Martin Stephen - The rebel heart

'Then fer Christ's sake tell the girl she was right about George. It's bad enough she's shopped your best mate to you. The thought she might have got it wrong'll be driving her mad.'

It was as reasonable a request as it was unpalatable. Gresham wanted to banish the thought of George from his mind for twenty-four hours, to come to terms with what had happened, not raise the scab on the new wound so shortly after it had been inflicted.

Jane's room was up in the attic, sparsely furnished, he noted, her books neatly stacked on rough planks resting on house bricks. She had not stopped crying, the red rims round her eyes burning and fierce, her expression lost. Red eyes, but very different from Essex. Mannion had refused to go with him.

'You go to 'er,' he had said firmly. 'She's got a tongue in 'er 'ead, and an 'alf, and so 'ave you. Time you started goin' at each other direct, this workin' through me on the important things, it just won't do any more. We've all grown out of it.'

'But why do I have to go and see her in her room? And alone? Won't the servants talk?'

'Not if I 'ears 'em, they won't,' said Mannion grimly. 'And you gotta see 'er in 'er place because the minute you demands to see 'er, it's Lord and Master talks to servant. It ain't what this is about. She'll be shit-scared you'll 'ate 'er for tellin' you a truth you didn't want to 'ear. After all, it's what she's bin' doin' most of her life. Only difference is, the truths 'ave got a lot more important.'

'You were right,' said Gresham. He felt extremely awkward, standing with his head bowed under the sloping roof. The bed had a heavy cover on it. If he concentrated enough he could persuade himself it was not a bed, simply a large chest with a huge counterpane over it. 'About George. I can't say thank you, not without it sticking in my throat. What you said lost me a friend. And I happen to think friendship, true friendship, is the most precious commodity of all. Stronger than sex, stronger even than blood, and so very hard to find. And you can't replace a friend. It's a special place a friend lives in, and once they leave no one ever inhabits that same room again. So there'll be an empty room in my life for evermore.'

'I am so sorry,' she said. There was a sniffle in her voice. She was standing too, her head slightly bowed, and her nose was running. She desperately wanted to wipe it, but was afraid to do so in case it made her look ridiculous. Suddenly, against all his mood and feelings, he wanted to laugh. Laugh as he had laughed so often with Essex, and with George. Laugh at how ludicrous it all was. Muscles he had forgotten he had tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile desperate to break out.

He gave in.

'I think you'd better wipe your nose,' he said. 'I don't know what it's doing to you, but it's hell to watch.' He proffered a fine linen handkerchief, hanging fashionably loose from his wrist. 'It's a pity we can't stop bowing to each other as well. You must move to another room. One with a proper ceiling.'

You did not need to say it twice with Jane. The gratitude for forgiveness was as clear in her sparkling eyes as it was absent from her words.

'Another version of me,' she said, 'would point out that a fine handkerchief like this was never meant to be used at all, never mind on a snot-nosed girl.'

'How many versions of you are there?' asked Gresham.

'Rather too many for comfort,' Jane replied. 'But isn't that true of everyone?'

It was certainly true of Essex, and of George, now Gresham came to think of it. And perhaps of Gresham himself.

'Well,' he said after a moment, 'let that stupid piece of cloth be in place of my thanks, the words I can't speak.'

She smiled at him and held the handkerchief tight.

'One of the other versions — the one who fights and argues a lot — ought to point out that it isn't usually this way round,' she said, still feeling her way. He was seeing a vivacious, fun creature now, someone who could enjoy the fencing dalliance of witty conversation, someone whose brain moved as quickly as her words. 'The lady gives her knight her favour, which he then wears in his helmet.'

'I see what you mean,' said Gresham. 'It does bring it down to earth a bit if the knight gives his lady a soiled handkerchief to wear in her nose.'

'Which I shall treasure,' she said, and he found himself strangely touched. 'As well as use to wipe my nose on.' And, as elegantly as one can in the confines of a small room, she did so.

Suddenly he made his mind up. For the first time in months he felt a real certainty in his head. He took one of the rings off his finger, an exquisite ruby set in a cluster of small but perfect diamonds.

'Please take this,' he said. 'You risked your life to come to Scotland. You saved my life in Ireland, and may have saved it again by having the courage to tell me what I didn't want to hear, and still don't. I would like you to accept this, as my gift, in place of the words I can't find.' He held out his hand. The ring glittered in his fingers, catching the shaft of light that came in through the unshuttered window.

The girl became very still.

'It's too much,' she said finally. 'I'd feel a traitor myself if I took something so valuable in exchange for doing what I wanted to do, what I decided to do freely and of my own will.'

Gresham was not discomfited. 'It's a thing of rare beauty, isn't it?' he said. 'Let me tell you its history. It was given to me by a very great Court lady, a widow as it happens. We comforted each other after her husband died, and I was still recovering from wounds. In a stupid way I thought there was something real and true between us. She gave me that ring one night, and the next day wrote to say our relationship was ended. She used it to buy me off. It was her gesture to her own conscience. And before you ask,' he went on, 'I don't want you to have it because I wish to salve my own conscience, or because I'm hurling you out onto the street, or to buy you off. I want you to have it because it's a thing of rare beauty. Forgive me for a terrible cliche, but it deserves to be paired with another thing of rare beauty. And because I've kept it all these years as a reminder of human perfidy and betrayal, it needs to be cleansed by being given to someone who's stayed loyal, and instead of betraying me shown me the others who wished to do so. Please take it.'

Hesitantly she reached forward. He felt the momentary warm brush of her fingers against his.

'You know I won't wear it,' she said, 'but you won't be offended?'

'Not offended,' he said, 'but tell me why you won't wear it?'

'Emeralds are for sadness,' she said, 'pearls are for death, and sapphires are the lazy stones, the easy ones. Blue matches eyes and dresses. Diamonds are for show. But a ruby… a ruby is for confidence. A ruby is a great, red, warm glow that says here I am and this is what I am. It's alive. It's the blood, it's the heartbeat. You know someone's alive when they bleed. A ruby shows life. A ruby matches what people feel. You started wearing that ring soon after you took me in. It summed up your confidence to me. Will it mind being wrapped in a handkerchief and hidden under a floorboard?'

Gresham smiled. 'I shouldn't think it'll mind. But not the floorboard in this room. The floorboard in the red room. I'd like you to move there.'

'But the red room is one of the grandest bedchambers in the house.' There was a challenge in her eyes. He felt slightly offended.

'I won't charge you for the room,' he said. 'It has a key and a lock. I'm not asking for — favours. You run this House. You're its mistress. It's only fitting I should recognise that fact and give you a room that's in keeping with what you do.'

'Why aren't you asking for favours?' she said, her chin up. He could see a pulse beating in the long sweep of her neck. It was a rather beautiful neck, he could not help but notice. Smooth, clean, clear skin. He began to wish Mannion was there. Damn the man for sending him alone! It was suddenly warm in the room. Didn't the window work?