Free Angels and Insects by A. S. Byatt Page A

wrong of me to burden you with my concern for Eugenia when it is to be such a happy day for Rowena that should be uppermost in our thoughts.’
    ‘I think your concern for Eugenia is very natural—is thoughtful, as you always are—it is not my place—I too—’ he was about to add ‘care for Eugenia’, but caution overtook him.
    ‘You are a good young man, and a sympathetic presence,’ said Harald Alabaster. ‘I am very glad you are staying here with us. Very. You have a good heart. That is the most important thing.’
    William watched Eugenia with a new sharpness, when he saw her, searching for signs of unhappiness. She appeared to be quite as serene as ever, and he would have thought her father was mistaken, if he had not one day been witness to a curious little scene in the saddle-room. He was going quietly past there, to his workplace, when he noticed, glancing through the window, that Eugenia was in there, talking to someone he could not see from his spying place, and her manner was agitated, even tearful. She appeared to be pleading. Then he heard quick footsteps and ducked out of sight,and Edgar Alabaster strode past him, his face set in anger, towards the house. A moment or two later Eugenia came out into the yard and stood stockstill for a moment or two before walking away rather unsteadily towards the paddock and the ha-ha. He knew, because he loved her, that she was blinded by tears, and he guessed, because he had studied her, because he loved her, that her pride would be hurt if she thought her tears had been seen. But he followed her, because he loved her, stood beside her on the grass, looking on to the pit of the ha-ha, the barrier between the house and the outside world, invisible from the yard. It was late afternoon: the poplars cast long shadows across the meadows.
    ‘I could not help seeing you were in distress. Can I be of help? I would do anything to help, if I can.’
    ‘There is nothing,’ she said dully, but without making a movement to repulse him.
    He could not think what to say next. He could not reveal his knowledge of her circumstances, which did not come from herself. Nor could he say, ‘I love you: I want to comfort you because I love you,’ though his body throbbed with desire that she should turn to him and weep on his shoulder.
    ‘You are beautiful and good—you deserve to be happy,’ he said foolishly. ‘I cannot bear to see you weep.’
    ‘You are very kind, but I cannot be helped, I am beyond help.’ She stared, unseeing, at the long shadows. ‘I wish I were dead, to speak truly, I wish I were
dead,’
she said as the tears ran faster. ‘I ought to be dead,’ she added wildly. ‘I ought to be dead, as Harry is dead.’
    ‘I know of your tragedy, Miss Alabaster. I am very sorry. I hope you may be comforted.’
    ‘I don’t think you
do
know,’ said Eugenia. ‘Not at all. No one can.’
    ‘That must be so. You have shown great courage. Please don’tbe unhappy.’ He tried to think what to say. ‘So many people love you, you cannot be unhappy.’
    ‘Not really. Not truly. They think they do, but they cannot. They cannot.
I cannot be loved
, Mr Adamson, I am
not able to be loved
, it is my curse, you don’t understand.’
    ‘I
know
that is not true,’ he replied heatedly. ‘I know of no one more worthy to be loved, no one. You must be aware—I am not in a position—if my life were different, my position in life—in short—I would do anything for you, Miss Alabaster, you must know that. Women do know these things, I find.’
    She gave a little sigh, almost of solace, he thought, and dropped her head from its marble stare across the ha-ha.
    ‘It is you who are good and kind,’ she said, with a new gentleness. ‘And brave, even though you don’t understand. You have been kind to everyone, even the little girls. We are lucky to have you here.’
    ‘And
I
would feel lucky—and honoured—if you would feel you could let me be your friend—despite the