Daughters of Castle Deverill (37 page)

‘I know, which is why I thought of her. Would you ask her for me? Perhaps I can pay her a visit and we can talk.’

‘I’m sure she will be flattered.’

She engaged him once again with her warm brown eyes, which were now filled with gratitude. ‘I would like to donate to the church,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we can discuss how I may
help
you
, Father Quinn.’

When Grace returned home she found her father sitting around the card table in the drawing room with Hazel, Laurel and Bertie, playing bridge. She unpinned her hat and put it on one of the
chairs before it was quietly taken away by a maid. ‘Where have you been?’ asked Ethelred, puffing on his cigar.

‘Into town,’ Grace replied casually. She wandered over to the table and put her hand on her father’s shoulder. She felt light of spirit and happier than she had in a very long
time. ‘So, it’s you and Hazel against Bertie and Laurel?’ she said.

‘They’re quite serious competition, but we’re doing all right, aren’t we, Hazel?’ he said, winking at his partner who blushed with pleasure.

‘Oh, we certainly are,’ she gushed, glancing at her sister, whose lips were pursed with jealousy. ‘We’re a very good team,’ she added, dropping her gaze into her
hand of cards.

‘How is Celia?’ she asked Bertie. It had been six months since Archie had killed himself. At first no one could talk of anything else but the horror of his suicide. Then the talk
turned to speculation as to why he would take his own life, until finally the horrible truth emerged. He had lost all his money, and that of his family, during the financial crisis but
couldn’t bring himself to tell his wife, who was notoriously extravagant. Digby had spoken of his sadness that his son-in-law had been too proud to ask for help, but Grace wondered whether
Digby had been in a position to help him. From what she had heard, through her husband, Sir Ronald, Digby wasn’t doing very well himself.

‘She’s bearing up,’ Bertie replied.

‘And the castle, dare I ask?’

Bertie sighed heavily and dropped his shoulders. They all looked up from their cards. ‘I’m afraid it’s not looking good. But I imagine I shall be the last to know.’

‘You don’t think she’ll sell it, do you?’

‘She might have to. Digby has been advising her and as far as I understand they have liquidated all of Archie’s assets. But she is heavily in debt and the money must come from
somewhere. She’s clinging on to the castle with her fingernails, but I don’t hold out much hope. It looks like I shall be at the mercy of strangers, after all.’

Grace felt deeply sorry for her old friend. ‘I wish there was something I could do,’ she said.

‘Besides buying the castle, I don’t think there is,’ said Bertie.

‘We’d all chip in and save it if we could,’ said Laurel.

‘Thank you, my dear Laurel, that’s very sweet of you.’

The maid appeared with a tray of tea and placed it on the low table in the middle of the square of sofas and armchairs that was positioned in front of the empty fireplace. ‘Shall we have a
break?’ Ethelred asked, puffing out a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke.

‘Good idea,’ said Hazel. ‘I could do with a cup of tea. How lovely!’ She got up and went to sit beside Grace, who had begun to pour from the pretty china teapot.

‘Poor Celia,’ sighed Laurel, watching Ethelred settling into the armchair then taking the place at the edge of the other sofa that was nearest to him.

‘The whole business is simply ghastly,’ said Grace. ‘Two children without a father, Archie’s parents and siblings bereft—’

‘And
poor
,’ added Hazel bleakly.

‘Oh, it’s just dreadful. I can’t stop thinking about it. Such a waste for a young person to throw his life away over money. Poor Archie, a long-term solution to a short-term
problem.’

‘Folly to sink one’s fortune into such an ambitious project,’ said Ethelred.

‘Folly,’ repeated Laurel emphatically.

‘Digby should have taken his daughter in hand,’ said Grace. ‘After all, he’s a man of experience. He should have known what they were taking on.’

‘When I told him that Celia had bought the castle, or rather, that Archie had, he groaned and said – I remember his very words – “It’ll be the ruin of them
both.” ’ Bertie looked from face to startled face and shook his head. ‘Those were his very words. I don’t think one can blame Digby. Celia is a very determined young lady.
What she wants she usually gets.’

‘Goodness!’ Hazel gasped.

‘Indeed,’ Laurel agreed by default.

‘I dare say Digby rather enjoyed the fact that his daughter had saved the family seat,’ said Grace. ‘He’s a flamboyant, showy man. Do you remember when he won the Derby?
We heard nothing else for months!’

‘I’m sure he will do everything in his power to save the castle,’ said Bertie.

‘Though I’m not sure he has the means to do it,’ Grace added grimly.

Ethelred puffed on his cigar and chortled. ‘Let’s talk about something happy. Did I ever tell you of the time I bet on a winner at the Derby? It was a rather extraordinary
affair . . .’ He held the attention of everyone in the room, except for Grace who had heard the story a dozen times before. But no one was more enthralled by Lord Hunt’s
tale of adventure, deception and triumph than Laurel and Hazel, who gazed at him with doe eyes, their lips slightly parted and their breaths bated.

Celia and Kitty sat on the terrace as the sun set and the shadows grew longer, eating into the light on the lawn and climbing up the castle walls like demons. Wrapped in shawls
they cradled mugs of Adeline’s cannabis tea, which Celia had found very effective in dulling her pain. They listened to the clamour of roosting birds and the desolate cry of a lone seagull
wheeling on the wind above them.

‘I thought I had had my fair share of sorrow after George was killed,’ said Celia quietly. ‘But it can come at any moment, can’t it, and take everything away.’

‘Oh Celia, I can’t stop asking myself, “Why?” ’

‘Believe me, I have chewed on that word so much I’m surprised it still exists. I know
why
he did it, I just don’t understand it. At no point did he tell me to stop
spending. Never once did he deny me anything. I’d give it all back, all of it, if we could rewind the clock and start again. I love this place, but I could have curbed my ambition. I know
that now.’

‘You couldn’t have foreseen this,’ said Kitty kindly.

‘That’s what makes me angry. Why didn’t he warn me? He didn’t even try.’ Celia’s voice cracked. She paused, giving herself time to overcome her emotions.
Kitty sipped her tea and waited. The seagull flew away, taking his sad call with him. The shadows began to blend into dusk. Soon the night would creep in, bringing Celia face to face with her
fears, which was why Kitty now stayed with her so often; she was frightened to sleep on her own. ‘He didn’t give me warning. We could have resolved it together, but he baled out,
leaving me alone. Leaving his children fatherless. How could he be such a coward?’ Kitty didn’t know what to say. Celia had never called Archie ‘a coward’ before. ‘I
mean, a real man would never do that to his wife and children. A real man would have sat me down and told me the situation. But Archie wasn’t a real man. All the while I was blithely
spending, splashing out on the castle and paintings from Italy, he was facing financial ruin. God, Kitty, it makes me so angry.’ She knocked back her tea and gulped. ‘When I think of
him now I don’t feel bereaved, I feel betrayed.’ She laughed manically. ‘If you see him, you can tell him how cross I am.’

‘You can tell him yourself, Celia. I’m sure he’s watching you and wishing he hadn’t caused you such pain.’

‘Is he in Hell?’ Celia asked softly. ‘Reverend Maddox would tell me it’s a terrible sin to take one’s own life. He’d say Archie is in Hell.’

‘But God is forgiving, Celia.’

‘Well I’m not. Not yet.’ She sighed loudly and drained her mug. ‘So, I’m selling the contents of the castle. Boysie has put me in touch with a Mr Brickworth who is
coming over from London to value everything and then he’s going to put it all into a big, glossy catalogue which everyone in London will see. It’s embarrassing, but what can I
do?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Kitty. ‘But perhaps this way you won’t have to sell the castle itself.’

‘I’ll have to sleep on a mattress on the floor. It’s ridiculous. Is it worth it?’

‘No, it’s not. Life is too short. Sell up and move on.’ Kitty smiled sorrowfully. ‘I could say “it’s only a castle”, but you know as well as I do that
it’s so much more than that.’

‘It’s everything to me,’ said Celia, her eyes wide and shiny. ‘Everything.’

‘It’s everything to me too,’ Kitty rejoined. She watched Celia pick up the teapot and refill her mug.

‘Shall we just get intoxicated tonight and forget our woes?’

Kitty held out her mug. ‘Why not?’ she said.

Digby stood by the window of his study and looked furtively out onto the driveway, and beyond, to the wide avenue of leafy plane trees that ran for almost half a mile from
Kensington to Notting Hill. It was, without doubt, one of the most exclusive streets in London and he was proud to live on it. He reflected on his rather less ostentatious beginnings. The youngest
son of an old landed family fallen on hard times, he was always aware that his parents were more interested in climbing the social ladder than in him. Desperate to escape his mother’s
stifling world, he had set out to South Africa to make his own fortune in the diamond mines. There he had lived in tents, suffered the dust and heat of summer and the crippling cold of winter and
yet, somehow, found in himself a strength he hadn’t known he had. As he slid his eyes up and down the road, his mind wandered back to the South African diamond mines. He had been lucky, but
to a certain extent he had made his own luck – after all, God only helps those who help themselves. Then a movement in the street caught his attention.

It was
him
again, standing on the opposite side of the street wearing a hat pulled low over his face, a long shabby coat and tie, a newspaper folded under his arm. He was smoking
languidly, as if he had all the time in the world. Digby chuckled without mirth; if it wasn’t so dire it would be funny. He looked like a comedy crook, standing there in the shadows.
Well
, Digby thought resolutely,
he’s not going to intimidate me
.
Let him do his worst and see where it gets him
. But, underneath his bravado, he didn’t feel
quite as strong or confident as he appeared. There had been a time when he had felt indomitable, but as the years went by his confidence was gradually being eroded by loss: loss of the people he
loved, loss of his youth, loss of his sense of invulnerability, and of immortality. In the old days a man like Aurelius Dupree would barely have rattled his cage. Now,
however . . .

Digby had not only built a business, he had built a reputation. He was a pillar of the community, a contributor to the Conservative Party. He counted royalty, politicians and aristocrats among
his friends. Not only did he give generously to charity but he supported the arts too. He was one of the main benefactors of the Royal Opera House, for Beatrice loved opera and ballet and attended
often, frequently invited to watch from the Royal Box. He was on various committees and a member of elite clubs like White’s. Of course he also had his racing commitments and since winning
the Derby he was a man to be reckoned with – Lucky Deverill now commanded serious covering fees. Digby took pride in his seemingly unfaltering talent for making money. He was a gambler, a
speculator, a risk-taker and most often his schemes paid off. But a man could only make so much luck. He was considering trying his hand at politics. Randlords weren’t quite respectable but
he was overcoming that with his charm and money. Perhaps he would buy a newspaper like his friend Lord Beaverbrook and get into politics that way.
If it wasn’t for Aurelius Dupree
,
he thought irritably,
nothing would hold me back
.

Digby watched him in the road. He looked like he had no intention of going anywhere – and he was watching Digby right back. Indeed, the two men were staring at each other like a pair of
bulls, neither wanting to show weakness by being the first to look away. However, Digby had better things to do than compete in a stand-off, so he withdrew and called for his driver to take him to
his club. It was a beautiful summer’s day, but Digby didn’t want to risk walking through the park to St James’s on account of Aurelius Dupree. The man could write letters to his
heart’s content, but Digby would never permit him an audience. Standing outside his house was the nearest he was going to get and with any luck, he’d see the futility of it and crawl
back under the rock from where he’d come.

Harry and Boysie met for lunch at White’s. It had been six months since Charlotte had permitted her husband to see his old friend again and the two of them met
frequently, careful not to slip back into their morning trysts in Soho. Charlotte had given their friendship her blessing, but she hadn’t said they could sleep together, even though she
hadn’t specifically prohibited it. Harry felt he owed her a deep debt of gratitude for her tolerance, a debt which would be quite wrong to repay by jumping into Boysie’s bed. If this
was all that was permitted, they were both accepting of it. Harry was just happy to breathe the same air as Boysie. He told himself that he didn’t need to make love to him. But as the months
passed the challenge to keep their distance grew ever greater.

They sat in the dining room, surrounded by familiar faces, for all the most distinguished men in London were members of White’s. But Boysie and Harry only had eyes for each other.
‘It is better to be ignorant like Deirdre,’ said Boysie. ‘It’s perfectly feasible to be happy that way.’

‘Charlotte is happy that we are friends again,’ said Harry firmly.

‘But she’s watching you, make no mistake. She’s watching your every move. One slip and you’re in serious trouble, old boy.’ Boysie chuckled but his eyes betrayed
his sadness. ‘Is this all it’s ever going to be?’