Glittering Images. Susan HowatchЧитать онлайн книгу.
go mad herself, but of course she came to the rescue. She said to the old villain, “If you won’t let either of those girls go, I’ll go”, and when he still clung to the girls she went.’
I dropped my cigarette and scuffled to retrieve it before it could burn a hole in my trousers. ‘But how could Dr Jardine, as a clergyman, justify depriving a husband of his wife?’
‘Oh, the old man wasn’t too deprived – she used to go home for a visit every fortnight. Besides, neither she nor Dr Jardine believed, when she originally went to Starmouth, that the arrangement would be other than temporary; they thought the old man would eventually release one of the girls, but as he wasn’t rational on the subject he didn’t.’
‘So she stayed on?’
‘Yes, she loved it after the gloom and doom of Putney. She involved herself in parish work, met new people –’
‘But what happened –’
‘– in the end? She went back. The elder sister began to go insane, and Mrs J. felt morally bound to go home since her husband’s need for her had become acute. However once she’d gone Dr Jardine couldn’t cope; he was already exhausted by the parish and he couldn’t withstand the loss of her help.’
‘So when he lost her he broke down!’
‘What an extremely ambiguous statement! All I meant was –’
‘What happened next in Putney?’
‘I’ve no idea. Mrs J. skated over that, but a year later the sister died in an asylum and the old man went senile. Old Mrs J. told me placidly it was the judgement of God.’
‘How did the Bishop deal with the new crisis?’
‘By that time he was in North London. The house allocated to the hospital chaplain was small but he rescued his father, stepmother and surviving sister and squeezed them in somehow. The father died six months later. Then old Mrs J. and the sister lived with the Bishop till his marriage.’
I decided it would be politic to prove to her that my mind did not always leap to the most dubious conclusions. ‘I can’t quite see why old Mrs J. made such a fuss about that marriage,’ I said innocently. ‘Surely she wanted her stepson to make a good marriage as soon as he could afford to do so?’
‘She didn’t look upon it as a good marriage. Carrie only had a hundred a year. Also Carrie was a bit old – thirty-two. Mrs J. thought that was suspicious, wanted to know why she hadn’t got off the shelf earlier … But of course the real truth was that although Mrs J. wanted her stepson to marry, no girl was ever going to be good enough in her estimation.’
‘Obviously it was for the best that she decided not to live with them after the marriage. But wasn’t she tempted to move closer to Dr Jardine once he left Mayfair? Radbury’s a long way from Putney.’
‘She was afraid of quarrelling with Carrie. That was why she stayed away until she was too infirm to stay away any more.’
‘I see now,’ I said, unable to resist angling for an indiscretion by using a suggestive remark as bait, ‘that the Starbridge finale isn’t just an edifying resolution of the problem of old Mrs Jardine – it even qualifies as a romantic ending.’
Lyle immediately looked annoyed. ‘It was a happy ending, certainly,’ she said in the tone of voice of someone who considers romance a breach of taste. ‘But romantic? That makes a complex and remarkable relationship seem banal.’
‘Have you got some grudge against romance?’
‘Of course – it’s the road to illusion, isn’t it?’ said Lyle carelessly. ‘Any realist knows that.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I think it’s time we went back to the car – you’ve got that pounce-ish look again.’
‘I suppose you do realize, don’t you,’ I said, extinguishing my own cigarette, ‘that you’re pushing me back with one hand yet beckoning me on with the other?’ And before she had time to protest I had taken her in my arms.
IV
This time I did not have the advantage of surprise and she had her defences firmly in place. As I pulled her towards me she said: ‘No!’ in a voice which precluded argument and shoved me aside as she scrambled to her feet.
I caught up with her halfway across the Ring but before I could speak she swung to face me and demanded, ‘What exactly are you up to? You take me for a drive so that you can get to know me better and yet all you do is ask questions about the Bishop!’
‘But I do know you better now! I know you smoke cigarettes in your bedroom, think romance is the invention of the Devil and have a profound admiration for that formidable lady, the late Mrs Jardine!’
‘I wish I’d never told you about her!’ said Lyle furiously. ‘It’s obvious you think she had some sort of obscene passion for her stepson –’
‘Wouldn’t “romantic affection” be a more accurate description?’
‘It was not a romance!’
‘Not in a tawdry conventional sense, no. But she sacrificed her life for his, didn’t she, and isn’t that really the unsurpassable romantic gesture? Dickens certainly thought so when he wrote A Tale of Two Cities but no one’s yet accused Sydney Carton of an obscene passion for Charles Darnay.’
‘I thought Carton sacrificed himself for Lucy’s sake, not just for Darnay’s. Maybe you should start rereading Dickens!’
‘Maybe you should start redefining romance. Cigarette?’
‘Thanks. I feel I need one after that exchange.’
When our cigarettes were alight we wandered on across the ridge. The Ring disappeared behind us as the track led over the brow of the hill, and in the distance we could see my car, crouched like a black beetle beside the dusty ribbon of the road.
‘I did admire old Mrs J.,’ said Lyle, ‘because I knew what hell she’d been through for the Bishop, but I have to admit she could be an awful old battle-axe. During her two visits to Radbury she reduced Carrie to pulp, and what was worse she used to enjoy it. Poor Carrie!’
‘You’re very fond of Mrs Jardine, aren’t you?’
‘She’s the sort of mother I always wanted. My own mother was an invalid – she had a weak heart – and it made her very querulous and self-absorbed.’
‘And your father?’
‘He was a soldier, one of the clever ones, very quick and bright and tough. He was killed in the War, of course, like all the best soldiers, and when my mother died in sympathy I went to Norfolk to live with my great-uncle. He was an ancient vicar who took me in out of Christian charity because no one else wanted me.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Twelve. It was 1914. You were wondering about my present age, weren’t you?’
‘Now that I know you’re thirty-five allow me to tell you that I’m thirty-seven. How did you find Norfolk?’
‘Dreadfully dull. I ended up writing my great-uncle’s sermons just to stave off the boredom.’
‘You don’t write Dr Jardine’s sermons, do you, by any chance?’
She laughed. ‘Not yet!’
We strolled on down the track. ‘Nevertheless,’ I said, ‘you’ve been described to me as the real power at the palace. How would the Jardines get on if you left?’
‘Oh, but I’m not leaving,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you know?’
‘How lucky for the Jardines! But where does that leave you?’
‘Exactly