Angel With Two Faces (7 page)

‘Was there anyone else about that morning?’ Archie asked, keen to return to the accident. From Jacks’s account, it seemed that Harry
could
have guided the horse towards the Loe himself.

‘No. It was still early,’ William said. ‘But Lettice is right – this is all too gloomy for the first night of a holiday. We should change the subject. Archie – have you told Josephine about our Minack performance?’

‘From one funeral to another,’ Ronnie muttered under her breath.

‘I just hope they’ve sorted out some of the problems we had with the theatre last year,’ Lettice added, helping Josephine
and herself to generous portions. ‘I was speaking to Hephzibah the other day, and she’s told Rowena straight – she’s not performing there again until they make the stage a little safer.’

‘What went wrong?’ Josephine asked, intrigued. ‘You never mentioned it.’

‘They were doing the
Dream
,’ Ronnie explained, ‘and Rowena decided to put it to music. The dancing fairies kept falling over the forest of Athens, and they kicked up so much dust that the front three rows were either blinded or choked or both.’

‘But how was that Hephzibah’s fault?’

‘I’m coming to that. We can forgive her the dust – although she’s never been light on her feet – but it didn’t stop there. The audience sits on a very steep slope, and a woman was on her way back to her seat during the sandstorm. She couldn’t see where she was going, missed her footing on one of the steps and started to roll perilously towards the cliff edge, picking up speed as she went.’

‘It was so very nearly heroic,’ Lettice added. ‘Hephzibah was on stage at the time and saw what was happening, and she ran over…’

‘Thundered over,’ corrected Ronnie.

‘All right – thundered over to the woman and fielded her into a gorse bush.’

‘It sounds like she saved a life,’ Josephine said. ‘Surely that
is
heroic?’

‘Hardly,’ countered Ronnie. ‘There was a perfectly good pillar that would have saved her quite gently. Hephzibah broke the woman’s hip.’

‘She
was
quite elderly,’ Lettice admitted, as the rest of the table dissolved into laughter, ‘and her family threatened to sue
Rowena. She was lucky not to have the whole place closed down. As it was, they had to cancel the rest of the run. Now, they won’t even acknowledge the
Dream
of ’34 at all.’

‘You’d better be careful, Archie,’ said William, wiping his eyes while Sheila cleared away the main course. ‘Keep away from the edge of the stage, and watch out for any unexpected entrances from the audience.’

‘What’s this?’ Josephine looked questioningly at Archie, who blushed slightly.

‘Hasn’t he told you?’ Ronnie jumped in wickedly. ‘He’s starring in
The Jackdaw
of Rheims
this week.’

‘Really? I didn’t know you were
in
it.’

‘I’m afraid it’s my fault,’ William admitted. ‘We were one short because of poor Harry, and everyone else was either involved already or too busy on the estate, so I volunteered Archie and we’ve swapped a couple of parts round – Archie’s going to narrate, which leaves Nathaniel – our young curate – free to be the Jackdaw.’ He topped up his nephew’s glass by way of apology. ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind.’

‘You mean you knew I could hardly refuse,’ said Archie drily. ‘Just don’t expect me to do it every year.’ He pointed his fork at Ronnie. ‘And if you even think of trying anything amusing while I’m on stage, I’ll make sure you pay for it afterwards.’

Ronnie held up her hands in a passable impression of innocence and William smiled at Josephine, who was beginning to understand how he had run the estate so successfully for all these years. If Sheila was anything to go by, his staff obviously loved him and she had very little doubt that, in spite of his protestations, Archie would now be persuaded to take part in any Loe estate venture that took place while he was south of the Tamar.

‘They might have chosen something with a bit more potential for costumes,’ Lettice grumbled through a mouthful of lemon tart. ‘There’s nothing very challenging about a monk’s habit and a few old feathers.’

‘Don’t knock it, dear. If it means we have more time for sunbathing, then bring on the cowls – that’s what I say. And we’ll have to get you measured up after dinner,’ she said to Archie, smiling sweetly. ‘We need to make sure that Nathaniel’s old costume will fit you.’

‘I expect it’s a busman’s holiday for you, Josephine,’ William said, ‘but if you’d like to go, you’d be more than welcome to come with me. No obligation, though – see how you feel.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it now I know about the casting,’ she said, surprised to find that she meant it, ‘and it’ll be a joy to go to a play and have absolutely no responsibility for anything that happens.’

‘Splendid. I’ll ask the Snipe to do us a picnic.’ He jumped up from the table. ‘Now, shall we try some of those strong waters you brought down from Scotland with you? We’ll have coffee in the library, Sheila. You don’t mind somewhere a bit less formal, do you?’ he asked Josephine, while the other three excused themselves briefly. ‘The sitting room’s in better nick, but it’s nowhere near as comfortable. We only use it to get rid of people we didn’t want to invite in the first place.’

The library was a large, beautiful room, and Josephine could easily see why William would choose to spend most of his time there. The once fine plasterwork on the ceiling needed some attention, and the enormous chocolate-coloured carpet – covered in shells, palm fronds and garlands of flowers – was worn right through to the floor in places, but there was nothing tired about the browns and golds that shone out from
the bookshelves, giving the room a warm, autumnal feel that was belied only by several vases of bright pink tulips. William pulled some well-used armchairs up to the fire, and threw another couple of logs into the grate. ‘It was supposed to be Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades,’ he said, pointing towards an animal’s face which had been cast into the black iron of the fire surround, ‘but my wife had it modelled on her favourite dog of the time – a spaniel without an ounce of aggression in him – so the overall effect is rather tamer than I’d hoped for. Still – that’s probably no bad thing. Make yourself at home and I’ll get us some drinks.’

While he busied himself with opening the whisky, Josephine walked over to the bay window. The dark-green shutters were still folded back against the wall, and she could just make out the edge of the lake in the darkness.

‘Do you take anything with it?’ William waved a generous inch of Dalwhinnie at her.

‘Just a drop of water,’ she said. He nodded approvingly and brought three glasses over to the window, leaving brandies by the fire for Ronnie and Lettice. ‘It’s nice to have you with us,’ he said, raising his glass to her, ‘but I’m sorry that your first day was clouded with a death. It’s not what anyone needs on a holiday, and I gather from the girls that last year was difficult for you.’

‘I certainly wouldn’t want another one like it,’ she said, touched by his concern. ‘People still tell me what a memorable play
Richard
was, and I suppose I should be pleased, but my memories are so different from theirs that I’d really rather forget the whole thing ever happened. In fact, I wish it
hadn’t
happened – no matter how much satisfaction it’s given me or anybody else.’

‘Yes, it’s hard to be proud of something when it’s bound up with sadness,’ William said, ‘and I suppose you’re utterly sick of people telling you those deaths weren’t your fault.’ She nodded, glad not to have to repeat a conversation which she had had many times in the last year. ‘You know that the girls had a brother who was killed in the war? Well, I spent a lot of time in London after Teddy’s death – threw myself into the war effort because I couldn’t get over the guilt of having encouraged him to join the navy in the first place.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I was in with the Room 40 lot – cryptography, you know? We did the Zimmermann telegram, among other things.’

‘A lot of people say that turned the war.’

‘Yes, and that’s my point. People expect me to be proud of my involvement with it, but all I know is that while I was engrossed in that, my wife was here alone, dying of grief for our son. I’ll never forgive myself for that, no matter what I achieved elsewhere and how many lives it saved, and of course I’d change it if I could – doing something for the greater good has never been much of a consolation for her loss. Personal sorrow – it’s a very selfish thing, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I sometimes think that’s the danger of our age, you know – we’ve become far too abstract about the things that matter, particularly death. We read the newspapers and shake our heads at the numbers, but we’ve lost sight of the horror of it – the horror and the permanence.’ She took a sip of her whisky and thought for a moment. ‘I remember during the last war – and I don’t suppose the one they’re threatening now will be any different – it got to the point where we were almost embarrassed to be angry about our own dead. Perhaps it was a British thing – we instinctively look
for someone worse off, don’t we? – but with everyone suffering so much, it was as if we were being selfish to focus on a personal grief rather than a collective one. That always seemed to me to be a betrayal of the people we’d lost. Surely they deserved to be mourned – no, not just mourned, remembered – for who they were rather than why they died? So I don’t blame you for being selfish or for valuing one person more than thousands – if we all did that, we probably wouldn’t be in this mess.’

‘No, I don’t think we would. I stayed away from the estate for a long time after Veronique died, but you can’t run away forever and I think coming back helped in a funny sort of way.’

‘I can understand that – you can see the lives you’re responsible for. Sheila’s happiness matters as much as the League of Nations. Personally, I think that’s as big an achievement as your war work. From what Ronnie told me in the car, you have something very special here – and not just because it’s beautiful.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said. ‘It does heal, I suppose…’

‘Up to a point?’

He smiled. ‘Yes. Up to a point.’

Sheila arrived with a tray of coffee, and Archie and the girls soon followed. An old black Labrador trailed behind them and made straight for the hearth, and Josephine was amused to see how quickly William went over to move one of the chairs back so that the dog could stretch out in front of the fire. She handed Archie his whisky. ‘All measured up?’

‘Yes, although a steady stream of this throughout the week might not go amiss.’

‘It can be arranged. There’s another bottle back at the Lodge. I’ve got something for the Snipe, too – do you think now would be a safe time to give it to her? I’d like to say hello.’

‘I don’t suppose it’s a basket of everything she’s missing
from the kitchen, is it?’ William asked. ‘That would make Sheila’s life a little easier.’

‘No, it’s a bottle of sherry – but it might have the same effect.’

‘Excellent idea, although if I’d known your luggage was largely drinkable, I’d have been more careful with it,’ Ronnie said. ‘Take it through now and put her in a better mood for the morning. There’s no point in ringing for her – she had the housekeeper’s grating blocked up when she first got here so that the bells wouldn’t disturb her.’

‘Yes, there was never any doubt as to who was in charge,’ William agreed, and pointed Josephine in the direction of the kitchen.

In spite of Mrs Snipe’s reservations, the servants’ quarters seemed to be tidy and well ordered. The kitchen was not especially large – about twenty feet by twenty – but the ceilings were high and every inch of space had been put to good use. Sturdy wooden pegs were everywhere, set along the beams to hold pots and pans, as well as a few provisions – onions, garlic, a large flitch of bacon – which were presumably needed close at hand for regular use. How little must have changed here over the years, Josephine thought; she might easily be looking at an Edwardian or even a Victorian kitchen. Fascinated by the scale of some of the implements – in one corner, there was a slice of tree trunk bound with iron hoops to make a fine chopping surface; in another, a massive mortar stood mounted in a heavy wooden stand, with the long handle of its pestle held in a high wall bracket above – she realised that the Snipe must have a physical strength to match her spirit, and her opinion of the Motleys’ cook – which was already high – went up a notch or two. In the grate, a big black kettle hung on an iron bracket
over the coals, but the fire was beginning to die down and the chairs on either side of the hearth remained empty. Sheila was still there, scrubbing down the large oak table ready for the next morning, but there was no sign of Mrs Snipe.

‘She’s through there,’ the girl said, nodding to one of three doors that opened off the kitchen. ‘Popped through to her sitting room, then told me to put the kettle on. I thought we were having tea, but she’s told me to go when I’ve finished this.’ She looked at the sherry in Josephine’s hands. ‘You go through – I’m sure she won’t mind being interrupted for that.’

Feeling a little like the proverbial fly, Josephine did as she was told. She wasn’t surprised to see that the Snipe’s personal domain – at the end of a short corridor from the kitchen and well placed to overlook other areas of work – was a spacious, comfortable sitting room, plainly furnished but lacking nothing, and rivalling William’s library for faded but cheerful warmth. There was a jolly wall-to-wall carpet, matched with pleasant chintz curtains which had probably hung higher up the house in their younger days, and a pile or two of cushions made the old chairs look loved and inviting. The room was lined on two sides with well-stocked linen and china closets and, on another, with a mending table and desk which stood side by side. On top of the desk, grouped affectionately in the middle, there was a small collection of photographs of the Motley family which Josephine would have loved to explore – had she not realised immediately that she was intruding. At the round central table, where tea cups had been pushed to one side to make room for a large pan of water, Mrs Snipe was bending over another woman, gently bathing her face.