Voices in a Haunted Room

“I should have thought you would have been ashamed to show your face,” I said.

“I was under the impression that you rather liked it; and if it pleases you, that is all I ask.”

“What do you imagine Molly Blackett thought of your behaviour in the sewing room?”

“I must first ask a question of you. Does Molly Blackett think? I believe her mind is completely taken up with pins and needles and ladies’-er-is there such a thing as a placket? It would be most appropriate if there is, because that rhymes with her name.”

“She was shocked. You know very well that my mother did not wish to see her.”

“But I wished to see you more closely in that delicious state of undress.”

“It was very foolish and decidedly ungentlemanly.”

“The best things in life often are,” he said ruefully.

“I dislike this flippant talk.”

“Oh come! You know you find it irresistible ... as you do me.”

“I knew you always had a high opinion of yourself.”

“Naturally, for if I don’t, who else will? They take their cue from me, you know.”

“I don’t want to hear any more glorification of your character.”

“I understand. It does not need glorification. You are wise enough, chere Mademoiselle, to see it as it really is, and that pleases you. I believe it pleases you mightily.”

“You are absurd.”

“But adorable with it.”

My answer to that was to whip up my horse. I turned into a field and galloped across it. He was beside me. I had to pull up, as I had come to a hedge.

“Let me make a suggestion,” he said. “We could tether our horses and sit under yonder tree. Then we could talk of many things.”

“It is hardly the weather for sitting out-of-doors. I believe it could snow in a moment.”

“I would keep you warm.”

I turned away again but he laid a hand on my bridle.

“Claudine, I do want to talk to you seriously,” he said.

“Well?”

“I want to be near you. I want to touch you. I want to hold you as I did yesterday. That was wonderful. The only trouble was that dear old Molly Blackett would come blundering in.”

“What do you want to talk seriously about?” I asked. “You are never serious.”

“Rarely. But this is one moment when I am. Marriage is a serious business. My father would be quite pleased if you and I married, Claudine, and what is more important-so would I.”

“Married to you!” I heard a pitch of excitement in my voice. I went on scathingly: “Something tells me that you would not be a very faithful husband.”

“My chere Mademoiselle would keep me so.”

“I think I should find the task too onerous.”

He laughed aloud. “Sometimes you talk like my brother.”

“I find that rather a compliment.”

“So now we are to hear of the virtues of St. David. I know you are rather fond of him-in a special sort of way.”

“Of course I’m fond of him. He is interesting, courteous, reliable, gentle ...”

“Are you, by any chance, making comparisons? I believe Shakespeare once commented on the inadvisability of that. You will know. If not, consult Erudite David.”

“You should not sneer at your brother. He is more ...”

“Worthy?”

”That is the word.”

“And how it fits. I have an idea that you are more favourably inclined towards him than I like.”

“Are you by any chance jealous of your brother?”

“I could be ... in certain circumstances. As no doubt he could be of me.”

“I don’t think he has ever aspired to be like you.”

“Do you think I have ever aspired to be like him?”

“No. You are two decidedly different natures. Sometimes I think you are as different as two people could be.”

“Enough of him. What of you, sweet Claudine? I know you respond to me. You like me, don’t you? You liked me very much when I came into the room and routed old Blackett and I kissed you. True, you put on your mask of properly-brought-up-young-lady. ‘Unhand me, sir!’ which really meant I want more of this ... and more ...”

I was scarlet with mortification.

“You presume too much.”

“I reveal too much which you would prefer to hide. Do you think you can hide the truth from me? I know women.”

“I had gathered that.”

“My dearest little girl, you don’t want an inexperienced lover. You want a connoisseur to direct you through the gates of paradise. We would have a wonderful time together, Claudine. Come, say yes. We’ll announce it at the dinner party. It’s what they want.

And in a few weeks we’ll be married. Where shall we go for our honeymoon? What say you to Venice? Romantic nights on canals ... the gondoliers singing love songs as we drift along. Does that appeal to you?”

“The setting would be ideal I am sure. The only thing I should object to is that I should have to share it with you.”

“Unkind.”

“You asked for it.”

“And the answer is?”

“No.”

“We’ll make it Yes.”

“How?”

He looked at me intently; his expression changed and the set of his lips alarmed me faintly.

“I have ways ... and means,” he said.

“And an inflated opinion of yourself.”