Eye of the Wind

by Jane Jackson

  Chapter Six

  Emma Tregonning did not stir until after nine. Addey came immediately to fetch Melissa who had put on her lilac muslin, deeming it wiser, in view of her mother’s fragile state, not to don her black until after she had broken the news. But the nurse’s tear-swollen eyes and hurried exit must have alerted her mistress to the fact that something dreadful had occurred.

  Melissa entered the room to find her mother sitting on the edge of the bed, propping herself on her arms, too weak to stand, her gaunt face ashen, eyes huge with fear. ‘What is it?’ she croaked. ‘What’s happened? Has there been a letter?’

  ‘No, Mama. No letters. Come now, you mustn’t get cold. You’re not well enough to get up yet.’ Gently easing her mother back into bed, Melissa drew the covers over the frail, trembling figure. Then, to the accompaniment of Addey’s stifled sobs, her own voice less than steady, she told her mother of her father’s stroke and his death that morning.

  She had prepared herself for an outburst of grief, even hysterics. But after a minute’s stunned silence, during which Melissa watched her mother visibly shrivel like a flower in an unexpected frost, Emma Tregonning’s only reaction was a cracked whisper. ‘Too much.’ Since then, she had lain blank-faced and completely unresponsive. The moment the doctor arrived he guessed what had happened, and Melissa told him what she knew of the circumstances as she led him upstairs to her mother.

  ‘You have my deepest sympathy. But try not to mourn his passing, my dear. Be thankful instead that it was so easy. In truth, with virtually no hope of recovery, his death was a blessing.’

  Bowing her head, Melissa had bitten the inside of her lower lip. How could she tell him it wasn’t so much the fact of her father’s death she found shattering? Though she would miss him terribly she could not have borne to watch him die by inches, trapped in a body he could not control. Without recognition or means of expression, what would he have been left with but bewilderment or, even worse, fear? What grieved her, filling her with trepidation that required all her strength and energy to keep hidden, was the devastation he had left behind.

  After a brief examination to check that Emma’s influenza was not developing into anything more serious, the doctor had drawn Melissa away from the bedside and, opening his case, taken out a small dark bottle.

  ‘There is little I, or any doctor, can do for her at present. All I can offer is a stronger sedative. Sleep is the greatest healer. It will aid her physical recovery. But more important, it allows her an escape from the pain of losing her life’s partner. After your elder brother was killed last year, your mother relied heavily on your father for support. Now he has gone as well …’ He shrugged.

  What about me? The cry echoed inside Melissa’s head. It’s my loss, too. Who can I lean on? But she remained silent. The doctor could make her mother comfortable, and for that she must be thankful. As for the rest, in the absence of her brother she must shoulder responsibility.

  A little while later, the doctor left. She watched him ride away, the sun warm on her face, the house at her back dark and heavy with sorrow. Then she turned and went inside.

  It was midday. She wasn’t hungry, but with Sarah and Lobb both urging her to eat, citing the need to keep up her own strength, she had not the heart or the will to refuse. And by the time she had finished the cold meat and fruit she did feel stronger. Rising from the table, she started toward the stairs. There had been so much to do she had not had time to change into the black muslin and crepe Sarah had retrieved from storage. But Lobb stopped her in the hall.

  ‘Sarah has just informed me that Mr Brinley Tregonning and Mr Marcus Tregonning are on their way up the drive. Are you at home, miss?’

  Drawing herself up, knowing this was only the first of many tests she would have to face, Melissa tilted her chin. ‘Yes, Lobb. Please show them into the drawing-room. And you had better bring some brandy. I believe my uncles would prefer it to Madeira.’

  Seating herself in a chair half turned from the window so the sun would not be directly on her face, she picked up some white-work. But the tremor in her hands made tiny stitches impossible. Rather than risk betraying her agitation with a pricked finger and bloodstains on the embroidered handkerchief, she simply held it on her lap.

  As well as being the oldest, her father had also been the tallest of the three brothers. It had embarrassed her and irritated them when she too surpassed them in height. The difference was slight, and though her Uncle Brinley took little notice except when Aunt Louisa reminded him of it, regarding it more as an inconvenience to her than a reflection on himself, with her Uncle Marcus it was different. He seemed to regard her regal build as both an affront and a challenge to his own lack of inches. Torn between amusement and annoyance – for it was neither her choice nor her fault – Melissa had learnt simply to ignore his prickliness. After all, she could not change the situation. Nor did she feel inclined now to spend all her time in his presence sitting down, a tactic she had employed when younger and far less sure of herself.

  Her heart thumping uncomfortably as she waited for Lobb to show them in, she recognised the nervousness, the same self-conscious unease, that had attended those long-ago visits. Catching herself, she straightened her back, deliberately lowering her shoulders and lifting her chin. She was no longer a child, and this was no time for weakness. In order to convince her uncles that her primary concern at this tragic time was her mother’s health, she not only had to lie, but do so fluently and without a tremor. And once started there could be no turning back. She had been brought up to value honesty above all things. It seemed bitterly ironic that from today, from this moment, honesty had to be sacrificed if she was to protect her father’s reputation and the family’s good name.

  To prepare herself, mentally and physically, she drew several deep breaths. The door opened.

  ‘Mr Brinley Tregonning and Mr Marcus Tregonning,’ Lobb announced, withdrawing and closing the door quietly behind him as her uncles strode into the room. They wore the attire of country gentlemen. Both had chosen a double-breasted riding frock of fine cloth cut shorter than the normal tailcoat, Brinley’s in dark blue, while Marcus favoured a light brown, over striped linen waistcoats, breeches, and topboots.

  Though many gentlemen had begun to abandon their wigs, Melissa could not imagine seeing either of her uncles without their familiar toupees with the hair swept back full and wavy from forehead and temples with a loose roll curl covering the ears and a short pigtail queue. Both were conservative traditionalists who viewed change with suspicion and clung determinedly to the old ways.

  ‘How are they?’ Brinley demanded the moment greetings had been exchanged. As Melissa resumed her seat, he dropped heavily onto a brocaded sofa. Marcus lowered himself onto a Queen Anne chair upholstered in dark-green velvet, brushing dust from his breeches and regarding her with a look of frowning enquiry.

  Tightly gripping the thumb of one hand concealed beneath the other, Melissa moistened her lips. ‘My mother’s condition is slightly improved, but –’

  ‘Doctor been again, has he?’ Brinley demanded.

  ‘Yes. He left about an hour ago, but –’

  ‘Told you we should come earlier,’ he snapped at Marcus. ‘Wanted a word. Too late now.’ He turned back to Melissa. ‘So what does he say about your father, then?’

  Swallowing, Melissa glanced at them in turn. ‘M-my father passed away just before dawn this morning.’

  ‘What?’ Brinley blurted.

  Marcus stared at her in disbelief. ‘But – he can’t have.’

  Melissa understood his reaction. She had had several hours to get used to the idea. Yet though her mind knew it to be so, her heart was still unwilling to accept.

  ‘It was very sudden, but very peaceful. Gilbert, his manservant was sitting with him. He just – stopped.’ She shrugged helplessly, the swelling in her throat making further speech impossible.

  Her heart felt like a lump of lead, physically heavy in her chest, and her sens
e of loss was an intense ache that made her want to curl over and hug herself. Her attempted deep breath caught in a sob and she cleared her throat in an effort at disguise. Her uncles might make allowance if she wept, weeping was something women did. But it would make them uncomfortable and could cost her their respect. It was vital she maintained a façade of dignity, and filial concern for her mother.

  ‘Good God,’ Brinley shook his head. ‘Francis dead. Hard to believe.’ He pushed himself to his feet. Marcus followed suit. ‘Like to see him. Pay my respects.’

  Melissa rose quickly. ‘Of course.’

  She would have led the way, but Marcus stepped in front of her. ‘No need for you … Lobb can … Difficult time, Emma ill. You stay here.’

  They reached the door just as Lobb entered with the tray.

  ‘My uncles wish to pay their respects. Would you take them up, Lobb?’

  Swiftly setting the tray down on a side table, the butler bowed. ‘Of course, miss. If you’ll follow me, gentlemen?’

  Melissa walked over to the window. Crossing her arms, pressing them against the ache, she gazed out over terrace and fields. In the sunshine the treetops were every shade of green imaginable. But the way the land sloped away meant that from here she could see little of the woods. Abruptly she turned away, using rejection of the view to shut off a brief but vivid memory of dark, knowing eyes.

  A few moments later, her uncles re-entered the room. Both were subtly different: the changes more sensed than seen. Following them in, Lobb went unobtrusively to the table and poured brandy into two glasses.

  ‘Sad business,’ Brinley muttered, taking a glass from the proffered tray and shaking his head. ‘No age. Damn me if he don’t look better than the last time I saw him.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Brinley,’ his brother hissed, also taking a glass. ‘Man’s dead. Can’t possibly look better.’

  But Melissa knew what her uncle meant. Death had released her father from a burden that had become intolerable, and smoothed the torment from his features. Catching her eye and responding with an infinitesimal nod, Lobb bowed and withdrew.

  ‘Anyway,’ Marcus continued, warming the glass between his palms then swirling the spirit, ‘the point is even if Emma were well I don’t think she’d be up to dealing with things. As matters stand, I see no alternative but for us to take over.’ He raised the glass to his lips.

  ‘Tregidgo or Morley?’ Brinley frowned. ‘Favour Morley myself. Does a good funeral.’

  Melissa glanced from one to the other. They were talking as if she wasn’t even there.

  Marcus shrugged. ‘As you like. You speak to Morley, and make sure everyone is notified – use Lang’s in Boscawen Street to print the cards. I’ll see the lawyers and handle the legal business.’

  Melissa stiffened as anger and anxiety fizzed along her limbs, making her heart skip a beat. ‘If I may say something?’ They both turned to her, clearly surprised at the interruption. She pushed her tongue between her teeth and upper lip to free it. ‘It is most kind of you to offer your assistance with the funeral.’

  Brinley waved aside her thanks. ‘Least we can do.’ He turned away to resume his conversation with his brother.

  ‘On my mother’s behalf I accept with gratitude,’ she continued, forcing a smile as their expressions reflected mingled astonishment and irritation. ‘For I fear the shock of her sudden loss, coupled with her ill-health, will make it impossible for her to take an active part in the preparations. I know we may rely on you to ensure my father receives a fitting send-off. Though, naturally, I will write personal letters to our relations informing them of the sad news, you are far better acquainted with his many friends and business associates.’

  ‘Yes, of course we are. Now if you will –’ Marcus began testily, but Melissa did not intend to be silenced.

  ‘However, given the time and effort involved in arranging the funeral and letting everyone know, it would be most unfair if my mother and I were to impose further. You have your own lives and families to consider. So, while I truly appreciate your offer regarding business and legal matters, I feel I should deal with those myself.’ She gave the smallest of self-deprecating shrugs. ‘They will be minimal, I’m sure.’ She watched their astonishment deepen to shock and dismay.

  ‘Can’t have that,’ Brinley exploded. ‘Good God. No, indeed. Not at all the thing.’

  ‘My dear Melissa, such an action, were we to permit it, would exceed all bounds of propriety.’ Marcus’s brows furrowed in anxiety. ‘Your presumption astonishes me.’

  ‘Can’t blame the girl,’ Brinley grunted in response. ‘Francis’s fault. Odd ideas. Comes of educating females. Always said so.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ Marcus snapped. ‘How do you suppose we’d look if it were to get out? It wouldn’t be Francis and his progressive ideas they’d be discussing. Oh no. It’s we who’d be the butt of the jokes and gossip. Allowing a woman – a young, unmarried woman – to handle legal matters? Out of the question. Women and business don’t mix. Never have, never will.’ He swung back to Melissa. ‘My dear, I’m sure you think you could manage. But the fact is –’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Melissa pressed her palms together, resting the tips of her fingers against her mouth. ‘I am so sorry. I have not explained myself clearly. Uncle Brinley, Uncle Marcus, what I meant to say, what I thought you would realise, is that in dealing with the lawyers I am not doing so on my own account, but on behalf of my brother George, who is now head of our family. Naturally, if my mother were well enough she, and not I, would be doing it.’ She watched them digest this.

  ‘Yes, but George is out in Jamaica or some such place, isn’t he?’ Marcus demanded.

  ‘Indeed he was,’ Melissa answered carefully, ‘but we have been expecting word from him this past fortnight.’

  ‘Oh. Well, if he’s on his way home …’

  That wasn’t what she had said. But she considered it neither necessary nor wise to correct the assumption. After all, it wasn’t impossible that George might be on his way home. They had heard nothing to the contrary. They had heard nothing.

  ‘Solves a problem,’ Brinley agreed.

  ‘Yes, but what about the yard?’ Marcus frowned. ‘Can that foreman fellow be relied upon?’

  Melissa smothered flaring anger. Until this moment neither of them had ever given a moment’s thought to the yard or the men who worked there. She had no intention of allowing them to interfere now.

  ‘Tom Ferris has worked for Tregonning’s for 40 years, Uncle Marcus. He has always enjoyed my father’s complete trust and confidence. I am quite certain he will have no difficulty keeping everything running smoothly until my brother’s return.’ She could see her uncles were reluctant, but their reasons for intervening had been demolished by her explanations. They really had no choice but to accept.

  Swallowing the last of their drinks, they stood up, preparing to take their leave. With perfect timing, Lobb entered, ready to show them out.

  Melissa rose with them. ‘Will you forgive me if I don’t come with you to the door? I have been too long away from my mother. I know how grateful and relieved she will be that the funeral arrangements will be in such excellent hands. Thank you both so much. Might I make one small request? I will be delighted to welcome to the funeral all those who might wish to attend. But given my brother’s absence, and my mother’s delicate state of health, my own feeling is that we should limit those returning here afterwards to immediate family. What is your opinion?’

  Exchanging a glance, both brothers grunted their assent. Following them into the hall, Melissa made a brief formal curtsy of farewell then, as Lobb accompanied them to the door, she lifted the skirts of her gown with fingers stiff and aching from accumulated tension and hurried up the stairs.

  ‘She haven’t moved,’ Addey whispered, as Melissa entered her mother’s bedroom. ‘Not one inch. If it wasn’t for that cough, I swear you wouldn’t know she was breathing.’ Gazing at her mistress, she shook her head. ‘I don
’t think he should have gived her that stuff.’

  Knowing he referred to the doctor, whom Addey mistrusted yet depended upon for her mistress’s physical health, Melissa simply ignored the last remark. ‘Why don’t you go and get some fresh air? I’ll stay for a while.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ Addey replied staunchly.

  ‘Addey, go,’ Melissa pointed to the door. ‘And while you’re downstairs, make sure you have something to eat and drink.’

  The old nurse’s eyes filled again. ‘I know what it is. You don’t think I’m looking after her proper.’

  ‘Addey! Don’t be so foolish.’ Hurrying to her, Melissa hugged the old woman. ‘No one has ever been given more love and attention. You couldn’t have prevented her getting influenza, or – or any of the other things that have happened.’

  Clinging to Melissa’s arm, Addey raised a tear-streaked face. ‘I’ve cared for that dear soul since she was in her cradle. I seen her married, and I seen her three babbies born. There isn’t nothing I wouldn’t do for she, and that’s God’s own truth. But I can’t reach her, and I dunno what else to do.’

  Tightening her grip on the old woman’s shaking shoulders, Melissa fought down her own worry. ‘It’s the shock, Addey. Dr Wherry says she needs time, and sleep. We just have to be patient. I know it’s not easy. It’s terrible seeing her like this. I feel just as helpless as you do. In fact, to be honest, I think I’m far less use to her than you. I don’t understand illness and such things the way you do. That’s why I want you to have a short rest. How on earth would I cope if you fell ill? I’d be in terrible trouble.’

  Dabbing her eyes, Addey looked up, the fear in her tired, bloodshot eyes giving way to realisation and a glimmer of pride. ‘You would too.’ She nodded, sniffing loudly as she heaved a shuddering sigh. ‘Well, perhaps a few minutes wouldn’t do no harm. Truth is,’ she admitted, ‘I could do with a bite of something. I reckon my stomach do think my throat’s been cut. A nice cup of tea would set me up a treat.’ As Melissa released her she moved away, straightening her cap and her smoothing her apron. ‘But I won’t be gone long, so no need for you to worry.’