Free Gwendolen by Diana Souhami Page A

concealed a nest of iniquities, Klesmer informed me I had no talent, only worthless beauty, uncle insisted I resign myself to a grey flannel costume and a straw poke hat, aunt derided me for rejecting Grandcourt, Anna viewed me as shameful for not being in love with Rex. I had failed them all, but especially mamma. She was so used, abused and hard done by and I could not rescue her, only become like her. She would have to stitch her fingers to the bone. The best I could do was to give her the £80 a year I might earn as a governess. I saw mamma as old and white-haired and I no longer young but faded. I felt her grief that she could not contrive my happiness. ‘Poor Gwen too is sad and faded now,’ I seemed to hear her say.
    *
    One early morning I got out my casket of jewellery, thinking its contents might buy us a month’s respite. I told mamma to sell everything but my father’s chain. In my barren world you were my consolation and the chain my talisman link to you. Mamma was doubtful that the sale of a few pearls and clasps would mitigate our problems. She asked about the handkerchief, from which you had torn your initials, in which it was wrapped. I was vague in my explanation but, as I held both necklace and handkerchief, I yearned for your advice, your soft voice and kind eyes.
    *
    A few days later I, who viewed tears as a weakness and seldom cried, was in bed weeping with disappointment when mamma came in, put her arms around me and when I was calm gave me a letter from Grandcourt. He announced he had returned from Homburg where he had gone in the hope of finding me, and asked if he might call at Offendene the following day to see me alone.
    I was torn between guilt and hope: I saw the dark-eyed woman and beautiful boy and heard her warning voice. I thought of Grandcourt’s cold allure and life of such high style. I felt a rush of obstinate determination: here was the only way for me to recapture authority and steer my life. Marrying Grandcourt would at a stroke resolve so much: mamma need not go to Sawyer’s Cottage and stitch for sixpences, I need not defer to Bishop Mompert and his catechisms, pretend piety, feign respect for his self-important wife or concern for their prim and pampered daughters. You? Where were you? Grandcourt was the armoured knight who came to rescue me from the undoubted trouble I was in.
    I read the note to mamma. If Grandcourt had heard about Sawyer’s Cottage, she said, it was proof of his strong and generous attachment to me. Why else would he choose a wife from a family reduced to beggary? She urged me to reply while the Diplow servant waited. I did not wish to reflect. I told her to fetch pen and paper.
    Grandcourt, I believed, now declared his paramount reason for not marrying Mrs Glasher: the insuperable obstacle was that he did not love her. He loved me.
    That night I could not sleep. Grandcourt’s promise buoyed my hopes but quietened and enhanced my fear. I had been rendered powerless, brought savagely to heel. I wanted, needed, to find control and command. But I neither loved nor trusted Grandcourt. I was muddled and uncertain, and in my troubled heart I loved and trusted you.
    Next afternoon mamma coiled my hair and I dressed in black silk. Grandcourt arrived on Yarico, his beautiful black horse, accompanied by his groom, who rode the chestnut Criterion. The groom waited outside. Miss Merry announced when Grandcourt was in the drawing room. I went down alone. I see and feel the day so clearly: the view that beckoned from the window, the horses that symbolised freedom, the scent of rose atar.
    Grandcourt and I sat facing each other. He held his hat in his left hand and gazed at me with his long, narrow, light-coloured eyes. It occurred to me he had the stillness of a snake. The atmosphere was intense. He asked if I was well. ‘I was disappointed not to find you at Homburg,’ he drawled in a voice that admitted no disappointment at all. ‘The place was intolerable without