Greygallows by KATHY Page A

day, I think I would have questioned her, risking her jeers and love of cruelty, so frightened was I. But there was no opportunity. The Honorable Miss Allen fluttered and giggled and patronized me. I would rather have died than display fear and ignorance before her; and indeed, I felt as if I might do just that.
    Clare waited for me at the foot of the stairs, amid a group of his friends. Several of them were the worse for wine, and their laughter and rude jests brought the colour to my cheeks. Clare was equally annoyed; he took my arm and had me out of the house and into the coach before I could catch my breath. He turned back to supervise the loading of my trunks and to exchange a few words with his friends.
    The weather was bright and cold and gusty, a typical April day; but it was not the cold that made me shiver as I huddled into the corner where he had placed me. As I reached up to adjust my bonnet, I saw a face at the window of the coach, the one that faced the street.
    It took me a moment to recognize Jonathan. His hair was windblown into a ruffled cockade, and his cheeks and nose were a vivid pink. But his eyes...
    'What—' I began.
    'Hush. I wouldn't want him—Clare—to see me and mar your wedding day with bloodshed. I would not be here but that—but that I promised my mother to give you her love.'
    'Thank you,' I said. 'My best love to her, of course.'
    Instead of leaving, he stood staring foolishly at me. I had not forgotten his incoherent words on the day my illness began, and I assumed that, like a storybook hero, he was feasting his eyes for the last time on his lost love; but he certainly did not look the part, all ruffled and red-nosed as he was.
    'You haven't forgiven me, have you?' he said.
    'There is nothing to forgive. Your boorish behavior had nothing to do with my illness.'
    'And that is all it seems to you—boorish behavior? Well, perhaps it is best so. But don't deceive yourself into thinking you are escaping such boorishness by fleeing London. You will see a few things to shock you in the north, I think; Clare's arrogance cannot shield you from life altogether.'
    'You are speaking of my husband,' I said coldly. 'If this is your notion of appropriate congratulations for a bride—'
    'No,' Jonathan burst out. 'I didn't mean to say any of these things. I am too distraught to be sensible ... Lucy.' He reached in through the open window and took my hand. 'My mother's good wishes were only an excuse. I came for one purpose—to tell you you are not so alone as you may think. If you are ever in distress, or afraid—if you ever need help—'
    I pulled my hand away.
    'Go, go, he is coming!'
    Jonathan's face vanished precipitately; and as my husband got into the coach I leaned back into my corner and tried to conceal my agitation. Jonathan's reference to my being alone had shaken me; it was so like an echo of my private terrors. But I was not touched by his expressed concern. First he had berated me; then he had run away. Could he be 'the other' to whom my aunt had referred on the terrible night of my attempted elopement? If so, she had a higher opinion of him than he deserved. Cruelty and cowardice, he had displayed both. With the illogic of youth, I abhorred violence, and yet I condemned the man who avoided it.
    The coach started. We were pursued, for a time, by some of the more inebriated guests, but the coachman whipped the horses to a smart pace and we soon lost them. Clare, who had been looking out of the window, closed it and turned to me with a smile.
    'What a relief, to rid ourselves of old friends! And what did your ill-bred admirer from the solicitor's office have to say to you?'
    I was too astounded to answer; the tone of amused contempt with which he mentioned Jonathan surprised me as much as the fact that he had seen him.
    'Oh, yes,' Clare said gently, watching my face. 'I saw him. You need not have feared a scene, Lucy; it would have been excessive bad taste, on my wedding day, even if I