The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [340]
‘I am aware, Madam, that in the past there has been bad feeling between your family and that of my mother.’
‘Get out, Sir.’
‘I think it is unnecessary …’
‘Get out.’ She turned to Fanny now, as if Martell no longer existed. ‘What is the meaning of this? What are you doing with this Penruddock?’
It was not only the cold, angry question; it was the look of hurt, of shattered disappointment, of betrayal in the poor old woman’s eyes that was so terrible to Fanny.
She has looked after me all my life, Fanny thought, trusted me, and now I have done this to her: the most terrible thing that I could do – the worst, betrayal. ‘Oh, Aunt Adelaide,’ she cried.
‘Perhaps’, her aunt said, with a quietness that went like an arrow through her heart, ‘you have no need of your family any more.’
‘I do, Aunt Adelaide.’ She turned to Martell. ‘Please go.’
He looked from one to the other. ‘I shall come again,’ he said.
There was silence as he left.
‘Do you wish’, her aunt asked, still coldly, ‘to give me any explanation?’
Fanny did her best. She confessed that she had developed feelings for Martell without knowing about his ancestry. ‘I do not suppose’, she added, ‘that he knew of my ancestry either.’ She explained how she had discovered and, effectively, sent him away; and how she had not seen him since, until he had so unexpectedly walked into her cell.
‘You kissed him.’
‘I know. He was tender. I was overcome.’
‘Overcome’, her aunt said with bitterness, ‘by a Penruddock.’
‘It shall never happen again.’
‘He may return.’
‘I will not see him.’
Her aunt looked at her with suspicion, but Fanny shook her head.
‘Fanny.’ Aunt Adelaide did not speak with anger now; her voice was very quiet. ‘I am afraid that if you see that man again I can no longer see you myself. We shall have to part.’
‘No, Aunt Adelaide, please do not leave me. I promise that I shall not see him.’
Adelaide sighed. She turned towards Mrs Pride. ‘I am tired. I think we should go back after all. My child.’ She embraced Fanny gently. ‘We shall meet again tomorrow.’ Having, thus, done all she could to preserve the family, the old lady retired.
Fanny did receive one unexpected visitor that night, however. It was Mrs Pride. That worthy lady stayed with her nearly an hour, during which time she learned exactly what had passed between Mr Martell and Fanny, and saw only too well what the true state of Fanny’s affection was.
‘He came to save me,’ the girl wailed, ‘but it is impossible. I know it to be impossible. Everything is impossible.’ And though she held her, and let her cry, and comforted her as best she could, even Mrs Pride could not deny that what Fanny said was true. As long, she thought grimly, as the memory of Alice Lisle dwelt at Albion House, no Penruddock could ever come there. It could not be otherwise. Memories were long in the Forest.
The next morning Mr Martell came to call, but on Fanny’s instructions he was turned away. The same thing happened that afternoon. The day after, he tried to leave a letter, but it was refused.
There had been so many false alarms in the past that only when the doctor was absolutely certain that Francis Albion was dying and could not last more than a day or two did Mr Gilpin finally send a message to Adelaide.
The arrival of the letter placed the old lady in a quandary. She felt she must return to her brother yet did not wish to leave Fanny, the more especially since she dreaded the thought of her receiving another visit from Mr Martell. But when Fanny pointed out that there had been no sign of Martell for three days and once again renewed her promise not to have any contact with him, she felt somewhat reassured.
‘Besides, how could I bear to think that I had kept you, his only comfort, from him at such a time?’ Fanny cried. ‘Go, I beg you, and take my love to him so that he may know I am there in spirit if not in body.’
There was much truth in this and Adelaide agreed to go. There remained, however, the paramount question of the coming trial. It was