A Civil Contract

hurt. You say she has always known that I love you. I’ve supposed that she must, but she has never spoken of it to me, or betrayed by the least sign that she does know.”

“Why should she care? You’ve given her so much! She can’t grudge me your friendship! Are you thinking of what people would say? But if I were to be married? One’s position is then so different!”

He gave a shaken laugh. “Oh, Julia, my little foolish one! No, I wasn’t thinking of your position, but of Jenny’s. I couldn’t mortify her so. She offered me a carte blanche once, but I knew when I entered into our contract that I was marrying a girl bred in a stricter mould than is general in our order.”

“Oh, yes, yes! Respectability is Jenny’s god, but must it be yours?”

He did not answer for a moment, and then he said gently: “I owe Jenny a great deal, you know. She studies all the time to please me, never herself. Our marriage isn’t always easy, for either of us, but she tries to make it so, and behaves more generously than I do. Given her so much! You know better than to say that, my dear! I had nothing to give her but a title — and I wonder sometimes if she sets any more store by that than you would.”

“Of course she does! I don’t blame her: I know what it must have meant to her, situated as she was, to be so elevated! You may think it a worthless thing, but how could she? Easy to despise what you’ve always had! Once, she said that to me. I hadn’t understood — I was in such distress! — but I did then. She said she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last to marry for the sake of position.”

“Did she? But position wouldn’t compensate her for the humiliation of being pitied, or sneered at, by the ton, because it was seen that I still loved you, Julia.”

“Oh, no, no! But people don’t! Think of the Ashcotts! Everyone knows that Ashcott is more than Mrs Perth’s friend, but no one — ”

“It is also pretty freely rumoured that Lady Ashcott has found consolation,” he interrupted. “But what would Jenny do, if I neglected her? She wasn’t born into our set; she hasn’t a host of friends and relations, as you have — as Lady Ashcott has; and she’s too shy to make her own way. We made a one-sided bargain: it’s she who gives, and I who take — but I can at least give her loyalty!”

She caught her breath on a sob. “I didn’t mean — or wish — I wouldn’t injure her! But we have been such dear friends, Adam! Must we never meet and talk together, as we were used to do? Jenny wouldn’t grudge us such a tiny crumb of comfort!”

“It wouldn’t be comfort, Julia. Oh, my love, can’t you understand — ?”

“I miss you so,” she said sadly. “Wouldn’t it be a little comfort?”

He could only shake his head. She turned away, saying: “I didn’t know we must be wholly estranged. I must be very stupid, I think.”

Chapter XVIII

it was fortunate for adam that the improvements he had been able to start on the estate kept him too busy to leave him with much time to waste on reflection which he knew to be idle. He could not resent Julia’s visit, because his heart still yearned for her, but the. sight of her in the house where he had hoped to have installed her as his wife stirred up all his suppressed emotion.

When the visitors had departed he braced himself, glancing at Jenny. But she only said: “To be sure, it’s agreeable to see one’s friends, but it’s wonderful how they always choose to come when one’s busy! I’d meant to have spent the afternoon in the stillroom, but it’s too late for that now, and too late for you to go back to your harvesting either.

Neither of them mentioned the visit again. The next days brought their duties, their small successes, and their annoying failures. There was always something to be done, even if it was only teaching Jenny to drive the chair-back gig she had found in one of the coach-houses; and when no active employment offered there were future plans to be considered, and ways and means to be calculated; so that by the time Mr Chawleigh came to Fontley, midway through September, Adam was too much engrossed in estate business to have much leisure for thinking about the ruin of his hopes, or his lost love’s unhappiness..

Mr Chawleigh arrived on a golden afternoon, two hours before he was expected. Neither Jenny nor Adam was at home: a circumstance which disturbed him far less than itdisturbed Dunster, who was thrown off his balance by the size and style of my lady’s parent. Before he had time to recover from the first shock he found himself clutching a pineapple, which Mr Chawleigh handed over with a recommendation to him to set it on a plate in the dining-room, out of the cook’s way. “For we don’t want it messed up into fritters or ices, mind!” He then turned to admonish his valet, a spindleshanked individual who was climbing down from the chaise with a rush bag in his grasp. “Bustle about, now!” he ordered. He seized the bag, and thrust that too into Dunster’s nerveless hand. “Now, this you can take to the cook, and the sooner the better! It’s a turtle, and you may tell him that he’s to roast the meat from the blade-bone — and mind this! — it’s to be stewed for a couple of minutes first, and then put on a lark-spit, and then brushed over with eggs and breadcrumbs before he ties it to the roasting- spit!”

None of Fontley’s guests had ever before handed Dunster a turtle in a rush bag, and he stood dumbfounded until one of the footmen tactfully removed it from his hold, when he recovered himself sufficiently to say: “Yes, sir!”

“And he can make a soutie of the liver,” added Mr Chawleigh. “So her la’ship’s out, is she? Well, that’s no matter: I’ll take a turn about the place till she gets back.”

Pulling himself together, Dunster said: “If you would be pleased to step into the Green Saloon, sir, I will have a message taken to her ladyship directly. No doubt you will be glad of refreshment after your journey, sir.”

“Well, I won’t say no to a glass of Madeira, if his lordship has some in his cellar,” replied Mr Chawleigh genially. “But there’s no sense in sending messages to her la’ship: she’ll come home soon enough! Do you take that jobbernoll of mine up to the guest-chamber, so that he can unpack my gear while I look around.” He cast a glance round the Great Hall, and added: “I take it this is the antique part of the house, and very fine too, I daresay, though I’ve no fancy for stone floors myself, and if that huge fireplace don’t give out more smoke than heat you may call me a Jack Adams!” He then waved aside a reiterated offer of escort to the Green Saloon, saying that he would stretch his legs a bit, so there was nothing for Dunster to do but to withdraw. When he returned to the hall, bringing the Madeira, he found Mr Chawleigh inspecting the staircase. Mr Chawleigh said that it was a handsome piece of carving, but that for his part he would lose no time in laying down a good thick carpet. “It’s a wonder you’ve none of you broke your necks,” he remarked, taking the glass that was being offered to him. “What’s more, it’s to be hoped I don’t break mine. Thankee! No need to leave the decanter: I’m as ready to play off my dust as the next man, but I’m not one as has a spark in his throat. Not but what this is a very tolerable Madeira, and you may fill up my glass again before you take yourself off.”

Having disposed of his wine, and dismissed Dunster, he set out on a tour of investigation.

His feelings were mixed. His first view of the Priory had come as a disappointment, for although he had been told that it was a house of great antiquity his informants had not succeeded in ridding his mind of its belief that it must be a Palladian mansion of uniform and stately design. Nor was he favourably impressed by its position. There was no prospect to be obtained from its windows, and he did not like the surrounding country. When he had alighted from his chaise he had perceived that the house was larger than he had first supposed, but he wondered why anyone should admire such a jumble of buildings. There was no elegant facade, and not even a terrace to lend dignity to the irregular frontage. One worn, shallow step led to the porch; and the great oaken door made him feel as if he were entering a Church.

The Great Hall did impress him, however. It was the sort of room anyone could see belonged to a lord. There were two suits of armour flanking the fireplace; various ancient weapons were arranged on the walls; and the Deveril arms were carved in the centre of the stone chimney-piece. Having taken stock of these embellishments, he wandered off down the vaulted corridor, which led, past a succession of parlours, to a secondary hall, another staircase, and the library. He thought poorly of the parlours: none of them was large, and most of them were wainscoted, which made them dark. The library pleased him better. It was larger and loftier; and if a new carpet were laid down, and the worn leather covering the chairs renewed it would be a tolerably handsome apartment. He was gratified to see the K’ang-hsi bowl occupying a place of honour. It would have been safer in a cabinet, but it certainly looked very well in the corner embrasure: He would warn Jenny not to let the servants dust it.