‘I did not mean to. It was the act of a desperate man, and I was quite unconscious of doing it.’
‘That don’t signify. You kicked your legs and moved in, or rather on, the water. We call it swimming, Mr Holdsworth. That is the technical word for it.’
Laughing, Holdsworth unhooked his breeches from the branch of the pear tree beside him and pulled them on. ‘We had better prepare ourselves, Mr Oldershaw. It must be after noon.’
Frank’s face lost its cheerfulness. ‘I wish Mrs Carbury weren’t coming.’
‘There’s no help for it.’ Holdsworth dropped his shirt over his head, and it fluttered around him, the cotton muffling his voice. ‘Her ladyship wishes to know how you do – that’s natural enough in all conscience.’
‘What will you say?’
‘It is more a question -’ Holdsworth broke off. As his head emerged from the shirt, he happened to be facing the open door of the cottage. He was almost sure that something was moving among the shadows inside. Hurriedly he turned round, now facing the water again. ‘Damnation, I think she may be here already,’ he said in a low, urgent voice. He hurriedly tucked in his shirt. ‘Where the devil’s Mulgrave? Why hasn’t he warned us?’
When they were decent, if not respectable, in shirts and breeches, the two men walked barefoot up to the cottage, with Frank lagging behind. As they approached the doorway, Mrs Carbury rose from the chair by the table, with a book in her hand.
‘A thousand apologies, ma’am,’ Holdsworth said. ‘Have you waited long?’
‘I was before my time,’ Mrs Carbury replied, her eyes on Frank, who was standing to one side and looking at the ground. ‘The wretched pony cast a shoe, so I left him with Ben at the smithy and came the rest of the way on foot.’
‘You must be fatigued, ma’am.’
‘Oh no – I wanted exercise.’
There were hurried footsteps on the path from the mill. Mulgrave appeared, straightening his necktie and smelling strongly of tobacco. Leaving him with Mrs Carbury, Holdsworth and Frank went up to their rooms. When they returned, suitably dressed for a lady’s society, they found Mulgrave serving tea. Frank went to stand by the window, for all the world like a sulky schoolboy obliged to be civil to the grown-ups but burning to play outside. Elinor’s colour was a little higher than usual, Holdsworth noticed, which suited her to perfection. He could not understand how he had ever thought that her appearance was merely striking. Even a fool could see she was beautiful.
‘Well, Mr Holdsworth, how do you and Mr Oldershaw like Whitebeach? Do you find it agreeable?’
‘It serves its purpose admirably, thank you.’
She gave a little cough, as if clearing an obstruction from her throat, and took a sip of tea. ‘Mr Frank,’ she said. ‘I should like to take a turn in the garden. Would you be so good as to escort me?’
Frank gave an awkward bow and allowed himself to be led outside. Holdsworth sat down at the table and watched them walking down the path towards the water, with Elinor’s hand resting lightly on Frank’s arm. Her face was turned up to his, and she was speaking; but Frank was staring at the ground.
Holdsworth admired the elegant shape of Mrs Carbury’s body as it swayed from side to side. A woman in motion was a lovely thing. During this visit he would have to speak privately with her. It would not be an easy conversation. Whatever they talked about, or failed to talk about, he would always be wondering whether she had seen him naked in the garden.
The question on Elinor’s mind as she talked to Frank Oldershaw in the garden was one that she could hardly raise with him, or indeed with anyone else. Had Mr Holdsworth realized that she had seen him as naked as Eve saw Adam before the Fall?
Even the desire to ask was mortifying. As it happened, she had never seen a fully naked man, apart from statues and in paintings, which did not count. It was true that members of the lower orders had offered her the occasional glimpse of those parts of their anatomies that decency usually concealed. But when the disordered clothing of a drunkard or a beggar revealed something of this nature, it was both easy and desirable to avert one’s eyes. The trouble was, she had seen Mr Holdsworth naked in his entirety. She had seen all of him, white and hairy, in the sunshine beside the fruit trees, and part of her had not wanted to look away. Indeed, she had found the spectacle curiously fascinating.
Mr Holdsworth had seemed perfectly happy with his nakedness, too. Even Dr Carbury, her own husband, had never revealed himself for what he truly was beneath his clothes. At the beginning of their marriage, on those very rare occasions when he had come to her in the night-time, it had been under cover of darkness; and, presumably to make absolutely sure that she saw nothing untoward, he had not removed his nightgown either. For her part, she had been glad of it: she had no desire to see her husband naked, any more than she wished him to see her in the same state.
All these considerations filled the back of her mind, heavy and stifling, like the atmosphere on the night of the great rainstorm. She tried to ignore their tiresome presence, reminding herself that she was here for a purpose.
This was the first time she had seen Frank Oldershaw since he had been removed to Dr Jermyn’s house. She was surprised by how normal he seemed. She had expected to see him unshaven, with hair unkempt, in his shirtsleeves, and perhaps with his limbs confined to a straitjacket. Instead, she walked up and down the little garden with what seemed to all outward appearances a perfectly respectable and healthy young man. Frank’s hair, still damp from the river, had been neatly arranged. He was plainly dressed in a dark coat and his manner, though subdued and uncommunicative, had nothing out of the ordinary about it. When she asked him how he did, he turned his head away and muttered that he did very well.
‘And do you prefer your present situation to Dr Jermyn’s?’
‘Yes,’ he mumbled.
‘And do you feel your health improves, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘Her ladyship will rejoice to hear it. She is most anxious about you, of course, and she will want to know everything I can tell her. But she would be so glad to have a word from you directly. Is there a message I may give her from you? Or even a letter?’
He shook his head violently. He was a very good-looking young man and if anything his recent experiences had improved his appearance, for in the last few weeks he had eaten and drunk far less than usual, and exercised more. But now he looked like a child in a fit of the sulks.
‘Her ladyship lives only for you,’ Elinor said in a low voice. ‘She will be so happy to see you at her side once more. May I not at least say that you hope soon to be restored to her?’
Frank stopped walking and turned to face her. He swallowed, opened his mouth and moistened his lips. She waited patiently for him to speak.
‘Quack, quack, quack,’ he said. ‘Quack.’
Suddenly he was running down the garden. Still quacking, he waved his arms in a parody of flapping wings. He sprinted through the fruit trees and jumped into the water.
Holdsworth ran down the garden and stood on the bank. Elinor felt the air move against her cheek as he passed her. Mulgrave followed more slowly.
Have I driven the poor boy to take his own life?
Holdsworth called out something to Frank. She could not make out the words. But he sounded irritated as much as anxious.
The boy swam calmly in a wide circle, and then came to the bank, pulled himself out and allowed himself to be led up to the cottage. His sodden clothes clung to his body. He had lost one shoe in the water, and Mulgrave carried the other. Frank looked gawky and bedraggled, like an ill-made scarecrow caught in a rainstorm; he was no longer handsome. He did not look at Elinor as he passed her.
She walked up and down, feeling foolish, relieved and useless. At length, Holdsworth came out to her. She turned eagerly to him. ‘How is Frank?’