Free The Shrouded Walls by Susan Howatch

right,” she said. “Rodric was a most remarkable person.”
    I was prepared to relax now that I had discovered a topic on which we might both converse for a time, but I did not. Something in her manner was so unexpected that I felt my nerves sharpen more than ever in my effort to discern the truth.
    “Mr. Brandson—my guardian—was most anxious that I—that Rodric and I ... ” She blushed, hesitated a little. ‘‘Of course, I was then too young for any formal mention of it to be made, but it was intended that Rodric and I ... ” She paused delicately.
    I stared at her. “You mean Mr. Brandson wished you both to be betrothed when you were old enough?”
    “Well yes ... yes, he wished, hoped ... ” Her hands worked nervously at her dress. “I am orphaned now, as you no doubt know, but my father was a baronet with an estate in Hampshire and I have a considerable portion which he willed to me ... It would have been a suitable match.” Her pale eyes misted slightly. She turned her head aside with a sharp movement as if to hide her emotions.
    “I see,” I said, trying not to s ound too amazed.
    “Rodric was so noble,” she said. “He was such a fine upright worthy person. Fond as I was of my guardian, I sometimes think that on many occasions he did not treat Rodric as he deserved.”
    “I heard,” I said, “that they often didn’t see eye to eye.”
    “My guardian was so blind, so prejudiced ... Rodric is—was—unusually gifted.”
    “Gifted?”
    “He wrote,” said Mary. “He was never happier than when he had a pen between his fingers and an inkwell and paper on the table before him. He wrote mostly articles and political tracts—he concerned himself very much with politics and used to ride as far afield as Dover to speak for the Cause. ” Seeing that I looked blank she added: “The Whig Cause. It was a dreadful disappointment to my guardian who hoped Rodric would support the Tories and become a member of that party in Parliament. But my guardian didn’t understand Rodric, didn’t understand that Rodric couldn’t acquiesce in accepting ideals he didn’t believe in.”
    But I was more interested in Rodric’s possible literary talent than in his possible noble soul. “Did he write any novels?”
    “Only one—I read part of it and thought it excellent.”
    “What was it about? Where’s the manuscript ? May I read it?”
    Her expression changed. “No,” she said flatly. Vere burned all the manuscripts after Rodric’s ... death.”
    In the pause that followed the door opened and Esther entered the room. Remembering her distress when the subject of Rodric had been introduced at dinner I knew that it would be impossible to continue the conversation with Mary. Apparently Mary had drawn the same conclusions, for she was already moving across the room in search of her sewing basket. “Alice managed to remove most of the stain from the dress,” Esther said as she sat down by the fire. “She knows so many of these old wives’ recipes! I believe she has a secret recipe for everything, from curing hay fever to making toadstool poison to feed the mice in the cellar. These village girls have an amazing knowledge of such things.”
    I was aware again of the honeyed tones which did not quite conceal the barbed sharpness of her tongue.
    “She has just gone to the nursery to look in on the children,” Esther was observing, and suddenly the slanting black eyes were turned in my direction. “Alice,” she said, “is the most excellent mother.”
    I smiled politely, not fully understanding the sudden intentness of her gaze.
    “Mary dear,” said Esther, “just run down to the saloon and fetch my shawl, would you? I’m a little chilled.”
    The girl departed obediently.
    “I did not quite gather, my dear,” said Esther after a moment, “how long you and George have been married.”
    “Only a week.”
    “Ah.” She picked up a copy of the “Spectator” idly and began to glance through the