The Trespass (18 page)

Edward did not laugh, but explained to her gravely. ‘We must go out into the open sea to catch the wind,’ he said, ‘and to take the shortest time possible. If we crept along beside the land, as you have marked, we would take years to get to the other side of the world.’

‘But you would be sure of getting there,’ said Asobel, ‘because people could see you from the land and come and get you if anything happened to you.’ Her little face looked up at him anxiously.

‘I shall write to you, and then you will know that we got there safely and that I am already building a house for you.’

‘Shall we come really,
really,
Eddie?’ Asobel asked.

‘I don’t see why not,’ her brother answered, ‘as long as I have built you a house so that you would be comfortable.’

‘And Harriet?’

‘Harriet of course. And Mary. And Augusta and Mamma and Papa. All of you.’

Asobel asked again, ‘Really and truly?’ and her small, grave face stared at her brother.

‘Why do you doubt it?’

‘Because it seems like a dream, that you are going to cross the world, and I cannot think it in my head that we will ever come there because I know adults don’t always tell children the truth and sometimes when I think about you going so far away I feel funny because I think I will never see you again,’ and Asobel burst into tears once more. Edward stopped hammering and picked her up and put her on his shoulders although she was really far too big for him to do that now. He wandered into the barn with her and talked to her about what was in the boxes and how he would, indeed, build her a house with everything that he was taking.

Harriet sat on the last big box, watching them. Asobel’s little petticoats caught round Edward’s shoulders in an extraordinarily unladylike manner that seemed to affect neither of them and soon Asobel’s infectious, uncomplicated laughter came floating back out of the barn.

*   *   *

It was night. Harriet was in her nightgown. Her father had placed himself on the edge of her bed in such a way that she could not move. With both hands he was holding, stroking it over and over again, one of her feet. And then he moved towards her, whispering her name. And then he kissed her mouth.

TEN

Lucretia found she had no trouble acquiring young men for Edward’s Farewell. All the suitable young men in the surrounding area, including Lady Kingdom’s sons – ‘My dears, they are to come down from London again especially!’ – were interested in talking to Edward about the proposed journey; many were envious of his plans, and all were full of advice for his new life. Lucretia, remembering the success of the wedding, wanted to put up a marquee again. But she was persuaded by her husband and her elder son that it would be far too large for the small gathering that they were planning and that it was now almost November and a storm would turn a marquee into a mud bath. Instead it was agreed the servants would remove the furniture from the hall and bring in the piano so that there could be dancing after all and Cousin John looked forward immensely to – his head said
dancing with Harriet
but something else somewhere inside him said
pressing his cousin to him in the candlelight.

Alice returned from the Isle of Wight and visited almost every day. When her husband came too she clung to him and looked pretty, and pale, and fragile, like a wife: different from the unmarried girls around her. And she
was
different. She had acquired something the others did not have, a prestige. For she was now in charge of a house, in charge of servants, her life fulfilled, her dreams come true. She was A Married Woman. But she also had a tense, white look about her eyes, as if she had suffered a shock of some kind.

And sometimes she and Lucretia closed themselves in rooms – only briefly (for Harriet saw that her aunt kept these private moments as short as possible), and sometimes Harriet saw that when Alice emerged she had been weeping. Just once, Lucretia whispered shortly about Alice’s ‘dark duties’.

*   *   *

There was a great deal of laughter and squealing when the carriages arrived, for the rain poured down and the ladies had to be escorted under umbrellas as they ran inside; gentlemen manfully dashed the rain from their own shoulders with insouciance. In the house, fires were burning brightly in almost every room and the light from the candle lamps shadowed and dipped, caught in every fresh draught from the door. William and Lucretia Cooper welcomed everybody as they came in; servants took mantles and shawls and umbrellas. Asobel, under the strictest instructions to behave like a young lady, was rushing about like a demented peach-dressed cherub as the ladies she was supposed to emulate sat in small groups giving little high laughs of excitement and anticipation.

Lord Kingdom made at once for the beautiful Harriet Cooper. ‘I wish to engage you in the first and last dances at least!’ he said, bowing low to her. Cousin John, who was standing next to Harriet, looked thunderous.

‘This is not a ball, Ralph,’ he said, but the young lord was smiling over Harriet’s hand, which he had somehow managed to clasp in his.

Aunt Lucretia had, after much ado, engaged a pianist and a violinist who had come all the way from Canterbury and were already ensconced in the hall playing a particularly soulful version of ‘I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls’. They had even been given permission (after many requests from the girls) to play, later in the evening, a polka or two, even though Lucretia, taking her cue from what she had heard of the feelings of Queen Victoria, pronounced it a little vulgar.

There were only perhaps thirty young people and their chaperones but the hall was small enough to look excitingly crowded.

Harriet and Augusta found themselves at one point seated next to Sir Benjamin Kingdom of the unruly curls, the younger brother, who confirmed to them that he was interested in the science of geology and that he did sometimes study birds, but usually extinct ones. And that, in both disciplines, information was to be found pertaining to the history of the world.

‘The whole world?’ asked Harriet curiously.

‘Some birds fly to other summers,’ said Sir Benjamin, ‘and some do not. Their remains,’ (Augusta wrinkled her nose at the word
remains
) ‘could tell us much, just as rocks do. There is reason to believe that the world is more inter-connected than we perceive,’ and the grey eyes smiled. ‘You should meet my friend Charles Darwin, who also studies birds. One day he may persuade us that even we in Great Britain are connected to, indeed are descended from, lesser beings than we imagine.’

‘That is ridiculous,’ said Augusta automatically, and then she gave a small gasp and put up her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, Sir Benjamin, I did not at all mean to say that. But God made us, and we know from whence we come.’

‘If God exists,’ said Benjamin gravely.

Both girls looked at him in amazement. Just then the two-piece orchestra struck up a waltz and both girls were immediately claimed. But as she stood in obedience to the other gentleman’s bow, Harriet turned back for just a moment to Benjamin, who had of course risen also.

‘Do you not believe in God? There
must
be a God who protects us in this world. There
has to be.
’ She could not believe what she had just heard, leaned back towards him to hear his answer above the music, staring at him with intense concentration.

‘It is perhaps a matter at least for conjecture,’ he said gently. ‘Anyone who has been involved in geology, anyone who has seen ancient fossils embedded in rocks that must have been there for millions of years, would perhaps acknowledge that the existence of God as we have known him needs to reconsidered.’ And as he watched her beautiful face, so intense, so absorbed in his answer, so utterly
listening,
he suddenly saw clearly something else: his words had elucidated from her a quick flash of utter desperation which jolted him like a knife blow. And in that instant, as he caught that swift, anguished look as she listened, he had what he later had to explain to himself was a premonition, even though he didn’t believe in premonitions:
something, some action of his, would change this girl’s life.
Harriet was whisked away.

Benjamin was thrown enough by this odd experience to stand on the steps outside and smoke a cigar in the rain.

There Edward found him. ‘Ah, Ben, all this social intercourse is not much to your liking!’

‘Indeed, I am enjoying it very much,’ said Benjamin, throwing his odd thoughts and his cigar into the night rain. ‘What a wonderful adventure you will have, Eddie. Well worth a celebration!’

‘Come and see my packing,’ said Edward and the two men disappeared through the rain into the barn where Edward proudly recounted the contents of the boxes, the facts of the New Zealand climate, the farming possibilities and the terrain of the new country. Benjamin listened, asked questions, fascinated by Edward’s comments on the extraordinary length of the journey, until Asobel ran to find them because more guests had arrived.

‘I do envy you,’ said Benjamin, ‘and I do wish you much success.’ He almost mentioned Harriet, and then did not. He clapped Edward on the shoulder most amiably, saying, ‘I shall look for news of you,’ as they walked back to the house.

Later, dancing again with Lord Ralph, Harriet said, ‘Your brother Benjamin seems not to believe in the existence of God.’

‘Oh of course he does,’ said Lord Ralph, his dark eyes smiling down at her. ‘He was merely trying to shock you. You cannot be a Kingdom and not believe in God. And I believe in God, Harriet Cooper, because after all only God could have made someone as beautiful as you.’

And because she somehow felt relieved at his answer, and because he was so very handsome and spoke so obviously meaning to charm, just for a moment Harriet could not help but be charmed, and she looked up at Ralph Kingdom and smiled.

The beautiful brief moment turned itself into an arrow, and pierced his heart.

The Squire spoke to the musicians, who stopped playing. In the silence William Cooper cleared his throat in a friendly manner. Everybody turned to him dutifully and Harriet saw his dear, round face, an older version of Cousin Edward, beam at the assembly.

‘Welcome to Rusholme,’ he said. ‘You will all know that we have invited you here to make your farewells to our son Edward who shortly leaves us to travel to New Zealand. My dear wife and I are, as I am sure you can imagine, very sad to see him go. But we are nevertheless very proud—’ William spoke quite gruffly, so moved was he, ‘—that Edward will be in the tradition of a long line of British explorers – for that is what he is, surely – taking our world to the rest of the world, as it were. Edward, as a farmer, is to take with him the very essence of our farm here in dear old England: the wheat seeds, the barley seeds – and will plant that very seed from Rusholme in a foreign land. In that way Britain expands to countries less fortunate than our own, and Her Majesty’s influence spreads far and wide, silencing barbarians.’

There were many cries of ‘Hear, hear’ at this point and a tear was perhaps surreptitiously wiped from several eyes and the rain poured down outside. The Squire put up his hand.

‘As has been said by a wiser man than me: THE SUN NEVER SETS ON THE BRITISH EMPIRE!’ Then he turned to his younger son. ‘We shall miss you greatly, dear boy,’ he said, ‘and we must trust God to keep you safe. But let us hear proud things of you.’

There was now much applause and further cries of ‘Hear, hear!’ and the musicians, quite overcome with emotion themselves, struck up ‘God Save the Queen’. Everyone sang lustily,
happy and glorious, long to reign over us,
and all still stood erect for a moment as the last notes died away, thinking of Edward sailing so bravely to one of Her Majesty’s far-flung dominions. The Squire, almost in tears, nevertheless gave a sign to the musicians, who now broke into a polka; William Cooper bowed to his wife and to the surprise of their children, they began to dance. Cousin John immediately led Harriet, despite the looming presence of Lord Kingdom, who merely bowed good-naturedly to Augusta, who nearly fainted in delight. Alice and her husband then took to the floor, Alice’s tears and fears forgotten for this time. The stone floors of the hall rang with the dancing feet and the bright and cheerful music, while in the dining room the damask-covered table was set out with the finest cold collation the Squire’s farm could provide.

*   *   *

Afterwards, riding home with his brother, Benjamin Kingdom spoke thoughtfully. ‘Although the sun never sets on the British Empire I wonder if this wholesale emigration will prove to be a good idea. It is one thing to discover a new country, surely the most exciting thing on earth, and I do envy Edward his journey. But to colonise it may be another matter. Mr Gladstone has his doubts, if I remember. He believes that colonisation is a melancholy story, that wherever settlers from people in an advanced state of civilisation come into contact with the people of a barbarous country the result is always somehow dishonourable.’

‘It is progress, Ben,’ said Ralph. ‘History has shown us that you can never halt progress.’ But his mind was elsewhere. They did not hurry in the night. The rain had almost stopped. The horses trotted quietly down dark, chill lanes. ‘Miss Harriet Cooper is extraordinarily beautiful,’ said Ralph at last.

‘She is,’ said Benjamin quietly. ‘She was quite the most beautiful girl in the room. In that yellow gown.’

‘Ah Ben, you see, you notice worldly things occasionally,’ said his brother wryly. Benjamin did not answer.

‘But—’ Ralph’s horse turned down a long valley, sensing home, but Ralph held the reins tightly, did not let the animal have its head. Benjamin’s horse followed, similarly held; there was the sound of bridles being shaken and pulled in the darkness. ‘But – she made me feel as if there was a thin, invisible wall between us. As if,’ again Ralph hesitated, puzzled, ‘as if she were unreachable.’

Benjamin smiled across at his brother. ‘I cannot believe you have not had your usual success! Perhaps she is in love with her cousin John, I see he danced with her often.’