The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [368]
‘Minimus likes variety.’ Beatrice could have added that she rather enjoyed these transformations herself, but she didn’t.
‘I have sometimes been afraid,’ her mother ventured, ‘that his love of variety might …’ She left the thought unfinished.
‘Extend to other women?’ Beatrice looked at her mother thoughtfully. ‘He is younger than I am, of course.’ She smiled and gave a little shrug. ‘It is a risk, Mother. I have always known that.’ She paused, fingering the little blackened crucifix her grandmother Fanny had given her. ‘I amuse him, you know. I have some education.’ Though she had little formal education, Beatrice had always been a voracious reader in the library at Albion Park. Many young men had found her too clever by half. ‘He says I have talent.’
One of the things that had originally drawn her to Furzey was the interest he took in her mind. Instead of praising her harmless watercolours extravagantly, as her dear mother did, he had quietly showed her how to improve them. If she wrote a verse, he talked of other poets, read from their works, gave her new standards by which to judge her own. Sometimes poets or painters came to visit them, and they would all go out together to ramble or sketch out of doors. Occasionally they would take the train to London, visit studios, galleries, or attend lectures. To Beatrice these things were all new, and wonderful.
And most surprising of all, he had opened her eyes to the Forest. She loved it, she had lived there all her life, yet now she realized that she had never really known it at all. Poring on the ground, inspecting a fallen branch, or wandering by a lowland bog, he would utter a cry, and suddenly she would see a damsel fly, a stag beetle, or some other tiny creature she would never have thought of noticing before.
‘The Forest is a naturalist’s paradise, you know,’ he would tell her. ‘There are probably more species of insect here than anywhere else in Europe.’
Sometimes they would go out with butterfly nets. She had seen people doing this in the past and thought them rather comical. But now, when they brought their specimens back, mounted and catalogued them, and when she saw the papers in naturalist journals, including some notes from her husband, she began to realize that this was a scientific enquiry to be taken seriously.
If she had waited many years, and quietly rejected several conventional suitors before she had encountered Furzey, it was probably also true that Beatrice was the first woman he had met who was able and also willing to be his life companion. His friends were impressed with her; he rather liked that. They were really very happy together.
‘And children?’ Mrs Albion had recently asked. It had surprised her that there had been no children yet.
‘Minimus and I don’t mind waiting a little. One can try to avoid them you know.’
‘Oh.’
‘But I was thinking recently … I think we may soon. We’ll see.’
‘You should,’ said her mother. ‘You should.’ And it was really the prospect of having grandchildren that had impelled Mrs Albion to seek the meeting with Minimus in Lyndhurst church. Her two sons were abroad, one in India; neither was yet married. Since Beatrice had married, she had scarcely come to Albion Park, and Furzey was not allowed to set foot there. She couldn’t bear to think of such a situation greeting the arrival of a grandchild. Besides, she felt sure, Beatrice would be needing money.
Her own attempts to make peace, so far, had been to no avail. Colonel Albion was adamant. He wouldn’t see Furzey. Beatrice had made no great efforts since she knew her husband hardly cared whether he saw Albion or not. The only hope was for Furzey himself to make an approach. A letter: serious, respectful, humble even. If he didn’t apologize for marrying Beatrice, he should at least show a proper gratitude and sense of humility at the sacrifice Beatrice had made in marrying him. He should