Authors: Alison Stuart
Helen sighed and set the photograph back. Here in his home she felt Charlie’s absence more keenly than she had for years and overwhelmed by memory, she crossed her arms on the glass top of the dressing table and lowered her head, the tears soaking the sleeves of her dressing gown.
She heard the rustle of silk petticoats and her nose twitched at the faint scent of Lily of the Valley. Something brushed her cheek, with no more force than a feather, leaving an icy trail across the skin. A slight weight, as if someone had placed a comforting hand, rested on her shoulder. Helen jerked upright, instinctively throwing back her arm to fend off whoever stood behind her. She met no resistance and she looked up expecting to see Sarah Pollard or Lady Morrow, words of apology for her action and disheveled appearance already forming on her lips. Only her own face in the mirror, wan and red-eyed, looked back at her.
She sat quite still staring at her reflection as the silence of the room closed around her. The sensation of the hand on her shoulder seemed to linger and she raised shaking fingers to touch her cheek. It had been so light but she could have sworn that it had been the touch of a woman’s fingers.
Her heart thudding in her chest, she spun around on the stool to confront an empty room. Conscious she had been holding her breath, Helen let it out in a slow, shaky expiration as she fumbled for her handkerchief in her dressing gown pocket.
“Alice, is that you?” she said aloud, her words sounding thin in the cold air of the room.
She rose to her feet and went to check again on Alice. The child turned and murmured in her sleep but did not wake.
Helen took a deep breath and wiped her eyes and nose with her handkerchief. In an attempt to regain her composure, she splashed her face with cold water from the washbasin and took a sip of water before climbing into the bed. She flicked through several pages of the cheap novel she had bought for the train journey, without seeing the words.
Long after she had turned out the light, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had occurred. She had been thinking of home and had willed herself to wish her mother was there to hold her in her arms and comfort her, nothing more. With this thought in her mind, Helen fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 3
As the car drew up before the colonnaded entrance portico to Wellmore House, Alice gasped. Helen hid a smile behind her gloved hand. Had she been Alice’s age, she would have gasped too, but she had to pretend that taking tea at such an impressive house was as natural to her as taking tea and scones in her mother’s country kitchen.
A footman ushered them into the marbled entrance hall, from which parallel stairs curved upwards to a muraled dome. He took their outer garments and solemnly informed them, “Lady Hartfield is expecting you.”
Alice slipped her hand into Helen’s as they followed the footman’s rigid back through formal rooms rich in gilt mirrors and fine tapestries, to be shown into a spacious drawing room with long, French windows facing out on to a terrace.
Lady Hartfield rose to meet them, kissing Evelyn Morrow on both cheeks before turning her attention to Helen. She held out her hand in such a way Helen was unsure whether she was supposed to shake it or kiss it.
She duly introduced Alice and Lady Hartfield scrutinized the small girl over the top of a pince nez.
“I can see a lot of Morrow in the child,” she said and indicated they should sit on the overstuffed, gilded, baroque settees. Alice’s feet did not touch the ground and she swung them until Helen laid a gentle warning hand on her knee.
“So, Mrs. Morrow,” Lady Hartfield began, as she poured tea from a silver teapot. “What do you think of Holdston?”
“It’s just as Charlie described it,” Helen said with a smile, recalling Charlie’s description of his home as, “
cold, draughty and damnably inconvenient.
”
“Dear Charlie always loved Holdston.” Lady Hartfield expanded on her theme. “He would have made a fine baronet.” She picked up her cup. “And what is the news of Paul?”
“Paul is home,” Evelyn said.
Lady Hartfield raised a heavily plucked eyebrow and took a delicate sip of tea before she spoke. “And where was he this time?”
“Egypt...no, Mesopotamia or somewhere like that. Of course, he’s shut himself up in his room with his papers and I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him since he returned.” Evelyn cast a glance at Helen and Alice. “He has yet to meet poor Helen.”
Helen had never heard herself referred to as “
poor Helen
” before. She looked Lady Hartfield to Lady Morrow. Was that really what they thought of her? An object of pity?
“That’s just so like Paul. No thought for anyone but himself.” Lady Hartfield clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“Did someone mention Paul?” A man’s voice came from the doorway.
Helen turned her head to see a young man dressed in neat country tweeds advancing toward them.
Evelyn rose to her feet. “Tony, darling, how lovely to see you.”
He kissed her proffered cheek and turned to Helen.
“You must be Helen.” He held out his hand. “Tony Scarvell.”
Helen took his hand with genuine pleasure. “I’m so pleased to meet you at last. Charlie talked so much about you.”
“Did he?” Tony’s smile transformed his broad, plain face. “None of it good, I presume. And this must be Miss Alice Evelyn Morrow? It’s about time your godfather made your acquaintance. How do you do, Miss Morrow?”
Alice flushed as he shook her hand with great solemnity.
“Tea, dear?” his mother enquired proffering the silver teapot.
“Gasping for a cup,” Tony responded. “Just driven up from London,” he added, taking the cup his mother held out for him and sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, Tony. What brings you home?” Evelyn asked.
Tony looked across at his mother. “Ma’s organized a house party for the weekend,” he replied. “I’m expected to charm the ladies.”
“Nothing fancy. An informal supper party on Friday night. Tennis on Saturday... you know the sort of thing,” Lady Hartfield said. “Mrs. Morrow, you would be most welcome to join us.”
“Excellent idea,” Tony said.
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Helen glanced at her mother-in-law. “If that’s all right?”
“And of course Evelyn, you will come to the party on Friday night?” Lady Hartfield managed to make it sound like an order rather an invitation.
“I would be delighted, Maude, ” Evelyn said.
Lady Hartfield set her teacup down and folded her hands in her lap. “Evelyn was just saying Paul is home, Tony. Perhaps you can prevail on him to come and be sociable?”
“I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow. I’m simply dying to hear about his adventures in Mesopotamia. Pity he wasn’t in Egypt. Did you read about the tomb they discovered there, Mrs. Morrow? Tutankhamen or something like that, they say.”
“Yes I did,” Helen said. “I saw some of the photos of the tomb in the newspaper before we left and it was all the buzz in Suez. It must be extraordinary.”
Tony set down his cup. “Ma, would you have any objection if I show Mrs. Morrow and young Alice here, about the house?”
“If Mrs. Morrow has no objection,” his mother said.
Tony rose to his feet and cocked an eyebrow at Helen. “Allow me to be your tour guide?”
“Thank you. I’d love to see the house.”
“And you, Miss Morrow?”
Alice beamed at him and slid off the sofa.
Once away from his mother, Tony turned to Helen. “Do you mind if I call you Helen?”
“I would prefer it,” she said.
“And call me Tony, please. Charlie hated all this stuffy formality. We’ll start in the picture gallery and then we’ll go for a stroll in the gardens. They’re particularly fine I’m told.”
After they had been through the house and admired the Rembrandt, the Constables, the Van Dyck and the other artistic masterpieces, Tony led them out on to the terrace, which afforded a wide vista of parklands, lakes and classical statuary.
“It’s a William Kent garden,” he explained. “The family made its fortune in the new world and came back to England in the mid-eighteenth century. The old house was destroyed during the civil war.” He looked down at Alice. “Do you want to see the ruins?”
Alice’s eyes shone as she nodded.
“Kent rather cleverly incorporated them into the garden design,” Tony explained as they rounded a corner of the house to see the ivy covered walls of the old building, rising mysteriously from the woods.
Alice looked up at him with wide eyes. “Are there any ghosts?” she asked.
“None that I’ve ever seen,” Tony said. “Although one of our gardeners claims to have seen spectral figures walking around the outside of the old house. Personally I think the sighting may have had more to do with a penchant for whiskey than a genuine paranormal experience. If you want to know about ghosts you need to ask Sarah Pollard, she’s the local expert.”
“Is she?” Helen said.
“My sister, Angela, once thought she saw civil war soldiers in the garden at Holdston. It was besieged too, you know.”
“No, I didn’t,” Helen said. She sighed and looked around at the beautiful garden. “There is so much to learn about Charlie and this place.”
Alice had skipped on ahead, disappearing among the ruined walls.
“I can see a lot of Charlie in that young sprite,” Tony said.
“Can you?” Helen asked, trying to keep the yearning out of her voice. “It’s so strange to be with people who knew Charlie so much longer than I did. I sometimes wonder if we are talking about the same person.”
“We may have known him longer, Helen. Doesn’t mean we knew him better. Have you met Paul yet?”
Helen shook her head. “Not yet. He only got home yesterday. Lady Morrow left me with the impression that he’s not terribly sociable.”
Tony shrugged. “Paul and Lady Morrow have a particular relationship. I’m sure you already know that Paul has had a pretty rough time of it all round.”
“I knew he’d been badly wounded.”
“Oh it’s not just that,” Tony said. “Goes back to before the war. His father was posted somewhere out in the Far East and Paul was sent to Holdston after his mother died. Paul was the poor relation and he felt it. Evelyn and Sir Gerald did their best but his father drank away any money he had before he died so there wasn’t much to spare for education and the like. The only reason Paul went to Winchester with Charlie and I was because he won a scholarship. He excelled at school but there was no question of him going to Oxford. Instead he got packed off to the Army while university was wasted on Charlie and me. I’m betting Paul would have been a professor by now if he’d had the chance.” Tony sighed. “Little wonder he hates being shackled to Holdston now.”
“Charlie talked about him of course but he never told me any of that. They seemed very close.”
“As close as brothers. Charlie worshipped the ground Paul walked on.”
Helen smiled. “Charlie did not consider joining any regiment except Paul’s,” she said. “I think he saw the two of them winning the war together.”
Tony cleared his throat. “They gave it a damn good shot.”
They rounded another corner of the house and walked toward a grand building with a high arched entrance surmounted by an elegant clock tower.
“Who lives here?” Helen asked.
Tony laughed. “These are the stables. Do you ride?”
Helen felt her face color at her stupid mistake. “Of course I do. I’ve been riding since I could walk. In fact I’ve Lady Morrow’s permission to take Minter out.”
“He’s a grand horse but getting on in years now. Can’t even remember the last time Evelyn would have ridden him. What about young Alice?” he asked, addressing Alice who had run back to them. “Do you ride, young sprite?”
Alice pulled a face. “There are only the trap ponies at Holdston and Sam says they bite and Hector and Minter are too big for me.”
“We’ll have to see what we can do. I’ve been a dashed poor godfather up to now.” He furrowed his brow and then smiled. “Just the answer,” he exclaimed. “Turnip.”
He summoned a groom who fetched a fat little piebald pony with bright, gentle eyes out of the stable.
“He’s yours for as long as you’re at Holdston, sprite.”
Alice gaped at him. “Really?”
Tony cocked an eye at the groom. “I think we can spare him, can’t we?”
The groom grinned. “I think we can manage, sir.”
“Good. We’ll have him sent around to Holdston tomorrow.”
“What do you say?” Helen nudged her daughter.
Alice looked up at Tony. “Thank you, Uncle Tony.”
“Uncle Tony, is it? I rather like that.”
They stopped to admire the beagle pack, Alice exclaiming in delight over a litter of small, round puppies.
“What about hunting, Helen?” Tony asked.
Helen shook her head. “It’s an English preoccupation,” she said. “Some damn fool decided to introduce foxes to Australia to hunt and they’ve become vermin. We shoot them. We don’t hunt them.”