Andrew Taylor - The American Boy

"So Mrs Frant did not accept him?"

"She never had the opportunity."

"I do not quite understand."

"In the event he did not offer for her."

I tried to smile, and nodded.

"He is much taken with Sophie," Miss Carswall continued, with her soft brown eyes fixed on my face, "as who could not be, but he is a younger son and he cannot afford a penniless wife, particularly one already encumbered with a son. And, though Sophie's family is perfectly respectable, there is the delicate matter of the late Mr Frant. Even if she remarried, Sophie would not necessarily be received everywhere."

So now the Captain's behaviour in the hall was explained. It had been the petulance of a disappointed man.

"But if he truly loved her, would that matter?"

"I find you are a romantic at heart." She smiled at me. "I suppose Captain Jack felt he deserved something in return for his sacrifice. Love in a cottage is all very well, Mr Shield, but it don't pay the bills."

"I suppose Captain Ruispidge had hoped that Mr Carswall would settle something on her?"

"I believe so. But Papa declined, though of course with great regret. Poor Sophie. I have been quite cast down since she told me, and of course her spirits are even lower."

I said, "Though Mr Carswall has given Mrs Frant the shelter of his roof, he is not obliged to provide for her."

"No: but it is not merely a matter of money. When Sir George and I are married, Papa will need someone to keep him company in the evenings. He abhors solitude. If Sophie went as well, he would be quite alone."

Miss Carswall gave me a cool, intelligent stare. There was nothing flirtatious about her now. She was about to say more when we heard footsteps in the hall and the door opened. Monkshill-park was a place of interrupted conversations, a place where nothing could ever be satisfactorily concluded.

There were six of us at table that day, for Mr Noak came down to dinner. He was mending fast, he said, and hoped to trespass on Mr Carswall's hospitality no further than the end of the week. In return, his host huffed and puffed and protested that he would be delighted if Mr Noak would stay for ever.

It was a dreary meal. Noak was not a man who habitually volunteered conversation. Carswall appeared anxious and unwontedly humble, which made me wonder whether the negotiations over the sale of the Liverpool property were not going as smoothly as he had hoped. I knew from the correspondence I had copied that something was afoot, but it was difficult to ascertain precisely what.

Miss Carswall picked at her food and complained of the headache. Mrs Lee said little but ate much. Sophie stared at her plate and seldom opened her mouth. The loss of her suitor must have hit her very hard. I had suspected that she had a tenderness for Captain Ruispidge but I had not known that her affections were so deeply engaged. It was a bitter pill for me to swallow.

As dinner went on, Carswall drank more and talked less, until by the time the ladies left us, he had lapsed into a surly silence. However, when the three of us who remained had drawn our chairs closer to the fire, he turned to Mr Noak and made a palpable effort to be civil. I soon realised that there was a purpose to this. Mr Carswall hoped to complete his Liverpool transaction before Mr Noak's departure. He talked about the advantages that derived from doing business face to face, rather than at a remove, and through intermediaries. He hinted at a willingness to lower his price a trifle in return for a speedy completion. It was a fine thing for Miss Carswall to marry a baronet with a splendid rent-roll, as well as considerable income from his coal mines, but the matrimonial alliance of two fortunes always entailed a great deal of business. The matter of settlements was on his mind.

Noak listened to all this, nodding occasionally, and taking very small sips of wine. Carswall encouraged him to drink toast after toast, but Noak pleaded his health and said that a mouthful of wine must stand for a bumper. Indeed, he did not look well. Though Mr Carswall's vein of persuasion showed no sign of nearing exhaustion, Mr Noak begged to be excused and said he required an early night.

All this conversation between them, much of it tolerably private in nature, was carried on without the slightest notice being taken of me. To Mr Carswall, I was a man whose services he had hired, and therefore no more expected to be the possessor of feelings than the horses who drew his chaise or the chair he sat upon or the kitchen maid who peeled his vegetables. While they talked, I was alone with my own thoughts, which followed an uneasy, even guilty course.

After Mr Noak's departure, Mr Carswall and I joined the ladies in the Arctic waste of the drawing room. Sophie was reading in a corner a little apart from the rest. Mrs Lee poured our tea. Miss Carswall asked me to play backgammon. We drew up a table, set the board and played two games in a companionable silence. I was grateful for the diversion.

Mrs Lee began to snore in her chair by the fire.

Halfway through the third game, Sophie retired. With unusual gallantry, Mr Carswall stood up and opened the door for her. He followed her from the room.

"Your turn," Miss Carswall said.

The dice rattled on the board. I raised my hand, ready to move a piece that would take one of Miss Carswall's, knowing that the game was now as good as mine. I looked up at her and found her looking at me while her hand played with an auburn ringlet. The tip of her tongue appeared for an instant between her lips and was then withdrawn. She teased the lock of hair between her fingers and my mind filled with the shameful recollection of her brushing her red hair in her nightgown; and I knew she wanted to remind me of how she had played the wanton as she stood by the window in Fendall House.

At that moment, there came a scream.

All trace of flirtation fled from Miss Carswall's face, and I saw mirrored in her expression the shock I myself was feeling. I pushed back the gilt chair with such force that it fell over. Mrs Lee stirred; her snoring faltered and then resumed its placid rhythm. I ran to the door and wrenched it open.

In the hall, Stephen Carswall loomed like a dishevelled bear over Sophie. His arm was around her waist and his head bent towards hers.

"Just one," Carswall said in a slurred voice. "Just one for now, my pretty."

Sophie saw me and her face changed. Even as he spoke, Carswall was turning away from her. I bounded towards him and seized his collar and his arm. I wrenched at him, but he would not loose his hold. His face darkened, becoming so deep a purple it seemed almost black.

"You damned blackguard," he roared at me. "Can you not see what I was doing? Mrs Frant had a coughing fit, and would have choked if I had not slapped her back."

His words were so preposterous that they reduced me momentarily to silence. My hands fell away from him. He released Sophie, who opened her mouth as if to say something – her colour was high, and she was breathing fast. Carswall swung back to her.

"Ain't that true, my dear? Now I mustn't prevent you from saying goodnight to Charlie. Dear little Charlie, eh? He will be waiting."

The implied threat was unmistakable. Sophie's eyes widened. Without a word, she turned and ran up the stairs.

"I beg your pardon, sir," I said quickly. "I heard a cry and thought – I thought you might be unwell."

Breathing heavily, he glared at me. "And now, Mr Tutor, you and I have something to discuss."

Over his shoulder I glimpsed Miss Carswall closing the drawing-room door. How much had she seen or heard? I followed Mr Carswall into the library, where he flung himself into the armchair by the fire. He was as drunk as ever but now his lust had been replaced by a cold, calculated anger. He waved me to stand before him like a miscreant before a judge.