Authors: The Quincunx
“I will secure the lock,” said the old lady, “so that none of the servants — nor that odious tutor — can interrupt us.”
“You were right, Great-aunt,” Henrietta began as she sat down. “Aunt Isabella and David wanted to see me in order to tell me they desire that I should marry Tom.”
“And poor Perceval is hardly cold in his grave!” his aunt cried.
“What did you say?” I asked.
“What do you imagine?” she replied. “They told me that it would not be a real marriage, but I still refused to consider it.”
“Then,” I asked, “do you withdraw your objection to my taking back the will?”
“Certainly not,” she replied. “I can resist anything they can do to me.”
I looked at Miss Lydia and said: “Then I cannot go ahead.”
The old lady cried in anguish: “Oh but you must. All this is my fault. I have not told you enough, Henrietta. I have been selfish. And so you don’t understand what will happen. What has happened in the past.”
Henrietta and I looked at her in surprise.
She went on: “I told you that my grandfather, Jeoffrey Huffam, quarrelled with most of his family, but I did not tell you why.” She paused and seemed to be collecting her strength: “It goes back to the time when my father asked Jeoffrey Huffam for the hand of his elder daughter, Alice, and he refused on the grounds that she was too young. This was many, many years ago. Almost a century. My father believed that he was being repulsed because he was not
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well-born enough, just as his father had been rejected when he had offered for the hand of Jeoffrey’s sister. And he deeply resented this second rebuff to his family who now had wealth and a title and were, he believed, at least the equals of the Huffams who, for all their ancientness and the extent of their lands, had no title and were deeply in debt.”
“I know this story,” I said. “Mr Escreet told it to me. And I wondered then why Jeoffrey Huffam suddenly changed his mind. It seemed quite out of character that immediately after opposing it he should give his blessing to the match and promise to make the child of the marriage his heir.”
“You’re right!” Miss Lydia cried. “There was a reason for it, though I fear the story reflects deep shame on some of my nearest relatives. Mr Escreet could not have told you the full story for he could not know it. Well, my father had a younger sister, Anna, a beautiful young woman, but wild and wayward. He knew of Jeoffrey Huffam’s reputation for gallantry, even though he was now a reformed man after the excesses of his youth. Your grandfather was now a little past forty and it was widely known that there was scant affection between himself and his wife, for it was a marriage of convenience. So my father threw Anna in his way. Well, I need not dwell upon it. Poor Aunt Anna often told me that she had had no idea of her brother’s designs. At first she hated Jeoffrey but he had considerable charm and I fear that it was not long before she became his mistress. This was precisely what my father had hoped, and he now took advantage of his knowledge.”
“You mean, he blackmailed him?” I asked, glancing at Henrietta who, in obvious embarrassment, averted her gaze.
The old lady cast her eyes down for a moment and then looked directly at me and said: “I fear so. That is why Jeoffrey consented to the match and agreed to a treaty of marriage upon such generous terms. But it wasn’t long until Jeoffrey tired of Anna and cast her off. She became quite wild with grief and despair, it seems, especially when the threat of exposure and ruin loomed.” She looked at Henrietta who blushed and glanced down. “For the following year,” she went on, “she secretly bore a child. My father and Jeoffrey Huffam took the baby from her against her wishes. Imagine her anguish. Her pain and grief. And then later … later, they told her it had died.”
The old lady broke off and it was some moments before she could continue. As I watched her I reflected that this had happened before even she was born. The grief that was nearly a century old was living again in her and through her in Henrietta and myself.
At last she was able to go on : “Then my father tried to force her into marrying a rich acquaintance of his, but she held out against this. Oh, Henrietta, they did such terrible things to her! At last she was brought to a state of complete mental alienation. All of this had profound consequences. For one thing, this is why my father was on such bad terms with my grandfather. And that is why he used the excuse of my not being a boy to avoid making me his heir. But there were other consequences that affected events many years later when Jeoffrey Huffam opposed the marriage of his son, James, to Eliza Umphraville. I did not tell you the whole truth about that, either.”
She turned to me.
“I am afraid, John, that your great-grandfather, James, was a drunken and dissolute spendthrift, although he had great charm. The real reason for my grandfather’s opposition to his marriage to Eliza Umphraville was that she MARRIAGE DESIGNS
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had been openly kept by him for some years. He had seduced her when she was hardly more than a child, but she was a very fast young woman who had little regard for modesty. Later on, the fact that she had been his acknowledged concubine was exploited as proof against their ever having married.”
“Mr Escreet explained none of this,” I said. “But considering that he believed he was addressing the son of James and Eliza, that is hardly to be wondered at.”
“Of course. Anyhow, John Umphraville quarrelled with James about his treatment of Eliza and forced him to marry her. Meanwhile Jeoffrey was trying to prevent the alliance, and this is why Jeoffrey hated John: he blamed him for the match. And then something else happened and made Jeoffrey even angrier with him: John and I met at about this time because of this business between James and his sister, and we fell in love. It was because of his sister’s disgrace — and also his poverty — that John Umphraville was so unacceptable to my family as a suitor for my hand.” She paused for a moment and then went on: “John and I decided to elope and marry. And since John had forced James to agree to marry Eliza, we were to have a double elopement and wedding. John arranged for a clergyman who was a friend of his to come with us and perform the ceremonies.”
She stopped and seeing that she was in distress, Henrietta said: “Dear Great-aunt, pray do not continue if it gives you pain.”
The old lady smiled and squeezed her hand: “No, my dear. I must tell my story or I will take it with me to the grave.”
“And are you sure that they were married?” I asked.
“Quite sure.”
“Then where did it take place? No record has ever been found.”
“Where should we flee to but Hougham?”
“But there is no church there,” I objected. “The church at Melthorpe serves the whole parish which includes Hougham.”
Miss Lydia smiled: “That is only partly true. I assure you that James and Eliza indeed married. Let me tell you the story. We obtained two special licences and set off. We guessed that we were being pursued for we knew before we left Town that Jeoffrey had found out our plans and we feared that he had sent some agent of his to prevent both marriages. However, we reached the chapel safely late at night. We entered it very quietly in order not to disturb the Fortisquinces, for they were living at this date in another wing of the Old Hall. James suggested that the two young gentlemen should spin a coin to see which ceremony should be performed first. John protested at this levity but he agreed to do it. He and I were unlucky. My life was determined by the spinning of that coin.” She stopped for a moment and then smiled at me: “So you see, I know for certain that James succeeded in marrying Eliza. I was present throughout the ceremony. Indeed, I was a witness.”
At these words a thought occurred to me : the record might be in that ancient chest that Mr Advowson showed me which he said had come from the old chapel ! Would I ever have the chance to look for it?
Miss Lydia dabbed at her eyes and then went on in an unsteady voice: “As the ceremony was ending we heard a horseman riding up. John … John went out to see who it was. It must have been the man sent by Jeoffrey.”
“Was there a sword-fight?” I asked, remembering Mrs B elf lower’s story which was being so strangely confirmed.
“I will tell you. I looked out of one of the old windows in the chapel and 658 THE
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saw John come into sight below me and then stand amidst a group of trees that stood between the Old Hall and the high ground.”
“I know!” I cried. “There are four elm-trees just there planted in a square.”
“No, there are five,” Miss Lydia said. “They were planted by Jeoffrey to form a quincunx many years before. There is a statue before each of them. And they are oaks.”
“It must be the same place,” I insisted. “Just beneath the Pantheon!”
“The Pantheon? Do you mean that Greek building just above the Old Hall?” she asked, and I nodded.
“Where you and I met that day, John,” Henrietta said.
“I know where you mean,” the old lady said, but her next words plunged me back into confusion about whether we meant the same place. “But that is the Mausoleum. It was built by Jeoffrey in order to improve the view from the Old Hall before he decided to abandon it altogether and build the new house. He is buried there.”
“Then that is why his name does not appear in the graveyard at Melthorpe!” I exclaimed.
“Go on with your tale, Great-aunt,” Henrietta urged.
“As I looked out I could not at first perceive what John was doing. He appeared to be looking at the statue that stood before the tree in the middle. (I should say that the statues were very famous, for though they had been sculpted by a local workman — a man called Feverfew — he was a very gifted mason, and they were considered as good as all but the best Italian work.) Then I noticed that there seemed to be a new figure behind it. It was as if there were not five statues, but six which was quite contrary to the pattern. Then to my amazement it moved and I realized that it was a man. I saw his face full in the moonlight. I did not recognise him. I am sure I would have known him if I had ever seen him. It was such a strange countenance: a big bulbous nose and deep eyes. But most of all I was struck by the expression. I have never forgotten it: such a terrible picture of suffering on such a young face.”
She paused and I said: “I believe that very statue now lies in the garden of my mother’s cottage in Melthorpe, for she told me how Martin Fortisquince’s mother brought it with her when she came to live in that house when she was widowed.”
“She was not widowed,” Miss Lydia said. “She and her husband were estranged a few months after the events I am speaking of and that is when she went to Melthorpe. It was suspected that she knew something of the stranger. In short, that … And she believed the statue saved his life. But never mind. She died in childbirth a few months later and her infant, Martin, returned to his father — such a kind, generous man — to be brought up by him at the Old Hall.”
There was a silence. How complicated things were! New possibilities occurred to me as a result of these words, and I wondered if I would ever know the truth. Each time I seemed about to grasp it, it receded further.
Then I said: “But I interrupted your story. What happened when the stranger came forward?”
“He drew his sword,” the old lady continued in quavering tones. “John did the same and they began to fight. Suddenly a woman came running out from another door of the Hall. She was in a long white dress. I still recall how pale it seemed in the moonlight.
Then I realized that it was my aunt, poor
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mad Anna. I had not seen her for many years and they had not told me that she was living here under the charge of Mr and Mrs Fortisquince. She came up behind the other man and they both turned to look at her for she called something out. Something extraordinary. Then she cried: ‘Watch out behind you!’ Because of this John must have thought she was warning him that there was another assailant, for he turned his back on his opponent. I saw the man … he stepped forward and …. He stabbed him.”
She broke off and fought against her tears. What had the madwoman cried out? I felt there was something crucial here. Something I needed to know that was being kept from me.
“What was she calling?” I asked, but Henrietta put her hand on my arm and shook her head at me.
The old lady looked up, however, and said with terrible sadness: “She was calling out,
‘My son, my son!’ She must have taken John for her lost child.”
“Of course,” I prompted, “it was because she was mad that she forgot that the child had died?”
At this, Miss Lydia suddenly looked very old and terribly frightened.
“What happened then?” Henrietta asked quickly, with a reproachful glance at me.
The old lady wiped her eyes on her handkerchief and said softly: “My parents tried to force me into marriage with a man I loathed. I managed at last to resist.”
Henrietta and I stared at each other. What a hideous tale! What struck me most forcefully was the brutality of Jeoffrey Huffam. He had seduced and discarded a young woman, possibly ordered the murder of his granddaughter’s lover, and then tried to force her into marriage with a man she hated. This was the man whose last will I had believed I had a duty to uphold ! He had written his first will, his codicil, and that final testament in order to frighten, reward, and bribe his heirs. If I no longer had the duty to do it, did I still feel I had any moral right to steal a will that had been made by such a man and with such motives?
At that moment Henrietta said: “Take comfort, dear Great-aunt. I will not try to dissuade John from regaining the will any longer.”
Miss Lydia clapped her hands and cried through her tears : “Thank goodness ! Oh, Henrietta, I have been so afraid for you!”
So now I had to do it for Henrietta’s sake! I felt a profound relief that the responsibility for making the decision was being lifted from me.
“But before I can try,” I pointed out, “we have to work out how to open the hiding-place.”
“Will you help us, Henrietta?” Miss Lydia asked. “For three heads are better than two, and your young one will be of more use than my poor old one?”