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CHAPTER XXXI

The next morning, Mary was still in her room dressing for breakfast when the air was filled with a roar of such volume that she immediately thought of that elephant. Had it escaped after all? Was it even now marauding through Mayfair? She rushed to the window and looked down on a street where all proceeded quite as it should. Then, without even a knock, Booker put her head round the door.

‘Hope you brought your armour, miss.’ The maid was uncommonly cheerful. ‘You’ll need it for this one.’ She signalled downstairs with her chin. ‘You’re wanted. Down in the study.’

She found Sir Edward pacing the floor and brandishing the letter. ‘Well, madam ?’ He had clearly decided on a more forthright approach than the one he had used at the start of the year. ‘An explanation, if you please.’ He took a seat at his desk and drummed his plump fingers upon it. ‘The very least I deserve.’

‘Good morning, Papa.’ Mary curtseyed, remained standing and affected concern. ‘You seem a little upset. I do hope you have not had bad news?’

‘The worst!’ The force of his fury brought him back to his feet. ‘For I have had the misfortune to learn that you, my own daughter, are no more than a … a … Jezebel !’

Mary froze. She could not chastise him, but nor would she tolerate any more of his nonsense. Instead, she appeared rational. ‘I cannot think what you mean, sir.’

It was the perfect response, for even he seemed abashed – though, of course, he gave no apology. ‘Mr Austen Knight informs me’ – he held up the paper and sat himself down again – ‘that you have met with that person .’

‘With young Mr Knight?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘That is correct, sir. I was coming out of the stables, and he happened to be passing. It could not have been helped. I might have mentioned it last evening, but you were so late at the House.’ She thought for a moment: ‘I do wonder, Papa, if these night sittings are not taking too much of a toll? You seem rather strained.’

Sir Edward glowered. ‘And he writes – quite how he dares is completely beyond me but somehow he manages. Really, that family – he actually writes that you still have feelings for the—’ He stopped, veering from slander. ‘ Feelings which I have forbidden !’ With that he rose and returned to his pacing. ‘He is even so bold as to make the case for the match.’

The rest of his speech was addressed to the carpet. ‘I know that, were I to permit it, you might now speak of Mr Knight’s qualities, his estate and his worth … Believe me, I hear enough on that subject from Lady Knatchbull herself and consider it no longer relevant.

‘I issued my decision on the day I was asked and will not change my mind, Mary. I will not; I cannot. That is the command of your father – to you, the highest power on this earth, beneath only Him who sits as our Ultimate Arbiter.

‘You cannot challenge me now, for that I can never forgive.’ Did his voice crack then with emotion, or just ugly, hot rage? ‘This family would fall into chaos. You are the eldest – remember it ! The first of you all to face this decision, and as such must tread with good care, ever mindful of the example that you set for your siblings.’ He flung down the pages and balled his fists in aggression. ‘ In particular, the example you set for your sister! ’

‘But—’ Mary was about to protest that she had not a sister, and then she remembered. Was she seriously expected to put the moral interests of that baby above her own happiness? Would he truly throw over Mary for her ? She refused to believe it.

‘Father, all my life I have honoured you.’ Her words were carefully chosen. ‘Though it may, at times, have felt like a challenge, I have tried desperately to obey your every stricture and I have done so with love.’ Her message acute. ‘So now, pray, I beg that you hear and believe it when I tell you that any action by me in defiance of your wishes will cause me great pain and regret. I have never wanted to hurt you, and nor do I now.’

It was a forewarning of her coming apostasy. Of course, he heard only compliance. She had deliberately eschewed any use of the conditional; yet he, in his arrogance, chose to presume it was there.

‘Thank you, my dear.’ Her father patted her arm, complacent; sent Mary off on her way.

And there the interview ended, with each party convinced that its own case had been clearly made.

Mary was in her room and still trembling when Marianne came up to find her.

‘Dear girl, do not take on so.’ Miss Knight rushed to the bed to embrace her. ‘All will be well in the end, I am sure of it.’ She kissed Mary’s head and clasped her hands. ‘I just came to ask when you might next visit your aunt, Lady Banks? She sounds a most interesting lady and I should so like to meet her.’

‘Oh.’ Mary sniffed. ‘Yes, of course. She expects me on Thursday about three after noon.’

‘Excellent!’ Marianne exclaimed, satisfied. ‘But what a shame, I shall not be free.’

It was only on entering the Portland Place drawing room that Mary realised Marianne Knight was not, after all, in the employ of her parents but was, in fact, in alliance with Ned. For there he was, long legs stretched out from the chair by the fire, with Lady Banks sitting across from him, enthralled.

‘Welcome, my precious!’ Her great-aunt trilled in a manner quite close to coquettish. ‘Do come in and join us.’

Mary sat, as she was bidden, in the place beside Ned while their hostess remained at some distance.

‘I have been regaled by tales of the exploits of the Godmersham family. How we have laughed , have we not, Mr Knight?’ Lady Banks was chuckling still. ‘Highland jigs in costume! Governesses – of all people – putting on unsuitable plays and getting dismissed for it! I must say it sounds like a permanent r-r-riot . How on earth our good Lady Knatchbull came out quite so very pious must remain one of the great mysteries.

‘Dear, oh dear.’ She dabbed at her eyes and, in so doing, smeared coal around her forehead. ‘You are naughty, sir, for a lady of my years cannot take too much diversion. One is simply not used to it.’

And with no further discussion, Lady Banks sank down, as if into a sleep.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Knight.’ Mary spoke softly and smiled. ‘This is most odd, for when were we last able to speak freely indoors?’

‘Ha! You make a fair point, madam. There was that one occasion, on New Year’s Eve, if I recall …’ Ned gave that dear crooked grin and, with an eye on their chaperone, took her hand in his.

The sensation was delicious. Mary felt her breath start to quaver.

‘But otherwise, never. Indeed, there is due cause for concern,’ he went on, quite smoothly, while tracing a circle on her wrist with his finger, ‘that our relationship might be like one of those species – a philadelphus, or some such – that thrives in the garden but once transplanted indoors, wilts and collapses.’

Mary could quite see herself wilting – could imagine the many ways in which he might cause her to do it, though such wickedness should be resisted. But the collapse of a passion such as theirs? It was surely impossible.

‘The first time I entered the Great House at Chawton, I at once felt it had a particularly’ – she searched for the word – ‘ fertile sort of air.’

‘Is that so, madam?’ Now, the tip of that finger was slowly drawing a line to the inside of her elbow. ‘A theory that must be tested, I think. It is many years since it has been home to a young married couple.’

Lady Banks stirred in her sleep then. Alarmed at her own wanton behaviour – for somehow she was leaning towards him, face close to his – Mary wrenched her hand away and so shattered the spell.

‘Now, to serious business, for we have not much time.’ Ned’s words came rapidly, his voice at last hushed. ‘The latest entreaty found no favour with Sir Edward. The reply was unfriendly, that avenue now closed. Since then, I have thought long and hard about that which is, in all senses, our last resort. And, not without some great trepidation, I hereby conclude that – if your feelings do match my own – there is no other option.’

Mary sank back in her chair, stared at this perfect gentleman and let herself be overwhelmed by the moment. He was willing to do this and for her ! And so they were soon to be married! Their love had been challenged and yet it had survived. Furthermore, in one mental footnote, Mary acknowledged that, to safeguard her reputation, Ned was now gallantly claiming her audacious plan as his own. She could leap into his lap, dance around the drawing room – rush into the street and shout to the world! – but Ned had still more to say.

‘This morning, I conferred with my father and, though I made no confession and kept the matter vague rather than specific, he gave me every impression that we would be forgiven by him , at least. It is hardly surprising. After all, what good, loving parent would cast out his own child? The thought is fantastic. So one question remains, though still it pains me to ask it. My darling, are you truly willing to take all the many, great risks that elopement entails?’

The dread word was now spoken. Mary quailed at its awe. ‘Yes …’ she began, but there was a new note to her voice.

And Ned, of course, caught it. ‘I shall not – never will – pressure you!’ he insisted at once. ‘This is no minor matter and, I must warn you, to some it will appear as an enormity. We must be braced for vile gossip and loathsome attention. There may even be a risk of a few months’ estrangement between you and your family. To think of your dear younger brothers, the precious bond between siblings … Madam, I beseech you, if you now fear it too much—’

‘Ha! You imagine I fear this ?’ Mary burst out in protest. ‘Oh, Mr Knight! Do you not see the alternative? It is to watch as my future burns bright on the altar of my father’s whim.’ Her voice caught. She plunged on. ‘And then what would become of us? You – oh, you would still know your freedoms. But I beg you think now of my life. What then is left to me?

‘ That , sir, is something to fear!’

The very idea of that future brought tears to her eyes. Blinking, she saw they were matched by his own.

‘Oh, my dear one,’ she said then, with new tenderness. ‘If I can have you … If we can, at last—’

But there was no going on. Ned was out of his seat. His lips were on hers. And Mary felt it again – the great heat! Those fireworks! Then Lady Banks let out a loud snore and, with a laugh and a grimace, he shot back to his seat.

Gasping, Mary fell back against hers, closed her eyes – caught her breath – until something quite close to calm was restored to her being and she could finally speak again.

‘I can assure you,’ she began, with her palm to her breast. Though her voice was now steady, her heart was not yet. ‘I am decided and, sir, I too have thought deeply about what this entails. My brothers are growing and have no great need of me now. And their love is secure – there is no fear on that score. But, alas, my poor father … still – still – I can do nothing but care for his feelings.’ She felt no need to pretend in this company. Ned was a good man. He understood her. ‘So often in my life, since I was a small child, my father has spoken and acted in ways that should be repellent. And yet—’

‘ Honour thy father and mother ;’ he said, ‘which is the first commandment and promise … ’

‘So ingrained in us all!’ She smiled then, but was now forlorn. ‘I fear it is no coincidence that, lately, Sir Edward has taken to reading that passage every night after dinner.’

‘And does he break off then?’ Lady Banks was, all of a sudden, sharp and awake. ‘Or does he run on? Oh, I may be the widow of a Man of Science, my dear, but still I know the Good Book as well as any fine parson. And, ye fathers – that’s how it continues – And, ye fathers, pr-r-rovoke not your children to wrath .

‘The Lord can speak unto us of honour as much as He likes. But then, the Lord has never had to suffer Sir Edward when his temper is up.’