Authors: Alison Stuart
They sat down and Paul turned the book over in his hands before opening it and reading the dedication on the front flyleaf.
“No doubt it belonged to Suzanna,” he said, looking up at her. “How much have you read?”
“I’ve only read halfway through the second entry.”
He handed it back to her, “Then read on.”
Helen reread the part she had already read and continued the second entry.
“
As it turned out he, I shall call him ‘S‘, was my partner for supper and we talked about books and poetry. Oh how I miss my books. The library here at Holdston is deadly dull. S was enchanted to discover that I am proficient in the classics and we enjoyed a witty riposte in Latin that drew admiring applause from our audience, only a few of whom would have had the slightest idea what we talked about. Lady Morrow told me off in the coach on our return to Holdston. She said I had been acting in a forward manner and it was not considered ladylike to show off like that. I often wish Robert was more enamored of learning and less of horses. Still Robert has other virtues. I have so many things to tell Robert. I must put aside this book and recount last evening for him. Maybe I should be a bit more circumspect about S and my dancing. Being so far away Robert may not understand...
”
“Damned right, he wouldn’t,” Paul growled. “Go on.”
Helen raised an eyebrow and smiled at him.
“
Adrian came to call this morning. While it is always such a treat to see Adrian, the delight was compounded by the company of S. Lady Morrow being indisposed with a headache, it fell to me to entertain the two gentlemen. Adrian complained that we were the dullest dogs he had ever kept company and he proved it by falling asleep. He later excused his rudeness by saying he still tired easily from his wound. S joins me as a great admirer of Henry Fielding and Dr. Johnson and the new poets Byron and Shelley. I showed him the library, which he agreed, while impressive, is not of any particular interest. I must say he is a fine looking man, a few years older than Robert and not as tall but with a good bearing. He would look fetching in a military uniform. I must close, I can hear Lady Morrow’s bell which means her headache must be better and she wishes to see the children
.”
Helen raised her head. “The next couple of entries are about household matters, mainly concerning the children.”
“Skip those,” Paul said.
Helen flicked through the next few pages and began to read.
“
January 19 1812. I received a letter and a package in the mail this morning. When I opened it, I found it was a small volume of poems by Lord Byron. Lady Morrow was most anxious to know who would have sent me such a pretty thing. You can imagine my horror when I opened the letter to find it was from S. He wrote that he had thought of me continuously since his return to London and when he had seen these poems, he felt compelled to send them to me. He was fully aware of my situation but hoped I would look favorably on the gift as that of a friend. Lady Morrow was most insistent I read the letter so I was forced into an untruth and said it was from my brother. I thank God that I have always been blessed with a quick wit and so was able to invent a missive that would have purported to come from my brother. Lady Morrow seemed quite satisfied with my brother’s accounting of the doings of his parish and I was able to escape to my bedchamber where I read S’s letter until I had it committed to memory. Then I burned it and concealed the book behind the others on my shelf. Oh I am in torment. How could a simple piece of paper bring me so much happiness and so much fear? I long to meet with S again and yet I dare not lest I reveal feelings quite inappropriate to my station in life. I am a married woman, the mother of two wonderful children. What am I to do? No, I know what is right. I shall write at once to him and thank him for his gift and request that he communicate no further with me.
“
January 24 1812. A boy from Wellmore delivered a message to me this morning. S bade me meet him in the woods behind the church. I was in a foment of indecision. My head told me I should not go but return a proper message to him repeating what I had told him in my letter but my heart bade me go and tell him to his face. My heart has ever been my mistress and I followed its dictates. He was there as he said he would be. When I saw him, I knew I could not send him away. All my well rehearsed lines vanished from my lips and I smiled in welcome. Oh I am lost, lost. What am I to do? Who do I turn to? There is no one, save this book on which to unload my torment. If it were to be found I shall be truly undone so I must devise a way to keep its contents from prying eyes
.”
Helen stopped reading and looked up at Paul. “I can’t read any more. It looks like she’s writing in ancient Greek.” She passed the book over to him. “I thought you might be able to help with the translation?”
Paul scanned the page and frowned. “It’s certainly Greek but she is using some sort of code of her own devising. I can’t read it as it’s written.”
“How would a woman of that time know ancient Greek?”
“You heard the family history. My great-grandmother was a woman ahead of her time, intelligent and educated.” He tapped the book. “Leave it with me. I’m sure I can decipher it but it may take a little while. Now what time are you expected at Wellmore House tonight?” he asked.
“Seven thirty.”
Paul glanced at his watch. “Well you had better get a move on.”
Helen hesitated. “Do you suppose I will be all right?”
“You’re not Cinderella, Helen. You’re Charlie Morrow’s widow. Just be yourself. Anyway, Tony’s a gentleman. He’ll take care of you.”
Tony had every intention of taking very good care of her. Paul had recognized the look in his friend’s eyes.
Helen smiled in response and Paul remembered Charlie’s words in a letter he had written, like a brush stroke across his memory.
“
I have asked her to marry me and she has consented
.
I can’t imagine ever finding a girl in England who could fill my heart the way Helen does when she smiles.
”
The door closed behind Helen, and Paul picked up his whiskey glass. In the distance, he heard a dog barking. He rose to his feet and took Robert Morrow’s place at the window. Below him, Alice played with a black and white cocker spaniel.
Chapter 9
“You look lovely, Mummy,” Alice said wistfully.
She lay on her stomach on Helen’s bed, her head propped up in her hands, as she watched her mother dress for the supper party at Wellmore.
Helen peered at her reflection in the inadequate mirror. The couturier in Melbourne had assured her that this dress was the latest fashion. She twisted to have a better look at the plain, straight, midnight blue satin dress, the skirt gathered and fastened at her hip with a gold clasp and wondered if the latest fashion in Melbourne would still be fashionable in London.
“I’ll just have to do. Now, let’s see if Grandmama is ready.”
Evelyn was already waiting for them in the hall. Dressed in a black velvet evening dress of the latest style, her iron-gray hair was dressed loosely at the nape of her neck and held in place with diamond clips. For the first time, Helen saw a glimpse of the youthful beauty last seen in the stiff wedding photographs Evelyn had scattered around the house.
“Very nice, Helen,” Evelyn said as Helen descended the stairs toward her. At the compliment, Helen felt the color rising in her cheeks.
“I wish I was coming,” Alice said from her perch half way up the staircase.
Both women turned to look up at the child.
“Your time will come, Alice,” her grandmother said, her expression changing to one of surprise. “Paul!”
“Going without me?”
Alice swiveled to look up at the sound of the uneven tread on the steps above her. “Hello, Uncle Paul.”
“Hello, Alice. Don’t wait up for us.” Paul ruffled the child’s hair as he passed her.
“Sarah’s taking her to the vicarage to stay the night,” Helen said.
“I didn’t think you were coming?” Evelyn straightened her already perfect gloves. as Paul reached the bottom of the steps.
“Tony twisted my arm,” he said. “I’m afraid the suit needs taking in but I think I pass muster otherwise.”
Despite his assertion that the suit needed taking in, the jacket sat well across his broad shoulders. The stiff evening collar was still undone, the bow tie hanging loosely around his neck.
The tall, elegant man in the dinner suit bore little resemblance to the slightly shabby archaeologist Helen had come to know over the last few days. The formality of his evening wear had transformed plain Paul Morrow into Sir Paul Morrow Baronet and winner of the Military Cross.
“You look fine,” Evelyn said. “Let me do the tie for you.”
He bent toward his aunt and with practiced fingers, Evelyn buttoned his collar and executed the complicated knot.
Paul straightened and smiled at the two women.
“You both look charming,” he said.
“And you scrub up well,” Helen replied with a smile.
“I ‘scrub up well’ do I?” Paul said in passing mimicry of her Australian accent. “Glad to hear it.” Paul looked from one to the other. “Let’s get this tedious function over with.”
* * * *
Judging by the number of cars parked on the front lawns of Wellmore, it appeared to be a sizeable party, hardly the simple gathering of a few close friends Lady Hartfield had described.
Evelyn took Paul’s arm and he turned to Helen proffering his other arm.
“Helen?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the warmth of his body through the suit and glad of the reassurance of his presence as they crossed the marble hall to be shown through to the reception rooms.
“Sir Paul Morrow, Lady Morrow and Mrs. Charles Morrow,” A footman announced them in a solemn voice.
Lady Hartfield came forward to meet them.
“Evelyn, darling.” The two women kissed and their hostess turned to Paul. She took his hand. “Paul. I’m so delighted you could come. You’re looking well. Egypt must suit you.”
“Mesopotamia,” Paul said with a slight tightening of his lips.
“Were you there when that Carter person found that tomb?” Lady Hartfield continued.
“No,” Paul said with barely contained irritation. “That was in Egypt. I’ve been in Mesopotamia.”
“All the same to me.” Lady Hartfield laughed. “And Mrs. Morrow, looking charming. That’s a courageous decision you’ve made.” She indicated Helen’s hair. “Not many girls can get away with it. Now the Porters are here and Paul, I just know everyone will be simply dying to see you. Mrs. Morrow, the young people are in the withdrawing room, dear.”
Lady Hartfield took Evelyn by one arm and Paul by the other, leaving Helen standing by the door with the eyes of a dozen strange men and women watching her. As she shifted uncomfortably, not quite knowing what to do, they turned back to their groups, talking in low voices.
“Oh God, has Mother left you stranded here?” Tony hurried across the room toward her. “Mrs. Morrow, may I say how splendid you look tonight.”
Helen’s spirits lifted at the sight of Tony’s pleasant, smiling face. At least one person seemed genuinely pleased to see her.
“Thank you, Tony.”
“What did you do to persuade Paul to come tonight?”
Helen shook her head. “Nothing to do with me. I thought you twisted his arm?”
“I had a small word but I didn’t think he’d come. You know, the doctors kept saying he needed peace and quiet. Quite frankly, I think that’s the last thing he needs. Diversion and noise, in my opinion are to be infinitely preferred.”
He steered her into a room where a dozen young women dressed in expensive, elaborate gowns, engaged in animated conversation with each other or equally well dressed young men, some of Tony’s age and some a little younger. In this bright gathering Helen felt dowdy and old-fashioned. The conversation dropped away as she entered the room and the immaculately coiffured heads turned to look at her.
A dark-haired woman of Helen’s age holding a cigarette in a short holder came up to them.
“You must be Helen,” she said, holding out her gloved hand, “I’m Angela Lambton, Tony’s sister.”
Helen shook the proffered hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Ange, Paul’s here,” Tony said. “Be a dear, and go and rescue him from Mother or we will have him beating a retreat to Holdston.”
“Paul?” Angela glanced into the next room. “Oh God, she’s got him cornered with those ghastly Porters. I’ll be right back.”
Helen watched over her shoulder as Angela sashayed into the main reception room, cutting a swathe through the older guests.
Tony laughed. “Ange on a mission can’t be resisted. Mrs. Morrow, come and meet the others. Champagne?”
She took a glass from a passing footman and Tony propelled her into a circle of his guests, his hand resting gently in the small of her back. He introduced her to a series of titled young people. The young women looked Helen up and down in much the same way as they would a horse they were considering purchasing. From the curl of their lips, they found her wanting. Helen decided, compared to their fine breeding pedigrees, she would be considered little more than a stock horse.