My Cousin Rachel (23 page)

They little knew I had a plot to fox them all. So the evening passed, with much expression of goodwill on every side, and with Rainaldi even drawing my godfather apart for the last twenty minutes or more, to drop more venom of some sort or other, I well imagined.

I did not return to the drawing room, after the Kendalls had gone. I went up to bed, leaving my door ajar so that I could hear Rachel and Rainaldi as they came upstairs. They were long in doing so. Midnight struck, and they were still below. I went and stood out on the landing, listening. The drawing room door was open a little, and I could hear the murmur of their voices. Resting my hand upon the banister, to bear my weight, I went halfway down the stairs in my bare feet. Memory flashed back to childhood. I had done this as a lad, when I knew Ambrose was below and had company for dinner. The same sense of guilt was with me now. The voices went on and on. But listening to Rachel and Rainaldi was of no purpose, for they spoke together in Italian. Now and again I caught mention of my name, Philip, and several times that of my godfather, Kendall. They were discussing me or him, or both of us. Rachel had an urgency to her voice that sounded strange, and he, Rainaldi, spoke as though he questioned her. I wondered, with sudden revulsion, if my godfather had told Rainaldi about his traveling friends from Florence, and if, in his turn, Rainaldi talked of this to Rachel. How useless had been my Harrow education, and the study of Latin and Greek. Here were two persons talking Italian in my own house, discussing perhaps matters that might be of great importance to me, and I could gather nothing from it, save the mention of my own name.

There fell a sudden silence. Neither of them spoke. I heard no movement. What if he had gone towards her, and had put his arms about her, and she kissed him now as she had kissed me on Christmas Eve? Such a wave of hatred for him came to me at the thought that I nearly lost all caution and went running down the stairs to fling the door open wide. Then I heard her voice once more, and the rustle of her gown, drawing nearer to the door. I saw the flicker of her lighted candle. The long session was over at last. They were coming up to bed. Like that child of long ago, I stole back to my room.

I heard Rachel pass along the corridor to her own suite of rooms, and he turn the other way to his. I would never know, in all probability, what they had discussed together all those hours, but at least this was his last night under my roof, and tomorrow I should sleep with an easy heart. I could hardly swallow my breakfast, the next morning, in haste to hurry him away. The wheels of the post chaise that was to carry him to London sounded on the drive, and Rachel, who I had thought must have said farewell the night before, came down, ready dressed for gardening, to bid him good-bye.

He took her hand, and kissed it. This time, for the sake of common courtesy to me, his host, he spoke his adieus in English. “So you will write me your plans?” he said to her. “Remember, when you are ready to come, I shall await you there, in London.”

“I shall make no plans,” she said, “before the first of April.” And, looking over his shoulder, she smiled at me.

“Isn’t that your cousin’s birthday?” said Rainaldi, climbing into the post chaise. “I hope he enjoys it, and does not eat too large a pie.” And then, looking from the window, said as a parting shot to me, “It must be odd to have a birthday on so singular a date. All Fools Day, is it not? But perhaps, at twenty-five, you will think yourself too old to be reminded of it.” Then he was gone, the post chaise passing down the drive to the park-gates. I looked across at Rachel.

“Perhaps,” she said, “I should have asked him to return upon that day, for celebration?” Then, with the sudden smile that touched my heart, she took the primrose she had been wearing in her gown and put it in my buttonhole. “You have been very good,” she murmured, “for seven days. And I, neglectful of my duties. Are you glad we are alone again?” Without waiting for my answer she went off to the plantation after Tamlyn.

The remaining weeks of March passed very swiftly. Each day that came I felt a greater confidence in the future, and grew more light of heart. Rachel seemed to sense my mood, and shared it with me.

“I have never,” she said, “seen anyone so absurd about a birthday. You are like a child, who finds the world magic when he wakes. Does it mean so much to you to be free of poor Mr. Kendall and his care? I am sure you could not have a guardian more kind. What plan, anyway, do you intend to make for the day itself?”

“No plan at all,” I answered, “except that you have to remember what you said to me the other day. The celebrator of a birthday must be granted every wish.”

“Only up to the age of ten years old,” she said, “never afterwards.”

“That is not fair,” I said; “you made no stipulation about age.”

“If we are to picnic by the sea, or sail a boat,” she told me, “I will not come with you. It is too early in the year to sit upon a beach, and as for climbing in a boat, I know even less about that than I do about a horse. You must take Louise instead.”

“I will not take Louise,” I said, “and we will go nowhere not fitting to your dignity.” In point of fact, I had not thought about the events of the day itself, I only planned that she should have the document upon her breakfast tray, and the rest I would leave to chance. When the day of the thirty-first of March came, however, I knew that there was something else I wished to do. I remembered the jewels in the bank, and thought what a fool I was not to have recollected them before. So I had two encounters before me, on that day. One with Mr. Couch, and the other with my godfather.

I made certain first of Mr. Couch. I thought the packages might be too bulky to carry upon Gypsy, and I did not wish to order the carriage for fear Rachel might hear of it and express a desire to come into town upon some errand. Besides, it was an unusual thing for me to do, to go anywhere by carriage. So on some unnecessary pretext I walked into town, and had the groom fetch me in the dogcart. As ill-luck had it, the whole neighborhood appeared to be on shopping bent upon that morning, and as a person must either dodge into a doorway or fall into the harbor if he wishes to avoid his neighbor in our port, I was forever skulking behind corners so that I might not come face to face with Mrs. Pascoe and her brood of daughters. My very furtiveness must have drawn all eyes upon me, and word gone about the place that Mr. Ashley was behaving in singular fashion, running in one door of the fishmarket and out the other, and bobbing into the Rose and Crown before eleven in the morning, just as the vicar’s lady from the neighboring parish came walking down the street. No doubt it would be spread abroad that Mr. Ashley drank.

I got myself inside sanctuary at last, within the safe walls of the bank. Mr. Couch received me as pleasantly as he had done before.

“This time,” I told him, “I have come to take all away.” He looked at me in pained surprise.

“You are not, Mr. Ashley,” he said, “intending to remove your banking account to another establishment?”

“No,” I said, “I was speaking about the family jewels. Tomorrow I shall be twenty-five, and they become my legal property. I wish to have them in my custody when I awake upon my birthday.”

He must have thought me an eccentric, or at best a little odd.

“You mean,” he answered, “you wish to indulge yourself in a whim for the day only? You did something of the sort, did you not, on Christmas Eve. Mr. Kendall, your guardian, brought the collar back immediately.”

“Not a whim, Mr. Couch,” I said. “I want the jewels at home, in my possession. I do not know how I can make it still more clear.”

“I understand,” he said. “Well, I trust that you have a safe in the house, or at least some place of security where you can keep them.”

“That, Mr. Couch,” I said, “is really my affair. I would be much obliged if you would fetch the jewels right away. Not only the collar this time. The whole collection.”

I might have been robbing him of his own possessions.

“Very good,” he said reluctantly, “it will take a little time to fetch them from the vaults, and wrap them with even greater care. If you have any other business in the town…”

“I have none,” I interrupted. “I will wait here, and take them with me.” He saw there was no use in delay and, sending word to his clerk, instructed the packages to be brought. I had a carrier for the purpose, which was luckily just large enough to take the whole—as a matter of fact it was a wicker basket that we used at home for carting cabbages, and Mr. Couch winced as he put the precious boxes into it, one by one.

“It would have been far better, Mr. Ashley,” he said, “had I sent the packages to the house, in proper fashion. We have a brougham, you know, belonging to the bank, more suitable for the purpose.”

Yes, I thought, and what a clatter of tongues there would have been then. The bank brougham, driving to Mr. Ashley’s residence, with a top-hatted manager within. Far better the vegetable basket in a dogcart.

“That is all right, Mr. Couch,” I said, “I can manage very well.”

I staggered from the bank in triumph, bearing the basket upon my shoulder, and ran full tilt into Mrs. Pascoe, a daughter on either side.

“Good gracious, Mr. Ashley,” she remarked, “you appear well loaded.”

Holding the basket with one hand, I swept off my hat with a flourish.

“You observe me fallen on evil days,” I said to her. “I am sunk so low that I needs must sell cabbages to Mr. Couch and his clerks. Repairing the roof at home has well nigh ruined me, and I am obliged to hawk my produce about the town.”

She stared at me, her mouth agape, and the two daughters opened their eyes wide. “Unfortunately,” I said, “this basketful that I have here is due to another customer. Otherwise I would have pleasure in selling you some carrots. But in future, when you lack vegetables at the rectory, remember me.”

I went off to find the waiting dogcart, and as I heaved the carrier into it, and climbed up and took the reins, while the groom jumped up beside me, I saw her still staring at me, at the street corner, her face dumbfounded. Now the story would go round that Philip Ashley was not only eccentric, drunk, and mad, but a pauper in the bargain.

We drove home by the long avenue from Four Turnings, and while the boy put away the dogcart I went into the house the back way—the servants were at dinner—and, going upstairs by their staircase, I tiptoed through to the front and to my room. I looked the vegetable basket in my wardrobe, and went downstairs to eat some lunch.

Rainaldi would have closed his eyes and shuddered. I wrought havoc upon a pigeon pie, and washed it down with a great tankard of ale.

Rachel had been in and waited—she left a note to say so—and, thinking I would not return, had gone up to her room. For this once I did not mind her absence. I think my guilty delight would have shown too plainly on my face.

No sooner had I swallowed my meal than I was off again, this time on horseback, to Pelyn. Safe in my pocket I had the document, which the attorney, Mr. Trewin, had sent to me, as he had promised, by special messenger. I also had the will. The prospect of this interview was not as pleasing as that of the morning had been; nevertheless, I was undaunted.

My godfather was at home, and in his study.

“Well, Philip,” he said, “if I am a few hours premature, no matter. Let me wish you a happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” I said, “and I would also thank you, in return, for your affection for me and for Ambrose, and for your guardianship over these past years.”

“Which,” he said smiling, “ends tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I said, “or rather, tonight, at midnight. And as I do not want to rouse you from your sleep at such an hour, I would like you to witness my signature to a document I wish to sign, which will come into effect at that precise moment.”

“H’m,” he said, reaching for his spectacles, “a, document, what document?”

I brought the will from my breast pocket.

“First,” I said, “I would like you to read this. It was not given to me willingly, but only after much argument and discussion. I had long felt such a paper must be in existence, and here it is.”

I passed it to him. He placed his spectacles on his nose and read it through. “It is dated, Philip,” he said, “but it is not signed.”

“Quite so,” I answered, “but it is in Ambrose’s hand, is it not?”

“Why, yes,” he replied, “undoubtedly. What I do not understand is why he never had it witnessed and sent to me. I had expected such a will as this from the first days he was married, and told you so.”

“It would have been signed,” I said, “but for his illness, and for the fact that he expected, any month, to be home here and give it to you in person. That I know.”

He laid it down on his desk.

“Well, there it is,” he said. “These things have happened in other families. Unfortunate for his widow, but we can do no more for her than we have done. A will without a signature is invalid.”

“I know,” I said, “and she did not expect otherwise. As I told you just now, it was only by dint of much persuasion that I retrieved this paper from her. I must return it, but here is a copy.”

I pocketed the will, and gave him the copy I had made.

“What now?” he said. “Has anything else come to light as well?”

“No,” I answered, “only that my conscience tells me I have been enjoying something that is not mine by right. Ambrose intended to sign that will, and death, or rather illness in the first place, prevented him. I want you to read this document that I have had prepared.”

And I handed him the scroll that had been drawn up by Trewin at Bodmin.

He read it slowly, carefully, his face becoming grave as he did so, and it was only after a long while that he removed his spectacles and looked at me.

“Your cousin Rachel,” he said, “has no knowledge of this document?”

“No knowledge whatsoever,” I answered, “never by word or intimation has she expressed any thought of what I have had put there, and what I intend to do. She is utterly and entirely innocent of my purpose. She does not even know that I am here, or that I have shown you the will. As you heard her say a few weeks ago, she intends to leave for London shortly.”

He sat at his desk, his eyes upon my face.

“You are quite determined upon this course?” he said to me.

“Quite,” I answered him.

“You realize that it may lead to abuse, that there are few safeguards, and that the whole of the fortune due to you eventually, and to your heirs, may be dispersed?”

“Yes,” I said, “and I am willing to take the risk.”

He shook his head, and sighed. He rose from his chair, looked out of the window, and returned to it again.

“Does her adviser, Signor Rainaldi, know of this document?” he asked.

“Most certainly not,” I said.

“I wish you had told me of it, Philip,” he said. “I could have discussed it with him. He seemed to me a man of sense. I had a word with him that evening. I went so far as to tell him about my uneasiness as to that overdraft. He admitted that extravagance was a fault, and always had been. That it had led to trouble, not only with Ambrose, but also with her first husband, Sangalletti. He gave me to understand that he, Signor Rainaldi, is the only person who knows how to deal with her.”

“I don’t care a jot what he told you,” I said. “I dislike the man, and believe he uses this argument for his own purpose. He hopes to entice her back to Florence.”

My godfather regarded me once more.

“Philip,” he said, “forgive me asking you this question, personal I know, but I have known you since birth. You are completely infatuated with your cousin, are you not?”

I felt my cheeks burn, but I went on looking at him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “Infatuation is a futile and most ugly word. I respect and honor my cousin Rachel more than anyone I know.”

“I have meant to say this to you before,” he said. “There is much talk, you know, about her being so long a visitor to your house. I go further and say the whole of the county whispers of little else.”

“Let them continue,” I said. “After tomorrow they will have something else to discuss. The transfer of property and fortune can hardly be kept secret.”

“If your cousin Rachel has any wisdom, and wishes to keep her self-respect,” he said, “she will either go to London, or ask you to live elsewhere. The present situation is very wrong for you both.”

I was silent. Only one thing mattered, that he should sign the paper.

“Of course,” he said, “there is, in the long run, only one way out of gossip. And, according to this document, only one way out of the transfer of this property. And that is, that she should marry again.”

“I believe it most unlikely,” I said.

“I suppose,” he said, “you have not thought of asking her yourself?”

Once again the color flamed in my face.

“I would not dare to do so,” I said; “she would not have me.”

“I am not happy about any of this, Philip,” he said. “I wish now that she had never come to England. However, it is too late to regret that. Very well then, sign. And take the consequences of your action.”

I seized a pen, and put my name to the deed. He watched me with his still, grave face.

“There are some women, Philip,” he observed, “good women very possibly, who through no fault of their own impel disaster. Whatever they touch, somehow turns to tragedy. I don’t know why I say this to you, but I feel I must.” And then he witnessed my signature on the long scroll of paper.

“I suppose,” he said, “you will not wait to see Louise?”

“I think not,” I replied, and then relenting, “If you are both at liberty tomorrow evening, why not come and dine, and drink my health upon my birthday?”

He paused. “I am not certain if we are free,” he said. “I will at any rate send word to you by noon.” I could see plainly he had little wish to come and see us, and had some embarrassment in refusing my invitation. He had taken the whole matter of the transfer better than I had expected, there had been no violent expostulation, no interminable lecture, but possibly he knew me too well by now to imagine anything of the sort would have had effect. That he was greatly shaken and distressed I knew by his grave manner. I was glad that no mention had been made of the family jewels. The knowledge that they were concealed in the cabbage basket in my wardrobe might have proved the final straw.