‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting your son, but he did my husband and step-daughter a great service yesterday.’
Mary Skelwith looked at her with a leaden eye, but said nothing.
‘ Indeed,' Héloïse went on determinedly, 'if it were not for him, I believe my husband might have had a sad accident, so I am most grateful to him, as you can imagine.' Still no response. 'He must be a great comfort to you?’
She injected enough interrogative into the statement to force Mrs Skelwith to answer.
‘ He is a good son,' she replied. Her voice was light, but toneless, like a tired wind murmuring. 'He has never given me a day's unease in his life.'
‘ I suppose he mentioned what happened yesterday?' Héloïse said, thinking it best to stick to direct questions. ‘Yes,' said Mrs Skelwith, defeating the ploy.
The sun came out for a moment, and in the briefly improved light, Héloïse saw that she was being studied closely with a suspicious and perhaps hostile eye. How much, she suddenly wondered, did Mary Skelwith know about her? Did she know about the time James ran away from his wire to live with her? Did she know, or at least guess, whence Sophie came? She suddenly saw herself from the other woman's point of view — like her, a former mistress, and mother of an unintentional child; but fifteen years younger, and now possessed of the prize. Did she think it unfair? If indeed she did still love James, it must be a bitter thing for her to contemplate, and Héloïse's ready sympathy rose up.
She leaned forward a little and said warmly, 'Well, as I said, we are all very grateful to your son, and I am glad that it gives me the opportunity to make your acquaintance. We are having a little ball next week, for my ward's birthday, who is eighteen, and I hope so much that he will be able to come to it. I believe that your son and my ward have many acquaint ances in common, so it will be pleasant for the young people to be together. And perhaps you —'
‘ You refine upon it too much, madam,' Mrs Skelwith inter rupted suddenly. 'It was no very great service that John rendered your husband. There is no need to reciprocate in any way, or to build on the acquaintance, as you seem, for reasons I cannot understand, eager to do.’
It was the most direct snub Héloïse had ever received in her life, and it so surprised her that for a moment she felt neither hurt nor anger; and she was still staring at Mrs Skelwith, trying to assemble her wits, when the door opened, and a tall young man came in. He was in riding clothes, and a faint smell of outdoors and stables clinging to him suggested he had just arrived home. Mrs Skelwith looked annoyed at his appearance, but she could have been no more agitated than Héloïse at this first sight of John Skelwith.
He looks like James, she thought, and it went through her like a hot needle into her heart. It was one thing to know with the mind that Mary Skelwith had borne a son to James; but to meet with the reality of it, to see the flesh and blood of it standing before her, was quite another. Her hands were cold in her lap, and she felt the blood leave her head, so that for a moment the room went dark, and she heard him speaking through a roaring mist.
‘ Mama — Betty told me Lady Morland had called. I'm so glad I wasn't too late. Lady Morland, how do you do? Forgive me for coming in in all my dirt, as you see me, but I did not want to miss the opportunity of making your acquaintance.’
Héloïse could not speak. Her lips felt numb as she offered her hand to the young man, who grasped it warmly, and smiled down at her with James's elusive smile. The brown hand which held hers was James's too, the shape of the nails, the fine, long-jointed fingers, the texture of the skin. Across the room she caught sight of Mary Skelwith's face, and thought in a brief access of pity, Dear God, she has lived with this ghost for twenty-one years — half her life! No wonder she looks so weary.
‘ I am
Mary Skelwith looked at her with a leaden eye, but said nothing.
‘ Indeed,' Héloïse went on determinedly, 'if it were not for him, I believe my husband might have had a sad accident, so I am most grateful to him, as you can imagine.' Still no response. 'He must be a great comfort to you?’
She injected enough interrogative into the statement to force Mrs Skelwith to answer.
‘ He is a good son,' she replied. Her voice was light, but toneless, like a tired wind murmuring. 'He has never given me a day's unease in his life.'
‘ I suppose he mentioned what happened yesterday?' Héloïse said, thinking it best to stick to direct questions. ‘Yes,' said Mrs Skelwith, defeating the ploy.
The sun came out for a moment, and in the briefly improved light, Héloïse saw that she was being studied closely with a suspicious and perhaps hostile eye. How much, she suddenly wondered, did Mary Skelwith know about her? Did she know about the time James ran away from his wire to live with her? Did she know, or at least guess, whence Sophie came? She suddenly saw herself from the other woman's point of view — like her, a former mistress, and mother of an unintentional child; but fifteen years younger, and now possessed of the prize. Did she think it unfair? If indeed she did still love James, it must be a bitter thing for her to contemplate, and Héloïse's ready sympathy rose up.
She leaned forward a little and said warmly, 'Well, as I said, we are all very grateful to your son, and I am glad that it gives me the opportunity to make your acquaintance. We are having a little ball next week, for my ward's birthday, who is eighteen, and I hope so much that he will be able to come to it. I believe that your son and my ward have many acquaint ances in common, so it will be pleasant for the young people to be together. And perhaps you —'
‘ You refine upon it too much, madam,' Mrs Skelwith inter rupted suddenly. 'It was no very great service that John rendered your husband. There is no need to reciprocate in any way, or to build on the acquaintance, as you seem, for reasons I cannot understand, eager to do.’
It was the most direct snub Héloïse had ever received in her life, and it so surprised her that for a moment she felt neither hurt nor anger; and she was still staring at Mrs Skelwith, trying to assemble her wits, when the door opened, and a tall young man came in. He was in riding clothes, and a faint smell of outdoors and stables clinging to him suggested he had just arrived home. Mrs Skelwith looked annoyed at his appearance, but she could have been no more agitated than Héloïse at this first sight of John Skelwith.
He looks like James, she thought, and it went through her like a hot needle into her heart. It was one thing to know with the mind that Mary Skelwith had borne a son to James; but to meet with the reality of it, to see the flesh and blood of it standing before her, was quite another. Her hands were cold in her lap, and she felt the blood leave her head, so that for a moment the room went dark, and she heard him speaking through a roaring mist.
‘ Mama — Betty told me Lady Morland had called. I'm so glad I wasn't too late. Lady Morland, how do you do? Forgive me for coming in in all my dirt, as you see me, but I did not want to miss the opportunity of making your acquaintance.’
Héloïse could not speak. Her lips felt numb as she offered her hand to the young man, who grasped it warmly, and smiled down at her with James's elusive smile. The brown hand which held hers was James's too, the shape of the nails, the fine, long-jointed fingers, the texture of the skin. Across the room she caught sight of Mary Skelwith's face, and thought in a brief access of pity, Dear God, she has lived with this ghost for twenty-one years — half her life! No wonder she looks so weary.
‘ I am
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