His father reached out for his hand, and shook it, his clasp strong and warm, his palm callused, then raised his glass of ale in a toast. ‘Does she know, your girl?’
‘Her name is Allegra, and she knows everything. She’s Schiavi’s granddaughter; that’s how I met him. They have their own secrets.’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
No arguing with that. ‘Are you really leaving?’
He finished his ale, set down the tankard. ‘Shipping out in a couple of days. Off to fight the bastard Bonaparte, you know.’ They shared a laugh; it really was amusing. ‘Heading east, I hear tell, right across the Mediterranean. Egypt. Never been. Africa. My shipmates tell me, Jack, you old bugger, you’ll feel right at home. Joking, you know, as they think. I’m not so sure.’
‘Do you know where your mother came from? Anything about her life?’ Max was hesitant, aware he might be trespassing, but if he didn’t ask now, he never would.
Martin shrugged. ‘I was quite small when she died. She was born on Martinique, herself. Her parents were the ones… brought. West Africa, I suppose. They were young and frightened, from all I heard tell. If their country or their people had a name, they might not know it, or remember it after all they went through. I saw my father once or twice; he was an Englishman, like the story said. Vicious bastard. He didn’t free me; his wife did. Didn’t like looking at me, can’t imagine why. He’s dead too, I’m glad to say. Saves me the trouble of doing it, and swinging for it. Nothing for you there, son, on either side. I won’t name him, won’t put it in your head where it’d fester. I never had his name, never wanted it – made up my own, when they said I had to have one, in the navy. You have a good name of your own, from people who cared for you. Listen to me, because I may never tell you anything again – let all that go.’
‘You’re right, I will.’
‘Good.’
He left soon after that, taking the money because his father wouldn’t, and insisted he did. ‘Buy your girl a present, son, if you like,’ he said with a rare touch of softness. ‘Something pretty. I never could do that for Rose. And now, of course…’ He said he would.
It wasn’t very likely that any of his friends, Gil or Tom or anyone else, would read a piece in a literary review – the idea made him smile as he walked home, his mind whirling – but someone who knew him would, sooner or later, surely. The whole ton would be whispering about it fast enough. A minor scandal, a three-day sensation, and a wonderful one, as far as he was concerned. He wondered if anyone would have the temerity to approach him, to draw his attention to the story. Didn’t know what he’d say if they did.Iknow, perhaps.Ihaveseenit. Suitably enigmatic. He certainly wasn’t going to deny it. Not when it had given him his life back, and was going to give him Allegra.
50
There was no more need for concealment, or for clandestine meetings. Mr Constantine was summoned from his Surrey estate, where he’d been peacefully overseeing the haymaking and enjoying the fine weather, to receive a formal offer for his daughter’s hand from a gentleman who intimidated him slightly, so intense was his manner. This young man, before he would allow his prospective father-in-law even to consider his proposal, had insisted he read a story in literary magazine. A story! Mr Constantine would have found this highly confusing, possibly a sign of incipient mental imbalance, if he hadn’t been already primed to expect as much by his wife. He’d read the piece before, therefore, and more than once, but he could see that the young fellow wouldn’t be satisfied by anything less than the appearance of a slow and intent perusal in front of him, so, because he was a kindly person, and one who preferred an easy sort of life besides, he did that, all the while uncomfortably aware of Mr Severin’s disconcertingly hot amber gaze.
Mr Constantine had a sense of humour, which perhaps was just as well for a man with six daughters. ‘I would love to see yourface, Severin,’ he opined, raising his own eyes and meeting his guest’s regard at last, ‘if I showed myself shocked by what I’ve just read – it was rather well done, I thought; clever fellow – and told you that if all this melodramatic stuff is true, I could not possibly consider you as a suitable candidate for Allegra’s hand, and must insist you leave my roof directly.’
Sheer horror and panic swept across the lad’s features, to be replaced an instant later by comprehension, and an answering flare of amusement. Thank God – he wasn’t stupid. Allegra would not deal well with someone stupid. Let alone her mother. ‘It would see me well served, wouldn’t it, sir?’ Max said ruefully. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’ve put you in an awkward position, but it was important to me that you knew the truth of who my father is, and where I come from. But I confess I would be most taken aback – to put it no more strongly – if you said you wanted no part of me because of it. I do realise that’s not entirely fair. I have no business to be putting you to the test.’
‘I understand that there has been an unprecedented amount of truth-telling in this house while I have been away,’ Mr Constantine replied equably. ‘And so you will no doubt be relieved to hear that I am not a raging hypocrite nor yet a pompous fool. I love my wife, whom I met when she was singing ballads in the street with her old rascal of a father. Saw her, heard her, and that was it for me. I’m not the one, you know, Severin, who insisted upon the ridiculous and risky deception we’ve been imposing on the world for the last five and twenty years or so. I don’t care two pins about the ton, or my daughters making fine matches, being duchesses and so on. That’s a lot of nonsense, in my opinion. I just wanted my wife to be content with her life. I want that for Allegra too, and she – evidently – wants to marry you, though heaven knows why, because you seem like an unrestful sort of fellow to me. But obviously that’s what she likes.So yes, you have my permission to address her. I know you haven’t made me your formal offer yet – can we consider that you have, and I have accepted it, and move to the part where I shake your hand and wish you both very happy? Unless you have a fine speech got up by heart and a great need to relieve yourself of it?’
Max strode forward – he’d been standing by the fireplace, stiff as a poker in his anxiety – and took Mr Constantine’s hand in both of his, and wrung it fervently. His prospective father-in-law smiled, and returned the pressure in a less extreme manner.
‘I must insist upon a very short engagement, or a long one,’ the older gentleman said firmly. ‘When we’ve got the hay in safely, we like to have a celebration. Dancing and singing, and a feast, drinking our local cider, you know. I don’t want to miss that unless I absolutely must. Daughters are forever getting married, in my experience, with varying degrees of fuss that I don’t concern myself with, but it’s been a good growing year, and that’s not so common, for the apples and the hay, even the cherries, which can be tricky. Hops look promising, too, though it’s early to be sure, of course.’
‘That must be up to Allegra,’ Mr Severin replied, seeming sadly unwilling to be diverted into more interesting agricultural discussions. ‘For my own part, I’d be happy with a very short engagement, and a special licence. Perhaps we could combine the wedding with the celebration you speak of, and then Allegra and I can go straight on to Kent, to my estate there, for our honeymoon. I don’t suppose there can be any great distance between your estate and mine, can there, sir? Mine is inland from Lympne, if you know it.’
‘How are the hops in that part of Kent?’ Mr Constantine asked a trifle wistfully, to which his guest returned the vaguest of answers. He would love to know, but he could see that that was a conversation for another day. He asked Severin to ring the bell,Allegra and her mother were summoned, and soon enough was obliged to give up his own study to the happy pair, for a short time, he trusted. It was excellent news about the brief engagement, though. He had reason to know the chaos that the buying of bride-clothes and so forth could bring. And the horrifying cost. If it could be limited to a few days only – less than a week, perhaps? – that would suit him very well.
51
Mr Severin had called and was closeted with Mr Constantine in the latter’s study, and everyone in the house knew it. This could only mean one thing: an offer of marriage. The girls, discovering this, were in uproar. Miss Macintyre threw up her hands and said that even she could not be expected to keep order in such circumstances. Lessons would be resumed later, when everyone was calmer, and suitable punishments decided upon. Italian verbs even more hideously irregular than the ones that had gone before might be memorised.
‘Allie, you never told us!’ Beatrice said accusingly, after another thundering progress up the stairs to Allegra’s tiny bedroom. ‘This mysterious gentleman is here to offer for you, I can see from your moony expression that you’re going to accept him, so you must have known about it, possibly for ages, and yet you never said a word to us! You have been shockingly clandestine in your behaviour, and deceived us terribly, not to mention Mama. I wonder you dare look us in the face, personally. Faces.’
‘You could have told us when the letter came,’ Cecilia added, not to be outdone in indignation. ‘We all saw him, and spoke toyou of it and of him, but when we asked you what its contents were, you fobbed us off, saying that you hardly knew him, which was, we now see, untrue! Instead, that would have been a perfect opportunity for frankness.Sisterlyfrankness.’
‘Yes, it would,’ Allegra agreed hastily, before Bianca chipped in with something perfectly ridiculous in the same vein. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been rather difficult. Have you seen the story in the periodical – the very affecting one about the man looking for his son for so many years, and finally going away without meeting him?’ She was sure they must have done; reading material was always eagerly seized upon in the Constantine household, at least by Cecilia, and by the others in imitation of her. Furthermore, parts of the tale had a slightly salty edge that would be bound to appeal to them all; a suggestion that such a piece wasn’t quite appropriate for their eyes and must be devoured discreetly, when nobody was watching.
They looked at her with dawning understanding. ‘Mr Severin is the young gentleman in the story, who was adopted?’ Cecilia asked, her face a picture of wonder. ‘It’s all true? I thought it was just a fiction, but you’re saying it isn’t?’
She nodded. They’d agreed a tale to tell her sisters, and anyone else who asked. It was rather neat, she thought. ‘Mr Severin has been desirous of pressing his suit for some while, and I was aware of that, and wished he might, because I fully return his sentiments. But he had scruples.’
Her sisters had subsided now, in a row upon her narrow bed, elbowing each other for space but attentive enough. ‘Scruples!’ said Bianca, her eyes round. ‘How thrilling.’
‘He knew only that he was adopted, and of Caribbean origin, but nothing more until very lately. He has been searching for his real parents for many years, with no success, but recently he came across the story we all read, recognised that he must be thesubject of it, and immediately contacted the writer, just as the end of the tale suggested. He has been able now to meet his father and talk with him.’
‘He hadn’t left after all, on the next tide!’ Cecilia breathed. ‘He was staying, in secret, to see if his son reached out to him. He designed it on purpose so it would be his choice, the son, in case he did not want to acknowledge his humble father because he is a fine gentleman now! It’s sonoble, I can hardly bear it!’ Tears stood in her eyes, Allegra saw, and possibly in her own, too. It wasn’t true, but… it was, in a way. Max had written and told her every detail of his real first meeting with his father, and she had been deeply affected.
