The Victory (63 page)

*

He went down to Wolvercote that same day, arriving after
dark, to the evident disapproval of Charlcott, who liked his
employers to behave with proper ceremony.

‘
Where's her ladyship?' Chetwyn asked, stripping off his gloves and dropping them into the hat which the butler held
with mute protest.

‘
Her ladyship is in her apartments, my lord. She never
leaves them in the evening, and has left standing orders not to
be disturbed.' This, his tone of voice implied was not at all
what he was used to.

‘I'll go up and see her,' said Chetwyn.

He had not seen her for six weeks, since she had retired to
the country in February, and had not heard from her, nor
expected to. When he entered the sitting-room which Robert had redesigned for her, she was sitting on the sopha sewing,
while Docwra read to her — a very feminine and proper
occupation, except that it was a broken brow-band that she
was stitching, and not a silk shirt.

Docwra broke off when he entered, and rose to curtsey, but
Lucy did not at once seem to notice the interruption. She had
grown unbecomingly thin, he noticed, and he could see her
collar-bones jutting out like a cow's hips above the neckline of
her plain blue cambric dress, and her cheekbones seeming
ready to break through the skin.

At last she looked up. 'Oh, hello, Chetwyn,' she said
without surprise, and looking past him vaguely, said, 'Where's
Robert?’

The automatic assumption, he thought: how it hurt him.
'He's gone to Gloucestershire. Can I speak to you alone,
Lucy?'

‘
Yes, of course,' she said unemphatically, and waved a
hand at her maid. ‘Go away, Docwra. I'll ring when I want
you.’

When they were alone, Chetwyn sat down opposite her,
and waited for her attention. Her eyes were on her work, but after a while she glanced up at him briefly and said, 'What is
it?'

‘
It's Robert's mother,' he said at last. 'He was supposed to
come here with me for Easter, but she's made him go with her
to join a house-party, along with Maurice Ballincrea.'

‘
She's a very silly woman,' Lucy commented unemphati
cally. 'But it doesn't matter, does it?'

‘
She will try to stop him coming back to London after
Easter. She doesn't want him to associate with me any more.

Lucy looked up with a vague frown. 'Why should she do
that?'

‘
She doesn't think I'm good for him,' Chetwyn said
painfully.

‘
Oh, she'll soon change her mind,' Lucy said easily. 'She's a
most dreadful snob, and you're an earl, while Ballincrea's
only a viscount.'

‘You don't understand. It isn't anything to do with rank.'

‘Well, what then?' Her eyes had returned to her sewing.

Chetwyn hesitated; and yet she
was
his wife, and he had
no-one else to confide in. 'Robert applied for membership to
Watier's, and was refused. Your Mr Brummell turned him
down.’

She looked up at that. 'But why would he do that? He
knows Robert's your friend, doesn't he?'

‘That was precisely the reason.'

‘
I don't understand.' He saw that she didn't. She was so innocent, and saw things so simply, very much in terms of
animals. In the face of that daunting simplicity, he struggled
for words.

‘
He — and Robert's mother — think that our friendship is
— is — not wholesome.’

Lucy stared at him for a long moment, her brows drawn,
and then she gave a little dismissive snort, and took another
stitch. 'What nonsense!' she said. 'I should just ignore the
whole thing, if I were you. I'm sure you're mistaken about
Brummell: I expect it was someone else who was against
Robert. Jealous, you know. People often are. And as for Lady
Serena — well, her opinion is neither here nor there. She is
the silliest woman I've ever encountered.’

Chetwyn stood up, looking down on his wife's bent head
with sad affection. I was foolish, he thought, to expect her to
understand, or to hope for sympathy from someone who
doesn't even have pity on herself.

‘I expect you're right,' he said. 'Goodnight, Lucy.'

‘
Goodnight.' She looked up at him for a moment, and was surprised to receive a fatherly kiss upon her forehead before
he turned away and left her.

*

Chetwyn lingered as long as possible over his late and solitary breakfast the next day. Lucy had taken hers early and gone
out riding with Parslow, Charlcott told him, as was her usual
custom. Chetwyn toyed with the idea of visiting the children,
but then reflected that if he appeared in the nursery, the first
thing Rosamund and Roland would ask would be, 'Where's
Robert?' He didn't think he could bear that, not yet. Roland would be devastated to be told that he would not be able to
see his friend and hero again.

It was a fine day, warm, but with a little breeze, a day to be
outdoors. Chetwyn decided to take a gun out after pigeons,
and was just crossing the hall on his way to the gun-room,
when, to his astonishment as much as his delight, Edward
arrived from Morland Place.

‘
Ned! What a wonderful thing!' he cried. ‘But I wasn't
expecting you. Why didn't you tell me you were coming
down? How long can you stay? A good, long time, I hope!
Lord, how I've missed you, old fellow!’

Edward looked rather tired, but that was a natural conse
quence of the journey, Chetwyn thought. His spirits rose at
the sight of that dear, familiar face. Of course, of all people who
could comfort him, his oldest friend ought to have sprung
at once to mind. Not that he would discuss the business with
Edward, who in his way was even more innocent than Lucy,
but just being with him would be balm to his bruised soul.

‘
How's Lucy?' Edward asked. He did not come forward to
embrace Chetwyn, but Chetwyn was too delighted to see him
to notice the omission.

‘
Oh, she's all right, I suppose. She's not much company,
though. She keeps herself to herself, goes out riding with old
Parslow, and sits in her room the rest of the time. I'm
damned glad to see you, I can tell you. I was just on my way out to shoot some pigeons, for want of anything better to do,
but now you are here, we can have a comfortable chat
instead.' He thrust his arm through Edward's, and turned
with him towards the octagon room. ‘Charlcott, bring some
refreshments, will you? And have Mr Morland's man unpack
his things in the Blue Room. So what brings you here, old
fellow? You can stay for Easter, can't you? How is everyone at home?’

When he had been installed in an armchair with dragons'
heads for handrests, Edward let Chetwyn talk on, answering
his queries about Morland Place and evading other questions
until the footman had been and gone. Chetwyn poured him a
glass of wine and set it on the black lacquer table at his elbow,
before seeming to notice hs preoccupation and unsatisfactory
answers. He filled his own glass, and then sat opposite
Edward and looked at him enquiringly.

‘
So, what has brought you here?' he asked at last. 'Or was
it just a very natural desire for my company?’

Edward drank some wine and put his glass down. ‘Your
young friend — Knaresborough — is he here?’

Chetwyn's heart sank with foreboding. ‘No,' he said. 'No,
he isn't here. He's gone down to Gloucestershire with his
mother.' Edward did not speak, so Chetwyn elaborated. ‘It's Lady Tewkesbury's house-party. Ballincrea is apparently to
be there — the boy's trustee.' Still no reply. 'Ned, what is it,
my dear?' Chetwyn said quietly. 'You'd better tell me.’

Edward looked down at his hands, embarrassed. ‘I've had a
letter from Lady Serena Knaresborough,' he said.

‘
Ah,' said Chetwyn wryly. 'Such a delightful woman,
always so concerned in other people's affairs! And what had
she to say?’

He looked up, frowning. 'She said — I'm not sure I under
stand it properly, Chet — but she said that people were
talking about you, and that it was making Knaresborough
—
notorious,
was the word she used, I think. She asked me to use
my influence as your oldest friend and brother of your wife
to make you stop — well, stop being his friend, I suppose.'

‘Have you the letter here?' Chetwyn asked grimly.

Edward shook his head. He looked a little dazed. ‘She said
he was very young, and just starting out in life, and that your reputation was ruining his. Chet, what have you been
doing?
he burst out.

‘Go on — what else did she say?'

‘
She said — she said that it was common talk that your
marriage was a marriage in name only, and that you were not
the father of your children.'

‘The poisonous bitch,' Chetwyn muttered. ‘What else?'

‘
I think she was suggesting that your relationship with
Knaresborough was improper,' Edward said, looking at him
miserably. 'Is that true?'

‘What else?' Chetwyn insisted, with murder in his heart.

‘
She seemed — I don't know, but it seemed to me that she
was — trying to make me jealous. So that I would interfere
between you and him.' Edward's voice was low, not with
embarrassment, but with shame. Chetwyn could gladly at
that moment have strangled Lady Serena for what she had
done.

‘
Oh Ned,' he said painfully, contemplating the mess before
him, disheartened, wondering if he could ever make things
straight again.

‘
I don't know what to think,' Edward said. 'Ever since I got
the letter, I've gone over and over things in my mind,
wondering, asking myself questions, and I just don't know. So
in the end, I thought the only thing to do was to come and
find you, and ask you.'

‘And what is it you want to know?’

Edward met his eyes, apprehensive and perplexed. 'I want
to know — well, is she right?'

‘About what?'

‘
Your relationship with Knaresborough. Was it —
improper? Because if it was —'

‘
Yes, Ned, what then? Why do you feel you have to ask me
these things? You and I have been friends almost all our lives.
Can't you trust me? Has it come to this?'