The Distant Kingdom Read online

  ‘It is silly, Papa,’ she said, at last expressing her most constant fear, ‘but I cannot get it out of my head that he asked me by mistake; or that he never really asked at all. Perhaps I misunderstood what he said to me that day.’

  Edward laughed, kindly, as he said:

  ‘If that is all that has sent you out here in such a melancholy state I need not have been so anxious. No, I can assure you that you did not mistake his intention. He spoke to me quite clearly when he asked my permission to pay his addresses to you.’

  She seemed so relieved as her face took on some of the happiness she had shown before that he decided once again not to try to talk to her about the consummation of the marriage. In fact it had never occurred to Perdita to worry about that, in spite of Lady Beaminsiter’s elliptical and vaguely threatening instructions. It was the fear that Marcus might have changed his mind about her, or that she would disappoint him, or destroy whatever feeling it had been that had driven him into her arms, that tormented her.

  But even when she was most nervous, Marcus had only to look down at her, smile his familiar smile and call her ‘my dear’for her to forget every doubt and fear in a spring of delight that welled up in her. At such moments she was entirely happy and longed only for the day when she would be his wife and be able to talk to him about anything.

  The day of the wedding was clear and bright, and when Perdita first woke she lay peacefully in her barbaric bed, thinking of nothing but Marcus: the sound of his deep voice, the things he would say to her when they were alone and how she would answer. They would become so familiar with each other, she thought, that it would soon cease to feel strange to be alone with him. She would learn to know him so well that she would be able to read his thoughts and, in loving him, take away the sadness she had so often seen in his brown eyes.

  It was not until her ayah was putting her into her wedding gown that Perdita’s mood was disturbed and she began to think that as she and Marcus became better acquainted he might dislike what he found out about her. After all, they were still almost strangers to each other and he knew nothing about her.

  Edward, coming into her room to escort her to the dining room where Mr Carswell waited with the Beaminsters, was shocked to see that his daughter was trembling and very pale. He put an arm round her waist and asked gently:

  ‘My dear Perdita, what is it?’

  She shook her head as though she could not speak, but then managed to say:

  ‘Oh Papa, what shall I do if he does not like me?’

  Stumped for something comforting and convincing to say, Edward led her to the sofa at the foot of her bed and made her sit down. Then he sent for a glass of very weak brandy and soda and made her drink it as though it were medicine. When she had obediently finished it, shuddering at the unfamiliar taste, he took the glass away from her and said:

  ‘That’s better. Of course he will like you. He wants to marry you. Now, don’t you feel better?’

  Perdita was not at all sure, but she nodded and stood up to take his arm. He could feel her trembling slightly and hoped fervently that her composure would survive the actual service.

  He was glad to see that Beaminster turned at the sound of their entry into the room and smiled warmly at her. But it was not until she stood beside him and felt his shoulder touch hers for an instant that she ceased to shiver.

  The tiny physical contact allowed her to become calm enough to speak her responses clearly, although she wished her hand was not so damp when she had to put it into Marcus’s. He did not make any sign that he had noticed, and pushed the ring on to her finger, saying after Mr Carswell:

  ‘With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.’

  Perdita smiled shyly up at him, confident at last that he meant every astonishing word of it.

  After the quiet of the simple service, walking beside him into the drawing room where her father’s guests were assembled was rather like going before a convocation of hostile inquisitors, but Marcus was beside her; she was his wife; she knew that she would be able to face them. Their repetition of her new title as they greeted her began to convince her that, unlikely though it might be, she really was the wife of the Earl of Beaminster. Nevertheless, as she watched Captain Thurleigh walking towards her through the crowd, tall, dark and arrogant, she hoped passionately that she would not say something stupid and shame Marcus. His friend raised her hand to his lips.

  ‘May I wish you joy, Lady Beaminster?’

  His words were simple and very conventional but they seemed kindly meant, and so she was able to answer appropriately and smile as she watched him move on to grip Marcus’s hand. No one else would be able to make her feel as uncomfortable as Captain Thurleigh once had, and his affability seemed to have set some kind of seal on her marriage. As soon as she could, she left Marcus’s side to find her father. She had to wait while he talked to Mrs Fletcher and another lady, whom Perdita had not yet met, but as soon as he saw that she wanted him, he extricated himself and came to draw her aside. With the understanding kindness she was used to hearing in his voice, he said simply:

  ‘Well, dear?’

  ‘It is going to be all right, Papa.’

  He took both her hands and looked down at her oval face, lovely now in its happy certainty.

  ‘I know it will, my dearest girl,’ he said, bending to kiss her.

  Several guests who saw him smiled to see his obvious affection, but Maria Jamieson, who had already found plenty of disagreeable things to say, thought it very unbecoming to show such feelings in public and said so to her big husband. Major Jamieson did not answer, and so she went on:

  ‘And she really should not wear her corsage en coeur like that. She simply hasn’t the figure for it.’

  Her own half-high gown of citron gros-de-naples was richly trimmed round the back and shoulders with lace, and she was proud enough of her curving shape to have dispensed with the old-fashioned pelerine that was still considered de rigueur in Simla. She found it pleasant and satisfying to know that she was so much more richly dressed than the bride, and tossed her head a little to set her glossy ringlets dancing as Lord Beaminster came to greet her. As he bowed gracefully over her hand she was aware of Jamieson’s usual jealous supervision and smiled even more warmly. But when the bridegroom had moved on a discontented expression banished the pleasure from her face. Her full lips settled into a pout, and her husband, who had once been captivated by her prettiness and vivacity, waited for the complaint that he knew would come.

  ‘I feel so sorry for him. I cannot imagine what they will have in common, and it will be so hard for her to learn our ways. Poor Miss Whitney. We shall all have to help him when they get back to the Station.’

  The major said nothing, wondering unhappily just what form his wife’s help was likely to take and feeling sorry for the new Lady Beaminster. His knowledge of her was small, but he thought she seemed amiable enough and would probably make his junior officer a good wife once she got over her shyness. He watched them come together by the empty fireplace and hoped for several reasons that the marriage would be a happy one.

  Perdita, whose back was beginning to ache with tiredness, hoped that they might be able to leave, but Marcus had been given very strict instructions by his mother and explained that they must stay a little longer.

  ‘But it will be quite soon now. Why don’t you sit down for a while? You look very tired.’

  Perdita shook her head, unable to explain that it was not rest she wanted as much as a chance to be alone with her husband, to tell him some of the things she felt and feel him close to her. She braced herself to endure for as long as she had to, but it was only about half an hour before Lady Beaminster signalled that she had done enough and took her away to change.

  There had been no suitable houses left for Marcus to hire and so they would have been reduced to going into tents until his mother left and handed over hers if Captain Thurleigh had not offered to vacat
e his bungalow and lend it to them. It was one of the most secluded, and in many circumstances would have been ideal for a newly married couple sharing their first few days together.

  When Marcus and Perdita reached it, they found the candles already alight and Captain Thurleigh’s bearer waiting to greet them. Marcus was relieved to discover that his wife’s servants were already installed with all her baggage unpacked, and he suggested that she might like to lie down for a while before changing for dinner. Perdita was surprised, but, anxious to do anything he wished, said nothing and followed her maid to the room that had been prepared for her.

  Marcus repaired to the smoking room and sent for a brandy. He would have liked to smoke a cigar with it, but he was afraid that Perdita might dislike the smell and did not want to upset her or make her ill. Vaguely thinking about her, he sat down in one of James’s comfortable old chairs and picked up the latest Delhi Gazette; but he could not concentrate on its gossipy articles, and eventually stopped trying to read and thought about what he had just done.

  Until his brother’s death he had never even considered the idea of matrimony, and since the news had come he had thought of his wedding only as a way to pacify his mother and ensure that he could stay in India with his regiment. He knew that she was right – he had to produce an heir – but now that the wedding was over, he started to think of it all from Perdita’s point of view and began to wonder if he had been very unfair to her. He had always been sure that she would cause no trouble, or ever complain about anything he did, but for the first time he began to think that that was not enough. Feeling unaccountably guilty, he resolved to take no more advantage of her ignorance and inexperience; he would tread warily and make sure he did not force himself on her until she was more accustomed to him.

  When dinner was announced, he joined her at the table and did his best to entertain her. She followed his lead as well as she could and put off the idea of telling him anything that mattered until the servants had left. But almost as soon as the last white-uniformed man had gone, Marcus smiled in a reassuring way and said:

  ‘It has been a dreadfully exhausting day, hasn’t it, my dear? I expect you would like to retire now.’

  Perdita, remembering the exact words in which her mother-in-law had told her to obey her husband, no matter how distasteful his demands, hastened to rise from her chair and agree. She found that her voice did not work properly, and so she merely nodded, hoping that she would be able to do whatever was wanted. When he offered her his arm, she took it and allowed him to lead her across the hall to her bedroom door. He opened it and, having kissed her hand, said again:

  ‘You must be very tired. I hope you will sleep well. Goodnight.’

  Surprised and rather distressed by his formality, Perdita watched the door close behind him. Her ayah, who had been waiting as usual, said something consoling, which Perdita did not quite follow, and proceeded to undress her. When she was alone, she lay back against the pillows, pretending that she did not mind Marcus’s having left her like that and trying to remember just what it had felt like to be embraced by him: the weight of his head on her shoulder, the softness of his hair against her neck; the way their bodies had seemed to cling to each other for one lovely instant. She told herself that it would happen again soon, that everything would be different once he had become accustomed to being married to her.

  But over the next few days Perdita began to wonder why the idea of marriage had seemed so momentous. Her life had hardly changed. Marcus was always a delightful companion, but he did not spend very much time with her, and each night merely kissed her hand and left her alone. More and more she wondered why he never touched her and what it was that she could be doing wrong.

  One afternoon as she was driving out with Juliana, the girl criticized her brother for leaving his bride to spend so much time without him, and Perdita was tempted to speak frankly and ask her advice. But Juliana was an unmarried girl and Marcus’s sister; it did not seem possible. Once again Perdita buried her anxieties and said reproachfully:

  ‘You should not say such things, Juliana. Don’t you remember your brother explaining to us weeks ago when you wanted him to spend more time with you, that when you have fought beside a man and faced death with him that creates a bond stronger than any mere family connection? You must not think he neglects me; and you cannot expect him to drop all the friends with whom he has such a bond merely because he is married.’

  Juliana had tossed her head rebelliously and said:

  ‘Well, I should be very angry. You are a deal too patient and forgiving, Perdita. One day you will have to stand up for yourself or you will be very unhappy.’

  ‘Well, that day has not come yet, Juliana. I am very happy.’

  She used to tell her father the same thing when he came to visit her almost every day. He was not convinced, and once or twice he asked questions about Marcus, to which Perdita invariably replied:

  ‘He is charming to me always, Papa. I cannot imagine a kinder or more careful husband,’ with which he had to be content.

  In most ways it was true. After Marcus had managed to forget the difficulties and embarrassments of his wedding day, he behaved to his wife with complete courtesy, trying to entertain and amuse her whenever they were together, and making no demands of any kind. If she were not so much at ease with him as with her father, that would come, she told herself, and she began to forget her fears.

  The only discomfort that remained was her feeling that she was not really his wife, that her complete inadequacy for the position would become as obvious to everyone else as it was to herself, and she would be removed. She knew that she was in fact indissolubly married to the Earl of Beaminster, but she began to pine for the reassurance that their one moment of physical contact had given her.

  Day after day she found herself longing to touch him to feel his head on her shoulder once more, and hear him say, ‘Perdita, I need you.’ One evening, when he had punctiliously escorted her to her bedroom door as usual, she freed her hand from his cool clasp and laid it gently on his cheek. He stood very still for a moment, and then moved away, making no acknowledgement at all. She was left with her hand stupidly held in the air, the blood pouring into her cheeks and a feeling of sick humiliation in her mind. He said goodnight stiffly and left her.

  It was only a few days after that that the Dowager was due to leave Simla with Juliana, and Perdita and Marcus to move into her house. Trains of camels had already been loaded with the Dowager’s trunks and had set off on the long journey down to Calcutta when Marcus escorted his wife to bid her goodbye. Old Lady Beaminster was gracious to her, but Juliana hugged her childishly and even wept a little as she said:

  ‘I hate leaving you. You must make Marcus sell out and come home to Beaminster. It is lovely there, and we shall need you. Make him come soon, before any of the dreadful things they talk about happen here. I shall be so unhappy with only Mama, worrying about you two.’

  ‘Hush. You must not say that, Juliana. I shall miss you very much too. But we can write to each other: you shall tell me all your doings so that I can imagine myself to be with you, and I shall do the same. You will be happy enough when you are presented next year.’

  She watched the mulish expression creep into Juliana’s strong face, and wished passionately that the child were not leaving. Without Juliana, she would be left friendless again, for in a disturbing way Marcus had ceased to be a friend when they were married. They talked often, but never of things that mattered. Sometimes Perdita thought nostalgically of the evening of Mortimer Blandfield’s proposal when she had first discovered Marcus’s gentleness and she had been able to speak to him freely. She began to imagine herself obviously ill or troubled in some way so that he would again talk to her as herself and not, as she believed he viewed her now, as a tedious guest who had to be kept content.

  With her mind so engaged, she did not try to hide her sadness from him as the Dowager’s caravan left, but he looked irritated and said only:


  ‘I am glad you spoke so sensibly to Juliana. She is apt to become over-emotional and say things she does not mean. She will be perfectly happy at Beaminster with my mother.’

  Perdita ordered her voice to obey and succeeded in saying:

  ‘I know, but I fear that you and I shall miss her and your mama very much.’

  ‘We shall indeed. Now, my dear, if you will go in, I shall instruct the servants to bring our trunks so that Thurleigh can repossess his own house.’

  ‘Of course. Poor Captain Thurleigh.’ She made herself smile at him and walked into the long, white-walled drawing room, to sit doing nothing but think herself more than ever an imposter in her mother-in-law’s house.

  That night, for the first time since the wedding, she ate alone. After dinner, she sat in an uncomfortable upright chair, pretending to read a novel Juliana had left for her, until she felt she could go to bed, wondering where Marcus was and with whom. When at last she lay between the cool sheets, unwatched by any of the servants, she allowed pent-up tears to slide out of the corners of her eyes. In the halcyon days of her early love for Marcus, she had imagined that marriage to him would constitute the greatest possible human happiness; it had not occurred to her that, married, she could be so lonely.

  Some two hours later, she felt herself to be slipping over the edge into sleep when she heard him returning. His voice sounded odd as he spoke to the bearer, thickened and somehow rougher. She lay listening to his steps crossing the hall, walking past her door to his own. The hot, slow tears began to gather once more. At least he had always wished her goodnight before. She tried to tell herself that he believed her to be asleep and would not have wished to disturb her, but common sense did not help her distress. She was turning her face into the pillow when he came back, and so she did not hear anything until he stood in the doorway saying in that strange voice: