Philippa Carr - Midsummer’s Eve

I must try to understand Joe.

But I should always remember his standing there with the papers in his hands as I should remember Rolf that Midsummer’s Eve.

After that talk with my mother, I tried to reason with myself. I expected too much from people. I must try to understand Joe’s motives. I must try to convince myself that Rolf’s feelings had got the better of him. He had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the past; he had imagined that he was living centuries ago when people tortured witches; for a night he had shed his shell of civilization and become one of those people whose customs interested him so much.

I must be understanding. I must realize that I was, as my mother said, young and I had seen little of the world.

But I could not forget.

Preparations for our departure were going on apace.

“I wish you weren’t going,” sighed Helena.

“You’ll feel better when you’re back in London. It won’t be as bad as it was. They are right when they say time heals.”

“I can’t go back, Annora. I don’t want to. I wish I could stay here.”

Then the idea came to me. “Helena, why shouldn’t you come with us to Australia?”

I saw the wonder dawning on her face.

There was a great deal of discussion about it. My mother wrote to Aunt Amaryllis. She had always had great influence with her. “I was like the dictatorial elder sister,” she used to say.

The result was that both Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis thought it might be a good idea for Helena to accompany us.

Helena brightened considerably at the prospect and I even saw her smile once or twice.

About a week before we were due to leave Rolf returned.

He came over to see us at once. He looked melancholy and I had never seen him like that before.

He visited us frequently and talked a great deal with my father about the estate, which was solely his now. He had been looking after it for years because he, not his father, had been the one who had built it up. “But there is a difference,” my father said, “when something is entirely your own.”

Rolf contrived to be alone with me when we went riding together.

He said: “I wish you weren’t going away, Annora. You’re going right to the other side of the world and you’ll be away for a long time.”

“It wouldn’t be worthwhile going just for a few weeks.”

“Then there is the journey there and another back. I missed you while you were in London. Did you think of Cador?”

“Often.”

“When you come back, I want to have a long talk with you.”

“What about?”

“Us.”

“What do you mean … you and me?”

He nodded.

We were walking our horses and he turned to me and said: “You seem to take such a long time to grow up.”

“The usual time I suppose.”

“Will you think of me while you are away?”

“Quite a lot, I expect.”

“When you come back we’ll make plans …”

I felt a sudden happiness. He could mean only one thing. I smiled at him. He looked different with that air of melancholy about him.

I thought of what my mother had said. “One must try to understand people.” She and my father had broken laws. People did at times. One must not judge them too harshly. One must grow up. One must understand something about life.

In that moment I wondered why I had ever thought there was a possibility of my marrying Joe. I knew I loved Rolf. But I wished I could forget that terrible night.

When we returned to the stables he helped me to dismount and kissed me.

I felt rather glad that we were going away. During the trip I would sort out my thoughts. I would come to terms with myself. I would make sure that, whatever had happened on that night, I was going to marry Rolf.

IT WAS THE BEGINNING of September when we set sail. We stayed a few nights in the house in Albemarle Street before going on to Tilbury to join the cargo ship in which we would be sailing. I was sure the excitement of the coming journey was good for Helena. She was still very sad and at times lapsed into deep melancholy, but I did feel that she had come a little way from the terrible lassitude which implied that she simply did not care what became of her.

Amaryllis was sorry that she was going but at the same time she felt that it was the best thing for her. As for Peter Lansdon, his resilience continued to amaze me. He behaved as though there was nothing extraordinary about a man who had aspired to become a leading politician being at the same time, to put it crudely, a brothel owner. He simply shrugged off politics and I had no doubt that he would soon be applying his immense energies to something else.

We went to the house in the square for dinner and it was almost as it had been in the past. He was insouciant, talkative and informative about what was going on. I did notice once the sardonic smile he sent in my mother’s direction and I guessed he was reminding her of that long-ago pact, and telling her that exposure did not worry him all that much. Yet he had gone to great lengths to keep the nature of his business secret. He was, no doubt, making the best of an ugly situation, and in spite of everything I knew about him, I could not help feeling a grudging admiration for him.

He did talk a great deal about the Queen and Lord Melbourne and the growing certainty that there would soon be an election which would put Melbourne out.

“And what Her Majesty will do when she loses her beloved minister, I cannot imagine. Stamp her little foot, no doubt. But it won’t do any good. And they say she has an aversion to Peel. Well, one has to admit he is too serious a politician to appeal to a young girl … and of course his lordship has all the charm in the world, to which is added a somewhat scandalous past.” He smiled at us in a kind of wry triumph. “It seems odd that the naughty prosper in this world and the good are considered somewhat dull.” I could see that he was certainly not going to let adversity deter him.

I think my father was inclined to admire him, too. He had always been one to look lightly on the sins of others. My mother naturally felt a great antipathy towards him and I could well understand that, after what she told me of the anxiety he must have caused her all those years ago.

I had several talks with Peterkin. He told me he had seen Joe at Frances’s Mission and Joe had given up all thought of politics. It was the only thing he could do. He would not have a chance this time, but it might be that in a few years the name would be forgotten and he would pursue his ambition. For the time being he had gone up North and was working with a company in which his father had interests.

As for Peterkin himself, he was seeing Frances frequently and becoming more and more interested in the work she was doing.

He said: “My father is not averse to this. He thinks it is good publicity to have a son who is interested in social welfare; and it makes a nice touch that I am working with the daughter of Joseph Cresswell, because as you know there have been rumours that my father trapped Joseph Cresswell into that situation. So for once I have his approval of what I am doing.” He smiled at me. “It suits me. For the first time I feel I am doing something I really want to do. My father has given money to the Mission … a sizeable sum, so that Frances is going to get that house she wants. Of course, Papa likes the press to know where the money comes from.”

“I suppose he feels it’s a sort of expiation.”

“Not him. He just feels it’s a neat touch for people to ask if the money goes to do such good service does it matter how it was come by?”

“He’s very cynical.”

“He’s just about the shrewdest and most cunning person I know.”

“And you and Frances—you don’t mind using his money?”

Peterkin looked at me quizzically. “No. I suppose we ought to. Frances and I have talked about it. Not that she thought of refusing it for a moment. Frances would take money from any source if it helped with her work. She needs that money. If you could see some of those people, you’d understand. Frances is a very wise young woman. ‘If good cometh out of evil,’ she says, ‘let’s make the most of the good.’”

I thought a good deal about them all and it was brought home to me that life is not neatly divided between good and evil; and after that I began to make less critical judgements.

After that brief visit we went down to Tilbury to join our ship which was taking ready-made garments, corn, oats, sugar, tea and coffee as well as some livestock out to Australia. There were only a few passengers so I supposed we should get to know our fellow travellers well during the voyage.

Helena and I shared a small cabin with two bunks, one above the other, a little cupboard for our clothes and a small table on which was fixed a mirror. It was fortunate that most of our baggage had been put into the hold until our arrival. My parents had a similar cabin next to ours and Jacco was sharing with another young man.

It was an exciting moment when we slipped away from the dock.

The Captain invited us to his cabin. He was a pleasant man with a dark curly beard, the same dark curly hair and heavy-lidded brown eyes.

“Welcome,” he said. “I hope you are going to have a pleasant voyage with us. Have you travelled on a cargo ship before?”

We said we hadn’t and my father added that he had been out to Australia, but had travelled on a different kind of ship and that was more than twenty years ago.

“Things have changed,” said the Captain. “In fact they are changing all the time. There are three other passengers besides yourselves. A young man who is going out to study something and a couple who want to settle. We should all get along fairly well. It just needs a little give and take if you know what I mean.”