Authors: Linda Newbery
‘Yes! Do you think I have no notion of that? Well, you must eliminate me from your scheming. I will never agree to it, never!’
I began to rise from my seat, but he gestured for me to sit, and continued to speak in calm tones.
‘Think about it, Samuel! Don’t be so hasty. You know that I have money and connections. I have commissioned paintings from you. I have recommended you to others. There is already considerable interest in your work from influential people such as Mr Vernon-Dale. One might go so far as to say I am building your name.’
‘Good God!’ I pushed myself up from my chair; I turned away from him and faced the bookshelves.
‘Yes, you see,’ he went on, reaching for his whisky glass, ‘I can transform you, Samuel – I
am
transforming you – from an unknown and, let us be frank, unexceptional student painter to an artist whose work is sought, who will soon be able to command whatever fee he names. Why not agree? Do you not see that it will benefit you in every possible respect? You would have a loving and attentive wife, a comfortable home, you need not want for anything, you would have a ready market for your work . . .’
So reasonable, so assured, so soothing was his voice that I allowed myself to consider the riches he spread before me. What was the alternative? To give up everything I had found here, to leave Mr Farrow’s employment under a shadow, to bid farewell to
Marianne, Juliana and Charlotte, never to see Four-winds again. Juliana! Juliana for my wife – I thought again of my imagined tableau by the piano, my wife ready to greet me with a smile and a warm embrace. Many a man would think himself lucky. What if I agreed? Who would be the loser? Not I, for sure; even though Juliana was not the bride I should have chosen for myself, and I should have to subdue all vestige of the fascination Marianne held for me, or suffer many a pang of thwarted desire. Juliana’s future would be safe; Marianne would, I felt sure, be glad to have me for a brother-in-law; Charlotte would be happy for her charge; even the sad ghost of Mrs Farrow, if she could be consulted, might think this the best possible resolution.
I heard myself groan aloud. In that moment, the cautious, spineless part of me almost yielded, agreed that I had been hasty in leaping to conclusions; almost sat me down in the chair to match Mr Farrow’s matter-of-factness, and begin discussing marriage plans. Was it possible? Was it possible that he was speaking the truth? But only if Gideon had lied. Gideon was a highly intelligent man, of that I was in no doubt; and
one
of them was lying.
Not Gideon. No, I was certain that Gideon had not lied.
Against the coward in me, indignation rose up in full force, and proved the stronger. I wheeled to face my tempter. ‘There is one thing you have omitted to mention – that you would be my father-in-law. That, I cannot think of without revulsion. You cannot
buy
me – do you really think I am so easily compromised?
Marry Juliana, to cover your guilt? Is she to know that a husband is being bought for her?’
‘Juliana has a loving, biddable nature,’ her father said, with a complacency that made me want to grab him by both shoulders and shake some feeling into him. ‘The arrangement will suit her perfectly.’
‘
Will
suit her!’ I retorted. ‘How can you take my compliance for granted?’
‘Sit, Samuel, have a cigar and some whisky. Let us discuss the matter more reasonably. You will see that my offer is too good to refuse.’
I made an impatient gesture. ‘I will not sit! I do refuse! Open your ears, man! What of your son, Mr Farrow? This is where I can’t follow your reasoning. You plan to settle Juliana comfortably and to obliterate the past – but here is young Thomas, living only a few miles away. How is Juliana to tolerate that? You have always wanted a son – you told me that yourself – and here
is
your son – but how shall you ever acknowledge him?’
‘I have told you whose son the boy is. If you choose not to believe me, there is no more I can do to convince you. But do you imagine I have not thought of Juliana? Do you not understand that her happiness is my prime concern – always has been? If you marry, I shall buy you a London house, with a studio, garden, whatever you wish. You will be well set up, Samuel. You will not regret it.’
His complacency stirred me again. ‘This is intolerable! Am I your puppet?’ I flung at him. ‘You have behaved monstrously, and you continue to deny it!
You believe your wealth can shield you, but it cannot!’ Again I bounded towards him, leaned across the desk; I reached out, grabbing the lapels of his smoking jacket. He pushed back his chair, almost hauling me with him: stood and faced me, trembling with anger, while I released him with a gesture of disgust.
‘Do not touch me. I warn you, do not!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘It will be the worse for you, if you lay hands on me!’
Our eyes met and locked; I stared at him with something approaching hatred. Never before had I felt such loathing for another human being, and yet it was fuelled by my former regard, and the knowledge that he had used and deceived me. His eyes flickered towards the gun case on the wall; I saw it, saw that of the two of us, I was closer. Extending my arm, I forestalled him as he lunged across the desk, and we stood grappling with each other in a silent contest of strength and will. I do not know whether I intended merely to prevent him from obtaining the weapon, or whether I should have threatened him with it, even used it – all I know is that my instincts clamoured to hit and hurt and shame him, to wipe the smug expression for ever from his face.
I never found out, for at that moment we were disturbed by a loud rapping at the door.
We broke apart, and I sprang back; Mr Farrow straightened himself, and smoothed the lapels of his jacket; the door opened, and Charlotte stood there, staring alarmed at the scene before her.
‘Pardon me for interrupting’ – she was rather short
of breath – ‘but I have to tell you that Juliana has disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’ Mr Farrow echoed. ‘Are you quite incapable of supervising her? What do I pay you for?’
‘Yes, it is my fault,’ Charlotte said, meeting his eye, ‘but we must search for her without delay.’
In a moment we were hurrying down the stairs, Charlotte and I abreast, our employer behind us.
‘Where can she have gone?’
‘I have sent Reynolds to enquire at the Dearlys’ cottage,’ Charlotte told me, ‘but Marianne is convinced she went to the lake.’
‘The lake! She is out there, in this weather?’
The front door had been left open, flung back by the strong wind, battered anew with each gust. Seeing this, Charlotte let out a cry of frustration. ‘I told her to wait for me – Marianne – I should have known she would not!’
Almost as anxious at the thought of Marianne out alone in the storm, as at Juliana’s slipping away, I broke into a run – out to the lawn, down the slope of garden and onto the rough grass of the approach to the lake. There was only a sliver of moon tonight, fitfully obscured by scudding clouds; I could see only dimly the tousled trees ahead of me, and the glimmer of water; I stumbled, plunged on towards the shore. ‘Marianne!’ I shouted, and again and again, ‘Juliana! Marianne!’
No one answered. I reached the shore and stood looking out at the dark, inscrutable surface of the lake, pounded by the wind almost into waves, reflecting
nothing. In the thudding of my heart I felt a renewal of the fear that had seized me in the water; a certainty that something was pulling me back here, waiting in the depths. The wind was so strong that my yelling could scarcely be heard. Straining my ears into the gusts, I heard at first only my own panting breath, until another sound reached me – a sobbing cry from the direction of the boathouse, and a disturbance in the water. Moving quickly in that direction, I heard a plashing sound, and the swimmer’s voice, high-pitched and frantic: ‘Juley! Juley—’
‘Marianne!’ I shouted again, with all the strength of my lungs, and with renewed energy dashed on around the water’s edge; I tripped over a tree-root and sprawled headlong; I picked myself up again. Another figure had appeared at the shore – Juliana! Poised by the willows, she steadied herself against a leaning branch. I had only time to register that Marianne must have waded in, under the mistaken impression that her sister needed rescuing; then Juliana – ignoring my yell of alarm – launched herself forward. I heard the splash and gurgle as she plunged into the water, and her gasp of shock at the coldness. And now there were voices behind me – ‘There! There she is!’ – and the light from a lantern that swayed violently, casting eerie shadows – but I was occupied in divesting myself of jacket and boots, then scanning the water. I should lose them – once in and swimming, I should have only their cries to guide me. ‘I’m coming!’ I shouted, and waded in, waist-deep; then, fighting my reluctance, I plunged forward, the cold shock of wetness gripping
my chest with fear that choked my breath, and weighting my clothes so that they seemed to enmesh my limbs like a trawlerman’s nets. Keeping my head up, I swam towards Marianne; I heard her gasping cries; I saw the quick bobbing movement of her swimming; then she ducked under the surface and was gone. Behind me, at the shore, I heard the splash of another body plunging in; I saw the glimmer of the oil lamp; Charlotte, her skirt ballooning like a sail, was rushing up the little pier. There she clambered into the rowing boat, and as it rocked and swayed, held out her lantern over the water. ‘There – there!’ she cried. I saw where she pointed, swam closer, took a deep breath, and upended myself.
Beneath the surface I struggled against instinct to keep my eyes open, to peer into the murky gloom. Discerning only shadows, I threshed about with my arms, felt the fibrous stems of weeds, disentangled myself; lungs bursting, I flailed again, one hand making contact with the fabric of a garment; simultaneously, one foot struck the yielding softness of the lake-bed. I held fast to the cloth; I grabbed hold with my other hand; I kicked for the surface with all my might. Whichever girl I had, I hauled her roughly with me, got her head above water; whether she was breathing or not, I could not tell, but at that moment another body intruded, hampering my efforts in an attempt to assist, and a voice – Mr Farrow’s – croaked: ‘Juliana! Juley—’
‘Don’t touch her!’ I shouted. Freeing one hand, I thrust him away hard; then looked round for Charlotte.
Hearing the plash of oars, I saw that she had rowed out from the pier and was now battling with the oars, trying to turn the little boat into the wind, ready to come to my assistance. I bundled Juliana towards her, our courses met, her hand reached out; as soon as she had Juliana in a firm grasp I turned again; for where was Marianne? Striking into darkness, I was struck by panic, for the choppy water showed me nothing – then I heard, a few yards away, her sobbing breaths, and saw the feeble strokes of her swimming. ‘Marianne! I’m here!’ I called; found her, and in a few moments held her in my arms, kicking back towards the rowing boat. Charlotte, unable to get Juliana over the side unaided, was attempting to control the list and sway; her face was lit by the lantern, as in a Renaissance painting; the incongruous thought struck me even
in extremis
. Between us, making the boat teeter precariously, we managed to haul both girls onto its boards, weighted as they were by volumes of sodden fabric; Charlotte plied the oars, and I swam in her wake towards the pier. As she moored there, I hauled myself out. Marianne, shocked and winded, attempted to rise; I helped her along the prow and onto dry land; then returned to Charlotte, who was bending over Juliana in the boat. I dreaded to hear what she might have to tell me; but she turned to me with relief.
‘She is breathing,’ she said; and I felt that my own breath had been arrested until this moment. ‘I feared at first that she was not – but she stirred, coughed up a good deal of water, and is reviving. Look to Marianne – fetch your jacket – we must summon help.’
‘Mr Farrow!’ I exclaimed, looking round for him. ‘Surely he is not still in the water!’ I grabbed the lantern and held it out, illuminating only the ruffled surface – no bobbing head, no hand waving for help.
‘I must help him!’ I cried, preparing to dive; but Charlotte held tight to my arm, restraining me.
‘He must wait. We have the girls to attend to.’
She spoke with perfect calmness, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. I looked at her, unable to read her expression; then twisted myself free, snatched up the lantern and held it high as I moved along the lake shore. I called Mr Farrow’s name, over and over again; I stood on the end of the pier and cast the light as far as it would reach; failing to see him, I took to the rowing boat, and cast about in the water. At last, finding no trace of him, I went back to Charlotte, resigned and on the point of exhaustion. She had urged the two girls into the leeward side of a stout tree, for what protection it offered. Marianne was now on her feet, shivering almost violently, while Juliana still crouched on the ground, huddled into my jacket.
‘Please, come indoors,’ Charlotte urged me. ‘You have wasted enough time on him. We must take the girls inside without delay.’
I knew you would not bring him alive from the water, for I have killed him. I have killed my father.
Yes. Yes.
You are shocked. Of course. And you have had many shocks this evening. Come, wrap yourself in this blanket. Drink some of this brandy. It will bring the colour back to your cheeks.
You saved Juliana’s life, Samuel. I suspect that she went down to the lake with the intention of taking her own life. And without your intervention, she could have taken Marianne with her. Marianne
knew
– I should have questioned her, listened to her—
I? No, I did nothing. All I did was—
I pushed him away, Samuel. When you swam back for Marianne, he attempted to board the boat. He looked exhausted. I could not stop myself – I was occupied with Juliana – I could not bear the thought of him touching her, placing his hands on her, even in that desperate situation. Samuel, I have found out – I have learned of—