The Regency (119 page)

‘
Oh Miss Morland — Mrs Hawker, I should say!' she
enthused. 'What a wonderful thing! Pray allow me to offer
you my heartiest congratulations, ma'am! I'm sure no-one
guessed — but there, what a lovely surprise it will be for your
grandpapa, ma'am! A little one on the way! Just the news to
cheer him up!'

‘
Where is my grandfather?' Fanny demanded. 'Why isn't
he here to greet me?'

‘
He's inside, ma'am, by the fire. He asked me to apologise
to you, and bid you come straight in and warm yourself.’

‘
Is he ill?' Fanny asked sharply.

‘
No, ma'am, not ill — not precisely. But the weather is too
sharp for him to wait about in the cold. The doctor advises
against it, ma'am.'

‘Doctor? Why is he consulting the doctor?'

‘
Oh, Mrs Hawker, your grandpapa is getting on in years,
and after his unfortunate seizure last year — well, he hasn't
ever been quite what he was. The shock which brought it on,
ma'am — well, I'm sure there's no need to mention that
again! But his nerves were much disordered, and the doctor
says he mustn't be upset or over-stretched. Rest and quiet,
that's what he needs. I'm sure you understand.'

‘
Oh yes,' Fanny said, fixing her with a gimlet eye. 'I understand everything, Mrs Murray, I assure you! Good afternoon,
Bowles! Have my bags taken up to my room, will you. What
time do you serve dinner?'

‘Well, miss — ma'am, I should say,' the old man began to mumble, but Mrs Murray broke in.

‘
Oh, your grandpapa don't take a regular dinner, Mrs
Hawker, ma'am. Just a light something, on a tray, you know.'

‘
He'll take dinner today,' Fanny said firmly, and addressed
the butler again. 'Send in some wine and biscuits at once,
please, and have dinner ready for four o'clock — whatever
cook can get ready. I find I'm very hungry after my journey.'

‘
Dinner, miss. Yes, miss,' Bowles said, blinking with
pleasure. 'And wine. Straight away, miss.'

‘
Thank you Bowles. You need not come up with me, Mrs
Murray. I can find my own way.’

Mrs Murray's lips thinned. 'I think I had better announce
you, ma'am. The shock might be too much for Mr Hobsbawn,
if you was to suddenly come upon him.'

‘
Fiddlesticks! He must have heard all the commotion by
now, and he knows I'm coming. I'll find my own way, I said.’

Mrs Murray subsided unwillingly, saving Fanny the
trouble of pushing her down the stairs. Fanny pulled off her
bonnet and unbuttoned her pelisse as she went up to the first
floor, and paused at the open door of the drawing-room. A
bright fire was burning under the chimney, a fine, welcome
sight, reflecting off the various shining surfaces in the room,
glinting on china and glass, glowing on polished wood. The
curtains were still open, shewing a glimpse of the waning day outside, and making, with their rich red velvet pile, a decided
division between the cold gloom outside and the comfort
inside. There was a smell of pot-pourri in the air, and there
was a display of dried leaves and evergreens in a vase on the piano. Mrs Murray, Fanny reflected again, was a good house
keeper.

Her grandfather was seated in the wing-backed chair by
the fire, as she had seen him on her first ever visit, just after her mother had died. He was hunched a little and staring into
the fire, as he had been then, but the difference in him was
enormous. He looked old now, shrunken and frail, and Fanny
felt a breath of fear touch her. He had always been so vigor
ous, bestriding half her world immoveably like a colossus.
Now she saw that he was mortal, that he might, indeed, die;
and though he must do so to leave her his mills, she found
that she didn't want him to. She discovered now, belatedly,
that she loved the old man, and she didn't want him to die.

‘
Grandpapa,' she said softly. ‘Grandpapa, I'm here. It's
me, Fanny.’

He looked up, and for a moment his expression didn't
change. She thought he did not know who she was. Has his
mind gone, then? she wondered in panic. He looked at her expressionlessly.

‘Grandpapa!' she said again, more urgently. 'It's Fanny!'

‘
I see you,' he said a shade irritably. 'And are you alone? Or
have you brought that worthless husband of yours with you?'

‘
I'm alone,' she said. She crossed the room quickly and
knelt down beside his chair, slid her hands under his, wound
her fingers round his. His hands were smooth, chalk-dry, with
hard, old-man's nails, like bird's claws. ‘Grandpapa, aren't
you pleased to see me? I've come all the way from York just to
visit you.'

‘You took your time about it,' he said.

For an instant she was puzzled — did he expect her to do
the journey in one day? — and then she understood him. 'I've
been abroad since my wedding,' she said. 'I only came home a
fortnight ago. As soon as I could get away, I came straight to
see you. You hurt
me
very much, you know, when you
wouldn't answer my letter. It made
me
cry.’

His eyes focused on her at last, and she saw the pain in
them. 'Hurt you?' he said, in a faint, sighing voice. 'Hurt
you?'

‘
Grandpapa, please say you love me! I can't bear you to
look at me like that!'

‘
Oh Fanny, why did you marry him?' he cried suddenly in
anguish. 'My little Fanny! You could have had anyone!
Anyone!'

‘
But you see, Grandpapa, I didn't want anyone,' she said.
‘I love him as you loved my grandmother. And when you love someone, no-one else will do, don't you see?’

He stared a moment longer, and then with an inarticulate
sound, he put his arms round her. She put hers round his
neck, and they hugged each other.

‘Fanny! My little Fanny!' he cried into her neck.

After a moment, Fanny released herself, and pushed him
back into the chair, laughing now, though her eyes were
wet. 'Oh Grandpapa, I knew you'd understand! We're alike,
you and I — you've always said so. I love him so much,
Grandpapa, and he loves me too. If you could see how much,
you'd forgive him for marrying me.'

‘
Aye, well, he'd better love you, that's all,' Hobsbawn
growled. 'And what have you been doing abroad, you minx?
Dancing the waltz in Vienna, I'll be bound!'

‘
Yes, and talking to all the great men, and playing
roulette!
But now I'm home to take care of my business. Fitz stayed on in Vienna. I didn't want to leave him, but business must come
first, of course.' She knew he would like this, and he did. He
smiled approvingly, and patted her cheek.

‘
Right! You're right there. But we must have a glass of
wine, Fanny — a glass of claret. Ring the bell for Bowles. And
you must want your dinner. I shall have to order something
for you. I don't know what there may
be. I
haven't been taking
dinner myself recently —'

‘
I know. I heard that from Mrs Murray, and it won't do,
Grandpapa,' Fanny said sternly. 'Slops on a tray! You must
take care of yourself, and not let Mrs Murray coddle you like
an invalid. She thinks you're an old man, you know.’

He gave a papery chuckle. 'Aye, you're right, Puss! Well,
we'll have a fine dinner today, and share a bottle of claret,
like the old days. Your poor dear mother had a fine taste in
claret —'

‘
Yes, I know,' she smiled. 'It's all arranged already, Grand-
papa. I spoke to Bowles on the way in.' She kissed his sunken
cheek, and the touch of it under her lips made her feel as
though a giant hand had clenched round her heart. He was
old! Death and mortality were like great rifts that drained the
happiness from the world. She wanted to press life into his
hands like a bounty, pour it into his lap out of her own abun
dance. She had so much of it: she could spare him enough to
keep him from the dark. She did not want to lose him now
that she had come at last to know and appreciate him.

‘
Grandpapa, I have something to tell you — something
you'll like,' she said eagerly, looking into his eyes, smiling into
him. 'Perhaps you've guessed already?'

‘Guessed? No, Fan, what is it?' he said, looking bewildered.

‘
Grandpapa, there's another Hobsbawn on his way,' she
said. Still he stared. ‘I'm with child, Grandpapa! I'm going to
have a baby!’

Slowly it sank in, slowly the realisation dawned. He stared
at her wonderingly, looked down at her belly, and then back
to her face, and a joy so luminous filled his eyes that she
wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

‘A baby? Fan, a baby?’

She nodded. 'Are you pleased?'

‘
Pleased? A baby? By God,' he suddenly roared like the
Joseph Hobsbawn of old, 'a baby! Pleased? I should by God
think I am pleased!’

The door opened at that instant, and Bowles began shuf
fling in, balancing a tray precariously in his knotted old grasp.

‘
Bowles!' Hobsbawn roared. Bowles uttered a little cry of
alarm, and the tray wavered perilously, making the glasses
rock. 'Bowles, take that stuff away and bring us champagne! Champagne, I say! Miss Fanny's going to have
A BABY!’

Bowles's toothless mouth curved into a gap from which a
dry, whistling laugh came sighing, and Hobsbawn began laughing too, banging his hands down on the arms of the
chair in childlike delight. Bowles was shaking all over, his
shoulders twitching, his eyes wet; Hobsbawn stamped his feet
and roared.

‘A baby, a new Hobsbawn! Bless my soul! A baby!’

Fanny, kneeling on the floor between them, turned her
bead this way and that, from one wheezing old man to the
other, smiling at their pleasure, at their absurd delight. And
then suddenly she felt the most extraordinary sensation, which sent her eyebrows climbing, made her mouth drop
open with astonishment. Careless of modesty, she pressed her
hands to her belly, and felt again the little fluttering, trapped-
bird movement that had rippled across it. Something was
alive, where before there had been nothing.