A Stranger at Castonbury

by Amanda McCabe

  Her throat tightened, and she turned away from the glow of those blue-grey eyes. Perhaps being here at Castonbury would be harder than she had feared.

  ‘Miss Westman?’ a woman asked. Catalina turned to see a lady hurrying towards them. ‘I am Mrs Stratton, housekeeper at Castonbury. Welcome to the estate.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lydia said, and Catalina was proud of her calm poise. ‘It is most lovely here.’

  ‘Miss Seagrove was very sorry not to be here to greet you herself, but she and the other ladies went into Buxton for the day. I will have some tea sent to your room, and everyone should be here for dinner this evening. If you would care to follow me.’ Mrs Stratton turned to smile at Catalina. ‘And you are Mrs Moreno, yes?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Catalina answered. ‘I am also very pleased to be here.’

  ‘I have put your room right across from Miss Westman,’ Mrs Stratton said. ‘I hope that will be comfortable for you both?’

  Catalina had half expected to be sent off to the servants’ quarters where it would be next to impossible to keep an eye on Lydia. She was quite pleasantly surprised. ‘Yes, of course. Most comfortable.’

  ‘You both must be tired from your journey. I will show you to your rooms directly.’ Mrs Stratton led them up the staircase, the keys at her belt jangling lightly. ‘The rest of the guests will arrive tomorrow.’

  Catalina looked away from Jamie as they passed his portrait, but it was almost as if he watched her walk past. As if he was with her here in his house.

  She took a deep breath and tried to focus on Lydia and not the strangeness of being in Jamie’s home. For once the girl was perfectly silent, staring around her with wide eyes as they turned down a corridor lined with more paintings, more carved furniture, more Chinese vases filled with bright flowers and classical statues set in their niches. They passed several closed doors and a maid hurrying past with a tray in her hands until they came to the end of the corridor.

  ‘I hope you will like it here,’ Mrs Stratton said as she opened one of the doors. ‘It is quietest at this end of the guest wing.’

  Lydia’s room was lovely, a charming space with a white-draped bed and modern French furniture grouped around a tiled fireplace. A maid was already laying out her things on the tulle-covered dressing table. The windows looked out on the terraced gardens behind the house, rolling down to the twin lakes joined by a bridge.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ Lydia sighed. She leaned against the windowsill to peer outside, still wide-eyed at the beauty of the place.

  ‘Let me show you to your room, Mrs Moreno,’ Mrs Stratton said. ‘Sally can help Miss Westman while you settle in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Catalina said. She followed the housekeeper to the room across the corridor, suddenly weary. The journey had been a long one, and now being in this house weighed on her heavily. She rubbed her eyes and stepped into the chamber across the corridor.

  It was smaller than Lydia’s and looked out onto a smaller side garden, but it was just as comfortably furnished with a dark wood bed and tables and chairs upholstered with blue velvet. A cushioned seat was built into the window, a perfect spot for curling up to read or nap.

  Catalina laughed—there would be no time for napping if she was to keep up with Lydia.

  ‘I do hope this will be convenient for you, Mrs Moreno. I do know how...complicated it can be to watch over young ladies,’ Mrs Stratton said. She stopped to straighten some of the objets on the mantel. ‘There were no adjoining rooms available with all the people here for the wedding, but hopefully Miss Westman is near enough.’

  ‘This is perfect, thank you,’ Catalina said. She watched as Mrs Stratton slid a framed image from behind a pair of porcelain shepherdesses and brushed it off. Catalina was startled to see that it was a copy of the same pastel portrait that Jamie carried with him in Spain. His two sisters smiling out of the image with their grey Montague eyes.

  Mrs Stratton seemed to notice Catalina staring at it, for she said, ‘They are very pretty girls, are they not?’

  Catalina swallowed before she could answer. ‘Very pretty.’

  ‘Lady Kate and Lady Phaedra. Lady Kate is in Boston now with her new husband, but you will meet Lady Phaedra and her husband, Bram. She is usually outdoors with her horses, but she does manage to make it to family dinners, especially now.’ Mrs Stratton laughed.

  ‘I am sure Miss Westman will greatly enjoy meeting her,’ Catalina answered. ‘She does love animals, but there is seldom a chance for her to spend time with them in London.’

  ‘You yourself are Spanish, are you not, Mrs Moreno?’

  ‘Yes, I am. My family was from Seville.’

  ‘Have you been in London long?’

  ‘A while now. But sometimes it feels a lot longer,’ Catalina said with a smile. ‘I have been in the country these past few weeks with Lydia, very isolated.’

  ‘If you feel homesick, there will be plenty of people here to talk about Spain with, Mrs Moreno. I dare say they would appreciate the chance to talk about their travels as well.’ The small clock on the mantel chimed and Mrs Stratton gave it a startled glance. ‘Oh, dear! Is that the time? You must excuse me. There is so much to see to before dinner. I will have a tea tray sent to you right away.’

  Once the housekeeper was gone, Catalina wearily untied her bonnet and laid it aside with her gloves. She sat down on the window seat and peered out at the garden below. It was green and pretty, rolling down to a line of trees and dotted with marble benches and statues. Gardeners were scurrying between the flower beds, as if to make it all even more beautiful for the wedding.

  It was all so much as she had imagined it when Jamie would tell her about this house. Green and classical, the perfect place for rambling walks and picnics. Casual and elegant at the same time, so different from the highly regimented gardens she was used to in Spain.

  As she watched, a figure suddenly appeared atop a low rise beyond the dip of the ha-ha. It was too far for her to see his features, and he had a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his brow. But he was tall and lean, his athletic figure clad in a long, dark jacket. He held a walking stick in one hand. For an instant, with the sunlight behind him, Catalina thought it was Jamie and she couldn’t breathe.

  He paused to peer out over the gardens, perfectly still, and Catalina dared not move. She knew it was an illusion, that the man must merely be one of Jamie’s brothers or another guest, but ever since she had come through the Castonbury gates she had felt strangely near to him. She wanted to hold on to that for just a moment longer, and imagine what he was like here.

  Then the man walked down the hill, his gait slightly uneven though he barely used the stick. He vanished around the side of the house and out of her sight, and the brief dream was shattered. Jamie, the good and the bad of their time together, was gone.

  Catalina closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window. She wished this wedding would be over very quickly indeed. It was obvious she needed to escape from Castonbury before she went mad.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Are you sure my gown is quite right, Mrs Moreno?’ Lydia whispered as they made their way down the staircase.

  Catalina gave her a reassuring smile. ‘You look lovely,’ she said truthfully. Lydia looked like a blooming summer rose in her pale pink muslin, with pink and white ribbons twined in her shining curls. Catalina could scarcely remember ever being so young and fresh, so eager to see what life held next. She had felt like an old lady for so long. Too long.

  She caught a glimpse of herself as they passed an antique looking glass on the wall, and for an instant she thought she was a ghost in her grey taffeta gown, her hair twisted back in a plain knot. Once Lydia was safely married, Catalina knew she should try do something fun in her life again, something interesting. Not just another position, but something real, like when she had been nursing in Spain.

  Catalina almost laughed aloud at herself. What else was there she could do but keep working? Keep
taking each day as it came? That was her life now, and she was content with it. At least it didn’t hurt as it had when she lost Jamie. When she lost her husband.

  ‘I do want them to like me,’ Lydia said as she smoothed her white satin sash again.

  ‘They cannot help but like you,’ Catalina answered. ‘They are your family, are they not?’

  Lydia glanced at her with wide eyes. ‘I suppose they are, though I hardly know them. I think I never really had a family. Just my guardian, and he’s only my father’s grumpy old great-uncle, you know.’

  ‘Well, now you do have a family. And it’s a large one, if all the portraits we’ve seen today are any indication.’

  Lydia was silent for a moment. ‘Do you miss your family greatly, Mrs Moreno?’

  Catalina looked away. Aside from talking in a general way about Spanish history and literature, she had never spoken of her old life to Lydia. It seemed better to keep that all in the past, hidden away. It must be this house, with all its history and memories that made them both feel so wistful.

  ‘I do miss them sometimes,’ she said. ‘But my parents and my poor brother have been gone now for many years. And they would have been terribly unhappy about what has happened to our country if they could see it.’

  ‘What of your husband? Do you miss him?’

  For one startled instant, Catalina thought she meant Jamie. Her throat tightened and she could only stare at Lydia in silence.

  ‘Do you not miss Mr Moreno?’ Lydia asked.

  Of course. Her first husband. As far as anyone knew, her only husband, and it would have to stay that way. The opulent history of Castonbury, the weight of family and tradition, seemed to press in around her, and she realised again how foolish she and Jamie had been to ever think they could make a future together. She could not have belonged here. They would have made each other unhappy and their passion would have faded. She would have remembered his work in Spain, and he would remember how she opposed him.

  ‘He has also been gone a long time,’ she said quietly. ‘He was much older than me, and we were not married long. Our families had wanted an alliance for many years.’ And when her brother died opposing the king, that alliance had seemed even more important.

  ‘How dreadful,’ Lydia declared. ‘I shall not marry like that. I shall only marry someone I love.’

  Catalina smiled at her. ‘I do hope so, my dear. Only you must fall in love with someone who can also take proper care of you.’

  They reached the main hall, and a balding man with protuberant eyes and a black coat stepped out of the shadows to bow to them.

  ‘Miss Westman, Mrs Moreno—I am Lumsden, butler here at Castonbury,’ he said in a stentorious, deeply important voice. ‘The others are gathered in the drawing room, if I may show you the way.’

  ‘Thank you, Lumsden,’ Catalina answered. Lydia seemed struck silent again.

  Lumsden bowed again and led them down another series of grand corridors. Castonbury seemed full of such spaces, lined with fine objets d’art and paintings, with jewel-like carpets on the floors and a few old tapestries on the walls. But Catalina couldn’t help noticing that here and there were empty spaces, as if whatever had sat there for years and years had been taken away. Some of the draperies and upholsteries were worn, and a few patches of plaster on the moulded ceilings needed to be repaired.

  She glanced at another faded square on the wallpaper where a painting had once hung. It could just have been taken down for repair or restoration, of course, but—was Castonbury in some kind of trouble after losing its heir?

  Catalina looked at the girl beside her. Lydia had a fine but not exorbitant dowry. But perhaps any amount of money would be useful enough here for her to make a match with one of the Montagues? If there were any unmatched males left, that was. Perhaps the girl’s dreams of true love would have to be replaced by ducal strawberry leaves if that was the case.

  She could hear the buzz of voices and laughter before Lumsden even opened the drawing room door. They stepped into a vast chamber with soaring ceilings decorated with elaborate white plasterwork and walls papered in blue silk and hung with landscapes and portraits. A fire burned in the white marble grate, and gilded blue damask sofas and chairs were scattered in groupings around the room, interspersed with tables laden with figurines and enamelled boxes and vases. A pianoforte and a harp sat in the corner.

  But the elegance of the room was overshadowed by the people who gathered around the space. They were all laughing and talking exuberantly, the gloomy silence of the house banished.

  Lydia gave Catalina a look that seemed distinctly frightened. Catalina smiled and gave her arm a little squeeze, but she had to admit she herself felt a little nervous faced with so many Montagues.

  A lady broke away from the crowd and came towards them, her green silk gown shimmering.

  ‘You must be Miss Westman,’ the lady said with a kind smile. ‘I have been looking forward to meeting you. I am Lily Seagrove.’

  The bride. Catalina studied her with interest, this lady who was marrying into the family she herself had once so briefly dreamed of joining. She seemed kind and welcoming, her eyes warm as she smiled.

  ‘How do you do,’ Lydia said, and gave her a small curtsey with a poise that made Catalina proud. ‘I am happy to meet you as well. This is my companion, Mrs Moreno.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lily said, turning her friendly smile to Catalina. ‘We have heard so much about you. My brother-in-law Lord Harry and his wife, Elena, have talked of nothing but how they look forward to meeting you. They have recently returned from Spain themselves for the wedding, though soon they will be off to their new posting. He is in the diplomatic service.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting them then,’ Catalina said politely, though in truth she wasn’t sure if talking about Spain would make her more or less homesick, more or less full of memories. She didn’t want to remember old hopes for her country and how they had been shattered in reality.

  ‘Then you must meet them now!’ Lily declared. ‘Come, let me introduce you both to everyone.’

  Lily led them around the room and made the introductions to the people gathered there. There were so many of them that Catalina was quite sure she would never remember them all. There was the bridegroom, Lord Giles, a tall, handsome man with the same grey eyes most of the Montagues seemed to possess. His smile was so tender, so full of happiness, when he looked at his bride that it made Catalina’s heart ache to see it. They just seemed to belong together, to fit in a way so few couples did.

  There was Lady Phaedra, Jamie’s sister, who Catalina remembered from the portrait Jamie carried, and her husband, Bram Basingstoke, who held her hand while she talked. Phaedra asked Catalina if she rode, and, on hearing that she had used to enjoy it very much but hadn’t had the chance in years, told her that she must come and inspect the facilities that were being built for Phaedra’s new stud at Castonbury.

  ‘I would enjoy that very much,’ Catalina said, and indeed she would. She missed riding, and Lady Phaedra’s great enthusiasm was infectious. She added quietly enough that Lydia could not hear, ‘But I fear Miss Westman has not had many chances to ride and isn’t sure how, though she is very curious about horses. She has lived all her life in London.’

  ‘Hasn’t been able to ride much?’ Phaedra gasped, her eyes large with shock. ‘Good heavens. Well, she is in the country now. We must teach her. You should both come to the stables with me first thing after the wedding.’

  Her husband laughed and squeezed her hand. ‘My dear, they will probably be quite busy with everything that is going on at Castonbury. Touring the stables many not be first on their list.’

  Phaedra gave a rueful laugh. ‘Of course, Mrs Moreno, Miss Westman. I do get rather carried away when I talk about my horses. But you must come and ride with me any time you choose. I have the sweetest, kindest little mare that should just suit Miss Westman.’

  ‘That is very kind of you,’ Catalina answered. Lydia still
looked too terrified to say much at all.

  They were led around the room again to meet yet more people, including a plethora of guests who had come in from the village and neighbouring houses for the dinner. There was also Lord Harry, the diplomatic son, and his wife, Elena, who declared herself so full of happiness to meet a countrywoman and said they had to sit down for a long talk as soon as possible. Not as congenial was Mrs Landes-Fraser (‘Aunt Wilhemina,’ Lily whispered with a shiver), an elderly lady ensconced by the fire and swathed in layers of silk, Indian shawls and a plumed turban, despite the warm evening.

  She inspected them closely before snorting. ‘Pretty enough,’ she declared of Lydia, ‘but much too pale. Like your mother, are you, girl? She had no spirit either.’

  Lily led them away from ‘Aunt Wilhemina’ as quickly as she could with an apologetic smile. ‘You must not mind her,’ she whispered. ‘She is that way with absolutely everyone. I was terrified of her when I first came to Castonbury.’

  Catalina saw that Lydia regained her ‘spirit’ quickly enough when they met a certain Mr Hale, a handsome young man with a cap of bright blond hair and friendly eyes who was the new curate at the Castonbury church. He eagerly bowed over Lydia’s hand and smiled down at her as she stared up at him.

  Catalina could see at one glance that this was a situation that called for a close watch.

  ‘Mr Hale has only been here a short time,’ Lily said. ‘But the vicar, my adoptive father Reverend Seagrove, cannot stop singing his praises. He has certainly brought a new life to the parish.’

  ‘You are too kind, Miss Seagrove,’ Mr Hale said with a smile. He still smiled at Lydia. ‘I am only doing my duty.’

  ‘I am sure you are absolutely marvellous at it, Mr Hale,’ Lydia said softly.

  ‘Where is the duke?’ Mrs Landes-Fraser suddenly cried. ‘It is past time for supper to be served. I don’t know why he suddenly insists on eating with us anyway. Most inconvenient after all this time. I shall need to eat soon or my digestion won’t be able to bear it.’