Part 7 (2/2)
”Captain and Mrs. Chalmers,” Beryl said aloud as she inscribed their names.
”I remember the Chalmers,” Torilla exclaimed. ”She was a very sweet woman, but I always thought he was rather aggressive.”
Beryl did not reply and after a moment Torilla added, ”That reminds me of another soldier. How is Rodney?”
Beryl was suddenly very still, but Torilla did not notice.
”It will be fun to see him again,” she went on. ”Do you remember how he used to tease us? Like when he took away the ladder and we had to stay in the hayloft in the stables for over an hour before we were rescued!”
She gave a little laugh.
”I am sure if anyone is jealous about your being married it will be Rodney.”
Then as Beryl did not reply, Torilla sensed that something was wrong.
”What is it?” she asked in a low voice.
”Rodney is dead!”
Beryl rose as she spoke from the secretaire and walked towards one of the long French windows opening into the garden.
”Dead?” Torilla repeated in astonishment. ”Oh, Beryl, I had no idea! No one told me. How could he have died?”
She was silent until Beryl replied, ”He was killed in France.”
”But the war was over when Papa and I left here,” Torilla said. ”Do you not remember how excited we were when we heard that Paris had surrendered?”
There was a pause before Beryl answered, ”The Duke of Wellington did not know that the Allied Forces had taken Paris and that the war was really over.”
”We knew that Rodney's Regiment had entered France at St. Jean de Luz,” Torilla said almost as if she was speaking to herself.
”They fought their way as far as Toulouse,” Beryl came in with a strangled voice. ”Of course we did not learn until much, much later that Marshall Soult was convinced that Toulouse was impregnable.”
”And so the Duke of Wellington attacked it,” Torilla said as if she knew the end of the story.
”There were very heavy a losses,” Beryl went on with tears in her voice. ”The newspapers reported that nearly five thousand of our troops were killed and a Rodney was a among them.”
”Oh a I am sorry, Beryl. I am so very very sorry,” Torilla cried. ”I had no idea and you never told me in your letters.”
”The Marsden's heard nothing until after Christmas,” Beryl explained, her voice catching over the words. ”Then they were told that a Rodney was not amongst the s-survivors of the battle.”
”I can hardly believe it!” Torilla whispered.
Rodney Marsden had been so much a part of her's and Beryl's childhood.
His father, Squire Marsden, had an estate that bordered the Earl's and Rodney, although three years older than Beryl, was an only child too.
Inevitably he spent his holidays from school in their company.
Because the Earl was fond of him, he allowed him to shoot duck on the lakes, pigeons and rabbits in the woods and occasionally, when he grew older, he accompanied his father pheasant and partridge shooting.
Squire Marsden had some good horses, especially hunters, and Rodney appointed himself to lead Beryl and Torilla in the hunting field.
He was also their dancing partner at all the parties their parents gave at Christmastime and Torilla thought of him as the brother she would have loved to have.
It was only now that she had learnt that he was dead that she knew how much she had looked forward to seeing him again.
She moved across the salon, put her arms round Beryl and said softly, ”The only consolation is that was the way Rodney would have a wanted to a die. He was so proud to be in the Army.”
For a moment Beryl clung to Torilla then she moved away and said in a different voice, ”I have taught myself not to think about him. When somebody is dead, there is nothing one can do and tears are extremely unbecoming!”
It sounded a frivolous remark, but Torilla knew because she loved her cousin that Beryl was hiding her real feelings. Because she understood that some things were too poignant to be discussed, she replied lightly, ”Tell me about your engagement. You know, Beryl, it is so like you, but you forgot to tell me your future husband's name.”
”Wait until you see him, then you will be really impressed,” Beryl replied. ”Oh, Torilla, I am so lucky a the luckiest girl in the world! Everyone has tried to capture Gallen, every single woman in the country a and a great many more who are already married!”
Her lips were smiling as she went on, ”They have tried every sort of bait on the biggest fish in the Social pool, but a clever me a I am the one who has caught him!”
The way she spoke jarred a little on Torilla, but she said aloud, ”I am sure where you are concerned, dearest, he was happy to be caught.”
”It is the triumph of my life,” Beryl continued, ”a grande finale to my career as an 'incomparable'. You have heard that the Prince Regent called me that?”
”You told me so in several of your letters,” Torilla replied.
”I could not tell you half the things I wanted to,” Beryl said. ”I hate letter writing. Besides I never have enough time.”
She twirled her elaborate embroidered skirt around her as she exclaimed, ”I am such a success! I don't know where to begin to relate it all. I am asked to every party, every a.s.sembly and every ball! No one would dare to give an entertainment without me!”
Torilla laughed.
”Now you are boasting, just as you used to when you drew the best prize out of the bran dip at Christmas. I can see you now as you ran round the room crying, 'Look at me! I have the biggest box of bonbons. Am I not clever?'”
”And that is exactly what I have now,” Beryl answered, ”for no one could imagine a bigger bonbon than Gallen! He is a Corinthian, a Buck, a Beau and the Prince Regent dotes on him!”
She paused for breath, but before Torilla could speak, she went on, ”I cannot begin to tell you how rich he is. Papa thinks he is the wealthiest man in the whole country. His Castle in Huntingdons.h.i.+re is just made for entertaining.”
She made an excited gesture with her hands as she continued, ”I shall be the most important and certainly the most influential hostess in the whole of the Beau Monde! What is more I shall be covered in diamonds!”
Torilla laughed again.
”Oh, Beryl, you are ridiculous! But you are not telling me what I want to know.”
”What is that?”
”Are you very a very much a in love?”
There was a little silence before Beryl said, ”My dear Torilla, love as we used to talk about it when we were children is something felt by peasants.”
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