And the very thought of her mother's face, lovely though ageing, and full of lazy kindness, soothed her. She would have understood; but she would have been practical too. She would surely have said: "We must find a husband for you, darling.”
"Mother! Mother!" prayed Kitty.
"Do something for me. Help me! Give me some sign that you know what has happened to me, and tell me what I can do.”
She asked Peg and Dolly about the girl who had loved a groom. They had not known her but they had heard of her.
"Tis a terrible thing to happen to a girl," said Peg; and she and Dolly were silent for a long time thinking what a terrible thing it was to happen to a girl.
Kitty wanted to shout: "It has happened to me!" Something restrained her; she thought it was her mother, watching over her, restraining her.
No one must know__yet... no one at all.
She and her aunt went to Haredon for a few days; the squire had sent the carriage for them.
A lovely house, Haredon; it had been built by a Haredon in the reign of Queen Anne. Harriet sat, lips pursed, as the carriage turned in at the drive. The gracious elms, the grey walls of the house had always filled her with pleasure. She thought of the land round Haredon, and especially the orchards; she thought of the staff of servants and the joy of running the place.
The squire came out to meet them, and from a window Jennifer Jay watched them.
Colour burned in Kitty's cheeks; her eyes were brilliant. Never, thought Squire Haredon, had she looked as beautiful as she did here in the setting which would soon be hers. She liked the house; perhaps she liked it so much that she was ready to take him, since he went with the house.
You wait! he thought. You wait, my beauty! And his fingers itched to seize her; and as they walked into the house he put his hand on her shoulder and gripped it hard; she turned her head and smiled at him, with her lips parted and a look of promise in her eyes. His hand slipped to her waist and touched the warmth of her bosom. She did not move away from him, and as they entered the house she was still smiling.
Dolman, the butler, brought drinks into the library. The squire touched her glass with his; she could see the veins standing out on his forehead knotted they were, and blue, as if ready to burst. She felt more comforted than she had since she had lost Darrell, and it seemed to her then that this visit was her mother's answer to her prayers.
"I want to show Kitty round the place," said the squire, smiling into his glass.
"I am proud of Haredon, Kitty.”
"And rightly so, George," said Harriet with no trace in her voice of the wistfulness she felt; 'it is a place to be proud of.”
"Thank you, Harry. Now, Kitty!" He smacked his lips and licked the wine from them, and his eyes never left her.
"Come now.”
They left Harriet in the library with the squire's eldest cousin who had come to play hostess, and went over the house alone. It was indeed a beautiful place, so big that Kitty felt it would be easy to lose oneself in it. There were tall windows, ornate ceilings and deep window seats. Now and then Kitty heard the sound of footsteps hastily scurrying away; once a mob-capped serving maid, unable to escape in time, blushed hotly and dropped a deep curtsy; and in his free and easy way the squire made her stand before them, and he introduced Kitty as though she had already agreed to share his home. He seemed younger then, and she liked him better than she had ever liked him before. This was his castle and he was the king; he was a showman watching the effect on her of his treasures.
"Do you like it, Kitty?”
"It is very grand!”
"Big though. Big for one man to live in... all alone.”
She could laugh at that.
"As far as I can see, you are far from alone ... here.”
"You pick me up sharp, Kitty!" And he looked as if he liked being picked up sharp.
They were in the galleries, looking at portraits of the Haredon family.
"Do you think I take after them, Kitty?" he wanted to know, thrusting his face close to hers.
"I can see you better, not so close," she said, and he laughed and drew back. Wasn't that just the sort of thing Bess would have said! It was like having Bess here again. He thought of gripping the girl's shoulders and kissing her, and hurting her hurting her for all the years he had been unable to forget Bess.
"Yes," she went on, 'there is a resemblance.”
"Ah!" he said.
"That's how it is with families; you are the spit of your mother, Kitty. There was a time, you know, when I was very fond of your mother.”
"Most people were fond of her!”
That was the trouble, Kitty! That was the trouble." He narrowed his eyes. He thought, by God, if you try any tricks with me, I'll well nigh kill you! Bess fooled me I'll not stand for that treatment twice in a lifetime.
She said: "I want to see the children.”
Jennifer stood up as they entered. She had been by the window, stitching something. He could see how violently her heart was beating under her tight bodice: she must learn to behave; more tantrums and out she would go; she gave herself airs because once he had found her amusing.
"Where are the children?" he asked curtly, and he wanted to give her a slap on the side of her face for her insolence.
She jerked her head towards the playroom, and his eyes looked straight into hers, cold and contemptuous. Kitty went forward. Jennifer almost barred his way; he pushed her aside without looking at her.
The children sat side by side on a window seat. The boy had a book of pictures on his lap, and the little girl was looking over his shoulder.
She was a sweet little thing, thought Kitty; not yet three, she had large eyes not unlike the squire's but hers were blue and lovely and innocent. She smiled up at Kitty through dark lashes, and Kitty stooped and kissed her, feeling a sudden rush of tears to her eyes; for the first time she was not afraid of this thing which had happened to her; she thought only of how wonderful it would be to have a daughter of her own.
The squire looked on, surprised. Real tears in her eyes, and all for little Margaret! He put out a hand and touched the child's shoulder; he felt suddenly happy. Now, after years of dissatisfaction, everything was going to be right for him. He had lost Bess, but he could laugh at Bess now. She would be getting old if she were here too fat, the bloom all gone. In her place. Bess's daughter! Bess again, only young, just as Bess would have been had he married her all those years ago. They would have children; he would no longer be troubled by his desire for any attractive woman who came near him: he was convinced that he could find complete satisfaction with 'this girl, just as he would have found it with her mother. Now he would marry her, and he would grow into that squire he had always wanted to be. They would respect him hereabouts; they would love him. That was what he wanted; he wanted to be loved; to be a father to them all. Had he not often seen to it that deserving people in his domain did not starve so long as they were deserving? He could be relied upon to give a man work and food, even if he did seduce his wife or daughter at the same time. Oh, yes, in the hard times, he had been a good squire! It was just that waywardness in him that he had been unable to control, but here was Kitty to subdue that... just as he had meant Bess to do. He had not been so near complete happiness since the day when Bess had said she would marry him. They left the children and went on with their tour of the house.
The next day he asked Kitty to marry him, and she accepted.
Throughout the great house serving men and maids hurried here and there; there were so many preparations to be made, for the wedding must take place at Haredon. The squire was not a man to stick to conventions and the bride's home was not a grand enough setting for his wedding. Where would the guests be lodged? Where would the food be prepared? He was determined on a great feast. The neighbours should remember his wedding to the end of their days. It was the greatest day in his life; it should be a red letter one in theirs. He himself planned meals with the cook; he discussed beef and lamb and venison, cakes and pies, and wine and mead and ale. He was in a rare humour those days before his wedding. He felt his servants warm to him; he entered into an easy familiarity with them; already he was becoming their squire, their father and their friend. Only Jennifer did not come within the range of his friendship; he avoided her, and she had the good sense to keep out of his way. The servants said she brooded in her room, planning evil, for there was something of the witch in Jennifer Jay.