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He had gone to America and died there, and that continent was both sacred to her and abhorrent. 'Don't go to America, she murmured. 'Why not? Caroline demanded. 'Just the place they ought to go to. Lots of millionaires. Rose reassured Sophia. 'And it is only an idea. I haven't said a word to Henrietta. Henrietta showed no enthusiasm for the suggestion. She liked Radstowe.
The country had the charm of home with the allurement of the unknown and, within sound of the steamers hooting in the river, almost within sight of the city lying, red-roofed and smoky with factories, round the docks and mounting in terraces to the heights of Upper Radstowe, there was an expectation of mystery, of secrets kept for countless centuries by the earth which was rich and fecund and alive.
'You were not to blame, he said; 'but I'm nearly old enough to be your father. I can't forgive myself. I can't forget it. 'Oh, dear! And I never took it seriously at all. There was a train back to Radstowe at ten o'clock. I looked it up. I was going to get that, but as it happened I went to a concert with Charles Batty. You seem to have no idea how to play a game.
Smiling in her mysterious way, Rose left the room, and Sophia, slightly pink with anxiety, murmured, 'Caroline, there's no one in Radstowe really fit for her. Don't you think we ought to go about, perhaps to London, or abroad? 'I'm not going to budge, Caroline said. 'I love my home and I don't believe in matchmaking, I don't believe in marriage.
It seemed a long time since she had crossed the river, yet the only change was in the new green of the trees splashing the side of the gorge. The gulls were still quarrelling for food on the muddy banks, children and perambulators, horses and carts, were passing over the bridge as on her first day in Radstowe, but there was now no Francis Sales on his fine horse.
She persisted in her determination; she cast off all thoughts of ministering like an angel, or revenging like a demon; she enjoyed the gaieties with which the youth of Radstowe amused itself during the summer months; she accompanied her aunts to garden parties, ate ices, had her fortune told in tents, flirted mildly and endured Charles Batty's peculiar half-apprehensive tyranny.
Then she noticed that one of the flowers was missing, a little one of a fairy pink and shape, and almost immediately she heard footsteps on the grass and saw a man approaching with the orchid in his hand. She recognized the man she had seen riding the black horse on the day she arrived in Radstowe and her heart fluttered.
Well, she could pray for the rest of us, I suppose. 'But I would rather you were married, dear, Sophia said serenely. 'And we have known the Sales all our lives. It would have been so suitable. 'So dull! Rose murmured. 'And we need praying for, Caroline said. 'You'd be dull either way, Rose. Have your fling, as I did. I've never regretted it. I was the talk of Radstowe, wasn't I, Sophia?
She was wondering why Henrietta's eyes had darkened as though with fear at the idea of going away. She had been very quick in veiling them, and her voice, too, had been quick, a little tremulous. There was more than the Battys' ball in her desire to stay in Radstowe. Was it Charles whom she was both to leave? Afterwards, perhaps in the spring, she had said it would be nice to go.
'Certainly not, Sophia said firmly. 'Certainly not that. 'But as you so cleverly remind me, there are no kings in Radstowe. There's not even, she added with a mocking smile which made her face gay in a ghastly way, 'not even a foreign Count who would turn out an impostor. Rose would do very well there, too. An imitation foreign Count with a black moustache and no money!
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