The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [338]
‘We all are,’ she said quietly.
‘I only wonder if there is not something I can do. Perhaps,’ he continued, thinking aloud, ‘if Edward were to go to see her, I could accompany him.’
A little cloud crossed Louisa’s face. ‘I had not known you wished to involve yourself with Fanny,’ she remarked softly. ‘I am not sure she wants even Edward’s company at present.’
‘Perhaps. And yet’ – he shook his head – ‘I suspect it is precisely company – I truly mean affection – that she needs.’
‘I see.’ It scarcely required the female instinct, with which Louisa was well endowed, to see in which direction Martell’s feelings might be tending. ‘It is not easy to be sure’, Louisa said carefully, ‘exactly how matters lie. For that reason, perhaps, we are cautious.’
‘Your meaning? It cannot surely be that Miss Albion is guilty of this crime.’
‘No, Mr Martell.’ She paused. ‘Yet even so, we cannot at this distance know anything for certain. There may be something …’
He gazed at her, half astonished, half curious. Louisa was no fool. She was trying to hint something. But what?
‘I will tell you something, Mr Martell, if you will promise never to repeat it.’
‘Very well.’ He considered. ‘I will not.’
‘There is a circumstance of which my cousin may not herself be aware. You know, I think, that my father and her mother were brother and sister.’
‘I do.’
‘But they were not. She was his half-sister. And her mother … well, my grandfather’s second wife came from a different station of society. She was a Miss Seagull. The family are of the lowest kind: sailors, innkeepers, smugglers. And further back …’ She made a little grimace. ‘It’s better not to ask.’
‘I see.’
‘So that is why, perhaps, we wonder … we cannot be sure …’ She gave him a sad little smile and he stared at her.
For he saw – he saw it quite clearly – that she was not herself even aware of the incalculable malice behind what she had just told him. ‘It is good of you to confide in me, Miss Totton,’ he said quietly and made up his mind, that very instant, that he would go straight to Bath, at dawn the very next morning.
Adelaide shook her head. She had been in Bath for over a week, without success. At moments she had been so near the end of her tether that she had almost decided she could bear it no more and that she would return home. But she had been guarding the temple of her family for so long now, tenaciously holding on for her mother, her brother and her niece, that she could scarcely have let go had she wanted to. She was so locked, clamped, riveted to the house of Albion that she couldn’t have given up on Fanny if she’d tried.
This did not mean, however, that she was hopeful of success. ‘You’ll be like Alice,’ she cried bitterly. ‘She wouldn’t defend herself: falling asleep in front of that judge; never protesting. Are you going to let them murder you too? Are there to be no more Albions?’
But Fanny said nothing.
‘Can you’ – the old lady turned wearily to Mrs Pride – ‘say anything to persuade her?’
For a week, now, Mrs Pride had conveyed Aunt Adelaide to and fro, had listened quietly to all that passed in the Grockleton household and brought, as far as possible, a sense of comfort by her presence. She had also observed Fanny and drawn her own conclusions. So now, although she spoke gently, the Forest woman was firm.
‘I’ve known you all your life, Miss Fanny,’ she said. ‘I’ve watched over you. You were always bold and sensible. But they’re hunting you now.’ She looked straight into Fanny’s eyes. ‘You’ve got to save yourself. That’s all there is to it, really. Just save yourself or there won’t be anything left.’
‘I’m not sure I can,’ said Fanny.
‘You just have to. That’s all,’ Mrs Pride repeated.
‘You must fight, Fanny,’ cried her aunt. ‘Can’t you see? You must fight. You must never give up.’ She stared at Fanny, then turned to Mrs Pride. ‘I think we should go now.’ She rose stiffly to her feet.
As they left, Mrs Pride glanced back at Fanny