Виктория Холт - Daughter of Deceit

“She was right,” he said. “She had to do what she did … and I should have been no good for her. She was bent on success and she achieved it.”

At length I talked about myself. I told him of my visit to Leverson Manor, of my love for Roderick and what had come of it.

He was deeply shocked.

“My dear child, what a tragedy!” he said. “And it need never have been. You could have been happily married. And all because of what she had done. Her heart would be broken. What she wanted most of all was for you to be happy … to have everything she missed.”

“It is all too late now. He has married someone else … the Lisa Fennell I told you about.”

“Life is full of ironies. Why did I not follow her to London? Why did I not at least try to make something of myself? I might have been with her in London. I should have been happy there. But I could not do it. Somehow I couldn’t leave this place. I didn’t believe in myself. I always doubted. I was weak and she was strong. I was unsure and she was so certain. We loved each other but, as she said, we did not fit. I was daunted by all the difficulties while she confidently danced her way over them.”

I told him about my stay in France, about Robert, his sister … and Gerard, whom I might have married.

I said: “There were times when I thought I could make something of my life in France, and then memories of Roderick would come back to me. Well, it was decided for me.”

He was thoughtful. “Noelle, I shall give you those letters,” he said. “You will need them as proof. Perhaps you will come and see me sometimes.”

“I will,” I promised. “I will.”

“I wish fervently that you had come before, that I could have known you before it was too late.”

“Oh … so do I. But it was not to be.”

“It would have broken her heart if she knew what she had done.”

It was late in the afternoon when I rode back to the Dancing Maidens. I was still bemused.

I had found my father and confirmed my suspicions. I need never have lost the man I loved.

We went back to London, and I felt saddened rather than elated by the success of our venture. Marie-Christine was a great comfort. She seemed much older than her years and, understanding my feelings, tried to comfort me. She did to a great extent, and I kept telling myself how fortunate I was to have won her affections.

The future looked blank. I wondered what it held. During that time I often thought I might have made a good life in Parisian bohemian circles. It would have been a substitute; but knowing Gerard, and caring for him in a way, had brought home to me the truth that there would never be anyone for me but Roderick.

Oh, why had we not found those letters at the time of my mother’s death? Why had I not told her of my growing friendship with Roderick? How different my life might have been. Marie-Christine threw herself into the project of changing my mother’s room which had been abandoned when we left for Cornwall. But nothing could expunge her memory. It had all been brought back as vividly as ever by my encounter with my father. I was constantly recalling the words she had written. How her love for me came over in those letters! She had not so much defied conventions as ignored them. How often had Dolly cried in exasperation: “You are mad, mad, mad!” But she had blithely pursued some course which might seem wildly preposterous to some, but which was completely logical to her.

It had worked out as she had planned. Charlie had regarded me as his daughter. How could she have foreseen the consequences that would bring?

For several weeks life went on uneventfully, and then Charlie called.

I was delighted to see him. I had been pondering whether I should tell him what I had discovered. I thought it was only right that he, being so involved, should know. I had wondered what he knew about Robert’s death. That was another matter which I should tell him, but I had shrunk from writing to him. And now here he was.

He came into the drawing room and took my hands into his.

“I have just heard what happened,” he said. “Someone in the City told me. How dreadful to think of Robert … dead. I have been wondering for a long time how you were getting on. I did not know you were in London, and called to see If there was any news here. I was planning to go to Paris to see you, but travel is not easy, as things are still in turmoil in France. How glad I am that you are home and safe.”

“Robert was killed with his sister and her son. It was in the Paris house. I, with Robert’s great-niece, was in the country at the time.”

“Thank God for that! Poor Robert! Such a good fellow. All these years I have known him. But you, Noelle …”

I said: “Robert’s great-niece is with me. Marie-Christine … she lost her family, you see … all of them.”

“Poor child.”

“Charlie,” I said. “I have something of great importance to say to you. I have been asking myself whether I ought to write to you … but I wasn’t sure. It has only just happened. I’ve found my father … my real father. It is not you, Charlie.”

“My dear child, what are you saying? What can you know?”

I told him about the discovery of the letters and my visit to Cornwall.

“I have proof,” I told him. “Ennis Masterman has given me letters she wrote, and in them she sets out quite clearly that he is my father.”

“Then why … ?”

“She did it for me. She was afraid she might die and I should not have all she wanted for me. Ennis Masterman was poor. He lives almost like a hermit in a little cottage on the moors, not far from the village where she used to live, and where she had a miserable childhood. She did not want me to be poor … as she had been. It was an obsession with her. She did get obsessions, you know, Charlie. Her determination to succeed … her plans for me. She was very fond of you. She trusted you more than anyone. I think I should show you her letters. They are written to another man … and I daresay you will find reading them harrowing … but you should know the truth. She had so much love to give—to you, to Robert, to my father … and for me the greatest love of all. For me she would lie, cheat if need be … but it was all for me.”

My voice broke and he said: “My dear Noelle, I always knew that. She never disguised it. Those of us who loved her knew it. We were grateful for what she could give to us. There was never anyone like her.”

“Can you bear to read those letters?” I said. “They will prove to you without a doubt.”

He said he would read them, so I brought them to him. His emotion was obvious as he read.

When he had finished, he composed his features. “It is all clear now then. If only we had known …”

“How is Roderick?” I asked.

“He has changed … he lives behind a mask. I see little of him … as we all do. He is out a great deal … round the estate. He throws himself into work.”

“And Lisa?”

He frowned. “Poor girl. She grows worse. The injury to her spine is permanent, you know. She will never get better. She is in her room most of the time now. Sometimes they carry her down and she lies on the sofa. She is in some pain quite often. The doctors give her something to ease it, but it is not always effective.”

“How terrible for her.”

“They thought it was just a slight injury in the first place, but she soon discovered that was not the case. Putting a stop to her career was a great tragedy for her. She was so despondent … desperate, really. The future must have looked hopeless to her. But he should never have married her, Noelle. She could have been looked after. It was pity, you know. He was always like that … from a child. Easily touched by other people’s misery and ready to go to great lengths to help. This time he went far … very far indeed. He was shattered when he lost you. I think he must have acted on the spur of the moment. There was this girl, with her dreams of fame and fortune gone forever, facing pain and penury. He had lost you … I suppose he thought he would look after her … at least save her. It was a great mistake. We could have seen that she was cared for. But marriage …”

I could imagine it all so clearly—the silent melancholy of that household.

“And Lady Constance?”

“She is bitterly disappointed, and she cannot hide her feelings. She avoids Lisa, but there are occasions when they cannot help coming into contact. She wanted what she considered to be the right marriage for Roderick. She is devoted to him and always has been. And to me, too … though I don’t deserve such devotion. She deplores Roderick’s marriage … first to a girl whose background she considered unsuitable and, more important, she wants grandchildren. It is strange, Noelle, but I believe she wanted you to marry Roderick. I know when you first came to us she was far from welcoming, but she grew fond of you. It was a blow to her when you had to part.”

“It had something to do with that time when we were in great danger together. I think we revealed ourselves to each other.”

“Yes, it was after that. It certainly had an effect on her. She has talked of you once or twice. She had an admiration for you. It was a terrible shock to her when she believed you were my daughter … in more ways than the obvious one. She had known for a long time of my attachment to your mother.”

I thought of the scrapbook I had seen in her room. How her jealousy must have tormented her over the years! And it seemed more miraculous than ever that there could have been that friendship between us.

“Yes,” mused Charlie. “She would have been very happy for you to marry Roderick.”

What did it matter now? All our feelings went for nothing, all our discoveries were too late.

“You have not thought of marrying?” said Charlie.

I told him about Gerard du Carron.

“The one who was killed?”

“Yes.”

“And if he had not been?”

“I don’t know. I could not forget Roderick.”

“As he cannot forget you. What a tragedy!”

“For others, too. Poor Lisa! I am sorry for her. She was so ambitious, and I knew she loved Roderick.”

“We are an unhappy household. One feels it as soon as one enters the place. Roderick is thinking of going away for a time.”

“Where?”

“There’s a family estate in Scotland. He would not be away all the time, but periodically. I can’t help thinking he regards it as an escape … an excuse to get out of the house for periods.”

“And Lisa?”

“She could not leave Leverson. She is not well enough to travel. I shall have to tell them the news. Roderick must know, and I must tell my wife.”

“Do you think it will help?”

He lifted his shoulders. “And you and I, Noelle … this makes no difference to my feelings for you. I have always been so fond of you. We must keep in touch. If there is anything you need, I shall always be at hand. Remember that. This makes no difference to my feelings for you.”

“Nor mine for you.”

“If you need money …”

“I don’t. Robert has left me this house … and money, too. Marie-Christine, his great-niece, lives with me. I think it will be permanently. When she lost her family, I was the only one she could turn to. She, too, is comfortably off. It was fortunate that we were already good friends.”

“I am glad she is with you. As I was saying … if there is anything you need … at any time …”

“We do not need that sort of help, Charlie. But thank you. You have been wonderful … as always.”

“It is so good to see you again, Noelle … and here in this house …”

“So full of memories,” I said.

“Is it good for you to be here?”

“I really don’t know what is good for me. I am hoping that I may discover what I should do.”

“I wish … how I wish …”

“And I, too, Charlie.”

Marie-Christine came in and I introduced them. She knew who he was and I guessed she was speculating what the outcome of his visit would be.

She had a youthful belief that miracles could happen and, as ever, I was touched by her determination not to accept the present state of affairs.

She believed that something wonderful was going to happen, and to a certain extent for a time she carried me along with her.

It was three days later. I was in my room when Jane came to tell me that Mr. Claverham had called and was in the drawing room.