“Oh, lord,” that gentleman said, mopping his brow with the handkerchief that he still clutched in one hand, “Ishould not have started this, ma’am. Sinclair wouldn’t likeit. But I hate to see m’friend maligned. I think you shouldask your betrothed, ma’am, about Sinclair’s connectionwith your school.”
“I would not think Philip would have much knowledge of Mr. Sinclair and his charitable endeavors,” Rebeccasaid. “Anyway, sir, it is easy enough, I suppose, to becharitable with someone else’s money.” She was feelingthoroughly out of sorts and beginning to say things thatwere really none of her concern. She did not stop evenwhen a remote corner of her mind reminded her that shewould regret having spoken later when she had had time tocool down and consider.
“Mr. Sinclair had no money of his own,” she said, “until he married. Is one supposed to admire him now forspending a small portion of his wife’s money on thepoor?”
“Eh?” said Mr. Carver. “Many men marry rich wives, Miss Shaw. And many of them never give a penny to thepoor.”
“Many of them do not treat their wives abominably, either,” Rebecca said incautiously.
“Are you referring to Sinclair?” Mr. Carver asked, stopping and turning to look full at her.
Rebecca had the grace to blush. “Forgive me, sir,” she said. “I really have spoken quite out of turn. It is none ofmy concern how Mr. Sinclair treated his wife. I nevereven knew the lady.”
Mr. Carver’s eyes narrowed as he continued to look closely at her. Rebecca almost squirmed with mortification. How could she have given in to such childish spite?
“Is this Bartlett’s doing?” he asked. “Has he been talking to you, Miss Shaw?”
Rebecca blushed again. “I would much prefer to say no more,” she said. “Please forgive my impertinence, sir.”
Mr. Carver ignored her plea. “You would do well to ignore Bartlett, Miss Shaw,” he said. “He is a viper in theguise of a man.”
“Oh, come now,” Rebecca said, recovering herself. “I can see that you would dislike him if you are Mr. Sinclair’s friend, but even you must admit that he was a muchwronged man. At least, it must have been painful for himto see the woman he loved so mistreated by her husband.”
Mr. Carver frowned. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said, “but it sounds as if he has been telling you some Banbury tale. My only criticism of Sinclair was that he treated that baggage of a wife of his withunfailing courtesy even when she was so obviously . . . I’m sorry, ma’am. Am being indiscreet too, talking about matters that are none of my concern. But I will say this. If youwant to know the truth of Sinclair’s marriage, Bartlett ain’tprecisely the one to talk to.”
They walked on in silence after one attempt to talk on a different topic. The new subject sounded so artificial thatthey both seemed to prefer not to talk at all. When theycame to the stile that led into the pasture and Rebeccasuggested proceeding alone, Mr. Carver made no objectionbut helped her over the stile and then swung himself intothe saddle and rode away in the direction of the Sinclairhome.
Rebecca had plenty of time to think. She slowed her pace and resolved to take as long as possible to reachhome. She knew that she would in all probability miss tea,but tea meant visitors more than likely. Yesterday she hadinvented some errands to keep her away during the afternoon, but when she returned the Sinclair party had stillbeen there and she had been forced to tiptoe to her roomand hope that no one realized that she was at home.
She had not seen Christopher since the disastrous afternoon at Cenross Castle, and she was willing time to pass quickly so that the fair would come and go and he wouldleave her life forever. The week after that she would bemarried, and soon, probably, she and Philip would moveaway to begin life anew somewhere else, he to kill hismemories of Maude, she hers of Christopher. It was not asatisfactory way to begin a marriage, she supposed, but itseemed to be the only way out of problems for both of them. She had no doubt that Philip and Maude really did harbor a deep and hopeless love for each other.
Rebecca was more disturbed than she would admit over what had happened at Cenross. The memories themselveshad been bad enough. It was almost unbearably painful toremember how close they had come to giving themselvesto each other, how deep and lasting their love had seemedto be. It was impossible to understand how he could havechanged so utterly and in such a short time. She shudderedat the memory of his coldness and callousness when hebroke the news of his impending marriage.
And then there was the other thing that had happened at Cenross—that very disturbing encounter with Christopherhimself. Why had he been there? Why would he want toresurrect the memories of what had happened in that placealmost seven years before? It was hard to remember whathe had said to her. She had been in such an emotional stateherself that her brain had not been functioning with greatclarity. And he had stood so close to her, his hand besideher head against the trunk of the tree, his blue eyes on alevel with her own and gazing into them. She had been toodisturbed by his physical nearness to understand his words.
She had heard them, of course. They were waiting somewhere in the jumble of her mind to be brought forward, fitted together, and comprehended. He had wantedto tell her something, had taken great pains to say it slowlyand clearly. He had loved her when they visited that placebefore. That was what he said. He had loved her with hiswhole being. How could that be? How could he haveloved her and married someone else just a few monthslater? It was not possible. Love could not be very strong ifit could be displaced so easily by greed for money. Shecould not believe him.
Rebecca’s footsteps lagged. She gazed down at her feet as she walked slowly across the pasture. What had madehim leave so hastily at the end? She could remember nowhow he had gone crashing through the trees, leaving herstill standing against the tree. She could recall her own pain, the almost overpowering urge to call him back. It had been the universal maternal need to comfort. Comfortfor what? What had he said? Whispered, rather. He hadwhispered, as if his voice was not steady enough for thewords to be spoken. She could not remember.
What had Mr. Carver meant by suggesting that she talk to Philip about Christopher? The two men had becomesurprisingly friendly, and Christopher had apparently beenspending some time at the school when it was Philip’s dayto teach. But what would Philip know about Christopher’slife beyond these few weeks? Probably nothing. He wasdoubtless impressed by the visitor’s behavior and interestin his work. But he could not know the man as she knewhim.
It seemed, though, if one were to believe Mr. Carver, that Christopher was a charitable man. He always hadbeen, of course, until greed had changed the course of hislife. If he had turned back now to his old ways, there wasperhaps a chance that he felt remorse for what he had doneand that he was determined to make up in small part forthe wasted years. She hoped so. She was finding it increasingly painful to hate him. She hoped he would beable to rise above his past.
My life came to an end the day I left you. I have lived in hell since then.
Rebecca stopped walking completely. She could almost hear him saying those words. Whispering them. Oh God,that was what he had said to her before rushing away upthe hill. He had lived in hell, he had said. He did not needto die. She closed her eyes and put her hands over herface. Dear God, he had suffered too. He had never beenhappy with his wife despite all the money.
Then why had he done it? Why had he married Angela? Why had he abandoned her?
Why, Christopher, why?
Rebecca removed her hands from her face after a while and gazed wearily ahead. She started to walk again. Mr.Carver had been puzzled when she had alluded to theshabby way Christopher had treated his wife. He had always treated her with unfailing courtesy, Mr. Carver hadsaid, even when ... He had not completed the thought.Even when she was with child? Had Christopher not wanteda child? She supposed it was possible to be unfailinglycourteous to someone and still neglect her shamefully.Perhaps both Mr. Bartlett and Mr. Carver were right. Aviper, Mr. Carver had called the other, though, a viper inthe guise of a man.
Whom was one to believe? Life had become so complicated in the last few weeks that there seemed to be no certainties any longer. And she did not feel that her mindcould cope with what was happening. She clung as to alifeline to the knowledge that in two weeks’ time shewould be married to Philip and could devote herself wholeheartedly to making him a good wife and helpmeet.She would be able to stop worrying. Life would becomesimple and tranquil again.
Rebecca looked ahead to the house, which was quite close now. A group of people was gathered outside thefront door, four on horseback, one on foot. Three of theriders raised their hands and waved in her direction as theyrode off. Christopher affected not to see her, or perhaps hereally did not. He was bent forward talking to Maude forseveral seconds after his brother and sisters had moved offin the direction of home.
Maude saw Rebecca approaching and waited for her to come up before returning to the house. “Oh, Rebecca,”she said, “you have been working too hard, dear. Wehave already finished tea and sent the tray back to thekitchen. You really must be careful for your health. Youhave been gone since early this morning.”
