by Kirsty Ferry
They were lying on the straw, the comforting, warm smell of hay and Hughie and the other horses surrounding them. They had taken it slowly. It had been Elodie’s first time – she didn’t want to ask Alex if he’d ever done it with anyone else, but the way his hands found all her secret places and the way his mouth tasted every inch of her made her suspect it wasn’t.
‘Oh, Alex,’ she breathed, feeling like a Victorian maiden, her petticoats hitched up all around her, her knees bent up and him crushing the taffeta of her skirts with his body.
He had been as leggy and lithe as a young colt back then – and he’d made her gasp with pleasure as little fireworks shot around her body and she’d clung onto him, shuddering into a climax that made stars and rainbows pop around her mind.
Afterwards, they had lain, their arms around each other, staring into each other’s eyes and kissed some more. His fingers had traced their way across her bare skin and she tingled everywhere he touched.
Then there had been a creak as the stable door opened and Elodie heard a giggle, then a lower-pitched laugh and some whispered murmurings. Somebody else had found the stables and they seemed to have the same idea.
She froze, unable to untangle her arms from his body or even curl up into a ball and hide like a tortoise within a taffeta shell.
‘Who’s that?’ Alex had asked sharply. The voices stopped, and there was another, suppressed giggle.
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ replied a male voice, amused. The giggle came again and Elodie wanted to die, right there and then, right on the spot.
‘You know who I am,’ said Alex, raising up on his elbow. ‘I reckon I’ve got more of a right to be in here than you have.’
‘Reckon you have, Squire,’ said the boy again. Elodie didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice and she closed her eyes in despair. It was Grant – one of the popular, sporty crowd. The giggle, then, belonged to Shona, his long-term girlfriend. Well, they’d lasted for two terms which was something of a record for both of them.
‘Alex,’ hissed Elodie, ‘just get rid of them!’
‘Hang on!’ That was the girl – definitely Shona. She had a horrid, whiny voice and it was emphasised by the wooden stalls and cavernous spaces of the stables. ‘Viscount Wotsit’s got someone in here with him. Who is it?’
‘There’s nobody here!’ snapped Alex. ‘Will you two just do me the honour of pissing off?’
‘Liar! It’s Elodie Bright, isn’t it? Gave it up to you at last did she? Little Miss Princess couldn’t keep her legs together, eh? We always knew she was after you.’ That was Shona.
Elodie, shocked to her core, sat up and stared at Alex. She was willing him to say something to defend her honour, like a proper Victorian Miss would expect.
Instead, he pressed his fingers to her lips and shook his head. ‘God no, it’s not Elodie,’ he said over his shoulder into the darkness. ‘I’d never do it with her. Now, piss off. It’s nobody you know.’
Grant had whooped triumphantly. ‘Sorry to disturb you then, Little Lord Fauntleroy. Enjoy, enjoy your tumble in the hayloft with your slag.’
Shona collapsed into giggles. ‘Bet you don’t dare tell the little jumped-up bitch that one!’ she said. The sound of their laughter faded as they left the stable and clashed the door shut behind them.
‘Well,’ said Alex, breathing out a sigh of relief. ‘That got rid of them.’ Elodie saw his teeth glint in the moonlight that came through the window as he smiled down at her. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘Just fuck. Right. Off,’ she said and slapped him hard across his face.
Elodie studied him as his eyes slipped away from her, a slight crease between his brows. She watched him while he ran his fingers through his hair and stared out at the estate, his eyes sliding past the fallen oak tree and towards the church.
And it was when he looked back at her, that she realised she hadn’t suddenly begun to feel this way about him again. She’d felt like that about him forever. She hadn’t buried any of her feelings at all, not even after that fight in the stables. Not even when she was married.
‘Alex—’
‘Elodie—’ He spoke at the same time. ‘I’m so sorry about Prom Night – I’ve hated myself ever since. God, I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. I was an utter idiot. Absolutely stupid.’
‘I hated you too. But why? Why did you say it?’
‘Because I didn’t want them calling you names. I wanted to protect you. I thought if they knew it was you in there, they’d never let up from the bullying. I thought I was cutting you some slack.’
‘You weren’t. You just made me feel like a second-rate slut. I thought you loved me. You said you loved me, and then we did it, and then you were telling them you’d never do it with me! You were my first, Alex. I wanted you to be my last.’ Her voice suddenly caught on a sob, remembering that eighteen-year-old who thought her world had ended. How could she still love him so much after that? But she did. She did and she always had and there was no getting away from it.
‘Oh, God. Elodie. Elodie, I’m so sorry. I hated it when you went off to London, but I didn’t know how I could try and stop you. You wouldn’t even speak to me!’
‘I wasn’t going to stay here and have them laugh at me, and you act like it was no big deal. I knew you’d had girlfriends before, but I’d never had anyone serious and I thought you were it.’ She shook her head. ‘I suppose I should be grateful. I got on that course down there and got into the theatre and had a good couple of years before – well – before I got involved with Piers. And when you and I fell out, I hated you with a passion! I really did.’
‘I deserved it. But you know what I’m like – far too stubborn to admit my faults.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m admitting them now though.’
‘Me too. I know I’m not perfect, and I need you to understand that some of it is a hangover from London.’ Elodie dipped her head, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. She knew she had come back to Hartsford a very different person and lost herself along the way. She didn’t like it much. She’d loved London to start with; and she could probably have coped with Piers if he was the only issue, but one thing just fed into another and the enforced rest after the hospital stay had given her too much time to think. And, more precisely, too much time to think about Alex.
Now was as good a time to admit some of that as there ever would be. ‘What happened, is that London finally crippled me, what with Piers messing about, and my stupid asthma and all the corresponding rubbish that went with it. I had to be harder down there, but it wore me out. If I’d let myself stop for a second, or been kinder to myself, I think I would have cracked sooner. It’s taking me a while, but I’m fighting back. Some of it’ll be with me forever and I hate the fact I can’t do anything about it. All I can do is make the best of what’s left of me and try to put the bits back together.’ There. She’d said it. She missed the old Elodie, the eighteen-year old Elodie, but she had to begin to accept she’d never be the same person again. Too much had happened and she’d been broken into pieces because of it.
Alex reached out and took hold of her chin, tilting it up towards him. He smiled down at her slowly, his eyes warm. ‘For what it’s worth, I like you either way. I liked you before you went down there and I still like you, so that’s good, isn’t it? I changed too when I was away – and I wasn’t in a good place when I came back; so I know exactly what you mean.’
‘Thank you. I know you’ve had to deal with things I never saw, and it can’t have been easy for you either. I’m sorry.’ A frown shadowed her face. ‘I’m so pleased we talked; but I guess I really should go back to work now. I don’t want to, but Delilah will be sending out a search party.’
Alex nodded and took his fingertips away. ‘Tell her the lunch was very welcome.’
‘I will. See you?’
‘See you,’ he confirmed.
It was progress.
Elodie almost floated back to the café. It felt so wonderful to have f
inally admitted all that to Alex, and she knew they had turned a corner.
‘Enjoy your lunch, my dear?’ Delilah asked, taking the plates and the cutlery from her and dumping them in the dishwasher.
‘Very much so.’
‘Did Alex enjoy his?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Good. Any more news on the church then? Someone was saying it’s all roped off.’
‘It is. Alex is having difficulty with the insurers, but I’m sure things will work themselves out. The tree surgeons seem to be missing in action as well. Alex is more bothered about getting rid of the oak I think.’ She leant on the counter and put her chin in her hands. ‘He really hates that tree.’
‘It’s very old. I think it’s maybe a good thing it’s come down now. If it was weak enough to fall down anyway, we should be grateful nobody was underneath it when it happened. A good gust of wind and – well – let’s not go there.’
Elodie shuddered. ‘You’re right. It was lucky nobody was injured. It’s a big estate and there are usually people everywhere. The river’s gone back to normal though, but there’s a heck of a mess on the banks.’
‘And that’ll be another big job, I guess,’ mused Delilah. ‘But I think if Alex needs some help to clear that lot, he’ll find volunteers in the village. There’s a legend about buried treasure in that river you know.’
Elodie laughed. ‘Yes, the legend about the Faerie Bridge. And I think I know how that started as well.’
‘Really?’ Delilah looked at Elodie, her eyes full of interest. ‘What’s your theory on that then?’
‘I think it goes back to Alex’s great-great something relation, Lucy.’
‘Georgiana’s sister,’ said Delilah with a nod. ‘You’ve met her, have you?’
She said it so matter-of-factly. Delilah knew about Elodie’s gift anyway, so it was pointless trying to skirt the issue.
‘Let’s just say I’ve encountered her. Lucy found a silver coin by the bridge in the late 1700’s. I think it had been hidden on purpose by someone to kind of buy her silence over something. She was very young at the time and she believed it was all to do with the faeries. I suspect she never found a giant pile of them like some would believe – it was hardly the Brantham Hoard.’ Elodie referred to a Saxon treasure trove of ninety silver pennies someone had found in that Suffolk village in 2003. ‘But it’s surprising how tales evolve over the years.’
‘It is. Well now. One silver penny. God bless her.’ Delilah dropped her voice and leaned in to Elodie confidentially. ‘This isn’t common knowledge, but some say she was a little disturbed after her sister and brother died, you know.’ She tapped the side of her head and pulled a face. ‘Poor child. Her story tends to get forgotten whereas everyone knows about Georgiana and Jasper. She just gets remembered for dying young and being the end of the Kerridge line. It was some cousin that took over the Hartsford title after that. The lawyers found him in Paris, I think.’
‘Lucy was disturbed?’ Elodie couldn’t remember anybody else telling her that about Lucy, but she recalled Alex’s tale about the French cousin. Trust Delilah to know about it anyway. Her family had worked at the Hall for generations. Some of the recipes she used in Coffee, Cream, Cupcake had been handed down for centuries. ‘How come?’
‘They said it had always been in her to some extent. Lucy had never been quite as rational as a normal child and it caused quite a bit of upset in the family at times; but it came out properly after Georgiana died. The child was distraught. Used to sit in front of the tomb for hours on end and talk to it.’
Elodie shivered. ‘I used to do that too. And I’m not disturbed. I just wanted to hide from the bullies in there. I don’t see how they can base the theory on her sitting by the tomb. She probably just missed her sister.’ And, Elodie wanted to add, she seemed to have had a lot to do with trying to protect the contents of the tomb.
‘The child used to see things in the woods as well. Around about that old tree you just talked about. I wonder if that’s why Alex doesn’t like it. What’s it called? Genetic memory?’
‘Yes. Perhaps. Interesting.’ It was very interesting, now that Elodie knew Alex was experiencing Ben’s memories. Looking at it from that perspective … it was more than simply interesting.
Delilah wiped the bench down and continued. ‘Lucy used to say there was a horseman there. They told her it wasn’t possible. Then, the tale goes, she rambled a bit about highwaymen as the fever took her away, and that’s how the legend of the horseman in the woods stuck. I’ve seen Alex on that black horse of his. He’s the very image of a dashing highwayman, don’t you think?’ Delilah’s eyes twinkled merrily. ‘Cassie always loved the story of the highwayman when she was a babe. Asked for it all the time.’
Elodie knew that after Alex and Cassie’s parents divorced, and the former Countess went off to live in France, Delilah and Margaret – and her own mother – had more or less become surrogate mothers to the children. They’d loved them as if they were their own, and still did. Delilah smiled fondly at the memory now. ‘Alex wasn’t interested in the family stories. He was more for running about and climbing trees with little Miss Elodie, as I recall. Getting into mischief. Messing about at the stables with real horses. And asking when his mum was coming home.’ She sniffed in disgust. ‘They had enough to contend with in dear old Mama. We all did our best for those little ‘uns.’
Alex’s mother was but a distant memory to everyone, including her children. He was lucky he’d had other people around when he was growing up. They’d all swooped in and saved the family. ‘You’ve been very good to Alex and Cassie, Delilah. I think you and Margaret and my mum did a great job between you. It’s lucky we lived on the estate – Alex never had to come far to find us if he needed anything. He was always hungry – but then, we both were. My poor mum was forever making us sandwiches so we could take them out exploring! Then we’d pitch back up and expect dinner cooked for us too.’ She smiled at the memory. Her mother still sent the odd food parcel from France for them – only it now included grown-up things like wine.
‘Well, I never had any children of my own,’ said Delilah, ‘so they made up for it. And there’s Margaret with five – so what difference did another couple make to her brood? And your mum just had you, and you and Alex are the same age and were inseparable from the minute you could walk. Cassie was just a natural addition.’
‘I suppose so. You know, at first I loved London and the lifestyle down there – well, until Piers and everything else finished it off for me– but I know for sure that my heart is here. Definitely.’
‘Definitely,’ Delilah agreed. And as she turned away, Elodie wondered if that little smile she had on her face meant that Delilah thought Elodie’s words were just a teeny tiny bit loaded.
Chapter Fifteen
Alex stood at the doorway to Elodie’s cottage, flipping the silver coin over and over. She’d left it on the table at lunchtime and he’d pocketed it.
‘I hope you don’t mind me turning up?’ he asked, and smiled down at her.
I just wanted to see you. But he didn’t say that out loud.
‘Not at all.’ She stepped aside to let him into the cottage.
‘I’ve got a proposition for you.’
Elodie raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. ‘Oh, really?’ she asked, leaning back against the door frame, a smile twitching around her lips.
‘Really. It’s a beautiful evening. D’you fancy a walk along to the Faerie Bridge? This coin got me thinking and I wondered if we could find anything else out if we went along to the bridge.’
‘I don’t mind at all. That would be lovely. Why don’t you wait in the lounge? I’ll just get some shoes on and I’ll be with you in a second.’
‘Okay. I’ll not go very far.’ He didn’t want to leave her at all.
‘I can’t lose you in here.’ Her voice came from the kitchen, combined with an odd clattering as she obviously knocked something over to get to her shoes. �
�Bugger.’
Alex grinned and turned away, looking at the room – the shelves in the alcoves either side of the fireplace were full of books on history and costumes and vintage clothing. He pulled one down and flicked through it, looking at some fabulous gowns by Worth and imagining, unbidden, a picture of Elodie floating towards him in a gossamer white dress. In her hands was a bouquet of flowers and serenading her was Margaret on the organ and—
‘Shut up, Alex,’ he muttered, trying to close the pictures off. It was the image he’d had of Elodie that day she got married to Piers. He had tried to block it out, because in his head she wasn’t walking towards Piers, she was walking towards him, Alex.
But the reality of the situation was, of course, that she had breezed past him, leaving nothing but a lingering scent of freesias and lilies and roses. He didn’t know if the scent came from her perfume or from her bouquet, but he’d never been able to smell any of those flowers since in any sort of combination without having a little knife twist somewhere in his chest – around about where his heart was, funnily enough.
‘It’s not Elodie. I’d never do it with her.’
What an idiot – why had he even said that? And then he’d had to suffer the consequences for years. Had to watch her marry someone else.
He didn’t think she’d even noticed him sitting at the back, that day.
And the London creep was standing all suave and smarmy by the altar, smirking at everyone as if to say, ‘look what I’m getting, you bunch of country bumpkin losers.’
Of course, it was the guy’s wedding day and he was entitled to be smirking. But Alex thought he was simply a tosser.
Alex had gone back to the Hall and got very, very drunk that night. It hadn’t helped much at all.
He had hated his eighteen-year-old self with a passion.
‘Ready.’ Elodie walked into the room and jolted him out of his memories. Her eyes flicked to the floor as if there was an animal or something there that he was about to tread on and he looked down, following her gaze, but there was nothing to see. A little breeze whooshed past his ankle.