202. Love in the Dark Read online

  She had a feeling that her father might understand better than her mother would, but she knew that, even if she had told him how much she hated the thought of having to marry the Duke, he would not support her.

  He would merely have thought it extraordinary that as a woman she was not eager and willing to make a brilliant marriage.

  Only when her trunks were packed and she had also filled a large hat box did Susanna climb slowly into bed.

  She thought it unlikely that she would sleep because she knew that she had to rise very early to escape from the house when there was no one about.

  In London her father usually breakfasted downstairs at nine o’clock when she would join him.

  If she left the house at half past eight, she would have only the servants to contend with and if, as she anticipated, James and George were on duty in the hall, they would not query any orders she gave them.

  It all worked out so perfectly that Susanna could hardly believe her good luck.

  George was sent for a Hackney carriage, James carried her trunks downstairs and she had driven away before anyone could ask her a question or be astonished at what she was doing.

  She was sensible enough to tell James that she wanted to go to Waterloo Station and only when they were well away from Lavenham House did she countermand the order and tell the cabman to drive to Victoria.

  He accepted the change of direction without comment and Susanna over-tipped him in gratitude.

  Now she was safely in the train and the only thing she could pray was that it would be on its way before anyone had any idea that she had actually left Lavenham House.

  She had finished her coffee and all the biscuits when a Steward hurried past her saying to another,

  “Here they come.”

  Susanna, feeling suddenly frightened and uncertain of herself, rose to her feet.

  *

  Although Susanna had slept only a little the night before, she found it impossible to sleep as the train started on its journey across France.

  The luxury they were travelling in seemed to her as unreal as everything else that she was doing.

  There were Mr. Dunblane’s own servants, four of them, besides his valet, Mr. Chambers and a rather superior man who seemed to combine the position of Courier and Major Domo.

  It made Susanna feel as if she was a Royal personage travelling in a Royal train.

  At Dover the Harbourmaster and a number of other Officials had supervised the carrying of Mr. Dunblane on a stretcher into a private cabin of the cross-channel Steamer.

  There was also a single cabin for herself and doubtless another for Mr. Chambers and perhaps even the staff.

  She was almost tired of being asked if there was anything she wanted and she wondered what Mr. Dunblane was feeling although she had not come into contact with him.

  Susanna learnt that, although there would be a change of trains that drew their private carriages, they themselves would remain as they were until they reached Florence.

  It was an excitement in itself to inspect the comfort of the drawing room she was to use and the bedroom that opened out of it. She knew that Mr. Dunblane was enjoying the same luxury.

  There had been two carriages that they had travelled in to Dover, but three for the journey on to Florence, and there was no doubt that the Officials who saw them off were extremely impressed with the whole entourage.

  ‘Mr. Dunblane must be very rich,’ Susanna thought.

  For she knew that apart from the King no one travelled in such luxury in Europe, whatever they might do in England.

  She was aware that some of her mother’s friends had private trains of their own in England, the Duke of Sutherland for instance, and other members of the aristocracy.

  Her mother had often described to her the comfort of the Royal train that she and her father had often travelled on to Sandringham or to Warwick Castle, when with the King they enjoyed the hospitality of the beautiful Countess of Warwick.

  But to cross Europe in such a manner was, Susanna thought, an experience that she must remember and she noted everything that happened, even standing at the window at small Stations to see the gaping expressions of those on the platforms.

  It was a delight after she had dined alone with Mr. Chambers in her drawing room to undress in her bedroom, knowing that the large brass bedstead would undoubtedly be very uncomfortable.

  She also found it easy to wash when the water came piping hot into the basin, which was covered when not in use by a red leather cover.

  She climbed into bed and picked up one of her books she had brought with her. But she found it a little difficult to concentrate because there was so much to think about.

  ‘I have run away! I have really escaped! And now it will take months for Mama and Papa to find me and by that time perhaps they will be reconciled to the fact that I will not marry anyone I don’t wish to marry.’

  She told herself that it doubtless meant that she would remain a spinster for the rest of her life.

  Even if it was a depressing thought, she told herself that once she had established her independence she could perhaps do what she liked, travel or live on her own with no one to interfere with her.

  She had the feeling that it was not going to be as easy as that, but she had at least taken a step in the right direction. And she had shown courage.

  Miss Harding had said often enough that courage was the most important virtue anyone could have.

  “Courage, not only to face life,” she had said, “but also to know yourself. Most people are too frightened to look too deeply at themselves because they are apprehensive of what they will find. That is something you have to do, Susanna, and be brave about it.”

  ‘I have faced things frankly and honestly,’ Susanna thought now. ‘I know exactly what I am like – fat, ugly, unattractive, and it is unlikely that any man will be interested in me for myself. Therefore I have to make a life without men!’

  She put down her book and threw herself back against her pillows.

  ‘I am lucky, very lucky,’ she reflected, ‘I have money so I need not be afraid of poverty. By sheer chance I saw the advertisement in The Times and here I am setting out on a real adventure on my own and there is nobody, not even Mama, to stop me.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Susanna was deeply asleep when she became aware of a knocking on the door.

  For a moment she could not think where she was and then the rumble of wheels beneath her told her that she was actually in the train travelling across France.

  The knocking came again and she then sat up in bed, switched on the light and asked nervously,

  “Who is – it?”

  “It’s Clint, miss, Mr. Dunblane’s valet.”

  Susanna knew who he was without the explanation.

  Mr. Chambers had already pointed out to her a small wiry-looking man who, he told her, was both valet and nurse to Mr. Dunblane.

  “What is it?”

  “Can I speak to you for a moment, miss?”

  Susanna looked round her rather helplessly, wondering what she could do. Then, pulling the bedclothes a little higher so that they covered her, she called out,

  “Perhaps you had – better open the – door.”

  The valet hardly waited for her to finish the sentence, but opened the door as she suggested. Standing in the aperture without making any effort to come into the compartment, he said,

  “It’s Mr. Dunblane, miss, he wants you.”

  Susanna looked at him wide-eyed.

  “At this – time of the – night?”

  “Night or day, it makes no difference to the Master, miss.”

  “No, of course – not.”

  “He wants you to read to him. In one of his moods, he is, and there’s nothin’ I can do for him.”

  “Of course I understand,” Susanna agreed, “I will get dressed.”

  The valet hesitated a moment and then he said,

  “I should not bother to do that, mis
s, as he wants you in a hurry. It’s not as though he can see you.”

  “No, I see. Perhaps you will wait for me in the drawing room?”

  “I will, miss, but I don’t like to leave the Master alone for long when he’s in the state he’s in now.”

  “I will be very quick,” Susanna promised.

  As soon as the valet closed the door, she jumped out of bed and, picking up her dressing gown, which she had unpacked last night, slipped into it.

  It was very pretty and warm, being made of rose-coloured velvet trimmed with bands of marabou. Her mother had almost bought it for herself and then when she had decided that she did not really want it, Susanna had been unable to resist anything quite so attractive.

  She knew that it did not become her as it did her mother, nevertheless it was a reassurance now to know that it covered her discreetly.

  When it was buttoned up to her throat and all down the front, she was as respectfully clothed as if she was wearing one of her day gowns.

  Her hair was tied back in a bow at the nape of her neck and she made no effort to do anything with it, remembering that the valet had said in all truth that Mr. Dunblane would not see her.

  Without really thinking she picked up the book she had been reading when she went to bed and carrying it in her hand hurried into the drawing room.

  The valet was waiting for her, she thought impatiently, and he went ahead of her to open the door that led from her coach into the next.

  As they stepped out onto the connecting passage, there was an increase in the noise of the wheels and in the cold air, which made Susanna glad to step safely into the next coach.

  They passed through a drawing room exactly the same as the one in her coach and through another door into Mr. Dunblane’s compartment.

  Here was again a brass bedstead in the centre of it and the lights on either side of it revealed the mummy-like figure enveloped with bandages.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Mr. Dunblane asked, as he must have heard the valet enter.

  “I fetched Miss Brown as you told me to, sir. She’s here and ready to read to you.”

  “Oh, she has come, has she?”

  Although the tone of his voice was disagreeable, there was just an element of surprise in it.

  “Yes, I am here,” Susanna said quietly, “and, if I read to you, perhaps it will make you feel sleepy.”

  “Why should I want to sleep,” was the reply, “I have done nothing but lie on my back all day and night! I have no idea whether I am in darkness or light, except I can hear Clint yawning his blasted head off!”

  “I expect he is tired,” Susanna said, “and I think it would be a good idea if he went to lie down while I read to you. I expect he has been on duty ever since we left Victoria Station.”

  Mr. Dunblane did not reply, but she had the idea that he had absorbed what she had said to him.

  She looked round for a chair and, as Clint put one beside the bed, the occupant said,

  “All right, Clint, get off with you. If I need you, I will ring the bell. You can hear it in your compartment I suppose?”

  “It rings right beside my ear, sir,” Clint answered, “and it would be ever so difficult not to hear it.”

  He spoke in a manner that Susanna knew her father would have thought over-familiar from his valet, but she had an idea that Clint, who had an American accent, was not the conventional valet, quiet and obsequious as was expected from every gentleman’s gentleman!

  She also thought that if he was responsible for the expertly tied bandages that covered his employer, he must be exceptional in other ways.

  As Clint left, Susanna sat down on the chair and asked,

  “What would you like me to read to you, sir?”

  “Are there any books about the place?”

  “I think I noticed quite a number in the drawing room,” Susanna replied, “and I will fetch one unless you would like to listen to the one I have brought with me which I was reading before I went to sleep.”

  “Clint woke you up, did he?”

  “Yes, but it does not matter. I am glad to do anything – you want me to do.”

  She had the feeling that he was going to retort, ‘that is what you are here for,’ and then prevented himself from saying it.

  She opened her book, thinking as she did so that if Mr. Dunblane disliked what he was hearing he could always stop her. She thought however, that she had to explain,

  “I was reading about Lorenzo the Magnificent.” she began. “I felt it was appropriate I should know more about him before we reached Florence.”

  “Have you heard of him before?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’? Most women, especially English ones, know little history and less about art.”

  “I hope I know quite a lot about both,” Susanna replied, “and that is why it is more exciting than I can tell you, sir, to know that in Florence I shall be able to visit the Uffizi Gallery.”

  She thought as she spoke that she should add,

  ‘If you will let me?’

  There was silence for a moment and then Mr. Dunblane said disagreeably,

  “I suppose like all women you are fancying that you look like Botticelli’s Venus rising from the waves.”

  Susanna thought it was almost funny that he should think that.

  If he could see her, he would know that she did not look in the least like Venus painted by Botticelli or anyone else. Even as she was about to tell him so, she changed her mind.

  Why should she disparage herself to a man who could not see her? When the bandages were taken off, he would know all too soon what she really looked like.

  It would perhaps be amusing when she knew him better to find out what sort of picture of herself she had created in his mind. And the same vice versa applied to her.

  She could not see his features, he might be the ugliest man in the world or the most handsome. It was impossible to tell when he was swathed in bandages with only a hole that he could breathe through and another for speaking.

  “I would certainly like to look like Venus,” she said to him aloud. “But, as I have only seen a reproduction of Botticelli’s famous picture, I shall be able to tell better if there is any resemblance once I have seen the original.”

  Then as she spoke a thought came to her that made her add,

  “If I had the choice, I think I would prefer to look like Fra Filippo Lippi’s Madonna with the Laughing Angel.”

  “Why?” Mr. Dunblane asked abruptly.

  “I have seen a very fine reproduction of that picture,” Susanna answered him.

  She did not explain that it hung at Lavenham Park, and had been brought back from Italy by her grandfather.

  “And the Madonna in that picture is your ideal of beauty?”

  “It is not only because she is so beautiful,” Susanna replied, “but because she looks so intelligent. You can see it in the height of her forehead and I think too in the expression in her eyes.”

  “So you want both beauty and brains,” Mr. Dunblane remarked.

  She thought as he spoke that he obviously did not believe that the two could go together.

  “I think it must be very fortunate and very wonderful to be beautiful,” Susanna said, “but to have brains is more satisfying and makes one appreciate life quite differently.”

  She had the idea that Mr. Dunblane was considering what she said and, because she did not want to continue the conversation about her being beautiful, she opened the book and said,

  “I read last night about Lorenzo’s family and how long it was before he earned the title of Magnificent, how he became interested in politics and had also made himself famous as an athlete.

  “Two days after the death of my father,” he wrote in later life, “although I, Lorenzo, was very young, being only in my twenty-first year, the principal men of the City and the State came to our house to condole on our loss and encourage me to take on myself the care of the City a
nd the State, as my father and grandfather had done. This proposal being contrary to the instincts of my youthful age and, considering that the burdens and dangers were great, I consented unwillingly. But I did so to protect our friends and our property, for it fares ill in Florence with anyone who possesses great wealth without any control in the Government.”

  Susanna paused and added,

  “I think Lorenzo felt lonely and isolated. After all he was very young.”

  As she spoke she had almost forgotten that she was not talking over what she had read with Miss Harding in the way that they had always exchanged views.

  “He was fortunate,” Mr. Dunblane declared, “for it was not only his brilliance that gave him his great position, but he had faithful friends who rallied to him loyally.”

  “But he must have made them his friends by his own special qualities,” Susanna argued. “If he had not had that unusual capacity for creating friendship, he would have been on his own.”

  She thought as she spoke of how few friends she had.

  The girls who came to visit them in the country had always found May easier to get on with and she had invariably found herself the odd one out.

  ‘It’s not their fault,’ she had told herself often.

  It was because she found girls of her own age immature and usually incredibly boring. They giggled and simpered and they would talk only of clothes and things that they would do when they grew up.

  Susanna thought that perhaps it was because she was so unattractive that these things did not appeal to her.

  “Do you think that a man should rely so much on his friends?” Mr. Dunblane asked.

  Because she had almost forgotten that he was there, she started.

  “Of course he would have to rely on them, especially in situations such as Lorenzo faced. To have faithful friends is a compliment to oneself and there must be a great deal of satisfaction in that.”

  “You talk as if you wanted friends and have not many to compliment you in that way.”

  It struck Susanna that it was dangerous to talk about herself.

  “Shall I go on?” she asked. “Lorenzo may have had friends, but he also had critics. Guicciardini for one, who said he ‘desired glory and excellence above all other men and can be criticised for having too much ambition even in minor things. He did not want to be equalled or imitated even in verses or games or exercises and turned angrily on anyone who did so’.”