“Aye. She writes to me.”
“And do you write back to her?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, next time you write, Mr Shapman, tell her that I want her to come back here and talk to me. And if she is not minded to do that, I shall take it as a sign of guilt and put out the word to have her arrested. Understand?”
He nodded, but his eyes were wide. Michael left in a slightly better mood than he had arrived.
26: A Family Visit
The day after Walter’s return to Birchall House, Winnie’s sister Hebe came for a visit, together with her meek husband William Plaister, and their baby, Prudence. Theirs was a love match, and it always delighted Winnie to see the little glances they exchanged, the intimate smiles over the top of the baby’s head and the way they would accidentally touch hands now and then, as if they could not bear to be disconnected. How she envied them their closeness. If only she could aspire to such a marriage!
It was astonishing just how much disruption one small child, barely able to walk, could cause, considering that at one time there had been six children in the Birchall House nursery, yet creating one tenth of the noise and general disorder that now prevailed. Prudence, it seemed, was a wailing sort of baby, and so there was a constant flurry of nursemaids and anxious relations up and down the stairs at all hours of the day and night.
After an exhausting day spent repeating news already told by letter, admiring Prudence’s most effective lungs, and being weptover by Hebe, Winnie was then woken several times during the night. Eventually, realising that more sleep was impossible, she donned a comfortable old gown and shawl, and set off for her morning walk.
She found Hebe before her, loitering expectantly by the garden door.
“I knew you would be up early,” Hebe said, tucking one arm into Winnie’s. “Now we can have a comfortable coze, sister, and you can tell me all the little details of London that were left out of your letters, for one can never write everything, can one? But I am pleased to see you still have some of your old gowns. That one must have been tolerably flattering when you were twelve. I could scarce believe my eyes when I saw you yesterday — I almost turned to Mama and said,‘Who is that fashionable stranger in our midst?’Truly, I hardly recognised you, sister. When you wrote that Aunt Sofia had rigged you out in prime style, I thought perhaps it was your little joke, for she was always used to be a dowdy creature, worse even than you.”
“She is not dowdy any longer, I assure you,” Winnie said, as they left the house and set off into the gardens. “We did so much shopping, I cannot tell you the half of it! But her dressmaker was very glad of the business at this time of year, and made everything in no time at all.”
“But I suppose you do not care much,” Hebe said, laughing. “You never agonised over wearing last year’s gown as I did, or Mabel.”
“No, it does not trouble me. Gowns can always be reworked, and I feel more at ease in company in a familiar old gown.”
“You were very quiet last night, but whether that was that very fetching gown or some other reason must be all conjecture,” Hebe said, with an arch glance at Winnie. When no answer was forthcoming, she went on, “Now, Walter was surprisingly good company. He never used to make much effort to please, but hewas very agreeably disposed, I thought. I had imagined he would be in the most enormous sulk, but no one would have guessed by his manner that anything untoward had occurred.”
“He is a gentleman, and gentlemen do not fall into sulks,” Winnie said, a touch of pride in her voice, for she had been greatly impressed by Walter’s composure herself. He had avoided her, she noticed, and even though she would very much like to have talked to him on their former easy terms, she honoured him for his consideration for her feelings.
Hebe only laughed. “Really? Oh, you have a lot to learn, Winnie. But how are they going on at the castle? Izzy passed through like a whirlwind, by the sound of it. What a dance she leads that husband of hers! But what is the latest? Tell me everything.”
For some time they talked of the Corland family and the great change in their circumstances, and Winnie told her of Bea Franklyn’s new plan to persuade Bertram to marry her. They reached the tree house, and sat companionably side by side on the swings, Winnie moving with some vigour and Hebe, in deference to her delicate condition, merely rocking gently.
Eventually they reached the real purpose of the outing, as Winnie had known they would.
“Winnie, you are remarkably composed considering… well, recent events,” Hebe said, with a nervous glance at her sister. “Mama has told us under no circumstances to mention the subject to you, and I shall say nothing more, only that I am very pleased that you are bearing up so nobly after the tragic defection of… of a Certain Person.”
Her voice wobbled, and she fumbled for a handkerchief as a great tear rolled down one cheek.
“Oh, Hebe!” Winnie said, trying not to laugh. “It is hardly a tragedy. No one has died, after all, and I am no worse off than before.”
“But the dashing of all your expectations! And to leave so abruptly, with not a word! Is it all irrevocably over, dearest, or do you still harbour any hope of a reconciliation?”
That was a question Winnie could not answer. Her realistic self told her that Mr Lomax had gone for good, and that it would be foolish to think otherwise, so she sensibly suppressed any thoughts that held the least optimism.
“I do not think about the matter at all,” she said firmly.
This was not nearly romantic enough for Hebe, whose sensibilities demanded that Winnie weep copiously into her pillow every night. She would not have been surprised to find her sister entering a devastating, and perhaps even fatal, decline. She sighed in disappointment at her sister’s pragmatic response.
“But why would he simply leave like that? That is what I cannot understand. To be on the point of making you an offer… to have declared his intentions to Uncle Alfred… and then… to vanish! Why would he do that?”
Winnie could not answer honestly without dragging Walter’s name forward for Hebe to abuse, and she could not lie. She contented herself with saying uneasily, “Does a man need a reason? He thought of offering and then decided, upon reflection, that it was not what he wanted.”
“Yes, but—”
“And think how quick it all was,” she went on hastily. “Not even two weeks from the first meeting. One does not make so momentous a decision on so short an acquaintance. Oneshouldnot, anyway. He thought better of it, that is all.”
