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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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23-03-09 12M p3 |
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Hopes and Past Desires by Peter Satis |
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The proposed marriage of his adopted sister causes Charteris Longaville to investigate her betrotheds past. Too late he learns that they are father and daughter but should he reveal the fact? Chapter One
“I met Captain Scammell today.” said Mr Longaville, as he sat with his family around the dinner-table one evening. “Captain Scammell?” His wife looked at him uncertainly. She had no recollection of the name. “The new owner of the Whitechapel up on the forest.” “Ah” “Captain of what, exactly, father?” asked Charteris. a languid young man in his early twenties. “If he’s a soldier, I dare say the girls will be suitably struck with him, and we shall have at least one of them off our hands,” he added with a brief smile at his sister Jennifer. whom he was trying to goad. “He is not a soldier.” corrected his father. “He is a retired sea captain.” “Retired!” said Charteris with a commiserating shake of’ his head. “I can’t see any mothers getting too excited over a retired sea captain. Too insignificant for many to be bothered with.” He reached for the decanter and replenished his glass. “There won’t be much opposition, though,” he added brightly. “You might have a chance after all, Jen.” “Thank you for thinking of me. Charteris,” retorted his sister. “But when the time comes for me to marry I shall choose someone agreeable to my taste, not yours.” “It’s not so much a question of your choosing someone, as of their settling for you. It is a truth that must be brought home to you no matter how painful it may he,” he said with a commiserating expression. “Whilst you’re so inundated with admirers you hardly dare leave the house, I suppose,” was the succinct rejoinder. “I manage.” said Charteris, suavely. “Captain Scammell,” - their father dragged the conversation back to the original topic, -“is a retired sea captain.” “Lord!” Charteris rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just picture him, the old sea dog. No taller than mother, as broad as a beer barrel and as round as one too, balding, with a scrubby beard, twinkling eyes and a thick horny skin like a lizards, so tanned you can’t be sure if he’s an Englishman or a Red Indian,” “Charteris!” - exasperation was evident in his father’s voice. - “If you must interrupt me. I wish it would be to say something sensible, Your sketch would be very fine if it were not based on fairy tales. Let me inform you what the man really looks like. One”- he counted with his fingers - “I should estimate the captain’s height at six foot one or two - your mother incidentally is five foot four. As for being as stout as a beer barrel,” - he raised another finger- “well, a tall man carries his weight better than a stout one, I grant you, but I think you will find his physique is in good propor tion to his height. I don’t recall his eyes,” he added, marking off a third finger pensively. “But let us call them piercing blue. You make him out to be a man in his sixties. I would put him at about forty, younger than me, and still in possession of a fine head of hair,” “I didn’t expect you to take my sketch of him literally, said Charteris with a shrug. “If he is only forty why has he retired?” asked Eleanor, joining in the conversation for the first time. “Because, my love, he has amassed his fortune and no longer needs to risk his life upon the sea.” “Ah, a wealthy sea captain that will put a whole new perspective on things.” said Charteris wickedly. “But why should a wealthy man want to buy such an inhospitable house as the Whitechapel?” asked Jennifer mystified. “As he was not limited by finances in his choice, we must assume that he liked it,” suggested Eleanor. “My own view,” put forward Mr Longaville, “is that a man accustomed to the width of the rolling sea might feel enclosed living amongst a great many others in a town. The forest, I suspect. will suit his roving spirit.” “What sort of a man is he’? asked Mrs Longaville. “My dear,” he gently admonished her in reply. “He came into my shop to buy wine. Am I to judge what sort of a character a man has in the time it takes him to place an order?” “If you were a woman you would have thought that was ample time to form an opinion of him,” said Jennifer archly. “And you had to guess that his eyes were blue.” put forward Eleanor, compounding his crimes. “Well Rosemary.” Mr Longaville asked his wife forlornly. “have you nothing to add to my shortcomings?” “The trouble is,” she answered with candour. “that you vex us more by bringing home a vague description than if you had brought none at all.” “Surely you will side with me, Charteris ?“asked his father. “I can’t see what’s so interesting about a fellow’s looks,” confessed Charteris, mystified by all the interest in a man they had never met. “Of course you can’t,” said Jennifer exasperated. “That’s because he’s a man, But if it had been a woman, you would recollect her face perfectly, I’m sure.” “Only if she were pretty.” he meant to he amusing but was too close to the truth for the joke to he seen. “Do you suppose he knows anyone in the town’?” ventured Mrs Longaville. “Ships’ captains are obliged to spend the greater part of their time at sea,” observed Charteris. “But he could have family here,” “You don’t mean...” Charteris clapped a hand to his mouth in mock alarm “.... a wife!” “Can you see any woman wanting to live in the Whitechapel ?” Jennifer asked with distaste. “I can see a woman living anywhere for at least two reasons.” retorted Charteris. ”Love being one of them.” “And the other?” Jennifer asked wearily. “Money of course.” His sister smiled witheringly. “I believe him to be a bachelor,” continued Mr Longaville, more to his wife than anyone else. “Then the poor man will not have the opportunity to eat once at his own table until every woman with an unmarried daughter has had him to dine.” “You are very unjust toward our sex,” said Eleanor. taking umbrage. “Whilst there is no doubt that some ladies marry for money, it is surely a mutual matter. You make it sound as though all the scheming is on the lady’s side, but the gentleman has to he just as willing, or the pursuer would never catch up with the pursued.” I bow to your superior knowledge,” Charteris conceded. “You must curb the tendency; your humour has become too barbed, you know, Charteris.” Jenn ifer delighted in advising him. “Young ladies do not like that sort of thing.” "I am sorry, I didn't mean to be offensive Eleanor.” He valued her opinion. Jennifer, possessing a similar sort of humour to his own, he ignored. Putting down his napkin a few moments’ later he announced casually: “I think I shall take a stroll around the cathedral before dark. Anyone care to join me?” But he was glad when no one did. “I believe he has taken offence at your reprimand. Eleanor.” said an elated Jennifer after he had left the room. “He is such a sensitive boy.” said Mrs Longaville fondly. “Then it is unfortunate that his sensitivity does not extend to others. A gentleman should learn to take criticism if he intends to administer it,” remarked Mr Longaville. *** Stepping out of the house, Charteris was greeted by the low evening sunshine falling upon the cathedral which stood directly opposite the Longavilles’, separated only by the road, a low, round-topped stone wall and the wide cathedral lawns, A gentle breeze tickled the leaves of the lime-trees after which the walk on that side of the cathedral was named. There were four walks: the Lime Walk. the Chestnut Walk, the Yew and the Medlar. Each of them appealed to Charteris at different times of the year. The Lime Walk shone in the spring, when its damp, new leaves hung down like little washed handkerchieves, almost translucent. The Yew Walk had a snug feel about it in the winter. When the great hayrick-shaped trees were topped with snow it was charming. The Chestnut Walk came to life for others when the panicles of flowers adorned the branches like candelbra, but to Charteris they evoked autumn. The smell of the leaf litter was so pungent and the colours so beautiful, he wondered sometimes, as he rustled through the fallen leaves and stopped to remove a conker from its hedgehog-like shell, if girls had anything that they still related to when they grew up, as men did to conkers. Why, he had even seen the dean, puffing down the Chestnut Walk in the autumn, stoop and pocket one. He imagined that, like himself, the dean didn’t know what to do with it when he got home, but having turned up such a treasure it was impossible to resist it...
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