The Crimson Bed (13 page)

    'These
are
beautiful gardens, Mr Thorpe. It may sound strange, but it's the first time I've visited them. Papa is so strict with me these days. He never used to be so.'

    'Your father is careful of you. I cannot blame him. '

    'He is careful but I weary of that care at times,' she said with a sigh. 'This feels like a rather wicked escapade,' she added with a little giggle, 'an adventure. Papa has no idea I'm here at all.'

    'He will not find you out, I trust?' said Fred in some alarm. He had no wish to antagonise his prospective father-in-law, accused of leading his daughter astray.

    'Oh, he won't know. He has a great deal of work, a case that has to be prepared for the Old Bailey. He'll be at his chambers all day and no doubt well into the evening. It must seem reprehensible to you, Mr. Farnham, that I should slip out and be deceitful in this way. But I truly chafe at times in the bonds Papa puts upon me nowadays. He trusts
me
well enough but seems to have little trust for anyone else. It must be his legal training, I presume.'

    'That I can believe. He must see much of life's seamier side. He understands there are rogues in this world. But you, dear Miss Farnham, dearest Eleanor...may I not call you that now?... you don't think me a rogue, do you?'

    'I don't think so, sir,' she said, her eyes laughing, teasing him.

    She was coquettish today. Fred felt elated by her relaxed attitude. She appeared more at ease when away from her home and he could understand that. At home there were prying servants to gossip and chatter about her actions or else her father was liable to appear unexpectedly at any moment. Now she was out in the open air and free as a bird for a few brief moments. He saw a distinct change in her attitude towards him and a joyful, girlish eagerness about her that entranced him.

    'Will you marry me, Eleanor?' he murmured. 'Will you?'

    She turned her head away and remained silent for a few moments.

    'I might,' she said and closed her parasol with a snap. 'In time– perhaps.'

Chapter 10

'Congratulations! I knew you'd sort the whole thing out, Fred!'

    Henry was delighted when he heard the news of Fred's success. 'Bottle of fizz in the cupboard. I've been saving it for a special occasion. Let's get it out.'

    'I wouldn't get the champagne out yet, Henry,' warned Fred.

    Henry paused and looked at his friend's worried face. 'Why, what's the problem? Did she say yes or not?'

    'She said yes the third time round. Yet I still don't feel sure of her. I absolutely adore the ground she walks on – but does she feel the same? It's hard to tell. Some days she's distant, cautious and careful, other days coquettish and flirtatious, and now and then acts as if she's completely disinterested – and that's the most painful of all. Damn it, Henry. I'm in agony.'

    Henry was unsympathetic. 'You said that's what you wanted. A girl with breeding and restraint. She's not the sort to fling her arms round your neck and slobber all over you in public like my Rosie. You wouldn't want that.'

    'No,' agreed Fred, 'I certainly wouldn't want that. Rosie's exuberance would be too much for me. You're right. I am glad Eleanor is restrained but I wish she would seem a
little
more enthusiastic at times.'

    'You can't have everything,' said Henry reasonably.

    'I know. It's the waiting that frightens me. I want to start calling the banns now but I haven't had the nerve to speak to her father yet. He's so protective of her and stares at me in a very offputting manner whenever I dare to call. It's like Daniel braving the lion in his den. I now know how he felt and
he
had God on his side. I just pray God's on my side too. You know, Henry, it's hard to imagine a world without Eleanor in it. She's a part of my life and I'm terrified some other fellow will jump in and snatch my prize from under my nose. I see danger in every man she looks at. There's hopeful suitors forever calling round. Suppose she prefers one of those?'

    'Calm down. She is a lady. She won't go back on her word now. You know that.'

    'I'm a dull fellow, I'm aware of that.' Fred carried on as if Henry hadn't spoken, his attitude tense and aggrieved.

    Henry watched him with some amusement. 'Not often you're so ruffled up, old man.'

    'I like to know where I stand in life, like to tread the same routes and follow known paths. I realise how very sheltered, comfortable, secure and peaceful my life has always been and that any sort of trial in my life finds me wanting,' Fred paused at this and flushed at the thought of Bessie, his first painful trial in life and a sordid memory that refused to leave him alone. Henry looked up and their eyes met in understanding. However, neither of them referred to the matter.

    'No,' Fred added with a sorrowful shake of his head, 'I'm not shaping up very well. You know, sometimes I feel as if I'm in a maze with high hedges barring me on all sides and no visible way out. I've reached the centre, seized the fair maiden, but how to escape with her? A stern father bars the way wherever I turn; conventions insist on certain proper manoeuvres, her changefulness sends me again and again in the wrong direction. For the first time in my life I feel rebellious, impatient, unsure of myself, ready to find an axe and hack my way through somehow!'

    'You just like to make a drama of it,' said Henry, 'stop acting as if you were trying to rescue Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. Thank goodness, I don't have your problems. Stop spouting all this nonsense. Sit down and have a cup of coffee.'

Fred sat down. Henry changed the subject.

    'Rosie is doing well at her ladies academy,' he said, 'but I know she detests being in the countryside. She misses the bustle of city life, never having seen anything greener than the Surry Gardens in her life. I miss her greatly.'

    'Is she improving, do you think?'

    'Well, she tries very hard. I suppose it is a bit like trying to make a racehorse out of a mule, poor Rosie. But it's not her fault she was born in Brixton and had such a terrible start in life. She's beautiful enough to get away with a bit of common. It would help if she wasn't so lively. If she kept quiet, all would be well and no one would notice her lack of refinement as much – but she does get excited and when she does, then all the cockney in her comes out. Still, I have high hopes.'

    'You really mean to marry her?'

    'Certainly. It's our bargain. She works as hard as she can to improve because she knows my mother and sisters won't come to our wedding if she doesn't. And neither of us would want that. Yes, I'll marry her and we'll move somewhere in the country, away from here. We'll lead a quiet life.'

    'But as you say, she won't like that, will she?'

    Henry sighed, 'Neither will I. But it seems the best idea. You people are all such snobs. I don't want to feel my wife won't be accepted by my friends.'

    Fred looked at him and felt sorry – but it was Henry's choice to take up with a girl like Rosie, so what could he expect?

Fred wrote to Ellie every day. Her replies were not as frequent but they came nonetheless. She loved to read the letters and then hide them away in her little writing desk. It was yet another secret to add to her past. She felt a sense of remorse at not letting her father know what was going on. A truthful and open girl by nature, she hated the fact that society and its rules forced one to keep certain things private and hidden.

She had just taken Fred's latest letter from the leather mailbag

when her father walked into the hallway. Hastily she put her hands behind her back, looking the picture of guilt.

    'What are you hiding, Ellie – a
billet-doux
?' said her father. His look was stern and her glance fell. 'Let me see this letter.'

    'No, Papa,' she said, 'it's my letter; it's private.'

    Joshua simply held out his hand and in the end, she gave it to him, praying Fred had not said anything too compromising.

    Joshua read the letter through and looked at her gravely.

    'Let us sit down and discuss this matter.'

    She followed him into the parlour and sat on her favourite low chair by the fireside, her skirts spread about her, her face somewhat flushed but not with the heat of the fire. She had always sat on that chair since a young child and it made Joshua smile a little to see her still take this seat from where she was wont to stare with a thoughtful, dreamy expression into the smouldering red coals.

    'I always supposed you had many admirers, my dear,' he said with care, 'but this appears to be a serious business. Why did you not mention it to me before?'

    'I'm sorry, Papa, I wasn't sure how things might proceed.'

    'Of course you did. You always know your own mind very well. And who is this impertinent, and no doubt impoverished, fellow?'

    'Mr Frederic Ashton Thorpe,' she said eagerly. 'Why, Papa, you
have
met him... don't you recall? When he brought over my portrait from Mr Winstone's studio? And when he came to call with his mother some time ago and then with his friend Henry Winstone last Friday? To make sure that all was well with the portrait, you know.'

    'Yes,' said Joshua slowly, 'I do recall. No one could ever forget
Mrs
Thorpe. She is a lady to be reckoned with. I have to say her son, however, made no particular impression on me. I know James Thorpe, his father, of course, a respectable and good man. We've met socially at our club now and then. At least your young scamp isn't impoverished but he strikes me as – undistinguished – and from what little I know, does nothing to improve that condition. Came to see all was well with the portrait, indeed – as if his friend, Mr Winstone, was in need of moral support! I'd say Winstone had a lot more going for him as a man and I like the fellow a good deal but he's devilishly poor and unlikely to better himself. In addition, I hear he consorts with some very undesirable women quite openly. There is no way I'd allow him to become my son-in-law. Meanwhile this young Thorpe has the temerity to admire my daughter, does he, and courts her behind my back?'

    'Oh, Papa, don't sound so cross and bearish! I could never be attracted to someone like Mr Winstone, never fear that. I do admire him as an artist and he is very charming but no, not as a suitor. Fred – Mr Thorpe, I mean – is a very kind, pleasant and, yes, I suppose, quite an ordinary young man. But he is a gentleman, Papa, you couldn't dislike him. I'm sure you couldn't. Do invite him and his parents to dinner some day, please say you will.'

    Her father made no reply for a while and Ellie watched him anxiously.

    'And how has he been making all these feelings of admiration known?'

    She blushed a little. 'I confess, he's been writing to me for some time.'

    'Indeed!' Joshua frowned. Ellie wondered miserably if he was going to prove difficult about it.

    'I would like to see the rest of the letters.'

    She rose obediently and fetched them. There was nothing to fear; they were adoring, but respectful in tone and intention. Surely, her father could not object.

    Joshua read them through in silence.

    He handed them back to her and looked stern.

    'In future, I would like to see these communications. It was wrong of you to hide this from me, Eleanor. And it may perhaps be time to see the young man as well and be sure of his intentions. You may inform him of that fact.'

    'Yes, Papa.' Ellie looked a little sad and glanced at her father's austere face as she rose to leave. She felt that things were moving along too swiftly. Was Papa going to be difficult now? She took the letters to her room and put them away in her desk. Then she opened the cage and called forth one by one her little finches, allowing them to perch on her finger and take some seed from her tongue.

    Watching the little birds as they flew for a short while around the room, she sighed to herself. There were times when she felt as caged in as they were and with less room to spread her wings.

Joshua gazed into the fire. He awaited the arrival of Frederic Ashton Thorpe and considered the situation. So, this was serious courtship. Eleanor had not rebuffed this young man in her usual peremptory fashion, which meant that she did like him. He half-smiled to himself at the tone of the letters she had shown him. Once, at that age, he had written adoring and nonsensical letters to his beloved Maria who had rejected him several times. Nevertheless, he had eventually worn her down. It had taken two proposals of marriage before she had at last agreed. Joshua had always wanted her, certain she was meant for him. Determination had won the day. In Frederic's outpourings, in the tone of his letters, Joshua read the same certainty, the same determination.

    They had met socially since then and Joshua's impression had not altered greatly. He felt sure his daughter could do better than this. What on earth did the girl see in this nondescript fellow?

    When Frederic arrived, he was ushered into Joshua Farnham's study. Joshua, seated at his desk and busy with papers, looked up as the maid announced the visitor.

    'Take a seat, sir.'

    He gestured to one opposite him on the other side of the desk thus creating a barrier between himself and this impertinent suitor. The two men exchanged the usual pleasantries and Joshua studied the young man before him for a little while. He was a handsome enough fellow with his fair hair and grey eyes and a look of angelic sweetness about him that would be sure to appeal to a sentimental young woman. Though he would never have thought of his daughter in that light, who was to say what a modern girl might find appealing? Joshua sighed. He knew that women were inscrutable beings, swayed by the oddest whims. Frederic looked back at him levelly and his eyes were clear and honest. That was in his favour. He had nothing shifty about him. But was Frederic Ashton Thorpe a suitable candidate for Eleanor's hand? Joshua Farnham listened to the young man's plea for some time and then at last waved him to silence.