Виктория Холт - The India Fan

Polly had said before I left, "Men are funny things. There's the good and the bad, the faithful sort and them that can't stop running after women even if they know they're sitting on a keg of gunpowder. It's choosing the right one to start with that's the thing."

"If there is a choice," I reminded her.

"There's a choice whether to or not. That's where it comes in. And there's some I wouldn't touch with a barge pole."

I knew Fabian was one of those; but Dougal hadn't been, and he was soon to be joined in matrimony with Lavinia, who might well be, as Polly had mentioned, one of those who was sitting on a keg of gunpowder. It was almost certain that that marriage would not run smoothly.

The wedding day dawned. It was a great day for the village. My father performed the ceremony. The church was decorated with flowers of all descriptions. These had been sent down from nearby nurseries, which had chosen their best blooms for the purpose. With them had come two ladies to arrange the flowers, much to the disgust of the Misses Glyn and Burrows, who had always previously dealt with the decoration of the church.

It was very impressive. Lavinia was a breathtakingly beautiful bride, Dougal a handsome bridegroom. The guests were numerous.

I sat at the back of the church. I saw Lady Harriet, resplendent in her wedding finery, and Fabian with her, extremely distinguished. I felt like a wren among peacocks.

And so Lavinia was married to Dougal.

Janine was dead. Fleur's future was taken care of. I felt it was the end of an episode.

That happened two years ago. They had been two uneventful years, and life had taken on a grey monotone. Each day I rose in the morning knowing exactly what the day would bring. There was no light and shadow. The excitement was whether it would be fine for the summer fete or whether the bazaar would make more profit this year than last.

Fabian had left for India earlier than had been expected and went off soon after Lavinia's wedding day.

It was absurd, but it seemed very dull without him. Why it should, when I had seen so little of him and had taken such pains to avoid him, I could not imagine. I should not regret his going. He was, as Polly would have said, a menace.

Although I had often been irritated by Lavinia, I missed her. Framling seemed different without them. I wondered whether Lady Harriet missed them and I was surprised that she had allowed both her darlings to leave her. She gave herself up to the task of ruling the village with more energy than ever. Colin Brady was quite a favourite with her, which I guessed was because he was more conventional than my father had been. He was a subservient young man: "Oh yes, of course, Lady Harriet," "Thank you for telling me, Lady Harriet." I wanted to shout at him, "You don't have to be quite so blatantly humble. I am sure the living will be yours in time."

There was another reason for depression. My father's health was deteriorating. He became tired very easily and I had to be grateful to Colin for his care of him. Colin was to all intent and purposes playing the part of rector. It must be noticed and his reward must come.

I heard Lady Harriet say once, "Such a pleasant young man! The dear rector can be a little odd, you know. All that preoccupation with dead people ... and those who have been dead so long. He has his own parish to think of. You'd think that would be enough for him."

She called at the rectory now and then, feeling it was her duty to do so. She would cast her probing eyes over me.

I knew her thoughts. She liked everything to be rounded off neatly. My father had been ailing for some time and, like Charles the Second, was an unconscionable long time a-dying. I was his unmarried daughter and there was a young man living in the rectory. The solution was obvious in Lady Harriet's view, and in such circumstances those concerned should realize this and accept what was offered them.

My father had a slight stroke. It did not incapacitate him entirely, but his speech thickened a little and he lost some use of his arm and leg; he had become a semi-invalid.

I nursed him with the help of Mrs. Janson and two of the maids. I could see, though, that I was moving towards some climax.

Dr. Berryman, who had always been a good friend to us, told me he feared my father could have another stroke at any time and that could be fatal.

So I was prepared.

I used to spend a lot of time reading to him. It was what he enjoyed most and this duty certainly increased my knowledge of Greek and Roman history. Each day I woke up and wondered what it would bring, for I knew the existing state of affairs could not last.

Lady Harriet invited me to Framling to take tea with her. I sat in the drawing room while my stately hostess presided behind the lace-covered table, on which was the silver tray with silver teapot, thin bread and butter and a fruit cake.

A parlourmaid took the cup containing the tea that Lady Harriet had poured for me. While the maid remained, conversation was guarded, but I knew it was not simply to take tea that I had been summoned.

She talked of Lavinia and how much she was enjoying India.

"The social life there must be very exciting," she went on. "There are so many people from the Company out there. I believe the natives are so grateful to us. And so they should be. Ingratitude is something I cannot tolerate. The Earl is well and the dear young people are blissfully happy together ... especially after the birth of little Louise. Dear me. Imagine Lavinia ... a mother!"

I smiled grimly to myself. Lavinia had been a mother far longer than Lady Harriet realized.

She talked of little Louise and how she at least would have to come home sometime. It would be a little while yet, but children couldn't live in India all their childhood.

I sat listening and agreeing as docilely as Colin Brady might have done.

When we had finished tea and the tray was removed Lady Harriet said, "I am a little anxious about the state of affairs at the rectory."

I raised my eyebrows slightly as though to question why.

She smiled at me benignly. "I have always kept an eye on you, my dear, ever since your mother died. It was so sad. A child left like that. And your father ... I am very fond of him, but his head is in the clouds ... just a little. Most men find it difficult to care for a child ... but he particularly so. So I have watched over you."

I had not noticed the attention and was rather glad that I had not—but, of course, I did not really believe in it.

"Your father is very frail, my dear."

"I am afraid so," I said.

"There comes a time when facts have to be faced ... however painful. Your father's health is failing. It is time Mr. Brady took over entirely. He is an excellent young man and has my full support. He entertains very warm feelings towards you. If you and he married, it would be a relief to me and such a happy solution to the problems that will inevitably face you. As the rector's daughter you know our ways ..."

I felt indignant at the manner in which my future was being disposed of.

I said with a certain hauteur, "Lady Harriet, I have no wish to marry." I wanted to add, "And I shall certainly not do so because it is a relief to you."

She smiled indulgently, as though at a wayward child.

"You see, my dear, your father is no longer young. You are of an age to marry. I have spoken of the matter to Mr. Brady."

I could imagine it, and his responses, "Yes, Lady Harriet, if you think I should marry Drusilla, I shall certainly do so."

I felt angry and roused up all the stubbornness in my nature.

"Lady Harriet," I began, but I was saved from giving vent to my anger, which would probably have meant that I should be exiled from Framling forever, by a commotion outside the room.

I heard someone say, "No ... no, Lady Harriet is in there."

Lady Harriet rose and swept to the door. She flung it open and started back, for standing there was a wild figure whom I recognized at once. Her hair hung down her back in some disarray; she was wearing a loose nightgown and her feet were bare.

"What does this mean?" demanded Lady Harriet.

The woman I had known as Ayesha came hurrying forward, and my memory went back to the first time I had seen Miss Lucille, who had talked to me about the peacock-feather fan.

"I would speak to her," she cried wildly. "She is here. Ah ..." She was looking at me, stumbling towards me. Ayesha held her back.

"Miss Lucille ... come to your room. It is better so." I remembered the sing-song voice which had impressed me all those years ago.

Miss Lucille said, "I want to talk to her ... There is something I must say."

Lady Harriet said briskly, "Take Miss Lucille back to her bedroom. How could this have happened? I have ordered that she should be kept to her own apartments, which is so necessary for her health."

I had risen and the poor demented woman stared at me. Then she smiled rather tenderly. "I want ... I want ..." she began.

Ayesha murmured, "Yes, yes ... later on ... We shall see. We shall see ..."

Ayesha took her gently by the hand and led her away; as she went she turned her head and looked at me helplessly.

Lady Harriet was extremely put out.

She said, "I cannot think what happened. She is far from well. I do everything I can to care for her, and that they should have let her come down ..."