The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [342]
‘You think it wise?’
‘Wise or not, it may be necessary.’
‘I shall be guided by you, then,’ said Mr Martell.
The funeral at the old church on its little knoll had been an intimate occasion. The Tottons, the various Forest neighbours, the tenants and servants of Albion House had all been there. Mr Gilpin had kept the service short but very dignified. He had alluded to Fanny in his brief address and in the prayers and, as they parted from Aunt Adelaide, the congregation did not fail to send her kindly messages.
Adelaide had wished to return quietly to the house alone when the service was over and this was respected, so that it was only she and Mrs Pride who were conveyed up the drive to the old gabled house. When she was installed in the oak-panelled parlour, Mrs Pride brought her some herbal tea and left her, so that the old lady could doze a while before eating a small dinner of ham and retiring early.
Mr Gilpin appeared at eleven o’clock the next morning and Adelaide was ready to receive him.
You had to admire her, Mrs Pride thought. As she sat, very erect, propped up with cushions in a big wing chair in the parlour, she might be frail but, despite all she had been through, she was sharply alert.
When Mr Gilpin entered, Mrs Pride started to withdraw, but Adelaide summoned her back. ‘I should like Mrs Pride to remain,’ she said to Gilpin. ‘We could not manage without her.’
‘I quite agree.’ The clergyman smiled at the housekeeper warmly.
‘Let me tell you first’, the old lady began, ‘how the case rests with Fanny.’
She described exactly the state in which Fanny remained, her inability to come up with any defence, the lawyer’s concern, the whole dismal business. She spoke briefly of the Grockletons’ kindness, but she did not mention Mr Martell. When she had finished Mr Gilpin turned to Mrs Pride and asked her if she had anything to add.
Mrs Pride hesitated. What should she say? ‘Miss Albion’s recollection is very precise,’ she said carefully. ‘Miss Fanny’s case seems grave. I fear for her.’
‘Her lack of defence is strange,’ Gilpin remarked. ‘I wonder, is it possible, do you suppose, that the lawyers have any thought that she might have – for whatever reason – actually taken this piece of lace?’
‘The idea is absurd,’ replied her aunt.
Gilpin looked at Mrs Pride. ‘I cannot say, Sir, what they may think. I do not believe, even now, that she has ever addressed the question.’
‘She is in a strange state of mind, most evidently. Almost, forgive me, a derangement. She is clearly, my dear Miss Albion, not herself.’
‘Quite.’
‘Yet why’ – he looked at her searchingly – ‘could this be? Is anything disturbing her mind, or her affections?’
‘Nothing of consequence,’ snapped Adelaide.
‘I believe, Sir,’ said Mrs Pride quietly, ‘that her emotions are greatly disturbed.’ She got a sharp look from Adelaide, but she had to say it.
And now started the most difficult part of Mr Gilpin’s mission. He began by making very clear to Adelaide the extreme danger he believed Fanny was in. ‘She is accused. There are respectable witnesses. Her position in society will not, in these circumstances, protect her. Indeed, as a point of honour, the judges might even sentence her to transportation, to show they make no distinctions. Such things have happened.’ He paused to allow this awful consequence to sink in.
But even he had not fully reckoned with the fixed nature of Adelaide’s mind. ‘Justice,’ she replied scornfully. ‘Do not speak of justice when I remember what the courts did to Alice Lisle.’
‘Justice or not,’ the vicar pursued, ‘that is the risk. You will surely agree that we must take every possible step to save her.’ This received a curt nod. ‘I believe I should accompany you to Bath. Would that be agreeable to you?’ Again a nod. ‘I must, however, caution