A Time Like No Other (29 page)

Lally felt a curious shiver go through her as he turned his startling eyes to study her. She climbed down from Merry’s back, carefully arranging the skirt of her riding habit for some reason, making sure that no part of her legs, which were in any case covered by her kid breeches, was visible, wondering deep within her why she felt so vulnerable, then chiding herself for a fool because what he had said to her last night was enough to frighten any woman in the circumstances.

‘I’ve come, as you see, Roly,’ she began at once, ‘simply because of the incomprehensible statement you made last night—’

‘Incomprehensible!’ he interrupted. His grin deepened round the cigar between his lips. ‘I’m no mathematician, my love, but I can add up the months a woman is pregnant and what has happened here makes a nonsense of it. You and I . . . er . . . were together in July of last year and it seems your daughter was born nine months to the day almost after that. Yes, I winkled it out of one of your servants who, quite unintentionally, told me the date of the birth of the child. You and Harry were married in October so, unless you and he slept together on the same day, or thereabouts, that you and I . . . er . . .’

‘Honestly, Roly . . .’ doing her best to sound amused though dread was icing her veins. ‘What a preposterous thing to say. I have never heard anything—’

‘Preposterous, is it? Then how can you account for the fact that the child was born exactly nine months—’

‘Perhaps Harry and I were . . . were . . .
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at that time. Had that occurred to you? I have always been extremely . . . fond of Harry and naturally, when I realised I was pregnant I told him of it and we were married at once. Caterina was born six months later. Prematurely, or so everyone believes.’ She showed her teeth in what she hoped was a reasonable smile.

Roly watched her intently, a cat watching a mouse that was trying to escape and for the first time she noticed a twist to his mouth that could only be called cruel. A lifting of one corner that turned into a disbelieving smile. He straightened his tall frame and moved towards her and she found herself backing away. His smile deepened.

‘You’re surely not afraid of me, dear sister-in-law?’

‘Don’t be absurd.’

‘No, of course not, but let us say that you’re telling the truth. That you and Harry were . . .
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as you so delicately put it, that does not rule out that the child could be mine. You and I made love on this very spot. No, we didn’t make love because that implies we loved one another and that’s not so. We——.’ Here he used a word so obscene she gasped. She had heard it before, on Harry’s lips. It was a word men used to describe what they did to women they did not respect. It was insulting and she was insulted. What on earth had come over Roly that he should be so coarse all of a sudden? Or perhaps he had always had it in him and she had not noticed. Caterina
was
his child. There was no doubt about that, for she had made love to no one but him since Chris died. She could not account for the puzzling fact that in the months since Cat was born she had not quickened. Both Chris and Roly had impregnated her at once and there was nothing she longed for more than that Harry should do the same. It would cement their relationship if they had a child, a son that Harry would know was his. But so far it had not happened and it seemed, watching the curious expression on Roly’s face, that some disaster was about to take place. Roly, although he had not said so, appeared to be threatening her.

‘What is all this, Roly?’ she asked impatiently. ‘What have you got in your mind? Caterina is Harry’s daughter and I would swear before God—’

He laughed. ‘Perhaps you would and perhaps you would be believed but there would be planted in Harry’s mind a doubt, and in the minds of others. I don’t know how you persuaded him to make an honest woman of you but then he has been in love with you for as long as I can remember.’

Lally was astonished and it showed in her expression, then she remembered that she and Harry were supposed to be having an affair before Cat was born. Dear God, what a web was being woven here and she was caught in the damn thing, struggling to save not only her marriage but her reputation, her life, her children’s lives. She couldn’t even guess what it was that Roly wanted. Surely he did not expect her to lie down and let him do to her what he had done last year? But there was no doubt he was about to blackmail her into doing something that might hurt her, or Harry, and she could not imagine what it was. She had nothing he might want. That brief moment last year when they had lain together, she could find no other word to describe it, the moment that had produced Cat, must not be repeated, besides which she had the idea that that was not in his mind. He had women and to spare who would gladly share their beds with Roly Sinclair. He was rich, handsome, charming, the catch of the district. He was
fun
. Had he not made her life more cheerful after Chris died, taking her about, encouraging her to do the things young widows were not supposed to do but persuading her it did no harm, making her the talk of Moorend? For years she and Chris and he had been inseparable, good friends who would stand together against the rest of the world, caring not a jot for what society thought, enjoying life to the full and to hell with gossip. Chris had loved Roly as he might a brother, and so had she, but had there been a side to him that neither of them had seen? Even on the day when she and Roly had shared a moment of passion on this very stretch of tough grass beside the boulders he had appeared to be contrite, filled with remorse to have
dishonoured
the widow of his best friend. Had that been an act as well? Was there some secret part of Roly Sinclair that neither of them had seen?

She sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know what this is all about, Roly. Why you have summoned me up here to discuss this foolish notion you seem to have that—’

‘Tell me that child in your nursery is mine. That is what I have
summoned
you up here for.’

‘But why?’ Lally had lost the dread she had felt and only knew exasperation. ‘What has got into you, Roly? Do you honestly believe that an hour up here with you, which was a mistake, of course, could produce a baby? Harry and I were lovers for weeks,’ she lied. ‘And the daughter that I bore was his.’

‘I don’t believe you. Harry is not the sort of man to make love to a woman, a lady from decent society, without marriage. He is too honourable.’ His voice had contempt in it and Lally felt wonder move through her that in all these years neither she nor Chris had really known this man.

‘He is honourable but we . . . were carried away . . . he was carried away and I . . .’

‘Yes,’ he sneered, ‘you were so overcome you allowed . . .’

Lally turned away and strode to the edge of the plateau on which they stood. Her dogs followed her, keeping close to her skirt. She slapped the skirt of her riding habit with her small whip, her mind in a turmoil, for this was obviously going somewhere and for the life of her she couldn’t imagine where.

Was it something to do with Harry? There had always been some dissension between the brothers which was why it worked so well when Roly was abroad and Harry was left to run the mills as he liked, but perhaps Roly was no longer satisfied with this arrangement despite the fact that it had made them enormously wealthy.

She looked out at the October landscape which was wide and empty of all but a moving straggle of sheep grazing under the morning sun. A gentle wind blew the scents of the moorland into her nostrils – heather, bilberry, sedge, cowberry – and the moor was shadowed here and there as the wind moved the clouds, forming a pattern in the valley below and on the hillside opposite. There had been an early frost which had dissolved as the sun rose. It had tinged the tussocky grass with amber and the bracken with scarlet. Small flocks of migrating birds flew restlessly over the rugged hillsides, their calls high and piercing.

She turned abruptly. Roly had resumed his position against the huge boulder, which had been carried by ice from an adjacent valley thousands of years ago and in some strange manner had perched on a scatter of other, smaller, limestone boulders. Sheltering the clearing was a group of upland oaks, their leaves almost gone at this altitude and time of the year.

‘Well, Roly, I haven’t the faintest notion why you have brought me up here for what you have to say is all nonsense.’

‘Really!’ Roly’s mouth twisted into a smile that was deliberately sardonic and unkind. ‘You do surprise me, but never mind you will know in good time. Harry and I have been . . . at odds for a long while now and I have had no weapon to force him into what I want. Now I have and I shall depend on you to help me. That child of yours, of
ours
is illegitimate – oh yes, make no mistake about that,’ for she had gasped in horror and every vestige of colour had left her face. Her hand went out to the rough surface of the boulder but Roly merely smiled. ‘Her parents are not married therefore she is—’

‘Harry is . . .’

‘No, he is not and if he and you do not comply with my wishes I shall let the whole of Yorkshire know it. Now then, I must be off. Let Harry know, won’t you, what we have discussed and that I shall be round to see both of you shortly. I shall consult with my solicitor.’ He paused for a moment, then swung himself into the saddle and trotted down the slope, breaking into a canter as he reached the rough track made by the sheep.

She watched him go with death in her heart.

They were at dinner before she spoke, waiting until Jenny had left the room.

‘I saw Roly today.’ Her voice was abrupt. Harry was helping himself to a scoop of Stilton cheese and as she broke the silence, for they had barely spoken since they had sat down, his hand holding the cheese scoop stopped in mid-air and his face closed up. His brown eyes which, when he was at peace, had a golden glow about them, immediately darkened, became shuttered and Lally wondered with that part of her brain that was separate from this drama whether he would ever be able to hear his brother’s name on her lips without freezing up.

‘Oh, yes. I wondered where he had got to this morning. He intimated that he had something on his mind but when I turned round he had disappeared. So he was here, was he?’ His voice dripped ice.

‘No, we met on the moor.’

‘By arrangement?’

‘Yes.’ She was determined to be truthful.

‘So it is to begin again?’

‘What?’ She was bewildered.

‘Your . . . associating.’ His face was totally without expression but in his eyes was devastation.

‘Our association? Harry . . . ?’

‘Why should he want to see you secretly? Why should he want to see you at all? When did you make this assignation?’

‘Assignation! Don’t be so damned silly. He . . . well, I don’t really know what he’s up to, if you must know. Except that he threatens to . . . to expose Cat if you and I don’t fall in with whatever he has in mind.’

‘What in hell’s name are you talking about?’ Harry stood up, throwing the cheese scoop to his plate where it landed with a clatter. Just at that moment Jenny entered the room but Harry glared at her, waving his arm and telling her to get out. Lally had the impression he would have liked to say ‘bugger off’! Jenny scuttled out of the room, running to the kitchen with the tale that the master and mistress were having a row and really she didn’t know why Mr Harry had to speak so roughly to her since it was nothing to do with Jenny. She had only gone in to . . . Biddy told her to hold her tongue and the atmosphere in the kitchen was almost as tense as that in the dining room.

‘Roly told me to be on the moor this morning where he wanted to talk to me about
our
daughter. Not yours and mine but
his
and mine. That’s what he said.’

‘Why in hell’s name didn’t you tell me this last night?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I wanted to find out what he was after first. And he does want something, not from me but from you. He talked about solicitors and . . . and, unless we complied with whatever he has in mind he would tell the whole of Yorkshire that Cat was . . . was his child. Oh, Harry . . .’ She stood up and tentatively touched his arm where he stood by the dining-room window staring out into the dark garden but seeing only his own and her reflection in the glass.

He recoiled slightly, so that her hand fell to her side. His face was composed now, his anguish well hidden. He had a hold of himself, not allowing her to see what she was doing to him. Their marriage had moved along tranquilly. They did not quarrel or disagree on anything of importance. She ran their home with Mrs Stevens in real control and the children, including the baby, were settled and happy in the nursery. Susan Harper ruled it, and them, with firm kindness and he had thought that their life together was settling down to a pleasant rhythm. His wife was the most stylish in Moorend and he was proud of her, encouraging her to spend a fortune on the plain, pastel-tinted afternoon gowns in which she looked so well, the rich poppy evening gown, the black velvet against which her skin was whiter than buttermilk. He bought her a victoria to drive in, far superior to the conventional landau when it came to the fashion of wide crinolines, and he had been pleased when it seemed they were to become a fashionable couple. They gave informal dinner parties and the house functioned with a smoothness he found very satisfying. Of course, he knew she did not love him but he had known that before he married her and if he was perfectly honest with himself he had no doubt she would not have married him had she not been pregnant with his brother’s child. All he prayed for, or would if he was a praying man, was that she would bear another child.
His!
And that one day she would come to love him.

But by God, he loved her! Every day his love grew, for she had become a complete woman, content in her own life, shaping their life and that of the children in a way that pleased him, obliging him every night in their bed with what he thought hopefully was real enthusiasm, and though he, as was his wont, kept his feelings to himself, he sometimes imagined she was beginning to look on him with a softness he found most encouraging.