that he had not? She said she was young and happy when she met him, but what of Colonel Glasher and their son? Where were they when she was young and happy with Grandcourt? She implied I held her happiness and that of her children’s fortune in my power. But arrangements and matters of the heart between her and Grandcourt ought not to have involved me. Why should the onus of correct behaviour be mine? Grandcourt pursued me. In Society’s terms she was his mistress and he wanted me as his wife. She was urging me to put her wishes above his choice and my own self-interest. She implied that were I to refuse Grandcourt he would marry her, but there was no certainty of that. They had had nine years to establish their feelings for each other and make plans. Colonel Glasher was now dead, so there was no obstruction to legitimizing their union other than Grandcourt’s reluctance. I had hardly pushed my way into his view. She did not speak well of him or want good for him. It seemed she hated him for robbing her of her youth. She wanted his money and status for their son.
I was not in love with Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt, though if, as seemed inevitable, I had to marry I wanted to marry well, please uncle and above all provide for mamma. But I again realised, as I sat alone on my desperate journey of escape, that I knew almost nothing about him. Why had he not told me of Mrs Glasher and their four children? What else might there be about his past and present to alarm me? He was vain about how he appeared in Society, he would sooner marry me than a woman no longer beautiful, but perhaps his concern was for himself alone. Would he act as he pleased whatever vows he made, whatever contract he signed? How, I wondered, would he treat me when I showed signs of wear?
The countryside flattened; the dividing sea approached. I did not know what choice to make, where to turn for help or whom to trust. I would be damned if I married Grandcourt, damned if I did not. I wanted to make this journey to escape the muddle that troubled and tormented me, and take me to a resolution.
*
That was how, on that September afternoon, I found myself at the mercy of the roulette wheel, hoping for luck to bring me wealth and set me free. Such was the turmoil of my life when I met your gaze. Your gaze that seared into me and that I see now.
Mamma knew only of my distress and reversal of plan, she did not know my confusion’s cause. Uncle interpreted my flurried departure as a coquettish flounce, designed to tease the interest of my admirer. Grandcourt saw my leaving as a challenge. Had events not followed in the way they did he would probably have forgotten me before autumn was through and pursued an alternative quarry. But accompanied by Lush he set off for Homburg in slow pursuit of me. In his bored, languid manner he stopped for a few days’ yachting in the Baltic, then to gamble in Baden Baden, and reached Homburg five days after I had left. There he met with Sir Hugo, the Mallinger family and you. From you he learned I had received disturbing news, you did not know what, and gone home to Pennicote. From Lush you learned that Grandcourt had been on the point of marrying me but I had run off without explanation. I do not know what you made of all you saw and heard.
*
I had lurched from one disaster to the next. No one was at Wancester station to meet me when I returned from Homburg to face our bankrupt future. Alone in the waiting room I felt defined by the dirty paint, the dusty decanter of water, the poster calling on us all to repent and find Jesus, and the melancholy lanes and fields outside. A sullen porter with a cast in one eye ignored me. I was a woman without status or prospect. Mamma, my sisters and I had no money and no home. I could not think what we would do: wander abroad perhaps – out of the eye of social scorn.
*
Eventually a dirty old barouche was brought from the railway inn. Squashed in the back of it, with my two large
I was not in love with Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt, though if, as seemed inevitable, I had to marry I wanted to marry well, please uncle and above all provide for mamma. But I again realised, as I sat alone on my desperate journey of escape, that I knew almost nothing about him. Why had he not told me of Mrs Glasher and their four children? What else might there be about his past and present to alarm me? He was vain about how he appeared in Society, he would sooner marry me than a woman no longer beautiful, but perhaps his concern was for himself alone. Would he act as he pleased whatever vows he made, whatever contract he signed? How, I wondered, would he treat me when I showed signs of wear?
The countryside flattened; the dividing sea approached. I did not know what choice to make, where to turn for help or whom to trust. I would be damned if I married Grandcourt, damned if I did not. I wanted to make this journey to escape the muddle that troubled and tormented me, and take me to a resolution.
*
That was how, on that September afternoon, I found myself at the mercy of the roulette wheel, hoping for luck to bring me wealth and set me free. Such was the turmoil of my life when I met your gaze. Your gaze that seared into me and that I see now.
Mamma knew only of my distress and reversal of plan, she did not know my confusion’s cause. Uncle interpreted my flurried departure as a coquettish flounce, designed to tease the interest of my admirer. Grandcourt saw my leaving as a challenge. Had events not followed in the way they did he would probably have forgotten me before autumn was through and pursued an alternative quarry. But accompanied by Lush he set off for Homburg in slow pursuit of me. In his bored, languid manner he stopped for a few days’ yachting in the Baltic, then to gamble in Baden Baden, and reached Homburg five days after I had left. There he met with Sir Hugo, the Mallinger family and you. From you he learned I had received disturbing news, you did not know what, and gone home to Pennicote. From Lush you learned that Grandcourt had been on the point of marrying me but I had run off without explanation. I do not know what you made of all you saw and heard.
*
I had lurched from one disaster to the next. No one was at Wancester station to meet me when I returned from Homburg to face our bankrupt future. Alone in the waiting room I felt defined by the dirty paint, the dusty decanter of water, the poster calling on us all to repent and find Jesus, and the melancholy lanes and fields outside. A sullen porter with a cast in one eye ignored me. I was a woman without status or prospect. Mamma, my sisters and I had no money and no home. I could not think what we would do: wander abroad perhaps – out of the eye of social scorn.
*
Eventually a dirty old barouche was brought from the railway inn. Squashed in the back of it, with my two large
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