“Mama, you are raising the most dreadful possibilities in my mind. What is it? Pray tell me at once.”
A new voice spoke, as a figure emerged from the other armchair in which it had been concealed, for its back was towards the door where Verena stood.
“I will tell you, Verena.”
She fairly gaped. The visitor was a young man of slight stature, in whose countenance the resemblance to the dread spectre that hovered over her mother’s life was marked.
“Adam!”
All through the greetings, the moments of explanation, Verena felt as if she wandered in a daze; Mama’s pleading tones, joined with Adam’s as between them they attempted to assuage her expected wrath, seemed to pass by her in a dream. It appeared that Adam had driven himself here by easy stages in the gig which Nathaniel permitted him to use, to which his dark riding frock-coat, buckskins and boots, and the greatcoat and beaver thrown carelessly across the chair before the bureau, bore witness.
Only half aware, Verena allowed herself to be drawn to the day-bed to sit, with Mama close at her side, and her brother taking up a position on the little footstool that she herself was wont to use, and sitting before her with an expression of great anxiety playing across his features.
“For my part,” he was saying with vehemence, “I am only too thankful that Mama chose to write to me. You cannot imagine how it has been for me, racked with worry over the welfare of you both, and having no knowledge of your whereabouts.”
“But did you look, then?” Verena asked. “Did he?”
Adam shook his head, tutting and sucking in his cheeks so that he gave his face a look much like that of his father. “I did not,no. I made it abundantly clear that I would neither assist him to make a search, nor make one myself. I hoped it might cause him to desist.”
“And did it?”
“No. He did stop, but my words did not make him do so. We were barely speaking, in any event.”
At that, Mrs Peverill’s eyes filled and she squeezed his fingers. “Oh, dearest, I am so sorry. Never, never would I have sought to cause a breach between you and your papa.” A thought struck her. “Oh, my darling boy, I never thought to ask. Did he hurt you very badly? When we went, I mean.”
“Oh, nothing very serious,” said Adam stoutly. “At least, I promise you I gave as good as I got.”
“But he is so strong, Adam. I am sure you must have taken the worst of it.”
“Don’t you fret, Mama. I can stand a knock or two better than you ever could.”
Mrs Peverill’s hand went to her mouth in a little gesture of distress, and Adam, suddenly conscious of his own words, coloured up.
“Beg your pardon, Mama. I didn’t mean to mention that, I swear.”
Verena found herself angry all at once, the fog induced by the double shocks of the morning receding fast.
“Why in the world shouldn’t you mention it? If there is to be any further evidence of quite unnecessary secrecy in this room, I give you my word I shall scream.”
Mrs Peverill promptly dissolved into tears, and Adam flushed the more. But he was quick to jump to his mother’s defence.
“For shame, Verena. Has not Mama explained? Has she not begged your understanding? If this is the way you mean to go on, I am not surprised she kept the matter from you.”
Verena rose swiftly, moving away from them both to stand before the fireplace, gripping the mantel with both hands. Behind her, she heard Mama hushing at Adam, as if she might prevent him from provoking his sister further.
And why should she not feel provoked? Had she not reason enough? No wonder Mama had been so much on edge of late, saying repeatedly that Nathaniel must inevitably come to remove her from Verena’s care. Of course he might come, since she had put the means for him to do so into her son’s hands. It was not that she did not trust Adam’s fidelity. Of course he would not dream of a deliberate betrayal. But he had far less control than she — a lack which had earned him many a beating that she had escaped — and she would not put it past him to alert his father inadvertently to Mama’s whereabouts.
Controlling her annoyance with an effort, she turned to face them both. “I do understand, Mama.”
“Do you indeed, dearest?” uttered Mrs Peverill in piteous tones. “I would have told you, only I so much feared to distress you, and your burdens are heavy enough. But I found I could not endure to be without my boy —” reaching out to clasp her son’s hand between both her own as her voice trembled on the once again threatening tears — “without even a word from him, let alone never to have a sight of him.”
Verena sighed. “Could you not have spoken of it to me, Mama? Have I been so unfeeling towards you that you could not find it in you to confide in me?” She regretted the hurt in her tone, but she could not help it. As she might have expected, it had the effect of making her mother’s tears flow all the faster.
“Dearest, it is not that, indeed it is not.”
It was Adam who put his finger on the nub of the matter. “Verena, you ought to know how hard it is for Mama to speak out — on any matter. Her feelings have been so crushed.”
Yes, that was true enough. It must have been hard indeed for her to dare to speak of something which she knew must meet with disapproval. But Verena was uncomfortable with the thought that Mama should think of her as an authority to whom she must kowtow.
