Authors: Kate Morton
I matched his hushed tone. ‘What sort of scandal?’
‘Some “bad business” is what I was told, involving the son of an employee. One of the gardeners. The details were all rather imprecise and I couldn’t find anything of an official nature to verify it, but the story goes that the two of them were involved in some sort of a scrap and he came out of it beaten black and blue.’
‘By
Juniper
?’ An image came to mind of the wisp of old woman I’d met at Milderhurst; the slender girl in the old photos. I tried not to laugh. ‘When she was thirteen years old?’
‘That was the implication, though saying it out loud like that makes it seem rather far-fetched.’
‘But that’s what he told people? That Juniper did it?’
‘Well,
he
didn’t say any such thing. I can’t imagine there are too many young fellows who’d admit freely to being bested by a slim young girl like her. It was his mother who went up to the castle making claims. From what I hear, Raymond Blythe paid them off. Dressed up as a bonus for his father, apparently, who’d worked his whole life on the estate. The rumour didn’t go away, though, not completely; there was still talk in the village.’
I got the feeling Juniper was the sort of girl people liked to talk about: her family were important, she was beautiful and talented – in Mum’s words, enchanting – but still: Juniper the Teenage Man-Beater? It seemed unlikely, to say the very least.
‘Look, it’s probably just groundless old talk.’ Adam’s tone was breezy again as he echoed my thoughts. ‘Nothing at all to do with why her sisters vetoed our interview.’
I nodded slowly.
‘More likely, they just wanted to spare her the stress. She’s not well, she’s certainly not good with strangers, she wasn’t even born when the
Mud Man
was written.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said. ‘I’m sure that’s all it was.’
But I wasn’t. I didn’t really imagine that the twins were fretting over a long-forgotten incident with the gardener’s son, but I couldn’t rid myself of the certainty that there was something else behind it. I put down the phone and I was back in that ghostly passage, looking between Juniper and Saffy and Percy, feeling like a child who is old enough to recognize nuance at play, but hopelessly ill-equipped to read it.
The day that I was due to leave for Milderhurst, Mum came early to my bedroom. The sun was still hiding behind the wall of Singer & Sons, but I’d been awake for an hour or so already, as excited as a kid on her first day of school.
‘There’s something I wanted to give you,’ she said. ‘To lend you, at any rate. It’s rather precious to me.’
I waited, wondering what it might be. She reached inside her dressing-gown pocket and took an object out. Her eyes searched mine for a moment, then she handed it over. A little book with a brown leather cover.
‘You said you wanted to know me better.’ She was trying hard to be brave, to keep her voice from shaking. ‘It’s all in there.
She’s
in there. The person that I used to be.’
I took the journal, as nervy as a novice mother with a brand-new baby. Awed by its preciousness, terrified of doing it damage, amazed and touched and gratified that Mum would trust me with such a treasure. I couldn’t think what to say; that is, I could think of lots of things I wanted to say, but there was a lump in my throat, years in the making, and it wasn’t about to budge. ‘Thank you,’ I managed, before I began to cry.
Mum’s eyes misted in instant response and at the very same moment each of us reached for the other and held on tight.
Milderhurst, April 20th, 1940
It was typical. After a terribly cold winter, spring had arrived with a great big smile and the day itself was perfect; a fact Percy couldn’t help but take as a direct slight from God. Then and there she became a non-believer, standing in the village church, at the far end of the family pew her grandmother had designed and William Morris had carved, watching as Mr Gordon, the vicar, pronounced Harry Rogers and Lucy Middleton man and wife. The entire experience had the vaguely spongy feeling of a nightmare, though it was possible the quantity of bolstering whisky she’d consumed beforehand was playing its part.
Harry smiled at his new bride and Percy was struck again by how handsome he was. Not in the conventional sense, neither devilish nor suave nor clean-cut, rather he was handsome because he was good. She had always thought so, even when she was a little girl and he a young fellow who came to the house to attend the clocks for Daddy. There was something about the way he carried himself, the unassuming set of his shoulders, that marked him as a man whose self-opinion was not unduly inflated. Moreover he was possessed of a slow, steady nature, which might not have been dynamic, but spoke of care and tenderness. She used to watch him from between the banisters, coaxing life back into the oldest and crossest of the castle’s clocks, but if he’d noticed he’d never let on. He didn’t see her now, either. He only had eyes for Lucy.
For her part, Lucy was smiling, giving an excellent performance of one who was pleased to be marrying the man she loved above all others. Percy had known Lucy for a long time, but had never thought her such a very good actress. An ill feeling shifted in the pit of her stomach and she longed again for the whole ordeal to be ended.
She could have stayed away, of course – feigned illness or pleaded essential war work – but there’d have been talk. They’d employed Lucy at the castle for over twenty years: it was unthinkable that she might be married without a Blythe standing witness in the congregation. Daddy, for obvious reasons, made a poor choice, Saffy was preparing the castle for Meredith’s mother and father, and Juniper – never an ideal candidate – had retreated to the attic with her pen in a frenzy of inspiration; thus the duty had fallen to Percy. To shirk the responsibility wasn’t an option, not least because Percy would’ve had to explain her absence to her twin. Crushed to be missing the wedding herself, Saffy had demanded a report of every last detail.
‘The dress, the flowers, the way they look at one another,’ she’d said, listing them on her fingers as Percy tried to leave the castle. ‘I want to hear it all.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Percy had said, wondering whether her whisky flask would fit inside the fancy little handbag Saffy had insisted she carry. ‘Don’t forget Daddy’s medicine, will you? I’ve left it out on the table in the entrance hall.’
‘The hall table. Right.’
‘It’s important he has it on the hour. We don’t want a repeat of last time.’
‘No,’ Saffy agreed, ‘we certainly do not. Poor Meredith thought she was seeing a ghost, poor lamb. A very rambunctious ghost.’
Percy had almost been at the bottom of the front stairs when she’d turned back. ‘And Saffy?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Let me know if anyone comes to call.’
Ghastly death merchants preying on an old man’s confusion. Whispering in his ear, playing up to his fears, his ancient guilt. Rattling their Catholic crucifixes and muttering their Latin into the castle corners; convincing Daddy that the spectres of his imagination were bona fide demons. All, she was sure, so they could get their hands on the castle when he died.
Percy picked at the skin around her fingernails, wondered how much longer it would be before she could get outside for a cigarette; whether it was possible for her to slip out unnoticed if she affected the perfect attitude of authority. The vicar said something then and everybody stood; Harry took Lucy’s hand in his to walk her back down the aisle, holding it with such tenderness that Percy realized she couldn’t hate him, even now.
Joy animated the married couple’s features and Percy did her best to match it. She even managed to join in the applause as they made their way along the narrow aisle and out into the sunshine. She was aware of her limbs, the unnatural claw she’d made with her hand on the back of the pew, the lines of her face sitting in forced merriment that made her feel like a clockwork puppet. Someone hidden high above in the raked church ceiling jerked an invisible wire and she seized her handbag from beside her. Laughed a little and pretended to be a living, feeling thing.
The magnolias were out, just as Saffy had hoped and prayed and crossed her fingers for, and it was one of those rare but precious days in April when summer begins to advertise itself. Saffy smiled just because she couldn’t help it.
‘Come on, slow coach,’ she called, turning to hurry Meredith along. ‘It’s Saturday, the sun is shining, your mother and father are on their way to visit; there’s no excuse for dragging your feet.’ Really, the child was in a most cheerless mood. One would’ve thought she’d be delighted at the prospect of seeing her parents, yet she’d been moping all morning. Saffy could guess why, of course.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, as Meredith reached her side. ‘Juniper won’t be much longer. It never lasts more than a day or so.’
‘But she’s been up there since dinnertime. The door’s locked, she won’t answer. I don’t understand . . .’ Meredith squinted in an unflattering way, a habit that Saffy found frightfully endearing. ‘What’s she doing?’
‘Writing,’ said Saffy simply. ‘That’s how it is with Juniper. That’s how it’s always been. It won’t last long and then she’ll be back to normal. Here – ’ she handed Meredith the small stack of cake plates – ‘why don’t you help by laying these out? Shall we sit your mother and father with their backs to the hedge so they can see the garden?’
‘All right,’ said Meredith, cheering up.
Saffy smiled to herself. Meredith Baker was delightfully compliant – an unexpected joy after raising Juniper – and her residency at Milderhurst Castle had been a resounding success. There was nothing like a child for forcing life back into tired, old stones, and the infusion of light and laughter had been just what the doctor ordered. Even Percy had taken a shine to the girl, relieved, no doubt, at having found the curlicues intact.
The greatest surprise, though, had been Juniper’s reaction. The evident affection she felt for the young evacuee was the closest Saffy had ever seen her come to caring for another person. Safty heard them sometimes, talking and giggling in the garden, and was confounded, but pleasantly so, by the genuine geniality in Juniper’s voice. Genial was not a word Saffy had ever thought to use when describing her little sister.
‘Let’s lay a place here for June,’ she said, indicating the table, ‘just in case, and you beside, I think . . . and Percy over there . . .’
Meredith had been following, laying down the plates, but she stopped then. ‘What about you?’ she said. ‘Where will you sit?’ And perhaps she read the apology forming in Saffy’s face for she went on quickly, ‘You are coming, aren’t you?’
‘Now, my dear.’ Saffy let the clutch of cake forks fall limp against her skirt, ‘I’d love to, you know I would. But Percy’s very traditional about such matters. She’s the eldest, and in the absence of Daddy that makes her the host. I know it must all sound terribly silly and formal to you, very old-fashioned indeed, but that’s the way things are done here. It’s the way Daddy likes to entertain at Milderhurst.’
‘But I still don’t see why you can’t both come.’
‘Well, one of us has to stay inside should Daddy need help.’
‘But Percy—’
‘Is so looking forward to it. She’s very keen to meet your parents.’
Saffy could see that Meredith was unconvinced; more than that, the poor child looked so bitterly disappointed that Saffy would have done just about anything to cheer her up. She prevaricated, but only briefly and not with any real strength, and when Meredith let out a long, dispirited sigh, Saffy’s remaining resolve collapsed. ‘Oh, Merry,’ she said, sneaking a glance over her shoulder, ‘I shouldn’t say anything, I really shouldn’t, but there
is
another reason I have to stay indoors.’
She slid to one end of the rickety garden seat and indicated Meredith should join her. Took a deep, cool breath and released it decidedly. Then she told Meredith all about the telephone call she was expecting that afternoon. ‘He’s a very important private collector in London,’ she said. ‘I wrote to him after a small advertisement appeared in the newspaper seeking an assistant to catalogue his collection. And he wrote back recently to tell me that mine was the successful application; that he would telephone me this afternoon so we might work out the details together.’
‘What does he collect?’
Saffy couldn’t help clasping her hands together beneath her chin. ‘Antiquities, art, books, beautiful things – what
heaven
!’
Excitement brightened the tiny freckles across Meredith’s nose and Saffy thought again what a lovely child she was, and how far she’d come in six short months. When one considered the poor skinny waif she’d been when Juniper first brought her home! Beneath the pale London skin and ragged dress, though, there lurked a quick mind and a delightful hunger for knowledge.
‘Can I visit the collection?’ said Meredith. ‘I’ve always wanted to see a real, live Egyptian artefact.’
Saffy laughed. ‘Of course you shall. I’m certain Mr Wicks would be delighted to show his precious things to a clever young lady like you.’
Meredith really did appear to glow then and the first barb of regret poked holes in Saffy’s pleasure. Was it not just a little unkind to fill the girl’s head with such grand imaginings only then to expect her to keep quiet about them? ‘Now, Merry,’ she said, sobering, ‘it’s very exciting news, but you must remember that it’s a secret. Percy doesn’t know yet, and nor shall she.’