The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [290]
From here on, Mrs Grockleton was back in her element. The necessity for a new theatre, new Assembly Rooms and very likely new citizens were all warmly agreed to, so that she felt no hesitation in announcing, as they were about to leave: ‘I am intending to give a ball in the Assembly Rooms before long. I do hope, Mr Martell, that you will not disappoint us by refusing your company.’
And given all that had passed, Martell found it difficult not to respond that, if he were anywhere in the vicinity he would be delighted to attend – a form of words that normally would have committed him to nothing, were it not for the fact that he had a curious, uncomfortable feeling that, somehow, she would contrive things so that he was there.
‘Well,’ whispered Edward, as soon as they were out in the street, ‘what did you think of her?’
‘Give me “The Claw” any day,’ murmured Martell.
No further mention had been made of Fanny Albion, nor was it at dinner that evening.
The next day in the morning they took the carriage to call upon Mr Gilpin, who received them in the Boldre vicarage very cordially. They found him in his library, amusing himself by giving mathematical problems to a curly-haired boy from his parish school who, he informed them, was named Nathaniel Furzey.
The vicar was happy to show Martell his library, which had some fine volumes in it, and to let them see some of the recent sketches he had done of New Forest scenes.
‘From time to time I have a small auction of them,’ he explained to Martell, ‘and men like Sir Harry Burrard pay foolish prices for them because they know the money goes to endow the school and some other charities with which I concern myself. The life of a clergyman’ – he gave Martell a sidelong look – ‘is quite rewarding.’
There was no question that Mr Gilpin’s vicarage, which was three storeys tall and capacious, was a very handsome residence for any gentleman, and from the gardens behind he could display an admirable view across to the Isle of Wight. The breeze of the day before had remained about the same, but banks of grey clouds were starting to pass over the Solent water now which, with their silver linings, gave the scene an atmospheric heaviness, a contrast of shafts of light and areas of darkness that was certainly picturesque. It was as they were surveying this natural picture that Martell happened to ask after Fanny.
‘She is at Albion House now,’ Gilpin remarked. ‘Which reminds me’, he added thoughtfully, ‘that I have something to tell her. But that can wait.’ He looked at Edward. ‘Were you intending to call on her?’
Edward, after only a second’s hesitation, said that they were uncertain whether she would wish it at present.
Gilpin sighed. ‘I should think she must be lonely now,’ he remarked. Then, calling the curly-haired boy to him: ‘Nathaniel, you know the way to Albion House. Run up there and enquire, from me, whether Miss Albion will receive Mr Martell and her cousins.’
Some refreshments were brought and, answering numerous questions put to him about the area, he entertained them very well for something more than half an hour, when young Nathaniel returned.
‘I am to say yes, Sir,’ he reported.
It was not quite what he had expected. He could not say exactly why: perhaps it was the closeness of the trees as they turned in at the gate from the lane; or possibly it was the advancing grey clouds which, just as they had come down from old Boldre church, passed with their shining edges overhead, drawing behind them a shadow. All Martell knew was that, as the carriage approached the corner of the narrow drive, the sky above was sunless, and he felt strangely dull and ill at ease.
Then they turned the corner and came in sight of Albion House.
It was only the light, he told himself; it was only the grey glow pressing through the clouds that made the house so sombre. How old it seemed with its bare gables; how closely the green circle around it was hemmed in by the trees. Its brick skin