Read Online The Emperor by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Free Book Online

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    ‘Well, and I am Mr James's wife. What of that?'
    ‘ I am persuaded he would not like it used, Madam. He gave instructions it was not to be used.'
    ‘ Why? Is it unsafe?' Oxhey didn't answer. 'What reason did he give?' Oxhey only looked miserable, unable to tell her the reason, and not quick-witted enough to invent any thing, and after a moment Mary Ann shrugged. 'I will not be delayed by any more of this foolishness,' she said, and swept past him down the steps.

    *
    Mary Ann enjoyed her drive, and she liked Birkin, who, revelling in his meteoric promotion, was firmly established as her champion, praised her progress, and enlivened the drive for her by telling her the names of every tree and flower they passed. His manner was respectful, but his intelligence was too lively to allow him to remain silent until spoken to, and Mary Ann had been lonely for so long that she found his company refreshing.
    She liked Strawberry, too, for his steadiness, though Birkin said with affectionate contempt that he had only two paces, slow and slower. She was not a natural horsewoman, and was slow to learn the handling of the reins; but the phaeton was a perfect thing of its kind, and Strawberry knew his business well enough to pick his own path. She returned from her drive exhilarated and determined to go out again every day while the weather held.
    When they drove back into the yard, she saw a sweating horse tied up to the ring by the door, which Birkin told her knowledgeably was a post-horse, and she was not surprised, therefore, on entering the great hall, to find an express there. His business she could guess. She hurried to the drawing-room, but it was empty; then she tried the steward's room, and there found Oxhey standing before his master, and Edward, the letter in his hand, and his face very grave.
    ‘Is it news from London?' she asked.
    Edward nodded, tried to speak, and had to clear his throat before any sound would come. 'Flora is dead,' he said. 'She died very quietly in her sleep. Charles was with her, and my mother.' He swallowed again. 'They will remain there until after the funeral. Charles is – bewildered with grief, my sister says.'
    ‘ I am so very sorry,' Mary Ann said. She could see how upset he was. 'Shall I send Father Thomas to you? A special mass should be said –'
    ‘ Thank you,' Edward said, and Mary Ann inclined her head, and left him alone.

    *
    James came home after the funeral, leaving Jemima and Mary to keep Charles company a while longer. He came on the night mail, setting down at the Hare and Heather a little the worse for wear, and was easily persuaded to take a leisurely breakfast in the inn parlour while Durban walked up to the house to fetch the horses. A good fire and the fragrance of fresh coffee raised his spirits, and the smell of bacon frying in oatmeal was so tempting that he made a much heartier breakfast than was his habit.
    The potboy stuck his head round the door while James was addressing a second toasted bun, to say that Durban was back. James was so comfortable that he found himself in no hurry to go home, and he poured himself another cup of coffee, buttered another bun, put his feet up on the fender, and slipped into a half-dream. A pleasant digestive sadness came over him. Life could have been so different, he thought, and the barrier between what was and what might have been was so thin and transparent that it was hard to believe that events were irreversible. One small, appar ently unimportant event could change everything; the essence of human tragedy was its inconsequence.
    Pondering the mysteries of life was, of course, a good way to delay going home to a house which held the wrong wife; but then he recollected that it also held a dear, good brother, probably eager for news, and a darling daughter who was at the age when every day brought its changes, so he dragged himself out of his chair and went out into the yard, yelling for Durban.
    They had just come in sight of