Stone's Fall

And then I went back to my apartment, and slept. I was in a thoroughly bad mood; what should have been a day of triumph had turned out to be anything but, and I was furious that it had been ruined. I know: Macintyre was proud, he was disappointed, he was humiliated. He was an independent man, and I had taken that away from him, was presenting him with a fait accompli. Of course he was angry. I understood all that. But what did he want? Ruin? He would come round and accept that he was lucky to have me look after his interests, or he could drink himself to death. Those were the only real alternatives open to him. As I lay in bed, I couldn't really care which one he might choose.

I suppose I had wanted gratitude, thanks, a look of relief. That was naïve of me. You rarely get thanks in business for saving people from themselves.

CHAPTER 17

There was much to do the next day, and it started badly. Awaiting me, along with my morning coffee, were two letters. One was a long, tearstained and emotional letter from Louise which gave me pause. She apologised wholeheartedly, blamed herself, begged for a second chance to explain everything. She was ashamed of what she had said. It was only her love for me, her fear of losing me, which had made her act the way she had. She had been happy for the first time in her life. She implored me to meet her and talk to her, if only so we could say farewell as friends. Could I bring myself? If so, she would be waiting at Cort's palazzo at eleven. She didn't want to go to our apartment any more; she couldn't face it. But the palazzo would be empty. We could talk there.

I almost crumpled the letter up and threw it into the fireplace, dismissing it and the writer from my mind. But my better side won out. I did owe her that, at least, otherwise everything would be tarnished by a few last, bitter words. I had no intention of revising my decision, but it would be mean and cruel not to give in to her request. She deserved that. I would go. And that would be the end of it.

Thus my decision, until I picked up the second letter. It was from Cardano.

'My dear Stone,' the letter began,

After my letter about Macintyre, I write again with some more information, trivial no doubt, but as I have managed to find out no more for you, this is the only additional news I can provide.

A day or so after the Laird's meeting, I dined with John Delane, the editor of The Times, and was sitting next to Mrs Jane Nevison, a charming lady and the wife of one of his correspondents. A very pleasant woman who, as is usual, valiantly tried to pretend some interest in matters financial to keep the conversation going. I, in turn, cast around for something to say which might engage her interest.

So I began to tell her about your sojourn in Venice – she had mentioned wishing to visit the city – and your impressions of the place. I mentioned that some people were actually buying property there, and referred to the Albemarles and your friend whom they had employed to restore it. I had hardly got started, however, when her face darkened, and her voice became quite icy.

Did she know this Mr Cort? I asked when I saw her reaction. I added that you had a positive impression of the man. She said she did not, but had once employed the woman whom he married. It was quite a story and I pass it on to you unadorned. When she was engaged as a governess, Miss Louise Charlton, she said, had seemed meek and obedient, kindly and thoughtful to their two children. They admired her for her fortitude, as her previous employer had abused her terribly; she even showed them red weals on her forearm made with a rope, which he had inflicted when she said she was leaving the post.

What happened, however, is that very slowly a contented household descended into malevolent backbiting. Wife and husband fought because this woman dropped remarks about what one had said about the other. The children, previously devoted to each other, began to be jealous. They could not understand this, until it became clear that their devoted governess had been telling one child that her parents did not love her, and preferred the other. She was also terribly cruel to them, but in a way which for a long time passed unnoticed. The boy was frightened of the dark and enclosed places, so he would be punished by being locked in a cupboard for hours if he displeased her; the girl was mocked, told she was ugly, that no one would ever love her. The children were terrified, and did not dare say anything to their parents. The parents, meanwhile, were worried that the children would be upset if they lost the governess they loved so much.