The Golden Cage Page 2

  She therefore kissed her father goodnight and, holding out her hand to Mr. Vanderhault, said,

  “Goodnight, Mr. Vanderhault, and I hope you enjoy your stay in England.”

  “That’s one of the things I’m going to talk about to your father,” he replied.

  To her surprise he held her hand in both of his as he went on,

  “You are a very lovely girl and ‘a real honey’, as we say back home. It’s a shame you have to sell the treasures that belong to you instead of having them laid at your feet by men who will love you because you are so beautiful.”

  Crisa was embarrassed and surprised to hear an old man talk like that, but she merely smiled at him prettily and said,

  “Thank you for saying such nice things to me.”

  She had a little difficulty in freeing her hand from his and then, with a last loving glance at her father, she left the drawing room and went upstairs to her own room.

  She knew without being told that her father would come and say goodnight to her when finally she heard him and Mr. Vanderhault coming upstairs.

  The American was shown into what was always known as ‘The Queen Anne Room’, although it was doubtful if the Queen had ever slept there.

  Then, as Crisa expected, she heard her father walking down the passage and, as he opened the door, she sat up in bed.

  He came towards her and she thought that he was looking very serious and at the same time as handsome as he always did.

  She felt, as she had at dinner, that the contrast between the two men was almost ludicrous.

  Mr. Vanderhault might be rich, but his money was unable to help his lined face and his sagging chin, which did not fit well into his stiff collar, which she fancied was a size too small for him.

  Her father, lithe, athletic and looking smart despite the fact that his evening clothes were, as she knew only too well, almost threadbare and should have been replaced years ago, sat down on the side of her bed.

  He looked at her as if he had never seen her before.

  “Has he – bought the – Van Dycks, Papa?” Crisa asked in a whisper.

  She knew the answer.

  Equally, almost like the voice of doom, she knew that she had to hear it to make it quite certain.

  “He made me a proposition, Crisa, but I hardly know how to tell you about it.”

  There was so much pain in Sir Robert’s voice that Crisa put out her hand and slipped it into his.

  “I am sorry, Papa,” she said, “I know what you are feeling. But we cannot go on without money. We have to pay the people in the village or else sit here and starve.”

  “I know,” Sir Robert agreed heavily, “but Mr. Vanderhault has the answer to all that.”

  “All I hope is that you obtained a good price for the Van Dycks.”

  Her father drew in his breath and then he said,

  “He is prepared to give me thirty thousand pounds, which as you are aware will clear up all our debts and provide an income of three thousand pounds a year for the rest of my life!”

  Crisa looked at her father in sheer astonishment, feeling that she could not have heard him aright.

  “Thirty thousand pounds and – three thousand a year for life?” she repeated as though she must have misunderstood him. “All that for the Van Dycks?”

  “And for you!” Sir Robert said quietly.

  For a moment there was just silence.

  Then Crisa asked in a voice that did not sound like her own,

  “Wh-what are you – saying, Papa? I – I don’t understand.”

  “Mr. Vanderhault wishes to marry you,” Sir Robert replied. “He said that the moment he saw you he knew you were what he had been seeking ever since he had become a widower five years ago.”

  He shut his eyes and drew in his breath before he added,

  “He is prepared to settle on you a million dollars the day you marry him and to leave you when he dies a millionairess a dozen times over!”

  “I-I don’t believe it!” Crisa stammered. “I don’t – believe it’s – possible!”

  Then, before her father could speak, she said,

  “Of course I could not marry an – old man like that! Someone I have seen for only a few hours! How can he think of anything so – horrible, so – impossible?”

  But even as she spoke she had known by the expression on her father’s face that it was what she had to do.

  “I cannot – I cannot do it – Papa,” she said over and over again, as he sat on her bed talking about it until the dawn broke.

  When finally Sir Robert left her to go to his own room, Crisa had known that it was something she had to do and that there was no escape.

  Her father had told her reluctantly and shamefacedly that his debts in London and his overdraft at the Bank had grown to such proportions that, unless something was done and quickly, there was every likelihood of his being arrested.

  “If I shot myself, the bailiffs would seize everything I possess,” he said, “including this house and its contents and you would be left to starve. It is impossible for me to make any provision for you.”

  Crisa had not spoken and he continued,

  “I was in despair when suddenly a friend at the Club introduced me to Mr. Vanderhault, saying,

  “‘I believe you have some rather fine pictures, Robert, of the sort that Mr. Vanderhault is looking for to take home to America.’

  “I had already told myself,” Sir Robert went on, “that I would have to find a purchaser for the Van Dycks and it seemed as if it was a deliberate intervention of Fate that he should be brought to me without any trouble.”

  “And he – really wants to – marry me?” Crisa asked in a very low voice.

  “He wants to have a son before he dies,” Sir Robert answered. “He has had four daughters by his two wives, but neither of them gave him a son.”

  Crisa felt herself shiver and, although she was very innocent and had no idea what love-making meant between a man and a woman, at the same time the idea of that old American touching her made her want to run away and hide.

  It was a feeling that she had again and again during the next week and yet incredibly, yet inevitably, by the end of it she was the wife of Silas P. Vanderhault and they were on their way to America.

  Nothing had seemed real from the moment she walked up the aisle of their village Church on her father’s arm to see the little man with his wrinkled face waiting for her at the altar steps.

  Her fingers were cold as he put the gold Wedding ring on her finger and he repeated in a nasal accent after the Clergyman the words that made her his wife.

  There had been a very small luncheon party at The Manor, a Wedding cake cooked and decorated by Nanny, and champagne provided by Mr. Vanderhault with which everybody drank their health.

  Only when they drove to the nearest Station to catch the train to Liverpool, where they would board an American Liner to carry them to New York, did Crisa think that she was not dreaming but having a nightmare.

  This man sitting beside her, talking about himself and his possessions, was her husband! He had paid for her more money than she had ever dreamt of, but for her that was no compensation for being his.

  She had known how much it had hurt her father to see her go, but the contracts that Mr. Vanderhault had signed after the Ceremony in the presence of his Solicitor, who had come down from London and was one of the guests at the Wedding, were lying on her father’s desk.

  If her life had changed from the moment the ring had gone onto her finger, so had her father’s.

  He was now a rich man and she was quite certain that, when she had gone, he would not stay at The Manor, but would rush back to London in the hope that the Gaiety Girls, the nightclubs and the restaurants that Nanny talked about so scathingly would be efficacious in making him forget – forget that he had not only lost the wife he loved but also sold his daughter who meant so much to him.

  It was only when they reached Liverpool, boarded the Liner and had
been ushered into two State rooms overwhelmingly decorated with lilies and orchids that Crisa knew that the bars of gold that constituted her prison were closing around her.

  She was to be conscious of them from that moment, as if she could actually see them walling her in.

  Her husband was still talking, still telling her how he had ordered the Shipping Line, in which, of course, he was a large shareholder, to provide the very best for himself and his bride.

  She realised that it had been Mr. Krissam who had seen to every detail. The flowers and the huge baskets of exotic fruits that she was sure they would never eat, the pots of caviar and the apparently endless bottles of champagne that appeared to be taken away almost as soon as they were opened.

  Silas P Vanderhault was in a triumphant mood and had invited a large variety of people to their State rooms as soon as they had boarded to come and drink their health and wish them good luck.

  There was the Captain, the Purser, the Officers and the Stewards, all of whom were offered champagne, which they drank with relish, at the same time looking at her, she thought, as if they knew exactly how she had sold herself at the altar for the money that this millionaire could give her.

  It was not only money, for already he had showered her with presents when he returned from London for their Wedding.

  There was a huge diamond necklace that she privately thought was vulgar and far too large and heavy for her small neck.

  There were diamond bracelets that seemed to weigh down her wrists and not only an engagement ring the size of a florin but also a set of turquoises and diamonds in velvet boxes.

  There was too a necklace of pearls that were so large and overpowering that she was sure if she wore them people would laugh.

  She, however, thanked him politely and he said, patting her arm,

  “Nothing’s too good for the wife of Silas P. Vanderhault, and I can tell you, honey, when they see you in New York wearing these jewels, their eyes will pop out of their heads with envy!”

  For a moment Crisa wanted to ask him if he expected her to wear them all at once and then she knew that it was the sort of question that Mr. Vanderhault would not think at all funny.

  She had already learnt that he had very little sense of humour, although he did laugh at his own jokes.

  More people came into the State room to drink the champagne and, when finally they sat down to dinner in their other State room, there were still passengers coming aboard, who on hearing that Mr. Vanderhault was wassailing and celebrating his marriage, claimed an acquaintance with him.

  The toasts went on until the Liner sailed at midnight and, when Crisa thought that at last she could go to bed, she left her husband still drinking and still talking as she crept away.

  Because she was apprehensive that the moment had come that she would be a married woman and the wife of a man she had hardly spoken to, she felt a cold shiver as she undressed.

  She climbed into the big brass bedstead, conscious as she did so of the overwhelming fragrance of lilies that decorated the room.

  Their suite was fitted out in mahogany with everything to match and there were hanging wardrobes from which, on Mr. Krissam’s instructions, Stewards had already unpacked what she would need for the voyage and he had also had taken away the leather trunks so that they would not clutter up the cabin.

  On her bed there was a nightgown that she and Nanny had bought in Huntingdon and she felt because it was of a finer material and decorated with lace that she had not been able to afford lately, that it was somehow immodest and embarrassed her.

  Because her father had made it very clear to Mr. Vanderhault that, if she was to be married so quickly it would be impossible to collect a trousseau for her.

  So a profusion of clothes that she had never imagined buying or owning was sent down from London by, she knew, Mr. Krissam from one of the most expensive and exclusive shops in Bond Street.

  She had not even bothered to try them on during her last days at The Manor.

  Instead she had ridden with her father every possible hour of the day, knowing that only by feeling that she was alone with him and they were riding together over the estate they loved could she prevent herself from crying out in horror at what lay ahead of her in the future.

  As if he understood, they talked of everything but her forthcoming marriage and only when she put on her Wedding gown did she realise that she would not only feel different as the wife of Silas P. Vanderhault but would look different too.

  Her Wedding gown was indeed beautiful, but while Nanny exclaimed over it and she had even seen a glint of admiration in her father’s eyes, she could hardly take the time to look at herself in the mirror.

  The same applied to her going-away dress with which there was a cape in case it was cold at sea, trimmed with the finest and most expensive sable.

  The hat she knew came from a milliner she had read about in the ladies’ fashion magazine that Nanny occasionally borrowed from the Vicar’s wife.

  Her gloves were of such fine kid that she was almost afraid to put them on and for the first time in her life she wore real silk stockings.

  Now, as she finished undressing and put on her nightgown, she felt her heart beating in heavy strokes, almost as if a clock was ticking away the minutes that she had to live.

  For one frantic moment she wondered what would happen if she ran away as she wanted to do, if she went up on deck and threw herself over the rails into the sea.

  They must be out of the harbour by now and darkness had fallen, so it would be very difficult to rescue her.

  Then she knew that, while she was afraid of her husband, she was just as afraid of dying in a way which she knew her father would think dishonourable, since they had already accepted so much from Silas P. Vanderhault.

  Lying back against the pillows, she closed her eyes and thought of how her father would now be able to fill the stables with the young, well bred and spirited horses he had always longed to possess.

  The house would be redecorated, the threadbare carpets and tattered curtains replaced and before she left, Nanny had already engaged three maids to work in the house and two young girls from the village to help in the kitchen.

  ‘Papa will be comfortable,’ Crisa thought.

  Yet she knew that he would find the loneliness unbearable and would be more often in London than in Huntingdonshire.

  Then she heard a movement outside her door and she felt a shiver of fear run through her.

  This was the moment when her husband would come to her and she supposed, although she did not know what it meant, that he would make love to her.

  She felt herself tremble as she waited, remembering suddenly that he had never kissed her on the lips.

  But really there had not been time and, when he greeted her in front of her father, he had merely kissed her on the cheek and even then she had felt his mouth was cold and his lips withered with age.

  ‘I cannot bear it – I cannot!’ Crisa cried to herself.

  The door opened and she drew in her breath, stifling a little scream.

  But it was not her husband who stood there silhouetted against the light from the State room, but Mr. Krissam.

  She stared at him in astonishment and he said,

  “I’m sorry to tell you, Mrs. Vanderhault, but something terrible has happened!”

  “What is it?” Crisa asked in a whisper.

  “Mr. Vanderhault has had a collapse. I only hope it’s nothing serious, but I’ve got him to bed and the doctor is with him.”

  There was a pause before Crisa managed to ask,

  “Shall – I come and – see him?”

  “There’s no point in doing so, Mrs. Vanderhault, since he’s unconscious and won’t know you’re there. It would be best for you to stay where you are.”

  “Very well,” Crisa managed to say, “but – will you please tell me – at once if I am – wanted?”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Vanderhault, and I hope you’ll be able to sleep a
nd that things will be better in the morning.”

  Mr. Krissam closed the door and Crisa lay back and shut her eyes.

  She could hardly believe that what had happened was true, but she was alone – alone on her Wedding night! Alone and, for this night at any rate, she was safe from what she dreaded with every nerve of her body.

  chapter two

  It was Mr. Krissam who organised everything.

  He arranged for somebody to be always in attendance on Mr. Vanderhault as he lay unconscious in his State room and Crisa learned from the doctor that he had in fact suffered a severe stroke.

  She was left with nothing to do except sit in her own room, reading the magazines that Mr. Krissam had supplied before they left England and books from the Liner’s library.

  Twice a day she walked around the deck because she thought that it was what she should do, but she was too shy to speak to anybody, or to make conversation with those who bade her a friendly ‘good morning’ or ‘good afternoon’.

  She therefore had no contact with the outside world and, when they reached New York, she was overwhelmed by her introductions into American life, where she had never seen anyone she met before.

  It was, needless to say, Mr. Krissam who introduced her to the huge house and to her husband’s relatives, who were all waiting to meet her.

  It took her all her time to sort out who they were. The most prominent amongst them, whose name was Matilda, and who was her husband’s elder sister, announced that she had moved in so as to keep her company.

  “I will show you the ropes,” she asserted firmly.

  This Crisa soon realised meant that Matilda was in charge of everything and she was only a guest in her husband’s house.

  There were a great number of Silas P Vanderhault’s other relatives as well, including his four daughters, who were all married with families, and another sister, Anna, who was younger than Matilda, but still seemed to Crisa very old and dictatorial.

  They made it clear to her from the very beginning that things must go on in exactly the same way as they had before her arrival and that nothing could be changed without her husband’s authority.