London - Edward Rutherfurd [273]
“I’m afraid you must marry him,” he said, “and that’s the end of it. Let’s not discuss it any more.” And from the look in his eye, Tiffany realized that this was going to be even more difficult than she thought.
“You gave your word,” she cried. “Now you’re breaking it. You promised I could choose.”
This was too much. First an absurd demand, then an insult. No Bull ever broke his word.
“You chose,” he roared at her. “You chose, young Miss, and you chose Silversleeves. Now it’s you who want to break your word to him. I won’t allow it.”
“I hate him,” she cried back. “He’s a villain.” She had never fought with her father before in her life.
“Too good for you, I see,” he shouted. “But you’ll marry him anyway.” And then, with a bellow that almost knocked her off her feet: “Enough! Get out of my sight or by God I’ll thrash you before you reach the altar.”
Yet still, to his amazement, she held her ground.
“I will not speak the vows. I’ll appeal to the priest. You cannot force me, no matter what you do.”
“Then I’ll send you to a nunnery,” he yelled.
“Send me to St Helen’s then,” she cried in exasperation. “At least I’ll have some fun.” And she rushed from the room, leaving her father puce in the face, and stupefied.
An hour later, Tiffany was in her room at the top of the house, with the door bolted from the outside. “She will stay there until she sees sense,” Bull declared. Only the fat girl was allowed to go up with a jug of water and a bowl of gruel.
So three days passed. Her mother, supposing that it must be a case of nerves, went to talk to her and returned looking helpless. The preparations for the wedding, at Bull’s insistence, continued. Nor was Silversleeves even told about the trouble when he called. “She’ll come round, or I really will send her to a convent,” Bull told his worried wife. But as the days passed, even he began to grow discouraged until, at the end of the fourth day, he was so uncertain that he did something he had never done in all their married life. “What do you think I should do?” he asked her.
“I think,” she said quietly, “you will have to send her to a convent or let her have her way.”
Tiffany’s room was a good place to think. It was directly above the big upstairs room and had a pleasant view up the Thames so that she could sit and watch the traffic on the river by the hour. There, as the days passed quietly, she had plenty of time to consider.
What did she want? At first, she hardly seemed to know herself, except that she had no desire to marry Silversleeves, or be a nun. By the second day, she began to realize. By the third, she knew, and it all seemed so simple, so natural, that she wondered if she had not known it all along. But how could she bring it about? She did not know.
She would have to play for time.
She spoke quietly. Her voice was meek and small.
“I have always obeyed you, Father. If you loved me, you would not condemn me to a life of unhappiness.” She waited. When at last he replied, his voice was gruff.
“What do you want, then?”
Now she looked up at him. Her eyes were soft.
“I wish you would help me,” she said. “I am so confused. I beg you, give me a little time.”
“For what? To choose another husband?”
“To be sure of my heart.”
Bull paused. He had no wish to see her in a convent. God knows, he wanted grandchildren. He also had some knowledge of the human heart. Doing his best to set aside the embarrassment he felt towards Silversleeves, he tried to guess at his daughter’s real state of mind. Was she sure about Silversleeves? Even if she chose someone else, mightn’t she change her mind again? Few fathers in his position would have allowed their daughters so much freedom; it had probably been a mistake. He announced his decision.
“I will make a bargain with you,” he said, “but it will be the last.” Then he told her what it was, and left, bolting the door behind him.
After he had gone, Tiffany looked pale, and thoughtful. It was not at all what she