proud.”
“I should never wish to let down my family.” He pretended to contemplate the matter for a few seconds. “In prudence, discernment, astuteness, perspicacity, wisdom, indeed in genius, I hardly think you have an equal.”
“Mr Wilder! I am beginning to think your understanding almost equal to my own.”
“And then there is your discernment in weighing such matters as ‘attention’ and who might be getting more of it. In this, I say with confidence, you have no rival. Indeed, I should say your scale is so perfectly balanced and your mind so attuned that not the slightest attention goes unnoticed but it is weighed to a nicety and recorded in the ledger.”
