CHAPTER NINE #3
Nathaniel blenched. “You cannot know what you are saying. Shoot your own father?”
“My father is already dead.”
“Oh, very well, your stepfather, then. It makes it no better. I think you must be mad indeed.”
“If I am, then lay it at your own door. Whatever I am, sir, your misconduct has made me.”
“Poppycock!” snapped Nathaniel, moving as if he would shift away from her. “Enough of this. Where is Abigail? I wish to see her at once.”
“You need not take this high-handed tone, sir. You may see her, for she has expressed a desire to meet with you. But mark this. If you harm one hair of her head, if you so much as make a move in that direction —”
“But this is insane,” he interrupted. “Do you think I have come all this way to —?”
“I know why you have come all this way,” she cut in, “because Adam told me. You have vowed to take Mama back. If you imagine I will permit it, however, you are wrong.”
Nathaniel uttered a short laugh. “And how do you propose to stop me? Come, Verena, you are being extraordinarily foolish.”
“Am I?” Hard and cold.
“Verena,” he began, and stopped, turning as the door opened behind him.
Mrs Peverill stood on the threshold, Adam close at her back.
She was almost pretty again in her lilac cambric gown, Verena realised with a start of fear.
Her glance flew back to Nathaniel’s face, alert for any danger.
Into his eyes she saw enter an expression of appreciation, succeeded by one of intense hurt.
Her gorge rose. Dissembler!
Worse still, Mama’s eyes softened at the sight. “Oh, Nathaniel,” she sighed, and moved forward.
“Adam!” Verena cried, running to intercept a meeting. “Don’t let him near her!”
Mrs Peverill stopped as her daughter came between her and her husband. Adam shifted to one side, ready to intervene. But, to Verena’s surprise and acute suspicion, Nathaniel threw up his hands and backed away, in a gesture of surrender.
“Do you think I have come to bully?” he cried, in a voice that she could almost believe sincere in its distress. “No, Abigail — I have come to beg.”
There was a short silence. Verena stared at her stepfather. What an alteration in his features when he was confronted with Mama. Yet he had dealt with Verena in a manner that showed all too clearly how little he had truly changed. She turned urgently to Mrs Peverill.
“Mama, do not believe him. He is determined on forcing your return, by whatever means. He will play upon your conscience, as he has tried to play upon mine. If he may speak of begging, then let me beg, too.”
“Verena, my darling, don’t,” pleaded Mrs Peverill, tears starting to her eyes.
“I must, Mama —” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I am so afraid that he will succeed with you, as he so often has before, and I cannot bear to think of it.”
Her mother released her hands and clasped Verena in her arms, hugging her close.
“My dearest love! You have been a most diligent guardian, but you must let me stand on my own feet now.”
Verena drew away, looking down into her mother’s set face. Heaven help her, was everything to go for nothing? Mama thought herself strong, but was she proof against Nathaniel’s wiles? Verena did not think so.
What to do? Where to seek for help? She looked at Adam, and saw uncertainty in his face. There was nothing to be got from that quarter. Then it was all squarely back on her own shoulders. She turned again to Nathaniel, convinced he was waiting only for the opportunity to get Mama alone.
“Be warned, sir,” she said, her tone hard. “Mama has too soft a heart, and she will hear you. But do not forget you have me with whom to deal.”
A sad smile entered his face, and he directed his remarks towards his wife rather than Verena. “I have come with a humble heart, and if Abigail has compassion enough to soften to my pleas, then shall I be satisfied. You will find me a good deal changed, Abigail.”
Verena’s eyes flashed at him. “Oh, you may offer lies, Nathaniel Peverill, enough to cozen Mama. But you will not take her home again, trust me.”
Nathaniel ignored her. His gaze remained fixed on his wife’s face. “I need you, Abigail. I have had time to learn that I cannot live without you. You know how I love you.”
“Love? You call it love to batter with your fists until your helpless victim lies almost senseless at your feet?”
“That is in the past!” he said with vehemence. “I confess my faults, Abigail. Freely I confess them. I have wronged you, but I will never do so again.”
“No, for you will never have power over her again,” Verena threw at him. “Not while I am alive to prevent it.”
Nathaniel turned on her. “Oh, leave me be, girl! What in Hades has it to do with you? Haven’t you caused enough unhappiness? In any event, you are wasting your breath. I swear to God, I will not leave here without my wife!”
“There, I knew it,” Verena slammed back.
She might have laughed if she had not been so angry.
She had caused unhappiness, he dared to say, himself author of all this.
She turned to her mother. “You see, Mama? You hear him?” Then she whirled back on Nathaniel.
“Try what you can. Force her, persuade her, drag her home. But mark this: I will come to Fittleworth and fetch her away again — at whatever cost.”
Nathaniel’s brow grew black, and Adam started forward, seizing his sister’s arm. “Verena, you are distressing Mama.”
She wrenched her arm out of his hold. “Then why do you not say something to support me, instead of standing there like a stock? This is your fault, Adam!”
“I know it,” he answered, “but I still say it is a matter between my father and our mama. You agreed that Mama might speak to him. Then let be, and do not be stirring the waters so that even discussion becomes impossible.”
His words struck home. Verena hesitated. Yes, she had agreed — perforce. And she had stirred the waters purposely, pushing Nathaniel to reveal his true colours, desperate to deflect Mama’s intention to meet him alone.
But she had reckoned without Mrs Peverill’s own new strength of mind, until she felt her mother’s hand on her arm.
“Adam is right, dearest. Leave us alone for a little.”
Verena stared at her, breathless with dread. “Alone? You and he?”
“I will be safe enough,” she said gently. “Go with your brother, I pray you.”
Mrs Peverill passed her daughter and went to stand behind one of the armchairs, facing her husband and looking him boldly in the face.
Watching her, Verena was conscious of a measure of realisation penetrating the blanketing fear.
Mama had changed. She was stronger. Perhaps, after all, she might stand up to him.
If only Verena could be sure that she would not agree to return with him. She hesitated.
“Nothing will happen, Verena,” Adam said, adding his persuasions to his mother’s. “Mama has a right to this privacy, and you know it.”
“I thank you, Adam,” said his father, nodding in his son’s direction. He added on a faint note of sarcasm, “And if your sister wishes it, do you remain within call to prevent me spiriting your mother away.”
Adam nodded, and taking Verena’s arm, pulled her to the door. She turned there, casting one last threatening look at her stepfather. “If you so much as lay one finger on her…”
Mrs Peverill looked across at her. Her tone was both dignified and firm. “Go, Verena.”
The next moment she found herself outside the parlour, her brother moving her off towards her own chamber next door. “We can wait in your room,” he said.
But she was too much on the fidgets to wait anywhere. She paced her bedchamber, while Adam sat on the one chair the room held, regarding her worriedly. “Verena,” he said, “be still!”
She continued to pace. “How can I be still?”
“They must come to an understanding by themselves. We cannot interfere.”
She halted then and turned to him, repeating, “We cannot interfere. How often have I agonised on that question? Adam, do you know what this feels like?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Waiting here in this room,” she uttered, in a tone of anguish, for the memories were crowding in, “prohibited from going in, knowing that at any moment the shouting may erupt into violence.”
“Verena, there is no shouting,” Adam said, rising and going to her. “Listen! They are talking — in a civilised manner.”
She shook her head, for the visions were too strong.
Visions of hateful days, when she had crouched, listening, not daring to move for fear of discovery, for fear of bringing about a worse punishment than that which she could hear — blow after blow, cry after cry, until she must cover her ears and weep those stifled silent sobs into her upraised knees, soiling her gown.
“Civilised?” she uttered in a shaking voice. “How can it be civilised? He is an animal — a brutish animal!”
Adam’s arms went round her and he held her close. But the embrace was too stifling and she struggled free. “I cannot bear this,” she said, crossing to the door.
Adam was before her, holding it fast. “You will not interrupt them. I won’t let you.”
Verena shifted, pushing back and forth. “Let me go, Adam. I cannot stay in this house.”
He frowned. “You want to go out?”
“I don’t care where I go, but I cannot remain here.”
“Very well,” he said, and opened the door with caution.
She went through it, hesitated an instant or two, looking towards the parlour door. Then she saw Betsey standing guard outside it.
“Oh, thank heaven!”
The maid came up to her, whispering. “All’s quiet, Miss Verena. Murmuring voices, that’s all.”
“Betsey, I am going out.”
“That’s the way, my dove. You can go as you are, it’s warm enough. Don’t you fret now. Mr Adam and me will see all’s right.”
Verena nodded, and then Adam was ushering her down the stairs, saying, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Dear heaven, no, Adam,” she replied, halting in the middle of the flight. “If you fail me on this occasion — if he removes Mama from this refuge —”