Chapter 4 – Damian
“Your wake-up call, Mr. Abbott...”
Quite contrary to the previous mornings when Roderick had entered Henryʼs room, had walked over to the bed and had gently tugged at the bedsheet to check if Henry was really awake, the butler didnʼt even bother to open the door this time. He just knocked and then disappeared again. Henry assumed that Roderick was in a rush because of all the preparations accompanying the imminent arrival of Damian Cox.
Henry didnʼt want to get up.
He nestled his head into the pillow, sighing pleasurably.
Sarah…
He had dreamed of her all night. She had only worn a linen nightgown and a cardigan. Her long chestnut curls had flown over her shoulders. She had smelt of vanilla. She had kissed his cheek.
She had entirely turned his head.
What a dream... Henry thought.
Just that it had not been a dream. He only figured that out when the first glimpses of sunlight hit his face and gradually brought him out of his daze.
He pondered why on earth he had to fall for the charms of this brat of a girl whose mere intention it was to make everybodyʼs life miserable, including his own.
Thinking back, however, Henry found that Sarah had not really been that mean to him—except on the day when she had almost attacked him with the horse. But for that she had apologized by kissing him. And it had sounded—and felt—sincere; as if she had really meant it. And the manner with which she had spoken to him the night before had shown no mean intentions either.
Unless she is a really good actor...
But Henry didnʼt want to believe that she was merely acting. It simply could not be like that. He wished so much that her vulnerability, her sweet smile, and her apology had not been faked. What reason should she have for lulling him into a false sense of security? Had he not given her proof enough that he didnʼt want anyone to cause her harm? That he would even go as far as risking his whole lifeʼs salary for paying off an ugly vase that she herself had broken? It had only occurred to him much later that it had been more than imprudent to offer Lord Partridge that he would pay for the damage. He was well aware now that if the lord had accepted the offer, this would have financially ruined Henry.
But if it had all been real, if that what he had seen last night was Sarahʼs true self, then he would feel so much sympathy for her for being stuck in this horrible house. He would also feel the need to protect her. And he would feel the deep desire to get close to her—closer than he would probably ever be allowed.
Henry arduously climbed out of bed and tottered over to the wash basin where he let his hands sink into the water, not caring that it was as cold as ice. He guessed that the chambermaid had already placed a carafe of hot water outside in front of his door, but he didnʼt even bother to check. He welcomed the chill and wouldnʼt have minded to downright dive into a whole pool of cold water—if only it brought him back to his senses.
Still, it wouldnʼt go away, this unhealthy mixture of hysterical butterflies dancing in his stomach and the uneasy feeling that all of his wishful thinking wasnʼt leading anywhere.
The thudding of hooves and babbling of many voices coming from outside momentarily distracted him.
He slowly walked over to the window. Hidden behind the curtain, he secretly looked outside just to see a coach standing in the yard, right in front of the main entrance of the house. The coach was not drawn by two but six gallant black horses. Henry thought that the person who had just arrived definitely knew how to make an appearance. He spotted Lord and Lady Partridge as well as the butler and the kitchen staff, all neatly lined up to greet the visitor. Just Sarah and the chambermaid were nowhere to be seen.
Then he saw the man whom all the fuss was about and who now—elegantly and with a strikingly upright posture—climbed out of the coach and strode over to the little congregation that was awaiting him.
It was Damian Cox. He had blonde, cropped hair, a slim and wiry stature, and a face with rough edges. He wore a topper and a cloak, and underneath it a black suit. He looked just like a noble man and not like a soldier at all.
Henry had hoped Damian Cox would come a little bit later. That would have given him an hour or two to try and secretly meet Sarah somewhere before she would leave for Bournemouth. Maybe he would have had a chance to talk to her and find out if she remembered that she had kissed him last night. He would have been able to check if she still felt positive about him, or if her mood had already swung into the other direction again; towards ignorance or hatred even. He was desperate to know his standing.
But it seemed to Henry that Damian Cox—without even knowing that Henry existed—had timed his arrival so early that Henry didnʼt have any advantage. Henry guessed that Damian had travelled all night, just to surprise Sarah for breakfast. Judging by her recent outbursts on merely mentioning Coxʼs name, Henry was sure that this surprise would definitely cause a sensation—although not a positive one.
Damianʼs laughter filled the air. It was, as Henry noticed immediately, the laughter of an overly self-confident man who was sure the world was his. Henry saw Lord Partridge patting Damianʼs shoulder in a fatherly manner, then he led him into the house past the row of servants whose facial expression ranged from awestricken to slightly bored.
But Damian ignored them all. Instead, he directed his full attention and charms at Lady Partridge. Judging by his admiring looks, his gestures, and the fact that Lady Partridge smiled, blushed, and giggled like a girl, Henry took it that Damian made some flattering comments about her dress and her appearance in general.
Yes, go on, Henry thought, you two would make an ideal match. Leave Sarah alone and amuse yourself with the lady of the house. She needs your attention because her husband finds his joy somewhere else.
Henry almost felt sorry for Lady Partridge. Last night when he had quietly sneaked back up to his room again, he had noticed that the person wandering through the house and making the doors creak had indeed been Lord Partridge again, in search of his nightly adventures. Having been so busy chasing after Emily, he luckily had neither detected Henry nor Sarah and hence wasnʼt aware of their secret encounter. And nobody seemed to miss the bottle of wine which Henry had snatched from the kitchen.
When Damian and the Partridges had disappeared into the house, Henry quickly shaved, got dressed, and practiced a happy and charming face in front of the mirror. But as hard as he tried, it simply didnʼt look convincing enough. Then he recalled the sweet sensation of Sarahʼs lips on his cheek, and—fueled by this memory—made his way out of his room towards facing the enemy.
* * *
Henry had never truly believed in the saying that upon meeting someone new, the very first seconds sufficed to decide if one found the other person nice or not. He had always thought that it was only fair to give the other one a day or two to reveal their true nature instead of drawing rushed conclusions merely based on a short and meaningless encounter.
When meeting Damian Cox, Henry knew that he had been entirely wrong in this regard. He learned that there were in fact people who had deserved it to be despised right from the start, because they didnʼt care in the least about coming across as lovable and, quite to the contrary, even risked to be hated because it seemed to thrill them.
Henry found that it werenʼt Damianʼs looks which made him so disagreeable; the young soldier was in fact handsome up to some degree. No, it rather were his greasy charms, for they were fake charms, filled with egocentric intentions and headed only towards the people whom he wanted something from. And it was his unbearable superiority which suggested that everyone else was merely an extra on his personal stage.
The ones who were off worst in Damianʼs presence were the servants. As Henry was walking down the stairs, he saw the butler taking Damianʼs coat, but Damian only made a dismissive arrogant gesture without uttering a single word of gratitude, without casting Roderick a glance which might have demonstrated that Damian noticed that the butler was there at all. Instead, Damian treated Roderick as if the latter was a mere object that fulfilled its purpose and was otherwise to be ignored. Henry noticed that not even Lord Partridge treated his staff that way.
The little group marched into the parlor. Henry followed the noise of Damianʼs laughter and his waffling about the journey that lay behind him.
“These endless rows of potholes all along the way from Oxford to here!” he exclaimed, sounding both unnerved and amused. “What a nuisance! I really wonder why this isolated spot appeals so much to you, Horatio, with nothing but country bumpkins around, incapable of building proper roads! I would recommend you to get yourself a domicile in Oxford town. They have truly wonderful premises there. I will gladly pull some strings and try and find something decent for you. They know my father very well there, of course, and I can surely convince them to make a good price for you. Anyway, next time I might already be coming with my new automobile. These vehicles are still a rarity, but I managed to order one of the very first specimen which are being produced right now. I hope that I will get it before the general mob can lay hands on them.”
Damianʼs laughter echoed within the parlor walls.
Henry entered the room on silent feet. He felt uneasy because of disturbing the little congregation of happy people. Still, he was too curious to stay away from it all and furthermore felt that the others expected him to be present as well—at least during the introductory part.
They were all standing round the table where Emily had arranged some glasses of champagne. When Henry entered, Lord Partridgeʼs glance fell on him.
“Damian, by the way, let me introduce you to Mr. Henry Abbott,” he said rather merrily. Damianʼs appearance obviously had lifted his spirits.
Damian swiveled around to face Henry and gave him a brilliant smile. Henry immediately noticed, though, that his smile didnʼt match the expression of his eyes, which were cold and scrutinizing.
“What a pleasure to meet you, Henry!” Damian warbled, calling Henry by his first name without asking for permission. “I am Damian Cox. You probably have heard of me.”
Damian lazily extended his left hand towards Henry. The other remained nonchalantly stuck in his trouser pocket.
“I have indeed,” Henry answered flatly.
Henry felt Damianʼs eyes measuring him secretly. He sensed that hidden behind the wide grin, displaying a set of excellent teeth, Damianʼs mind was working as he was obviously trying to figure out what to make of Henry.
“So you have taken the part of the new ʻgovernessʼ for the child, isnʼt that right?” Damian chuckled mockingly.
“My dear Damian,” Lord Partridge said and actually laughed, which was a rare sight, “it was not that long ago that you saw Sarah last. You should know that she is not a child anymore. It will be her nineteenth birthday in two weeks time.”
“I am aware of that,” Damian replied, taking a sip of the champagne. “But mind you, she sometimes acts like a child.”
“Thatʼs why Mr. Abbott is here. He will make her a lady, a grown-up woman. Isnʼt that true, Mr. Abbott?” Lady Partridge threw in, smiling endearingly—at Damian; not at Henry although it was him she had spoken to.
“Oh, will he?” Damian broke out in laughter as if the outcome was entirely doubtful once Henry was in charge of Sarah. “Well then, let us see how long he will last—judging by all his predecessors who threw in the towel after only a few hours.”
“I arrived a couple of days ago, and as you can see I am still here,” Henry answered smugly.
“And she hasnʼt hurled her pencils and books at you yet?”
Damian laughed out loud again and looked around the room to see if the others found his comment just as funny as he did.
Henry immediately became aware of the game Damian was playing. He was marking his areal, because he was afraid. And there was enough reason to be afraid: Instead of an old, wrinkled governess, there unexpectedly was another man in the house who would get to spend more time with his bride-to-be than he did. And that man was about the same age as he himself and not ugly either. Henry was far from being narcissistic, but he knew very well that he too had certain looks which women generally felt attracted to.
“Miss Sarah is an obedient and lovable person at heart,” he said firmly.
Damian Cox was now laughing so much that tears began to well up in his eyes.
“…But she hardly ever seems to get a chance to show it,” Henry added.
Lord and Lady Partridge exchanged baffled glances.
“What do you mean by that?” Lord Partridge asked indignantly.
Henry realized quickly that he had gone a little bit too far in his attempt to defend Sarah in a surrounding where not even her alleged lover seemed to take her side.
“What I mean to say is…” Henry hesitated as all eyes were expectantly resting on him, “well, that everyone so naturally regards her as evil that it is easy to overlook the moments when she is not and when she even makes an effort to reach out.”
Damian stopped laughing.
“You have got a good sense of humor, Mr. Ashton, you truly have...” he said with a sarcastic voice.
“Abbott,” Henry gave back calmly, “my name is Abbott.”
“Abbott, whatever...” Damian mumbled, sounding disinterested. He sipped at his champagne and pointedly turned his back on Henry.
Then, suddenly, the door to the parlor opened and Sarah entered.
Upon seeing her, Henry could not help but immediately feel overwhelmed with the memories of the previous night, remembering how she had kissed him, how her perfume had confused his mind, how sweetly she had whispered into his ear that she was sorry.
Just that what he saw now wasnʼt the charming and vulnerable Sarah that seemed to have slightly opened her heart to him, and it wasnʼt the wild and cheeky one either. Instead, Henry saw a girl who appeared downright scared, with sadness and recoil written all over her face.
“Sarah, my beloved, you look tremendously beautiful today!” Damian rushed over to her with long and purposeful strides. He stopped right in front of her, took her hand, which he hungrily raised to his mouth, then he placed his lips on her skin, a devouring look in his eyes.
Henry became aware of a feeling of nausea spreading in his stomach when he saw how Sarah was withering into nothingness in Damianʼs presence. What gave him utter satisfaction, however, was the fact that Damianʼs direct approach didnʼt make her blush. Henry tried to recall how many times she had already blushed when he had looked at her or spoken to her. So far he had merely found it amusing, sometimes even annoying, especially when it had been accompanied by her incessant silences. But now it gradually dawned on him that he had to attach much more importance to it as her blushing seemed to be a sure sign of some kind of affection. Otherwise she would probably have turned as white as a bedsheet, just a she did now when Damian simply wouldnʼt let go of her hand and drew the girl ever closer to him, irrespective of the little group of curious spectators around him.
Although Henry was desperate to leave as he couldnʼt bear the sight of Damian wooing Sarah, he still felt the urge to stay and watch over the girl, wanted to be near her, just in case; even though he didnʼt quite see a chance to interfere. But he hoped that his presence would give Sarah some sort of comfort and support.
Suddenly, he felt Lady Partridgeʼs hand on his arm.
“Well then,” she twittered merrily, “let us do have breakfast now. After all, we want to have an early start and do not want to miss the train.”
It was a clear sign that the part of Henryʼs introduction was over and that from now on the Partridges and Damian wished to be by themselves.
And without directing another word at Henry, Lady Partridge gently but determinedly shoved him out of the room and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Later, when the Partridgesʼ departure was drawing near, Henry could hardly trust his eyes when he saw what an enormous number of personal belongings the travellers intended to take with them. There were innumerable suitcases and boxes with dresses, suits, hats, and shoes for all possible occasions; for lunch, for dinner, for entertainment, for going dancing, for strolling along the promenade, for taking walks at the beach, for having a bath in the sea, and for traveling itself which, of course, required an extra outfit.
Roderick and Emily were the unfortunate ones to carry the luggage to the coach. Henry saw them breathlessly running up and down the stairs at least ten times. And Lady Partridge let out a shriek when Angus, the coach driver, didnʼt really show the appropriate care upon stowing the luggage in the coach. He simply grabbed whatever piece he could get hold of and threw it inside, not truly caring if a somewhat heavier suitcase landed on top of a fragile box with a hat in it.
The Partridgesʼ coach was reserved for the lord and the lady, and for Sarah and Damian. The second coach, Damianʼs coach, would carry Dr. Scott, Henry, Roderick and Emily. The luggage would be stored between their feet and on top of the coach, tied to the roof. Both coaches would go as far as the train station in Oxford, drop the little party off, and then return to the mansion. Henry and Dr. Scottʼs train would leave half an hour later than the train of the Partridges, which headed into another direction.
The fact that the butler and the chambermaid were allowed to join the Partridges whenever they went away, was a dubious pleasure for them. Instead of entertainment, it rather meant that they had to do the same work as back home: making wake-up calls, helping the lordship get dressed, serving food, waiting until the lordship had finished eating, carrying the luggage, staying up until late at night just in case the lordship had any requests. And by no means would they stay in the same exquisite lodgings as the Partridges, but in special separated areas reserved for the servants of all noble vacationers. Of course, these accommodations were far less comfortable, with the windows most often not offering a beautiful seaside view but a view at a smelly backyard or a brick stone wall.
“What a sight. One might believe that they are moving house...” Dr. Scott chuckled quietly as he was standing next to Henry in the door, watching in amusement the incredible hustle and bustle which was going on. Just like Henry, he himself had only brought a small bag.
A limp smile crossed Henryʼs face at the doctorʼs funny remark, before his attention was drawn to Sarah who, in this moment, was led down the stairs by a triumphantly grinning Damian. Henry watched the girl as she carefully lifted her skirt, entered the coach and took a seat inside it. Damian climbed in shortly afterwards and sat down next to her, happily patting her hand. When Henry saw him leaning over to her and conspiratorially whispering something in her ear, he couldnʼt get rid of the impression that Damian did all of this on purpose, just to tease Henry. But Sarah didnʼt show any reaction whatsoever.
Henry assumed that Damian had to be blind if he didnʼt see the girlʼs aversion towards him. But then again, he guessed that Damian in fact knew it but was so full of himself that he didnʼt care if a woman liked him or not. He was convinced that he was great. And everyone else who didnʼt know it was simply stupid. And he obviously didnʼt care if people were stupid as long as they were as beautiful as Sarah.
Next, Lord and Lady Partridge stepped out of the house, their faces hit by the brilliant sunlight of a deceivingly wonderful pre-summerʼs day.
“Splendid, truly splendid,” Lord Partridge said matter-of-factly. Even in moments of utter delight, he managed to keep his cool. He pulled his black topper down over his forehead, which gave him the air of a magician. And somehow he was just that, as Henry thought, judging by the fact that the noble man so magically organized his life in a way which suited him best, with everybody around him bowing to his will.
Lady Partridgeʼs head was crowned by an incredibly broad lilac hat with enormous feathers which brushed and tickled Henryʼs face as she was walking past him. Henry wondered how the massive headgear would fit in the coach which was bursting with baggage and people already.
Upon seeing Lady Partridge approach, Damian momentarily let go of Sarah, quickly rose from his seat, and gallantly extended a hand towards the lady in order to help her climb inside the coach without destroying the storkʼs nest on her head.
It was then that Sarah slowly raised her head and secretly peered over to Henry who was still standing in the door.
Henryʼs heart missed a beat when their eyes fused together. He became aware of a mixture of sadness and longing in Sarahʼs glances, just as if she was silently begging him to save her. She appeared so forlorn that he desperately wanted to run over to her and say something which might have comforted her. But he guessed that even if he had had the chance to talk to her, he would not have known what to say in this hopeless situation. Still, he found that he could impossibly let her go without giving her some kind of sign. And so he quickly winked at her.
She didnʼt wink back at him, nor did she smile in return. But the color of her face turned slightly pink which caused Henryʼs heart to hammer excitedly in his chest.
Shyly, Sarah lowered her gaze. After having managed to squeeze Lady Partridge in the coach, Damian got hold of the girlʼs hand again. Then the coach began to move whilst Henry was standing in the frame of the door, staring after Sarah as if he would never see her again.
* * *
“You look sad, my friend,” Dr. Scott remarked, a worried expression on his face.
Henry had felt the doctorʼs observing glances on him for quite a while and guessed that Dr. Scott was surely wondering why he was so utterly quiet and also unwilling to accept one of the cigars which the doctor had offered him.
For the past thirty minutes, they had been sitting on the train, heading towards London, and Henry felt sorry for not having been the appropriate company he had originally intended to be. He found that Dr. Scott had most definitely not deserved to see his moody side. After all, he seemed to be the only reasonable person within the clan of the Partridges, and Henry didnʼt want to risk this secret companionship.
“I am utterly sorry, Doctor, I—” Henry began, but Dr. Scott cut him off.
“Please, do call me Oscar. I find titles awfully annoying. They interrupt the flow of the sentence, donʼt you think?” he said.
“Thank you, Oscar. Well, as for my current state of mind, I am afraid I feel a little...” Henry answered and broke off, desperately looking for the right words to describe the mood he was in without giving too much away of the true reasons behind his quietness. But to his utter surprise, Oscar already seemed to guess.
“... Jealous?” he finished Henryʼs sentence, a mysterious smile on his lips.
Dreading that his face was getting red with embarrassment, Henry quickly turned his head away from Oscarʼs curious gaze and towards the window. It had not been his intention to show his feelings so blatantly, especially not in front of Oscar, who was still part of the Partridge family after all. But the doctor seemed to be rather amused.
“My dear friend, you wouldnʼt be the first man whose head Sarah turned.”
Oscar stuck yet another cigar in his mouth and lit it after having finished the previous ones at record speed. He closed his eyes, sucked at the cigar with relish, inhaled, and blew out the smoke.
“I actually think the girl has quite a liking for you,” he added.
“And what makes you believe so?” Henry laughed in a pointless attempt to appear indifferent in the face of Oscarʼs assumption which, in fact, made his heart beat slightly faster.
“Well, she has not thrown anything at you yet, has she?”
Oscar grinned. Then his voice got a more pensive note.
“Seriously, Henry, I believe to see it from the look in her eyes whenever your name is mentioned in her presence.”
“You are fooling me...” Henry chuckled hysterically, his heart beating even faster than before.
“I am not. Last night I asked her what she thought of you. And she meant that you were ʻalright.ʼ And in her own strange language that comes as close as to saying that she fancies you. Trust me, I know her well enough.”
Henryʼs heart by now threatened to jump out of his chest with excitement. He was positive that his delight in response to Oscarʼs words was written all over his face. Still, he made an effort to appear serious and reasonable.
“I am old and wise enough to weigh up my chances when it comes to a girl of her status,” he replied.
Oscar pulled an earnest face.
“Without wanting to come across as too direct... but yes, I am afraid you are right,” he said, making Henryʼs heart sink again. “I donʼt want you to jump to the conclusion that I entirely share all of my relativesʼ opinions, but I know for sure that a liaison between Sarah and a teacher does not really come up to their expectations. It is their intention to get this girl married to a man of very high ranking, preferably Damian Cox, in order to restore the once good reputation of their house. But it also has to do with the fact that Damian is a very influential man. It all serves a purpose, you know, mainly the one of strategic business alliances. Oh dear, have I said too much? I probably have...”
Oscar sighed, took another puff at his cigar, and then absent-mindedly stared out of the window.
“May I ask why their reputation is so bad?” Henry began. “I mean it can hardly be due to the mere fact that Sarah is a nuisance at times.”
“You are quite right,” Oscar answered. “Of course, it is not due to Sarahʼs behavior alone, although the latter has fairly contributed to it by causing a lot of amusement and gossiping in high society circles. But in order to understand Sarahʼs rebellious soul, one must know her past.”
“Would you mind telling me a little bit about her?” Henry asked carefully. He didnʼt want to come across as impolite or nosy. Still, he felt that he had a certain right to know something about Sarahʼs background if he was to deal with her in the future.
“I take it that I can trust you that this conversation is just between you and me...” Oscarʼs voice sank to a whisper.
“You have my word on it,” Henry answered firmly.
“Of course, I have,” Oscar mumbled, a little rueful smile appearing on his lips. “Please do forgive me for being so suspicious. I know that you are a good man. There are only few people around like you. And I am glad that you have decided to take this trip to London with me to have some fun. God, my life has become so utterly boring ever since I moved out to the countryside...”
Oscar broke off and remained silent for a moment. Henry didnʼt force him to keep talking. He wanted to give this gentle man a chance to tell the story at his own pace.
Finally, Oscar looked at him again, taking a deep breath.
“First of all, you must know that Sarah is not the daughter of Lord Partridge and Lady Partridge,” he said.
“She is not!?” Henry exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
“Priscilla Partridge is my sister, as you are aware of,” Oscar explained. “But we also had another sister. Her name was Melissa. Our parents, Jonathan and Mary Scott, were reputable middle class people—not very rich compared to others, but not poor either. Priscilla had always strived for an even better life, though. Nothing had ever been good enough for her. She had quite lofty ambitions; she practically wanted to live the life that she is leading now. She used to work in Horatio Partridgeʼs factory. Back then, the ploughs he sold were not as modern as they are these days. Still, the business was going exceptionally well. Horatio Partridge had a lot of money—one of the major reasons why Priscilla so terribly fell for him. At first, he wasnʼt really interested in her, but after a while he took a certain liking to her and her stubbornness to attract his attention. Well, ultimately she got what she wanted: Horatio married her. Our parents highly welcomed this liaison. After all, Melissa and I had pretty much let them down in terms of marrying and getting children. Melissa took her time in this regard. And as for me, I have always been kind of a confirmed bachelor, if you know what I mean. I simply can not bring myself to get married...”
Oscar smirked.
“Anyway, our parents considered Priscilla as kind of a role model for Melissa and me. They would have loved Melissa and me to marry into wealthy families as well. One day Melissa met Anthony Farringworth, a diplomat, at one of Priscilla and Horatioʼs popular dinner parties which would be attended by many important people from the region. Melissa did not particularly love Farringworth, but as he kept wooing her by sending her innumerable bouquets of red roses, she realized that she could somehow envisage a marriage with him. And in an attempt to make our parents happy, who considered Farringworth as a brilliant catch, she agreed to become his wife. But it all was doomed to failure...”
“What happened?” Henry asked.
“Well, Anthony Farringworth spent the best part of his married life going after his duties as a diplomat—which meant that he was abroad most of the time. Melissa felt terribly neglected. She was alone and unhappy—not only because her husband was never there, but because she couldnʼt get any children. She and Anthony had tried ever so hard, but she simply wouldnʼt become pregnant. Their marriage suffered immensely because of this. Anthony claimed that he could not be at the root of this problem and that it was surely all Melissaʼs fault. I do not know what made him so convinced about it. I suppose it was his pride and his fear of losing his face in front of everyone if the truth came out that he really was to blame. As for Melissa, she simply believed him and spent her years in guilt and misery. But then one day, she met this soldier... It didnʼt really come to me as a surprise when Melissa secretly began to have an affair with this man. I was the only one who knew about it, the only one she confided in. I must admit, I even sort of supported her as that soldier was a truly wonderful man. He was the kind of person I would have wished for her to marry. He was caring, loving, gentle, and he managed to make her laugh again. And no one would have ever found out about this affair if fate had not wanted it that Melissa suddenly got pregnant after having spent only a single night with that man. Isnʼt it ironic...?”
“Is... is Sarah the child of that soldier...?!” Henry asked.
Oscar nodded.
“She surely is. She bears an incredible resemblance to him. By looking at her, everybody immediately saw that she could impossibly be the offspring of Anthony Farringworth. You surely can imagine what a disaster it was when it all came out... But despite Anthonyʼs pride being deeply hurt, he generously told Melissa that he would forgive her and forget about it all if she promised to entirely break off contact with that soldier. Melissa was devastated and torn. She knew that she truly loved that soldier, but she also knew that she expected a child and that this soldier would not have the means to promise her a safe future like Anthony. Apart from that, our parents put her under a lot of pressure. Of course, they did not want their daughter to run off with some penniless stranger. They were so much more in favor of this marriage with Farringworth. And so Melissa continued living with Anthony. And as you can imagine it wasnʼt a picnic. The thought of his wife expecting a child from another man terribly wounded his honor. After all, he had tried for ages to make Melissa pregnant. And now some soldier should come along and manage what he himself had never succeeded in? No way. Apart from that, this soldier never gave up wooing Melissa. He kept writing letters to her, from Germany, Austria, Italy... Wherever he went, he would write to her and swear that he loved her, begging her to come and live with him in Austria where his roots lay. Again Melissa confided in me and told me about her fears. She was so unsure about what to do and wondered what the future might have in store for her if she followed him, but she couldnʼt bring herself to abandon her husband. She was glad enough that Anthony had not thrown her out of the house. He had a lot to offer, moneywise at least; hence, the prospects for Sarah would be much better. And Melissa put the well-being of her child above everything else. Still, she suffered endlessly, because she had lost the love of her life.”
Henry thought about the little flower, the Edelweiss, in Sarahʼs book. Had it been a present from that soldier to Melissa? A token for her to demonstrate his love? And had her mother given it to her daughter so that she would have something to remember that she had a loving father somewhere out there who cared for her?
“After having given birth to Sarah, Melissa was all over her,” Oscar went on. “And what a truly beautiful baby she was... Melissa spent so much time with her that it soon gave Anthony reason for complaining again. He felt neglected, which only added fuel to the fire, as you can imagine. Anthony and Melissa hardly spoke to each other anymore. And Sarah had become Melissaʼs only purpose in her miserable life. She raised that girl with so much love… One might say she loved her too much, but she did it without ever spoiling her. The two of them would often come to visit me, and then Melissa and I would play with Sarah in the garden, and then little Sarah would giggle, and laugh, and chase after the dogs. Even then she already climbed on trees.”
Oscar beamed at the memories.
“She was such a joy, such a delight... Whenever I felt depressed for some reason, she managed to make me smile again. But then..., well, Melissa got ill. Terminally ill.”
Oscar took a deep breath. It was obvious to Henry that what was to come was not easy for Oscar to tell.
“What... what did she suffer from...?” Henry asked hesitantly.
“She had scarlet fever. I was the unfortunate one to diagnose it. And when Sarah was eight years old, Melissa died. My dear sister... It was such a tragedy... It was a tragedy for me, but God, it was even more tragic for the poor child. Sarah was beyond herself with despair. She was devastated. It was a horrible turning point in her life...”
Oscar pensively stared out of the window as the train kept rushing past the seemingly endless cornfields, whose grains were gently thrown to and fro by the breeze. The serene landscape stood in no relation to the dramatic stories which were told within the walls of the carriage.
“How come that Sarah is now living with her aunt?” Henry asked, feeling that it was his turn now to distract Oscar before the latter got entirely lost in his gloomy memories.
“Anthony Farringworth did not make life easy for Sarah. As she was a ʻbastard childʼ, Farringworth did not have any interest in having her around after her mother had died. After all, she presented a permanent, vivid memory of his wifeʼs affair. Back then, I agreed when Farringworth decided to send the girl to live with Priscilla and Horatio Partridge. I thought that it would be fantastic for her to grow up in the countryside, to have a father and a mother of some sorts, and even brothers with Harold and Adrian around. I knew that she would have the possibility to go riding. And to my relief she even brightened up a little bit at the prospect of a life like this. I promised her to be around whenever she needed me, as she had a strong connection to me and was afraid of leaving her home in London. What I had not born in mind, though, was that my sister Priscilla would not be keen on having her in her house at all. She threw a massive tantrum right from the start. Priscilla is a woman of very high standards and morals, and the presence of Sarah kept reminding her that her sister Melissa had been what she calls ʻa loose womanʼ, a whore, the black sheep of the family. And the offspring of that black sheep that she would rather dismiss from her memory was now supposed to live under her roof, causing people to ask questions. They wanted to know, of course, where Sarah suddenly came from and why she lived there. Horatio was not that happy either, but he already saw some strategic marriage chances looming up on the horizon, even with Sarah being that young. And as his will ultimately counted, they decided on taking Sarah. Still, the golden rule was to keep Sarahʼs background by all means a secret. Nobody was supposed to ever find out that Sarah was the bastard child of Priscillaʼs sister Melissa. It would have shed a bad light onto Horatio Partridge. The official reason for Sarah being there was that her mother had died and that Farringworth was too busy to look after her—which wasnʼt a lie. It was just important that nobody knew that he was not her father. Both Horatio and Priscilla hoped—and are still hoping—that with the time dust will completely settle on the story so that nobody will remember and will believe that Sarah is indeed their own child.”
Henry couldnʼt shake off the thought that Oscar was somehow glad to have found someone to talk about it all. As if it was a burden for him to keep quiet about it all the time.
“Does Damian know it?” Henry asked.
“Damian knows, alright,” Oscar answered flatly.
“If her background obviously matters so much to everybody else, why does it not matter to him, and why does he so desperately want her?”
“I suppose that the main reason for him to chase Sarah is money. He wants his share in Horatioʼs plough company. It is as simple as that. No major mystery behind it. And no love either, I am afraid.”
Oscar finished his story by throwing the remains of his cigar out of the window.
“This is terrible. I am truly shocked...” Henry whispered. He could hardly believe what he had heard. There had been times when he had truly thought that Sarah was just some nasty girl by nature. Then he had begun to sense that she might not be that nasty at heart and that there had to be a reason for her behavior. Never would he have guessed, though, that she had already been battered so much by life.
“You must know that Sarah has always utterly idolized her mother,” Oscar continued. “Having no real emotional connection to Anthony Farringworth at all, Melissa meant everything to her. And it is no wonder, as Melissa was a really loving and caring mother and not as cold and bitter as Priscilla. Ever since Sarah began to live with my sister and her husband, she has changed so much that it is hard to recognize the girl in her that she used to be. Living in that place has made her aggressive and depressed. She is well aware of the fact that Priscilla hates her, and she does not know any other means to respond to it than equally with hatred. When I noticed at some stage that all of this was beginning to spiral up, I tried to convince Priscilla to let Sarah come and live with me, but it was already too late as Horatio had suddenly come up with his plans to make her marry someone truly influential. In this respect Sarah really proved to be his trump card. Apart from that, most people had by then already begun to believe that the girl was the Partridgesʼ daughter. It would have made no sense to anyone anymore if she had suddenly started to live with me. So I had no chance at all. All I could do was to quit my job in London, move to Oxford into Sarahʼs vicinity, and take up a position there so that I could always check on the well-being of the child and be there for her when she needed me. You know, Henry, she is the sweetest and caring human being one can ever meet, if only she feels safe and loved. All her outbursts find her root merely in her despair over not being welcome.”
She longs to be loved, Henry thought with a heavy heart.
She longed to be loved, but instead all that awaited her was a marriage with a man she despised; a man who was obviously incapable of giving her the love she so desperately craved for.
Henry suddenly wondered if she would have enough strength to do it differently than her beloved mother, if she would be able to turn her back on everything which was safe and which she was used to in order to loosen herself from the strong grip of her family. He wondered whether she would risk getting involved with a man who might not be as wealthy and fortunate as Damian but who would be truly capable of providing her with endless love and care.
Lost in thought, Henry let his gaze wander out of the window.
If he could be this man.