Pricked in her vulnerable spot, Verena turned away, putting up an agitated hand to smooth at her own honeyed tresses, which she had left loose in her haste this morning. “That is because she had a bad night. It is no use expecting her to recover from a lifetime of torture all in a minute. She is bound to suffer bouts of distress.”
Glancing back at her brother, she saw a frown across his brows, heightening the hooded look.
Desperately, she added, “Adam, she is worn down with years of suffering and dread. She is only forty years old, but she looks ten years older than that. She — she needs time, that is all. Time to rest, to heal, to forget. She will bloom again. She will, Adam.”
She was aware of the uncertainty in her own voice, and knew that her brother recognised it. There was hardness in his face, and his tone was almost contemptuous.
“Here? Here, Verena? Where she has no home — no life, no friends?”
Quietly, Verena answered, “She has me.” She read a retort in his eye, and the stresses of the past hours overtook her all at once. Her voice shook, and tears stood in her eyes. “Don’t — don’t say that I cannot be enough. Pray don’t say that, Adam. If I could not believe that, live with that hope, I could not go on…”
Her voice failed, but Adam was already across the room, his arms hard about her. “Don’t cry, Verena. I know how much you have to bear. Mama, too.”
He released her a little as he felt her struggle, and she looked up into his face, the threatening tears arrested. “What has she said to you?”
“Verena, she knows how hard it is for you. She wants you to have your own life, as any young girl should. Marriage, a husband.”
Verena pulled away, all desire to weep leaving her. “A husband? Yes, I thank you, that I may be beaten and cruelly insulted at every hand in my turn! No, Adam. You will not persuade me that Mama could be better for a return to hell. And I promise you, if you tell your papa of our whereabouts you will never see Mama again, for I shall take her abroad where neither you nor Nathaniel will ever find us.”
It was not a satisfactory interview, for Adam, refusing to take this threat seriously, persisted in his arguments, painting a portrait of his father’s current state that made Verena almost want to hit him. Could he not see, did he not understand, that Nathaniel’s conduct was all part of the same pattern? But then Adam had ever tried to brush away what he could not bear,and being away at school had relieved him of the necessity to confront these things.
Verena, on the other hand, had borne witness to every assault as she anointed her mother’s bruises afterwards; witness also to the aftermath of remorse that completed the circle of Nathaniel’s vengeance. A vengeance that was, to Verena, incomprehensible — except that she knew it was provoked by “love”. No, Mama would not go back, no matter what Adam said.
Even now, she found herself scheming how she would leave Tunbridge Wells for some other refuge, although she doubted her ability to persuade Mama to move — not now that she knew Adam would visit her here. Verena had not realised how much Mama had missed him.
If she could only have trusted Adam’s unruly tongue. But he had his father’s intemperate nature — though not his cruelty — and deeply though she loved him, she dared not have faith in his ability to keep this all-too-important secret.
The appearance of the new young gentleman at the Lower Rooms on Friday evening created more than the usual sensation. At last there was something to be learned of the mysterious sickly mother and her exquisite daughter. Not that anyone could be said to learn much, beyond the fact that young Mr Peverill was his mother’s son and a source of joy and pride to her — perhaps even more than was her daughter.
“He is not nearly as handsome as his sister,” Unice reported, having been one of the first to be presented, “but he has a good deal more of animation, let me tell you. A very pleasant boy. His mother is clearly besotted with him.”
“And what of Miss Chaceley?” demanded Denzell, who could not see his snow maiden in the press of persons gathered about the family.
“What do you mean, what of her?”
“Is she besotted?”
Unice tutted. “How in the world could I tell? You don’t suppose she is demonstrating anything more than her usual company face, do you?”
“Probably not,” he agreed, glancing across to where the knot of people was beginning to disperse a little. “Aha! There goes Mrs Peverill, determined no doubt to introduce the paragon all around. Now is my chance.”
“Your chance for what?” asked Unice. “I thought you said you were not meaning to flirt with her.”
“I am not.” He grinned wickedly. “But that does not mean I will not use what weapons I possess. I mean to probe the mystery of Miss Verena Chaceley to its very depths.”
Verena, finding herself superseded by her brother as the object of public interest, slipped thankfully into the other of the two rooms which, although still remaining open, had been largely abandoned by the company who tended to congregate in the warmer one. She had not wanted to come tonight, knowing Adam’s presence would give the locals more food for gossip. But Mama had insisted, and Verena could not find it in herself to cast a damper over her uplifted spirits.
She did not share her mother’s mood. On the contrary, every moment that Adam remained here only brought her more anxiety. True, he had refrained, adhering to the promise she had managed to extract, from speaking of Nathaniel’s state and made no further attempt to suggest to Mama that she should go back.
It was not fear of what he might say and, although she had been on tenterhooks in case Nathaniel should have followed Adam unbeknownst, it was not a nervous anxiety that beset her. It was, she admitted to herself, Mama’s very vivacity that was making her anxious.
Finding herself alone in the room, but for two old tabbies conversing in low tones in a chair in a corner, she was conscious of a chillier atmosphere and was glad of the short vest of sky-blue velvet she had chosen to wear over the round gown of white muslin with its long silk-lined sleeves.
She moved towards the much smaller fireplace that gave out too little warmth to make the place inviting. Resting her hand on the mantel, she looked down into the glowing embers below and allowed herself to relax the stern mastery of her features.
A small sigh escaped her. Here had she toiled these few short months to give Mama some semblance of normality, to keep her from too much brooding on the past, with, it had to be admitted, but indifferent success. And yet Adam, making a wholly unexpected appearance, had thrown her into alt and kept her there in a mere two days. She could not help feeling disheartened, even while she rejoiced at it.
Worse was the growing conviction that Adam’s departure would bring on Mama’s deepest gloom. And then what was she to do? Would Mama begin to dream of a return, if only to be near her son again?
