The Gamekeeper's Wife

by Clare Flynn

  * * *

  When Christopher awoke, he was in his bed. He tried to focus. Two shapes at the far side of the room. A low buzz of conversation. He breathed, trying to orientate himself. The local doctor and his mother were speaking quietly, as his vision blurred and he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Next time he became aware of his surroundings, Christopher was alone in the bedroom with no idea how long he had been asleep. His head throbbed and he needed several seconds to recognise the familiar surroundings. He reached for the water glass on the table beside the bed and drank thirstily, downing it in one long gulp. With effort, he pulled himself upright, reaching towards the end of his bed where his artificial limb usually lay on top of a wooden trunk while he slept. It wasn’t there. Looking around, he saw it on the far side of the room, leaning against a chair. Levering himself up onto his good leg, holding onto the bedpost, he hopped across the room to reach the prosthesis. The movement made him feel dizzy, lightheaded, weak.

  Once his leg was strapped on, he caught his breath. He was exhausted, as though he had undertaken the labours of Hercules. Gradually the events at the lake came back to him. The cold murky water. Clutching and straining in the dark gloom of the depths. The suck of the mud on his foot as he’d tried to gain purchase. The thrashing panic of Lavinia as he’d tried to pull her free of whatever was holding her on the lake bed. Lavinia. Where was Lavinia? Had he got her out of the water?

  Christopher stumbled across the room, wrenching open the door. Even the slightest movement took a huge effort. His head was throbbing and there was a hollowness in his stomach and a burning in the back of his throat.

  The door to Lavinia’s bedroom was wide open and the room was unoccupied. It was uncharacteristically tidy, missing the usual clutter of perfumes, potions and lipsticks on her dressing table. The scarves and necklaces she tended to drape over the chair or scatter on the chaise longue, were absent.

  His fears mounted as he made his way downstairs. The long-case clock in the hall told him it was after nine o’clock. He found his mother in the summer dining room eating breakfast. She looked up as he entered, her eyes full of concern. Opening her arms wide, she got up from the table and moved forward to embrace her son. This unusual display of maternal affection filled him with dread. Something was wrong.

  ‘Where’s Lavinia?’ he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

  Edwina Shipley stretched her lips into a grim line. ‘I’m sorry, Christopher. She’s gone. She drowned.’

  He pulled out a chair beside his mother’s and sank into it. ‘Drowned?’

  ‘You nearly drowned yourself. You were so brave. You did everything you could to try to save her. I’m so proud of you.’

  Lost for words, he stared down at the table, conscious only of the solemn ticking of the clock on the marble mantelpiece. It was a chilly morning and a fire had been lit in the grate. He heard the spit and crackle of a log.

  Edwina shook out her napkin and replaced it on her lap. ‘Try to eat something, darling. You’ve had nothing for three days.’

  ‘Three days?’ he echoed. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I told you. You nearly drowned. The stable boy and the groom dragged you from the lake. You’d passed out.’

  Bewildered, he shook his head. ‘I couldn’t get Lavinia out. I had hold of her but she wouldn’t budge. It was as though she were stuck to the bottom.’

  ‘She was.’ Mrs Shipley poured a cup of tea and passed it to him. ‘Here, drink this. Then try and eat something.’ She topped up her own tea and took a sip. ‘Her foot was trapped.’

  ‘Trapped?’

  ‘An old man-trap. You know, that they used to use for poachers. Someone, one of the keepers probably, must have thrown it into the lake. Been there for years I expect. Lavinia stepped on it.’

  Christopher felt sick. He bent over the table, his head in his hands. The heat from the fire was oppressive. Dizziness struck him and the room spun around him. While he had no affection for Lavinia, the thought of her suffering such a terrible death chilled him to the core. What she must have been feeling as she tried to break free, as he tugged at her. To be trapped liked that, knowing she was going to die.

  ‘Drink some tea.’ His mother got up, stirred some sugar into his tea, then placed one hand on his head and lifted the teacup to his mouth with the other. ‘You’re shocked, darling. It’s understandable. But you mustn’t blame yourself. You did everything you could to try to save her. It took four of them to get her out. Apparently the chain on the man-trap was wedged under a rock.’

  ‘She just walked into the water. I called out to her. Told her it was dangerous.’

  ‘I know. I used to worry whenever you and Percy swam there.’

  ‘Lavinia couldn’t swim.’ The memory was now vivid. ‘She was trying to reach the island to get her wretched dog.’

  ‘The dog was fine, of course. Floated back to the edge and they fished the horrible thing out. Stupid girl. She should have realised.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Her parents arranged for her body to be taken to Harton Hall. They want her to be buried in the family vault there. I presumed you would have no objection?’

  Christopher nodded, still numb.

  ‘Fortunately, they took her dogs back with them. I’m glad to see the back of those creatures. As are Rockie and Cocoa.’ She indicated her spaniels, who were lying in their usual places at the fireside. ‘The funeral is next week. The coroner is a friend of Lord Bourne and the circumstances surrounding her death were confirmed by several witnesses, so they’ve hurried things through. The verdict was death by misadventure as she walked into the lake of her own volition. Lord Bourne argued hard for accidental death but the stable lad said he’d offered to go in but Lavinia insisted on fetching her precious dog herself. I think His Lordship is worried the newspapers might make more of a misadventure verdict than they should. Any excuse to attach blame, point fingers or raise rumours.’ She made a tutting sound. ‘Still, they hurried matters through and dealt with it all without an autopsy, so we have to be thankful for that.’

  Mrs Shipley turned her head towards the windows. Outside, a morning mist was still lingering in the distance where the land dipped down towards the lake. Christopher noticed her shivering. Then she said, ‘Did you know that Lavinia was pregnant?’

  Christopher felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Pregnant?’

  She nodded. ‘According to the doctor, she consulted him a few days before she died. She was four months into her term. The baby would have been due in March. I’m so terribly sorry, Christopher.’

  His mouth was dry and his forehead was clammy. ‘Four months?’

  ‘Yes. So easy to conceal with these loose low-waisted dresses.’ She frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Since our honeymoon… since we’ve been back in England… well, we haven’t… she wouldn’t… I didn’t…’

  Edwina Shipley closed her eyes. ‘You’re trying to say you weren’t the father?’

  Christopher shook his head.

  ‘Couldn’t you manage even that?’ Her voice was cold.

  ‘Are you asking me whether I was prepared to force myself on my wife? If so, the answer is no, I wasn’t.’

  ‘So you never slept with her at all? Never consummated the darned marriage?’ In her irritation with him, her American accent surfaced briefly.

  ‘Yes. We consummated the marriage.’ Christopher swallowed then decided bluntness was the best course where his mother was concerned. ‘Numerous times, if you must know. Lavinia had rather a taste for it. In fact you could say she couldn’t get enough of it on our honeymoon.’

  He saw Edwina’s mouth curl in distaste and he took some satisfaction from that. ‘But after we got back to England, she didn’t want me near her.’

  ‘And it didn’t occur to you that must mean she was having an affair?’

  ‘As it happened, I didn’t care. But since you ask, I actually thought it was because sh
e was pregnant. That it had happened while we were in Biarritz and as a result she didn’t want to… Look, this is embarrassing, Mother.’

  ‘You never asked her if she was?’

  ‘I hadn’t got around to it. In case you hadn’t noticed, Lavinia and I didn’t exactly spend a lot of time in each other’s company.’

  Mrs Shipley was frowning again. ‘And yet you risked your life to try to save her from drowning? Why?’

  He stared at her in astonishment. ‘Of course I did. What did you expect me to do? Stand by and watch her drown?’

  Mrs Shipley shrugged. She turned her head towards the window again. ‘Do you think she was going to bolt? Do you know who she was seeing? And when?’

  ‘Bolt?’ He hated the way his mother made such efforts to slip into the speech patterns of her society friends.

  ‘Run off with this man, whoever he is.’

  ‘Algernon Belford-Webb. Must be him. I was at school with him. We ran into him in Biarritz. With his mother. He introduced Lavinia to the casino. She took to it rather too well.’

  Edwina snorted and said, ‘It sounds like it wasn’t only the gambling she took to.’ She gave a long sigh. ‘Well, what’s done is done. She’s out of our lives forever, once the funeral is over. I never liked the girl. Shallow and vain.’

  Christopher stared at her, shocked, but she avoided his eyes, folding her napkin and drawing back her chair from the table. She touched his arm. ‘Thank heavens you’re still with us, darling. I couldn’t have borne losing you as well as Percy.’ Her tone switched from tender to brisk. ‘No riding for a few days. Get plenty of rest. The doctor’s orders.’ And with another pat of his arm she left the room, her two dogs in her wake.

  Chapter 27

  The death of Lavinia affected Christopher deeply. It was not that it had altered his feelings about her in any way. He hadn’t loved her – or even liked her. And he didn’t feel proud about the fact that she had sought comfort in another man’s bed – and done so under his nose. How long had it been going on? She had played him for a fool. Belford-Webb had too.

  But the real impact of her death was the shame Christopher felt at his failure to save her from drowning. No matter how many times he was told that one man alone could never have raised her from the trap that tethered her to the lake bed, he knew that had it been Martha under the water he would have saved her or died trying.

  It was ironic that his mother treated him as though he was a hero – for the first time in his life. His period in uniform had counted for nothing with her, compared with Percy and his distinguished service on the battlefield, but the fact that Christopher had risked his own life to try to save Lavinia’s made him a brave man in her eyes. Perhaps it was the proximity of his action, the fact that Lavinia’s lifeless body had been laid out in the house and Edwina forced to confront it, unlike the faceless dead of the war. Apart, of course, from Percy – his death had deified him for her.

  As soon as Christopher’s strength was restored and the funeral over, he returned to work in the sunken garden. The building works had been completed, the ingress of brambles and weeds had been curtailed and Fred had begun work on restoring the condition of the lawns and digging over the flower beds.

  He stood in front of the single storey building that might have become Martha’s home. Deep sadness and a sense of loss came over him. What was the point of any of this? Why was he bothering with the restoration of the gardens if she wasn’t ever going to be here with him to enjoy it? He had made a complete hash of his life.

  A few minutes later, slumped on the bench where he had first kissed Martha, he realised he was indulging himself, allowing himself to wallow in self-pity. Yes, he had some right to feel aggrieved with what life had handed to him, but he remembered how he had felt when he’d sat here that Christmas before he married Lavinia. His eyes searched around for the robin that had reminded him to hope, telling himself that if the robin appeared, hope would be justified. But there was no sign of the little bird.

  He leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes, breathing slowly. He would count to ten.

  When he finished the count, there was still no sign of the robin redbreast. He closed his eyes and started counting again. Then again. And again. Still no robin.

  It dawned on him that this refusal to give in and accept the robin’s absence was in itself a sign of hope. He got up and walked around the garden, looking at the transformation he had effected with Fred’s help. This was something to be proud of, achieved in spite of the lack of skilled gardeners, his own disability and in defiance of his mother’s wishes. And hadn’t the work in itself been a source of strength to him?

  He headed over to the steps that led out of the garden. As he drew near to the brick arch that spanned the steps, something caught his peripheral vision. He turned his head. His robin was sitting on one of the lower branches of a maple tree. ‘Hope is the thing with feathers.’ Smiling, he quickened his pace and headed up the steps and out of the garden.

  Back in the house, he found his mother sitting in the conservatory, drinking tea while flicking through a copy of Tatler. She looked up when he entered the room. ‘Hello, darling. How are you feeling today?’

  ‘I’ve made a decision, Mother.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘I’m going back to the Far East.’ He exhaled deeply when the words were out. Relief spread through him.

  Edwina frowned. ‘But why? There’s so much to do here.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of doing what other people want. I’ve done nothing else all my life, apart from when I went to Borneo. That’s the only thing I’ve ever done that was wholly of my own volition.’ He mentally added and falling in love with Martha, but decided not to antagonise his mother by saying that.

  ‘But when you went there before, you were…stronger.’

  ‘You mean I had two legs?’

  ‘I’m only saying it was a long time ago. And your father and Percy were here. It was different. You didn’t have the responsibilities you have now.’ She put down her teacup and swivelled in the chair, facing him directly.

  ‘My mind’s made up,’ said Christopher. I’m going to hire someone to run the estate. I won’t leave you in the lurch. Don’t try to persuade me otherwise. I fulfilled my side of the bargain and did what you wanted when I married Lavinia. A woman whom you yourself now describe as shallow and vain. My life, ever since I came back from Borneo, has been an unmitigated disaster and that’s because I’ve allowed it to be controlled by others.’

  Ignoring Edwina’s furrowed brows, he carried on, determined to say everything he had been bottling up. ‘During the war, I had to follow orders that went against my better judgement and that I knew would cost lives. Since the war, I’ve allowed you to rule my life.’ He felt the relief mounting as the words spilled out of him. ‘Enough is enough, Mother. From now on, I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to make choices that are right for me, not someone else’s idea of what they want me to be.’

  ‘Am I to assume you plan to take that woman with you?’

  Christopher could see his mother’s knuckles were white as she squeezed her hands tightly.

  ‘If you mean Martha Walters, no, I don’t. I can’t take her, much as I would love to, as she has married someone else.’ Christopher struggled to keep the emotion from his voice.

  There was a silence for several seconds. Rockie padded across the floor to lie beside Cocoa, next to Edwina’s chair.

  Eventually, his mother said, ‘I thought perhaps…’ Whatever else she was about to say she must have thought better of. She leaned down to stroke the dogs. ‘That’s just as well then. I’m glad you’re not contemplating doing something foolish.’

  Resentment surged inside him at the way his mother so obviously despised Martha and the fact that he had had the temerity to fall in love with her. ‘My decision to go away has nothing to do with Martha and everything to do with getting away from y
ou.’ Then, ashamed at his own words, he added, ‘It’s about doing something for me. Something I care passionately about.’ He paused, breathing deeply.

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like it. Not one little bit. Can you imagine what it will be like for me living here without you? In fact I may well return to the States. I’ll be wretched here all on my own.’ She made a self-pitying sound.

  Christopher groaned. ‘Don’t play the martyr card, Mother. Go back to America if that’s what you want to do. Although personally, I think you’d be better off moving to London.’

  ‘London?’ She spoke in high-pitched indignation. ‘I couldn’t possibly live in London. All that smog and filth. All those people. Staying for a few days is one thing, but living there all the time is another.’ She stretched a hand out and stroked one of the spaniels. The other dog got up and went to snuffle about under one of the potted palms.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Christopher said. ‘I wouldn’t presume to advise you. It’s your life, after all.’

  Edwina drew her brows into a frown, then allowed it to drift into a smile. ‘You’re trying to make a point, aren’t you, you naughty boy?’

  ‘Hardly a boy.’

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You’re right. You aren’t a boy any more. Perhaps I have been a bit selfish.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘But I’ve never intended to be. Everything I’ve ever done has been because I believed it was the right thing for you.’