Menfreya in the Morning (25 page)

Victoria Holt

169

of her mother—kindly, ineffectual. She had accepted the rule of the Menfrey men, as I would never do. 1 was one of them now, but I was determined always to be myself.

That was my house on the island there. If Gwennan couldn’t come to Menfreya she could come to the island house. From there she would see Menfreya, and she would be happier for it

I had made up my mind. Tomorrow I was going to Plymouth to see Gwennan.

In the morning Bevil was like his old self. It seemed to me that in bis mind the affair of Gwennan was neatly marked off as finished. He would probably see bis solicitor and arrange for an allowance to be paid to her, and later he would look after the boy’s education. He might even visit her at regular intervals. But in my opinion that wasn’t the sort of attention Gwennan needed.

I said nothing of the affair, and this must have deceived him. He talked as usual while we breakfasted together.

“There’s going to be some pretty hard campaigning, and I want you to appear with me. We ought to make a tour of the villages and outlying districts. I think you might develop a flan- for that sort of thing, Harriet.”

I was pleased to be included. To be with bun, sharing his life, was what I wanted more than anything. I was interested in the lives of the people whom we represented. I loved the work I did when I went to Lamella. Very often we were able to help some of the old farm workers who were afraid of being turned out of their cottages. Bevil had very strong feelings about looking after the elderly. He said it was inherent hi the old landowning classes and had been bred over the generations. He wanted to modernize some of the fishermen’s cottages along the coast which had been standing for several hundred years and although highly picturesque were scarcely sanitary. There were all these matters to be dealt with; and Bevil was working indefatigably for the people. He would work for those people, I told myself, yet I suspected he would not allow his own sister to come back to her home, and all because he feared scandal. I understood his fears to a certain extent The battle for his seat was going to be a 6erce one, and danger had loomed up from an unexpected quarter. I knew very well what would be said by our opponents. The father was involved hi a scandal and as a re-

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Menfreya in the Morning

suit there was not a Menfrey in Parliament for several years. Now there’s Gwennan Menfrey who went off to Plymouth and comes back with a baby and no father for it! There are the Menfreys for you. Are they the sort of people you want to represent you in Parliament?

Radical strength was growing in the country. The influence of William Ewart Gladstone, though he had been dead for some years, was becoming a legend even in constituencies which had been notoriously Tory for generations.

Harry Leveret had a score to settle with the Menfreys, and he had the resources of a millionaire to put behind his campaign.

“We’ve got a fight on our hands, Harriet,** said Bevil, “and you’re going to help me win it. This afternoon I’m going to take you into Lamella to meet the agents and some of the workers. I’ve told them my wife wants a part in the campaign.”

I was scarcely listening. I thought: 111 go to Plymouth as soon as he has left and 111 be back in time to go to Lamella with him. But I must see Gwennan. I must understand why she has changed her mind.

I loved Bevil, but I must retain my own personality. I should never become the kind of woman Lady Menfrey was —without a will of her own, a slave of her menfolk. If Bevil and I were going to build up a worthwhile relationship, he must understand that I was no shadow of another person— not even him. I must be myself.

As soon as Bevil had left I sent for the carriage and drove to Liskeard, where I caught the train to Plymouth. I would return by the midday train and the carriage was to meet me.

For the second tune I walked down the narrow street and opened the door into the squalid rooming house.

I went up the stairs to Gwennan’s room and knocked. There was no answer. I opened the door.

“Gwennan,” I called. “It’s Harriet.”

She was not there. No one was there. I went down the stairs. The door which had been open on my previous visit was still open. The woman was still in her rocking chair. I think she was the landlady, a sort of concierge.

“I’ve come to see Mrs. Bellairs,” I said.

“She’s left Went away with a gentleman who came for her.”

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“Where’s she gone?”

“She didn’t leave an address.”

“She left with the baby?”

“With the baby and the gentleman. She owed me three weeks. He paid me right up to the end of the week … and only right, I say, after being kept waiting like that”

“But she must have left an address.”

“She did not. Hustled out quick she were. She just went off with him.”

So that was why Bevil was complacent. He had taken Gwennan to some place and was not going to let anyone at Menfreya know where.

I was shocked and very wretched. I went to the Hoe and sat there for a long time thinking about Gwennan and Bevil and was very unhappy.

I did not realize how long I remained there until I looked at my watch and saw that I had missed the train.

I did not reach Menfreya until late afternoon.

When Bevil came home that night I was in our room.

He was angry—reasonably so, I told myself.

“You made me look rather foolish,” he burst out

“I*m sorry.”

“So you went to Plymouth. You didn’t believe what I’d told you. You went to see for yourself. On a fool’s errand.”

“It was meant to be an errand of mercy.”

“I had to make excuses for you at Lansella. I said you were not well. I’ve made arrangements for you to say a few words at a meeting next week.”

“What am I expected to say? What a kind husband I have, and I am sure they can put their trust in him because his conduct towards his sister …”

Bevil was really angry; I could see by the glint in his eyes.

“I told you that Gwennan would not come back and that I was arranging that she would be looked after. You’re telling me that you didn’t believe me. You wanted to see for yourself. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“How can you behave like this to your sister?**

*’It was her wish.”

“It was your wish, Bevil. Do you think I understand nothing!”

He took my arm and shook me. “I’m tired of this, and I don’t like being made to look foolish.”

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“I’m sure you prefer to look cruel in your wife’s eyes than foolish in your friends’.**

His grip on my arm was painful, and when I winced he said, “I must live up to your opinion of me.”

“I think we should have an understanding,** I said, wrenching myself free. He was beside me.

“An understanding certainly.”

“Because I married you it doesn’t mean I share your views. I won’t be brutal because you are. Gwennan wants to come back to Menfreya.”

“She does not.”

“She did until you saw her.”

“I have told you that she prefers things to be as they are now. Can’t you believe me?”

I did not answer, but turned away from him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I think one of us should use the dressing room.”

“But I do not.”

“You don’t wish to use it … then I shall.*1

**I don’t wish either of us to.”

Of course he was stronger than I. I had never thought that I should fight physically to resist him. But I did; and the more I struggled the more determined he became to subdue me.

He was cruel; he was brutal.

I said breathlessly: “Are you mad? I am not a village girl to be raped when the fancy takes you.”

I was useless against him. I was in his power. It was the most shattering experience of my life.

Fanny brought the breakfast tray to my bedside.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I didn’t have such a good night.”

“Mr. Menfrey was off early. Here, let me put something round your shoulders.” She picked up a bedjacket and, as I put my arm into it, the sleeve of my nightdress was pulled above the elbow. On my forearm was a long bruise.

“My patience me!” cried Fanny. “Where did you get that?**

I stared at it in dismay.

“I… I don’t know.”

“I’ve got some lotion that’s good for bruises. It takes them out hi no tune.”

Victoria Holt

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It was when she was putting on the lotion that she discovered the bruise across my shoulders.

“You don’t remember how you got that either, I suppose,” she said.

Angry lights shot into her eyes. I knew what she was thinking. She had never liked Bevil, and I recalled how she had warned me against him.

Now she would dislike him more than ever. She had made up her mind that he ill-treated me physically.

I sat on the platform beside Bevil and looked down at the sea of faces. He appeared to be relaxed; he had just made an excellent speech and he had been most attentive to me; but he was afraid.

The relationship between us had undergone a change. We were polite to each other; I guessed he was a little ashamed of the force he had used, but he had not referred to it, and I knew it was meant to be symbolic of our relationship. He was the master, he was telling me. He expected obedience from me, and as long as I gave it I should be treated with respect; but if I had to be taught a lesson, he was ready to do the teaching, however unpleasant.

My love for him was unchanged. It had been with me ever since I was a child, and I did not believe it could ever fade. Whatever he was, I wanted him. I knew that the only thing I should not be able to endure would be his indifference. He knew this for although I had deeply resented the affront to my dignity by his display of force, my passionate need of him had betrayed me.

What did I want? I asked myself. Did I want a hero who did not exist? Bevil was the man for me—the wild Menfrey who knew what he wanted and how to take it

But I hated what I was sure he had done to Gwennan, and if I could, I would have brought her back to Menfreya. I would have had to do so to satisfy myself, however much Bevil had hated me for it

He had won this battle because he had been cleverer than I. Then he had behaved like the conqueror to the vanquished. Now he was showing me that he was prepared to forget my folly and take me back. So here I was sitting on the platform with him, and at any moment now I would be called upon to say those few words which would show the audience that I adored my husband, that I supported him in

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Menfreya in the Morning

Victoria Holt

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everything he did, that we were devoted to one another and that there would never be a scandal surrounding us like that which had forced his father to retire from politics.

And Bevil was uncertain. I could sense it. He knew that I had a will of my own and that Gwennan was between us. The moment came and I rose. I was aware of the bird hi the hat of a woman in the front row; all the curious eyes on me, the rows of faces. In my hand was the short speech which the agent had prepared for me and which I had memorized.

It was typical of a thousand such speeches.

I started to speak, and what I said was not what was written on the paper. I saw Bevil sit forward. He was alarmed. Then … he was smiling. I saw the faces changing; they became alert and interested.

I can’t remember what I said, but I was being natural; I was telling them why they must support my husband.

It was over hi three minutes, but there was loud applause and I sat down, trembling slightly. I had been a success.

That was a wonderful evening. Bevil said: “You’re a find, Harriet Menfrey.” And he was tender and loving, and I was almost happy going home with him, I should have been completely so if I could have forgotten Gwennan.

I did not mention her, and Bevil was not a man to sense the moods of others. To him everything was as it should be. He had married a woman who would be a good politician’s wife; she had brought money to bolster up the family fortune; she had too much spirit at times to be comfortable, but he knew how to subdue that, for he was the all-powerful male and she was, in spite of her sharp tongue, only a woman. Not a beautiful woman either, and therefore not spoilt.

Bevil was very satisfied with his marriage on that night.

During the weeks which followed I was constantly with Bevil. He took me everywhere with him, and gradually our relationship slipped back to what it had been in the days of our honeymoon. How glad I was that I had for some time steeped myself in politics so that I could talk intelligently of events. I was never happier than when I saw Bevil sit back, his arms folded, a look of gravity on his face, eyes lowered to hide the satisfaction in them, when I

made some well-thought-out comment or my occasional platform speech.

For the first time in my life I was completely unconscious of my limp; I knew that no physically perfect woman could have delighted Bevil more than I did … at that time.

But life does not remain static.

It was about two months after I received that letter from Gwennan that the next arrived. This was short

“Dear Harriet,

This is very urgent. I must see you. Please come to me here as soon as you receive this letter. Don’t let anything delay you. Please, Harriet.

Gwennan.**

On the top of the letter was a Plymouth address.

Bevil was in the dressing room when I opened the letter. I daren’t show it to him for I believed he would put everything possible hi the way of my going, and I was determined not to fail Gwennan this time.

I had hidden the letter when he came out and sat on the bed chatting about the day’s program. I was to be with him all morning in the Lansella chambers because one of the tasks I had been able to do particularly well was to listen to the women’s problems, record them and advise on them.

I could not say I was going to Plymouth. I pictured him struggling with me, finding the letter and perhaps going in my place.

We would return to luncheon at Menfreya, and hi the afternoon I should be free because he had an engagement which did not include me.