Justin went out despite the rain. He was too restless to remain indoors all day. He took Captain and went walking off to the lake and across the bridge and a mile or so beyond it before climbing the hill on the house side and gazing about in all directions. There was, of course, no sign of Ricky. Visibility was not good anyway in the rain. He was terribly afraid Ricky would never be seen or heard fromagain. Which would be worse in a way than finding... his body. And he would always blame himself. Ricky loved him. He had waited all of July for Justin to come and it had not happened.
He was reminded of how Lady Estelle and her twin had waited for their father to come home during the years when they had lived with their aunt and uncle, and of how, even when he did come, he did not stay. However had they brought themselves to forgive the man eventually? Yet they seemed to have done so.
Could he ever forgive his father?
He shook off the thought, as he always did when it somehow sneaked under his guard and popped into the forefront of his mind.
His father was dead.
Would Maria ever forgivehim? Had she suspected the truth after he had told that wholly inadequate story? Would she ever believe it, even if she had? Or would she cling to what her mother had told her?
Ithadbeen his fault, that incident.
Throughout the year following his return home to stay after his university years he had been careful to avoid being alone with his stepmother. He had learned during the last few vacations while he was still a student that it was necessary to do so. He had become quite adept at it, even while she was just as busy maneuvering chance meetings or deliberate tête-à-têtes it was difficult for him to avoid. If she had wanted to walk to the village, for example, on some drummed-up errand and had deliberately chosen a day when she knew Justin’s father would be unable to accompany her, she would pout playfully and tell him she would forgive him this once and take his son instead. Justin would declare himself happy to oblige and would suggest bringingMaria with him. She would be delighted to have an outing, he had always said. And of course shewasdelighted.
But then had comethatmorning. He had seen his stepmother about to settle to some letter writing in the morning room, but that had been an hour before he went dashing into her room in pursuit of Maria and had found his stepmother there. Instead of continuing through to her dressing room as his sister had obviously done just moments before, uttering some abject apology as he went, he had pulled to an abrupt halt, somehow incapable of moving either forward or back, and quite unable to think of a thing to say. Though of course she had just seen Maria, shrieking and giggling, and must have understood the situation at a glance.
She had stepped into his path, set one arm about his neck, lowered her dress from the other shoulder, grasped his nerveless hand and pressed it against her bared breast, and breathed his name into his mouth. All that in a few seconds.
He had not even begun to react—his mind had been stupidly reeling—before his father stepped into the room, presumably having come through his own dressing room and then hers. She must have heard him coming, for her amorous advances had suddenly turned to struggles and sobs and admonitions and finally hysteria.
And Justin had stood there like a prize idiot, his mouth agape, his heartbeat drowning out all else for the first fateful minutes. No, not minutes. Just seconds really. They had felt like years.
She was lonely, she had once told Justin. His father did not pay her enough attention. He was old. He did not really love her. Justin on the other hand was soyoung.And vigorous. Sohandsome.They could have so much fun together.
Fun.
In an affair with his father’s wife. Whom he did not even like. Whom he actively disliked, in fact, because the only person in the world Lilian Wiley, Countess of Brandon, cared about was herself. Because she had made his father unhappy—though he never,evergave any outer sign that it was so. Because she neglected Maria, who doted upon her. Because she had driven away everyone whom she deemed a threat to her consequence—her own relatives, her husband’s relatives, her husband’s former in-laws. Justin disliked her because she had had the portrait of him with his mother and father removed from the gallery, having protested tearfully one day that it was disrespectful to her to have it hanging there for all to see—even though everyone told her she was far prettier than the first countess.
His father had banished him because he had seen—with his own eyes—his son attempting to seduce his wife over her protests and hysteria. Because Justin had refused to defend himself except with a simple denial. Howcouldhe have defended himself? She was his father’swife.If Justin was not guilty, then she was. How could he have told his father that? How could any son tell his father that? His father was an honorable man. He had taught his son the importance of honor above all else.
Perhaps his father would not have believed him anyway even if he had fully explained what had happened. Or perhaps he would have. Perhaps, even, he had believed his son’s simple denial. But what could he have done? Called his wife a liar? Banishedher? He had married her and made sacred vows to her. They had a daughter.
Perhaps on that morning he had had as little choice as Justin had had.
So things had been as they had been.
And were as they were.
The countess had told her daughter that Justin had stolen from her and been banished as a punishment.
Perhaps, Justin thought, he did not need to forgive his father. His father had been as much a victim as he had. Perhaps more so. He, Justin, had had a chance to make a new life—and had taken it. His father had not had that chance.
***
It did not rain on the following day, though clouds remained overhead and made the weather rather dreary. Most of the guests stayed indoors, enjoying the company of several visitors, all of whom brought stories of sightings that had turned out not to have any significance. Some of the guests ventured outdoors, a few to stroll as far as the lake.
Justin once more took Captain and went walking across the Palladian bridge and up into the wooded hills on the other side of the valley. This time, though, a few of the young people went with him—his cousins Ernie, Sid, and Rosie Sharpe, Frederick and Paulette Ormsbury, Gillian Chandler, Maria, and both the Lamarrs.
The wooded hills had always been a favorite playground of Justin’s when he was a boy. They were less contrived than the hill behind the house, with its ironically named wilderness walk, though he had always loved that too. Here he had been free to let his imagination run wild. Today he could think only of getting free of the trees, somewhere close to the lake and at a higher elevation than the hills opposite, where he had stood yesterday in the rain. Visibility was better today too. The cloud cover was unbroken but high.
The others were more interested in climbing straight up the hill so that they could descend the other side and walk into the village for refreshments at the inn—and perhaps for some news.
“I’ll keep going this way,” Justin said, pointing off to the west, when they were halfway up. “But do not let me stop the rest of you. Perhaps therewillbe some news.”
He looked at Lady Estelle, but he had been avoiding her—or she had been avoiding him—since the night they had met in Maria’s sitting room. He had been embarrassed by what had occurred, and doubtless she and her brother had been too. Any plans he had had to court Lady Estelle seemed to have evaporated. And she would be leaving here soon. They had promised two weeks, she and her brother, and there were only a few days left.
She was looking back at him now while Ernie was chatting with her on one side and Paulette was hovering at her other side.
