The Landower Legacy (19 page)

I believed that he was in love with me. He gave me every indication
that this was so. As for myself, I was only too ready to follow him in this exciting adventure. I was a romantic. I had lived so much in a fantasy world, which I suppose young people do, especially when there is not a great deal of affection in their lives. I had Olivia, it was true, and I knew that she was a staunch friend as well as a sister. But who else was there? My mother had gone off with her lover and had not even written to her daughters; it was hard to imagine my father fond of anything but virtue; Miss Bell was a good friend and I knew had some affection for Olivia and me, but her governess-like attitude made her aloof. I dreamed of a reconciliation between my parents, of my father’s suddenly experiencing a complete change in his character like Ebenezer Scrooge in
A Christmas Carol.
My mother, on her return, in my dreams, became the mother I had always wanted—loving, protective, but at the same time a confidante to whom one could talk of one’s adventures, who would help and advise. Up to this time the centre of my dreams had been Paul Landower. Why I should have made such a figure of him I was not entirely sure. But there was logic in my dreaming. I hardly knew him. It was his brother who had been my friend. But Jago was not of the stuff heroes were made. He was just a boy—rather like myself when it came to making wild plans. There was nothing remote or romantic about him. And it was romance I was looking for. Romance was mysterious, exciting, the dream in which a girl like myself could indulge, setting the stage for all sorts of happenings—all, alas, the figments of her overworked and event-starved imagination.

Thus I had set up Paul Landower as the archetypal hero. He had the right appearance. He was not too good-looking; he was essentially masculine and strong. I used the word rugged in my imagination. He was the scion of a noble family forced into a difficult situation by the profligacy of his forefathers. He had a touch of melancholy—so becoming in a hero. He had great problems and my favourite dream was that I helped him solve them; I was responsible for bringing back the mansion which was about to pass out of his hands. I did it in various ways and one was that I discovered some healing herb which cured Gwennie Arkwright—for in this version she had suffered greatly from her fall from the minstrels’ gallery—and Mr. Arkwright was so grateful that he presented me with Landower Hall, which he had bought. I promptly handed it back to Paul.

“I shall be grateful to you for the rest of our lives,” he said. “And there is only one thing which will make this gift acceptable. You must
share it with me.” So we married and lived happily ever after and had ten children, six of them sons, and Landower was saved forever.

That was my favourite and wildest dream; and there had been many more.

I was longing to be in love, for I was sure that was the happiest state in the world. I had seen what it meant when we had been in Captain Carmichael’s chambers at the time of the Jubilee. That was what I thought of as Guilty Love. Mine would be noble and all would be wonderful.

Paul Landower’s appearance had changed a little. He had become darker, more mysterious, more melancholy; and it was the right sort of melancholy which only I could disperse.

Sometimes I came out of my dream world and laughed at myself. Then I said: ‘If you saw the real Paul now, you probably wouldn’t recognize him as yours!’

However that was over now—ever since Jeremy Brandon had danced with me at the masked ball. I had a real figure to put in place of my dream one.

So I proceeded to rush, with habitual impetuosity, into love.

When I met Jeremy at the end of the street he said he wanted to talk to me seriously, and he was rather silent as we made our way to Kensington Gardens. We sat on one of the seats which surrounded the court in which stands the Albert Memorial, that dedication to her sainted husband by our grieving Queen—the symbol of faithful and devoted conjugal bliss.

The sun was shining on Albert, and I could hear the shrill laughter of children’s voices and the admonishing or encouraging answering ones of their nannies to walk sedately along the flower walk, frolic on the grass, or go to feed the ducks on the Round Pond.

Jeremy came immediately to the point.

“I’m in love with you, Caroline. It started at the masked ball and it’s gone on in leaps and bounds from there.”

I nodded blissfully.

“I’ve been thinking about you so much … in fact I have thought about nothing else since our first meeting. I can’t go on like this … just meeting you with someone else there all the time. I want you all to myself. There’s only one answer. Will you marry me, Caroline?”

“Of course,” I answered promptly.

Then we began to laugh.

“You should have said, ‘Oh dear, this is so sudden!’ I believe that is
the conventional reply, even after a courtship that’s been going on for months.”

“You’ll have to get used to an unconventional wife.”

“Believe me, I would ask no other.”

He put his arms about me and kissed me. I was so happy. This was the perfect day. Here was the perfect lover. The melancholy rugged hero of my dreams had vanished completely. He was replaced by this handsome, charming, regular featured mystery-lacking flesh-and-blood husband-to-be.

I was ecstatically in love.

“I will love you forever,” I promised him.

“Dear Caroline, you are so delightfully … unencumbered.”

“Unencumbered by what?”

“By conventions, by tiresome etiquette and all that is most boring in society. Life will be wonderful for us. I tell you what I plan to do. I shall write to your father and ask him if he will see me. Then I shall beg for his permission to ask you to marry me.”

“He’ll never give it.”

“Then we shall have to elope.”

“I shall climb from my window by means of a rope ladder.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, don’t spoil it. I love the thought of a rope ladder. You’ll be waiting below in a carriage to whisk me off. We shall be married immediately and live happily ever after. Where?”

“Ah,” he said. “So you have a practical streak after all. This is what we have to decide. We’ll have a small house near the Park so that we can come here often, sit on this seat and say, ‘Do you remember?’ “

I looked dreamily into the future.

“Do you remember the day Jeremy asked Caroline to marry him,” I said dreamily. “And she said, ‘Yes’ … immediately and immodestly.”

“And he loved her for it,” went on Jeremy.

Then we kissed each other solemnly.

He said: “I can’t wait. I’m going straight home to write that letter to your father.”

I shook my head gloomily. “He never liked people to be happy even when he was well. I believe he’s even worse now.”

“We’ll start with him in any case. I hope we can get his consent. It will save a lot of trouble.”

“Never mind. I’ll soothe away your troubles. Haven’t I told you that we are going to live happily ever after?”

To my amazement my father agreed to see Jeremy and then gave his consent to our engagement.

Life had changed completely. From being an insignificant member of the household I had become an important one. My hour of glory had begun. Moira Massingham called to see me. I was not present on sufferance this time. She regarded me with a kind of wonder. She thought it was so romantic—and me not even “out.” Who had ever heard of anyone’s securing a husband before she was launched into society? It was unprecedented. “And to think it all began at our masked ball!” she marvelled.

It was not only with Moira that my stock had risen.

I was invited to several houses. I took tea at the Massinghams’ and Lady Massingham regarded me with approval. There were other mothers present. I was something of a phenomenon—the girl who had acquired a fiance without the cost of an enormously expensive season.

How I revelled in my glory.

I was sorry for Olivia, who after two years had failed to achieve what I had before starting.

Even Aunt Imogen deigned to notice me now.

“It is the best thing that could have happened,” she said. “The money your maternal grandfather left you is to be released. It is not much. There is a lump sum of a few hundred pounds, which was to come to you when you were twenty-one or on your marriage; and then you will have an income of fifty pounds a year. It is not a great deal. Your mother’s family were not rich.” She sniffed with a certain degree of elegance to indicate her contempt for my mother’s family. “The money will be useful and we can start to plan your trousseau. June is a good month for weddings.”

“Oh, but we don’t want to wait as long as that.”

“I think you should. You are very young. You have never been launched into society. It is most fortunate that this young man has offered to marry you.”

“He thinks he is rather fortunate,” I said complacently.

She turned away.

I thought: We are not going to wait until June. But when I broached the matter with Jeremy he said: “If that is what your family want we should go along with it.”

We looked at houses. What a happy day that was when we found the little house in a narrow street—one of the byways of Knightsbridge. The rooms were not large but it had an air of elegance. There were three storeys with three rooms on each floor and a small garden in which a pear tree grew. I knew I could be happy in such a house.

The servants regarded me with a new respect. Jeremy was allowed to call at the house and he and I could go out together on certain occasions. I lived in a whirl. I was in love; I had never been so happy in my life—and I believed it would go on like that for the rest of it.

Jeremy of course was not exactly the catch of the season. He had just scraped into the magic circle set up by what he called the Order of the Questing Mamas. It was through family connections rather than wealth, and to make the perfect catch a man must have both. But one, in certain circumstances, could be regarded as enough.

How we laughed together! The days seemed full of sunshine, though I did not notice the weather. The wind could blow; the rain could teem down; and life was still full of sunshine. We were constantly together and so delighted because my father had given his consent—not that we could not have surmounted that difficulty, said Jeremy; but it was better not to have to. I was mildly surprised how much store he set by that. He said that he did not want any impediments. He was passionate and irritated by the restraints which were put upon us. He told me how he longed for the time when we could be together all through the days and nights.

I lived in an enchanted dream until one morning when our household was thrown into confusion.

When my father’s manservant had gone to his room he found him dead. He had had another stroke—a massive one this time—and it had killed him.

Death is sobering—even that of people one has never really known. I suppose I could say I had never known my father; certainly there had been no demonstrative love between us, but he had been there in the house, though a figure who represented virtue and godliness. I had always imagined God was rather like my father. And now he was not there.

The Careys came at once and took over control. All the servants were in a state of tension, speculating as to what changes would be made in the household. There would certainly be some and they might well be out of employment.

Gloom pervaded the house. To smile would have been considered showing a lack of respect to the dead. Outside the house a funeral hatchment—a diamond-shaped tablet with the Tressidor armorial bearings—was fixed to a wall; and there were notices in the papers, besides his obituary which extolled his virtues and set out in detail the good works he had accomplished during a lifetime “devoted to the service of his fellow men.” He had been a selfless man, we were told. He was one of the greatest philanthropists of our age. Many societies working for the good of the community were grateful to him and there would be mourning all over England for the passing of a great good man.

Miss Bell cut out all the notices to preserve them for us, she said; and there was a great deal of activity over what was called “The Black.”

We all had to have new black garments and we should attend the funeral with veils over our faces. We should be in mourning for six months, which was the specified period for a parent; Aunt Imogen escaped with two months since she was a sister merely; but if I knew anything about her she would extend that period.

So Olivia and I should be in our black for six months and then, said Miss Bell, we should emerge gradually into greys perhaps. No bright colours for a whole year.

I said I couldn’t see why one couldn’t mourn just as sincerely in red as black.

Miss Bell said: “Show some respect, Caroline.”

Many of the servants were given black dresses and the men wore crepe armbands.

Everyone—not only in the house but in our circle—talked of the goodness of my father, of his selfless devotion to his philanthropic work which had never flagged even when he suffered ill health and domestic trials.

I was relieved when the day of the funeral arrived.

People gathered in the streets to watch the cortege, which was very impressive. I saw it through my veil which gave a hazy darkness to the scene. The horses magnificently caparisoned in their black velvet and plumes; the solemn black-clad men in their deep mourning clothes and shiny top hats; Olivia seated opposite me, looking white-faced and bewildered and Aunt Imogen upright, stern, now and then putting her black-edged handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away a tear which was not there, while her husband, seated beside her, contorted his face into the right expressions of grief.