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“He thought he knew best,” she went on. “About everything, really, and particularly when my opinion was involved.” She gave Arthur a sharp glance. “He wasnotunkind. And I loved him. But he always saw me as a girl, even when I wasn’t one any longer.”
Arthur nodded to show that he’d heard and understood.
“He hatched this scheme to marry Roger to Fenella. He and her father did, I should say.” She shook her head. “They’d been rather enjoying themselves arguing over the boundary between their properties. Firing off copies of old deeds and writing scathing letters. Then they came up with the idea of a marital alliance, as if they were kings of rival countries or some such nonsense. I told my husband that Roger wouldn’t stand for it. But he didn’t listen. He decreed that Roger was to go and offer for Fenella. Wouldn’t hear a word Roger said. And I expect Fenella’s father was even worse. Well, I know he was.” She fell silent again.
“So they disobeyed,” Arthur said after a while.
His hostess laughed. “Fenella sneaked off in the middle of the night and ran to her grandmother in Scotland. She knew her father wouldn’t dare hunt her there! My husband gave Roger a thundering scold. There was bad feeling on all sides. Raymond wanted to cut off Roger’s allowance, but I managed to persuade him that would make things worse.”
“A belligerent young sprig with no money is liable to fall into bad hands,” said Arthur.
“Exactly. And so, after a time, the tempest in a teapot subsided. I think all would have been well, perhaps even better than well, if it hadn’t been for Arabella’s mother.”
“Arabella?”
“She was Roger’s wife.”
The one who had died of a lung complaint after an ill-advised ride in the rain, Arthur remembered.
“Arabella was beautiful,” Helena said in an oddly flat voice. “Truly a ravishing creature. And her mother was, is, a very determined woman.” She glanced at Arthur. “I’m speaking as if you are a friend indeed.”
“Shall I give my word not to repeat anything you tell me?”
She waved this aside. “It’s nothing so dreadful. Roger was dazzled by the exquisite daughter. No one could blame him. And through the efforts of her mother, he wasbrought up to scratch, as they say. As a canny mother is meant to do. I don’t know the details, but I’m fairly certain he didn’t intend to marry right then. But he offered, and Arabella accepted.” She sighed again. “I was delighted actually. She had birth and breeding and wealth enough to satisfy my husband. I wanted Roger to be happy. We went down to London for the wedding. And as soon as I met her, I knew. Have you ever felt your spirits sink to the depths all in an instant?”
Arthur nodded encouragement. He sensed that she had needed to say this for a long time.
“It was too late of course. And I don’t know what I could have done. Well, I do know. Nothing. Raymond’s health was failing, and he was beyond pleased to see his son safely married. He thought Arabella a paragon.” She made a wry face. “Most men did.”
“Beauty can be compelling.”
“Oh yes. And so my son contracted an unhappy marriage. I could see that he knew it when they returned here from their wedding journey. But those were Raymond’s last days, you know, and I was distracted.”
“Of course you were.”
She met his eyes. “You know what it’s like to lose the person you’ve lived with, cared for, over many years.”
“I do.”
They shared a moment of silent communion.
“The first time Fenella and Roger met after she came home from Scotland, I saw what a mistake had been made.” She looked distressed.
Arthur waited. When she didn’t go on, he said, “Yes?” It seemed they had reached the crux of the matter.
“Never mind.” She stood up, tilting her parasol to hide her face again. “It’s very warm, isn’t it? We should go inside.”
Arthur had to be satisfied with this, and he rather thought he was.
* * *
“You have no family at all?” John asked Tom. He’d inquired before, but he never tired of hearing about Tom’s fortunate situation. It seemed to John that there could be nothing more liberating than being an orphan with no connections at all.
“Shh,” murmured Tom. The boys lay on a stream bank in the cool shadows of a willow. Tom’s bared right arm hung down into the water, very still. “Here comes a trout. Now watch.”
John leaned very carefully, so as not to alert the fish edging up the shallows, sheltering under the bank and beside rocks. He saw it slide out of sight near Tom’s hand, just the moving tail still visible. Tom’s hand, with fingers turned up, moved by imperceptible inches to that tail. Then it disappeared as he began tickling with his forefinger, gradually running his hand up the fish’s belly. John was nearly lulled himself when Tom suddenly tensed, twisted, and pulled the trout out of the water and onto the grass beside them.
John flinched. He couldn’t help it. “How did you do that?”
