William made no haste to slip the garment over her head, but took it from her hands and held it up for her to admire. High to the neck, it was made of the finest lawn with dozens of tiny tucked pleats.
‘So charming, don’t you think? Pure and white and virginal; like my bride, my darling little Marianna. Come, on it goes!’ He leaned back in the chair and surveyed her. ‘Ah, what a picture you make. You know, I believe that I shall have you painted. Perhaps Lord Leighton will allow himself to be persuaded. He could not but think you a worthy model for his talents, my dearest child.’
Marianna’s fingers were clumsy with nerves as she tied the ribbon at the neck, while her husband looked on approvingly.
‘There now, all ready for Bedfordshire! My pet looks tired enough to fall asleep on my lap if I cuddled her, but that wouldn’t do, eh? Into bed with you, and let me tuck you up.’
Submissively, she slid in between the smooth sheets and William came to bend over her, drawing the bedclothes right up to her chin. He touched his lips to her cheek and smoothed a stray lock of hair from her brow.
‘Sleep tight, little precious. You’ve had such a busy day.’
Marianna gazed up at him, bewildered and anxious. ‘William ... what... ?’
He silenced her with a finger against her mouth. Then, turning away, he went from lamp to lamp, extinguishing the flames until only one remained, a mere glimmer of illumination in the large stateroom. Crossing to the door of the communicating cabin, he paused to smile at her and then went through, closing the door quietly behind him.
Marianna lay very still, tense and trembling. What now?
William seemed to have bade her goodnight, had told her to go to sleep, yet this was their wedding night. She strained her ears to catch the smallest sounds. Faintly, above the thumping engines, she could hear the piano from the main saloon playing a gay polka; then a bell clanged and a peremptory order was called somewhere on deck. And very faintly came the sound of movements in the adjoining cabin, the tinkling of a decanter against a glass.
Five minutes crept by in slow seconds; ten minutes, twenty. Very gradually Marianna felt her limbs relaxing. That steady beat of the engines was soporific; her eyelids, alertly open until now, began to droop. On the long slow swell of the ocean the confusing reality gave way to a drifting half dream. She was back in the home of her childhood summers, in her soft feather bed at the
quinta,
early sunlight slanting in at the window, and with it the voice of Jacinto soothing the clucking hens as he searched out the morning’s new-laid eggs from their secret hiding places.
A faint click brought Marianna instantly awake. Tense again, her eyes were riveted on the communicating door. By the dim light of the single lamp, she saw the shadowed figure of her husband standing there. Apparently satisfied that he had not disturbed her, he tiptoed across the carpet and stood beside the bed gazing down at her. She observed him covertly through her lashes, unsure whether or not it was best to let him think her asleep. He was wearing a long dressing-gown of crimson and gold brocade, and as she watched he began to unfasten the buttons, one by one, cautiously, as if he feared that even the tiny rustle of fabric might disturb her slumber. Closing her eyes tightly, Marianna lay rigid as she felt him ease himself into the bed beside her. But when his arm slid beneath her and he gathered her close to him, she gave an involuntary start. A small whimper of fear escaped her.
William touched his lips to her brow, as gently as though she were made of porcelain.
‘There, there, my darling one! There, my pretty ... off you go to sleepybyes again, back to your sweet dreamland. Your Billykins is here to protect you and keep you safe. Always and always.’
Strangely, she found it soothing to lie there cradled in her husband’s arms, the lullaby of his endearments whispered into the tumbled softness of her hair. Once more she drifted towards sleep, and her last awareness was of his long deep sigh of contentment.
Sure enough, there was not a mountain to be seen. The train carrying them from the dockside at Southampton fairly hurtled across the gently rolling Hampshire countryside where the highest hill was little more than a slight mound, and whole herds of sleek cattle grazed in meadows of lush green grass. To Marianna
,
the rush of speed was quite intoxicating and she bounced up and down on the seat in her excitement.
‘It’s even faster than a toboggan coming down from Monte,’ she cried delightedly, at which her husband smiled and patted her hand.
In hardly more than half an hour they were alighting at the small village station nearest to Highmount, where a carriage awaited them. A real carriage with wheels such as she had only ever seen in picture books, an open landau drawn by a handsome pair of bays. It looked so dashing and elegant compared with the heavy ox-sleds of Madeira. The coachman and groom wore matching livery and deferentially touched their tall silk hats to her — though Marianna was aware of their curiosity. She and William took their seats and then they were off, the horses trotting out of the village along a smooth level road that ran through an avenue of fine tall trees, afire with their autumn tints. Did everything in England move at this breathless speed, she wondered, as they crossed a river and dashed past a cluster of little thatched cottages so quickly that she scarcely had a chance to glance at them.
I
am
going to like it here,’ she affirmed, with a bright smile at her husband to conceal the sudden panic that had seized her. ‘I only hope that Ralph and Eunice will like
me.’
‘How could they fail to like you, dear child?’ William did not look at her as he spoke, though, and she sensed with a deeper sinking of her heart that he was not quite as confident as he pretended.
Almost at once the carriage turned in at a pair of elaborate wrought-iron entrance gates, their stone piers each topped with a sculpted gryphon. They continued along a curving driveway that ran through wooded parkland till, suddenly, the house came into view. It was a very grand edifice, standing proudly in an elevated position, and surely larger than any in Madeira excepting only the cathedral and the Governor’s Palace. Built in warm, red brick, it had a pedimented frontage of pale stonework, and the afternoon sunlight was reflected by a multitude of windows.
‘Oh, how magnificent!’ she breathed in awed delight. ‘Has it always been your family home, William?’
He laughed. ‘Good heavens, no! I bought Highmount myself not twenty years ago, at the time of my previous marriage.’
Never before had William made any kind of reference to her predecessor. Naturally, Marianna had been curious about the first Mrs Penfold and had longed to question him, but somehow she had not been able to summon the necessary courage. What sort of woman had she been? Was she very beautiful? And had she and William found happiness together? Marianna felt herself to be dreadfully ignorant about married life in all its aspects — but in none more so than that which pertained to the private intimacies between a man and his wife. The way her own marriage had begun ... was it in any way different from others; because she was so very young, perhaps? That first night aboard the
Apollo
had been the pattern for the subsequent three nights. Although her acute embarrassment at being undressed by her husband had to some degree lessened, her perplexity had grown. He seemed to treat her more like a darling child than as a beloved woman. Was that the normal thing, or merely another example of William’s kindness and thoughtfulness, an anxiety to spare her the inevitable pain of his passionate embraces?
If only there were someone in whom she could confide! She regretted now that she had not questioned Linguareira more closely on the subject, instead of airily pretending to know all about it. But then, what could her
aia
tell her concerning the nature of marriage to an Englishman? She was only a poor Madeiran peasant who, despite having borne a child, had never been married at all.
They had arrived. Harness jingling, the landau slowed and drew to a halt by the apron of steps leading up to the front entrance. The groom jumped down and at the same instant the double glazed doors were drawn open by the butler; a grave, bone-thin man garbed all in black. William descended and handed Marianne down from the carriage.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ the butler murmured, with a stiff bow to William.
‘All’s well, Jenson, I trust? Is Miss Fielding at home? Ah good, here she comes now.’
With a quick darting movement, a rustle of taffeta skirts, a woman emerged on to the steps, smiling in welcome. In her middle years, she was gauntly handsome and fashionably dressed in pale lilac with frills of lace at her cuffs and throat. Her longish face was crowned with thick braids of once-red hair now faded and greying. Although quite short, only a couple of inches taller than Marianna, her vivacity gave her a compelling presence.
‘William, how good that you are safely returned!’ she was exclaiming in a light, musical voice. But as her gaze fell upon Marianna the eagerness of her smile gave way to surprise, to puzzlement. She stepped closer to William and offered him her cheek, but her eyes remained on Marianna.
‘And who might this young lady be?’
‘This is Marianna,’ he said. Then, ‘Miss Harriet Fielding, my sister-in-law. Marianna is the daughter of Mr James Dalby, Harriet, who always offers me hospitality when I am in Madeira.’
‘Ah yes, I remember. Welcome to Highmount, my dear.’
Smiling again, she came to touch her lips to Marianna’s cheek and a faint scent of lavender was left hanging in the air. ‘What brings you to England? To further your education, or is this a visit?’
Marianna could hardly believe what was happening, just as she had known nothing whatever of this sister-in-law, Miss Fielding for her part was clearly unaware that William had remarried and was bringing his bride home to England with him. In an agony of embarrassment she glanced at her husband, expecting that he would hasten with an explanation. But no, he merely inquired if Eunice and Ralph were not at home to greet him.
‘They are out riding together, William, but I am sure they will be back very soon.’
‘Let us hope so!’ he said curtly, and turned to smile at Marianna. ‘I am most anxious, my dear, to present you to my son and daughter.’
They were moving into the house now, with her status still not established. Miss Fielding said pleasantly, ‘You and Eunice will be company for one another. She is recently engaged, you know — did Mr Penfold tell you? Cedric is such a charming young man, but he is away with his regiment in Wiltshire at the moment. Now, we must see about a room for you. Jenson, tell Mrs Thorpe to attend to it. The yellow bedroom with the view over the rose garden, that will do nicely. First, though, have a tray of tea brought. I imagine you could do with a cup, Miss Dalby?’
‘But I am not Miss Dalby,’ Marianne burst out in desperation. ‘William, will you
please
explain …’
‘That you are my wife?’ He uttered the short phrase casually, and it was as if he savoured his sister-in-law’s incredulous reaction. Her tawny eyes grew wide, bulging, and the colour drained from her face to leave it ashen.
‘Your
wife!’
she gasped. ‘You can’t mean this seriously?’
‘I assure you I do, my dear Harriet — I was never more serious in my life.’ William laid a possessive hand upon Marianna’s arm. ‘Is it really so unbelievable that I should have fallen in love with this young enchantress? How could any man not?’
Marianna watched as the woman struggled to find words to answer him, but no words came. Instead, her colour returned, an angry flush creeping up her neck to suffuse her face entirely. Then as if still finding the situation beyond belief, her glance switched to Marianna’s left hand where the bulge of her wedding ring was discernible through her blue doeskin glove.
William spun round to address the butler. ‘Don’t stand there gawping, Jenson, get off and see that the rooms are made ready for my wife and me. And hurry up with that tea, man! When Mr Ralph and Miss Eunice get back, send them directly to the drawing room. They needn’t change first.’
So saying, he put a hand under Marianna’s elbow and led her into a large, stately apartment to their left. Sunlight flooded In through three tall windows, falling upon elegant pieces of furniture and costly fabrics, though Marianna was in no mood to notice any details. Since Miss Fielding had not followed them into the room — doubtless needing time to compose herself — she seized the chance to speak her mind.
‘William, what in the name of goodness were you about?’ she demanded, the instant the butler had drawn the doors closed. ‘How could you have permitted such an embarrassing situation to arise? Why did you not send word of our marriage by cable? Or better still, you could have written to your family when we first became engaged. It simply isn’t fair to me ...’ She stammered to a halt before the terrifying glare in her husband’s eyes.
‘How dare you! How dare you accuse me of being unfair to you. I have made you my wife, Marianna, with all that the position entails. I have brought you from your father’s impoverished establishments in Madeira to become mistress of Highmount. Perhaps this fact is something you have not yet fully grasped? You would be advised to consider more carefully before you make such wild charges against me.’
Marianna’s anger crumbled into bewilderment and tears filled her eyes. ‘But William ... I... I didn’t mean to ...’
‘In which case I advise you to stop and think before you speak, child, or you will try my patience a mite too far. I thought it was clearly understood that I shall not hesitate to chastise you if you deserve it.’
She could only stare at him helplessly, feeling chilled and frightened. ‘I’m sorry ... I truly am very sorry.’
The severity of his expression softened to a gently reproachful smile. Her immediate capitulation had obviously pleased him. ‘Just remember in future, my angel, that William always knows best. It had not occurred to you, I think, that I was saving the news of our marriage as a nice surprise for my family?’