Chapter Nine 1892 #2
The question sent a lance of dread through Theo. To grow old in Hallewell House; to one day take over from her mother as guests came and went; to see nothing new, do nothing new, go nowhere new. The thought weighed her down – a frightening reminder of the lethargy that had taken hold in ’89.
In the dead of night, she wrote another letter to Toby.
She knew she shouldn’t. She might perhaps have got away with it at the age of sixteen; but now, at eighteen, the repercussions of being discovered writing personal letters to an unmarried man of a similar age would be terrible.
She wasn’t sure if it would be worse for people to assume that there was a secret engagement or for them to discover that there was not: that Theo was merely a huntress.
The visiting suitors would vanish, given that the Hallewell good name – and the prospect of inheriting the house one day – was all she had.
She supposed her mother would finish with her.
They had no useful relatives in faraway corners of the country where she might be sent in disgrace, so if Diana cast her out, it would be into ruin.
But it had been two months since she’d last written to Toby, and she craved the small flame of hope lit by every letter she sent.
The possibility that, this time, he might reply.
Her desperate apologies and utter supplication had, by now, grown more measured.
More conversational, in fact. She wrote of life in Hallewell, of missing him and Kit, of her struggles to make sense of it all.
He had just weeks remaining in Durham. After that, Theo would have no idea where to write to him. He would slip forever beyond her reach.
On the third Sunday, Dr Anscombe came to the service at St Mary’s in West End, though it was far from being his nearest church.
Theo didn’t see him there until afterwards, when she went to stand by Missy’s grave.
The day was mild and bright, the churchyard covered in daisies.
It seemed such a peaceful place to sleep.
She recoiled from thoughts of the prison yard where Kit was buried.
Stony and cold, with nothing green growing and nobody ever passing by to leave a token or think fondly of him. Her guilty heart ached.
It was her habit to bring a little something to decorate Missy’s headstone every week, and this time she’d picked bluebells from the woods and tied them with a white ribbon. She adjusted the bow before setting them down.
‘As pretty as Melissa herself,’ Ralph said, appearing beside her with his hat in his hands.
Theo looked up, startled.
‘How do you do, Miss Hallewell? I’m sorry to have stayed away.’
‘What has . . . kept you, Dr Anscombe?’ she said.
‘I . . . There were . . . reasons,’ he replied. ‘None that matter.’
‘Oh.’
‘You are a good friend, to come and lay flowers for her.’
Theo looked down at the grassy mound, which sank a little more every year.
‘It’s one thing to simply miss a person, but quite another to feel responsible for their death,’ she said. ‘And I shall always feel responsible, at least in part; no matter what anybody says.’
‘As will I,’ he said softly. ‘But . . . I believe we both did all we possibly could.’
‘Yes. Yes, I know.’ She touched his sleeve.
‘Theo?’ Diana waved from over by the lychgate. ‘Come along, we’re leaving.’
‘May I walk with you?’ Ralph asked.
‘Of course.’
They stayed some distance behind the others, talking easily enough about the season and the current guests at Hallewell, and a trip to York Ralph planned to take that summer, to visit his only living relatives, an aunt and uncle.
‘Uncle Crudge loves York,’ Theo said. ‘He says the minster is the finest Gothic building in all of Europe.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I have never seen it, or any to compare it to. I’ve never been anywhere.’
‘Perhaps you might, in the future.’
They’d reached the gates to Hallewell House, and Ralph stopped.
‘I . . . I wonder if we might carry on walking a little further?’ he said. ‘Perhaps up to the castle—’
‘Not there,’ Theo interrupted him.
She sensed the moment coming like a train, and no way to avoid it. But the castle belonged to her and Toby, and to Kit.
‘Then . . . the orchard, perhaps?’
There was a wrought-iron bench at the far end of their small orchard, hidden from the house by the high wall of the kitchen garden. The apple blossoms had long since fallen, and the branches had tiny green fruit and sprays of new leaves.
‘Shall we sit here for a moment?’ Ralph said.
Theo nodded, tense in every sinew. It was all going to be ruined.
Ralph smiled ruefully, as if sensing her dread. ‘Is it really such a terrible thought?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Very well. Theo . . .’
He took her hand in both of his again. Hands so much bigger than hers. She fixed her eyes on the sharp crease his housekeeper had pressed into his trousers, and the way his knees pulled the fabric taut, obliterating it. He carried the faint scent of the hospital beneath some kind of cologne.
‘My dear Theo. I’m sure you must be aware that .
. . my feelings for you run much deeper than those of a doctor, or a mere friend.
’ He paused, his face tightening. ‘Though, of course, I am your friend . . . You are still so young, I had hoped to give you more time . . . time in which I’d hoped your feelings might grow in parallel with mine.
But your lady mother has left me little choice but to act. ’
He tried to catch her eye, but Theo couldn’t look at him.
‘She seems quite determined to parade you around like a . . . a . . . Well, to parade you around until you accept one of these young men she has truffled out, and I simply cannot stand it. I have tried to keep my distance but . . . You are not some frivolous girl who will be made happy by a callow youth! You are so very much better than that. You are . . . you are rare, Theodora Hallewell.’
He swallowed, his throat sounding dry. ‘I know that, to you, thirty must seem terribly old. But my heart, when I see you, is as young as a child’s! And how it soars . . .’
He let go of her hand and fumbled in his pocket, fetching out a small leather box, which he turned repeatedly in his fingers.
‘I know you do not feel for me what I feel for you. But, I must ask . . . do you think you might, ever? Could you come to see me as more than your friend?’
‘I . . . I value our friendship very much, Dr Anscombe—’
‘Please.’ He closed his eyes momentarily. ‘Please, if on no other occasion than this, call me Ralph.’
‘Ralph,’ she said, and it did cause a shift, however slight. ‘You are far too kind, to say such things. I am not special; not at all. I fear I could only disappoint you.’
‘You never could!’ He took her hand again. ‘Your purity . . . your virtue, dear Theo; your kindness and sensitivity . . . You are peerless,’ he said fiercely. ‘If you could only find it in your heart to love me then I would be a man born anew.’
He dropped to one knee in front of her, opening the leather box.
Everything she had been taught to expect, from novels and gossip.
A cluster of diamonds around a single red ruby, like a flower with a drop of blood at its heart.
Sunshine glittered in the stones. It would match the earrings her mother had given her for her birthday.
Two pieces of jewellery that she did not want, however ungrateful that made her.
‘Ralph . . .’
‘Theo, please, look at me. Look at me, and see me!’
His choice of words struck her. Hadn’t she once longed for that very thing? She did as he asked, and searched his eyes for the truth, because she didn’t understand how anyone could love her.
‘Missy loved you from the moment she saw you,’ she murmured. ‘Did you realise?’
‘Yes. The poor child was far too forward.’ His voice fell flat. ‘I could not help her, but if . . . if you will be mine, then I shall devote my life to bringing back your smile.’
He pressed his forehead to her hand, and such supplication made her feel terrible.
‘You would want for nothing. I swear that I would do whatever was in my power to make you happy.’
‘I . . . I need time . . .’
He looked up. ‘I am not sure you have it. If it were up to me, and I had cause to hope, then I would give you all the time in the world. But your mother . . .’
‘She cannot force me!’ Theo said vehemently. ‘But I . . . I need to think about everything you have said.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Ralph was quiet for a moment. ‘That’s very sensible.’
He studied the ring for a second longer before getting to his feet. The grass had left a wet patch on the knee of his trousers. He tugged his jacket to straighten it; handed her the little box.
‘Keep this for now; look at it from time to time, and be reminded of how much I love you. Because I do love you, Theo. I do not think I could continue to call, if it were to watch you . . . interviewing other suitors. It would be too painful. Even worse than separating from you. I hope you understand. But, I shall come again next week; you may either return the ring to me then, or – as I so keenly wish – I will find you wearing it.’
‘Aren’t you coming up to the house?’
His smile was wan. ‘Not today.’
He walked a few paces, then turned back. ‘Love may grow, given fertile ground. It may spread, from one heart to another.’
Toby was to have lunch with Womersley and his parents at the Dun Cow at midday, which gave him five hours to write two thousand words on Merivale’s statement that Tiberius did injustice to his own reputation; and to revise the physical geography of Greece north of the Isthmus of Corinth, and its influence on Greek and Persian troop movements; and to compare Aristotle’s Ethics and Bishop Butler’s sermons on the differing principles of action of Men and Brutes.
Well, perhaps not all of that, but he could try.