by Nicola Slade
‘I would ask Mrs Penbury to play something more uplifting,’ she murmured, ‘but I’m afraid it might set her off on to her symptoms again, if she is interrupted, and I simply can’t bear any more details.’
The other girl bit back a smile. ‘I shouldn’t have laughed,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she means well. Please don’t worry, I wasn’t upset by the gloomy music, it’s just that it reminded me of a wedding at my father’s church. Edward, my brother, used to stand in if the organist was indisposed, and he played that hymn because the bridegroom was a Mr Clay.’ The fleeting smile was in evidence once more, ‘Father was furious but the bridal pair took it as a compliment.’
The slight flush that had animated Sibella’s face now ebbed and Charlotte said quietly, ‘I do hope that you will have a real rest while you are at the manor, Miss Armstrong. I know Lily and Barnard are anxious to make your stay as comfortable as possible at this difficult time.’
‘Thank you, everyone is so kind.’ The lighter mood had vanished and there was a slightly awkward pause while Miss Armstrong sat looking at her hands, linked together in her lap, and Charlotte racked her brains as she tried to think of something unexceptionable as a topic of conversation, but found herself reduced to further condolences.
‘If I can be of any assistance,’ she began. ‘Perhaps I could write to tell your relatives the sad news, to spare you?’
That produced a faint smile of gratitude. ‘Thank you, but my sister and I were the last of our family.’ She bit her lip and looked away, a faint colour staining her pale cheeks, a frown creasing her brow.
‘The last?’ Charlotte was all sympathy and the other woman nodded, then in a sudden burst of confidence, she said, ‘There were three of us. My brother was the eldest, and then I, four years younger. Verena was born when I was five years old, but sadly my mother died a few days later. As I said, my father was a clergyman in Northumberland, near Corbridge, but he died of heart failure when I was seventeen.’
She acknowledged Charlotte’s murmur of sympathy and continued, clearly finding some relief in the telling. ‘My sister was away at school at the time and her godmother, a cousin of my mother’s, agreed to adopt the child, paying for her education and undertaking her presentation at Court. The lady died shortly after Verena’s marriage to Dr Chant, a little over six years ago.’
‘And your brother?’ Charlotte wished she had held her tongue when Miss Armstrong’s face darkened.
‘My brother emigrated to Australia eleven or twelve years ago,’ was the terse reply, followed by a look of consternation as Lily exclaimed in surprise,
‘Why, what a singular coincidence,’ she cried. ‘Did you not know, Miss Armstrong, that our dear Charlotte is herself an Australian? Perhaps she and your brother are acquainted?’
Charlotte hastily interrupted her. ‘Goodness, Lily. Australia is a very large continent. It is highly unlikely that Mr Armstrong and I should ever have crossed each other’s paths.’ Heaven forbid, she told herself, that I should find myself saddled with yet another potential source of embarrassment. It’s bad enough that I have met up with Bessie once more, fond of her as we all were.
Her dismay was clearly shared by Sibella Armstrong, who said quietly, ‘We heard of my brother’s death a year or so later.’
With relief, Charlotte passed over the thorny topic by diverting Lily on to a recital of what could be expected on what would be her first Christmas Day in England, but she found herself wondering about young Mr Armstrong and his sister’s reluctance to discuss him. She might still be grieving for him, of course, but as Charlotte well knew, relatives of a transported felon would often embroider the journey and refer to it as ‘emigration’. Indeed, she was in the habit of doing so herself, when questioned about her mother, her godmother, and her stepfather and their presence in the Antipodes.
The company broke up early. Although in the rudest of health, Lily was still a very new mother who, to Charlotte’s surprise, had refused to employ the services of a wet nurse. Charlotte liked Lily all the more for this, considering, with a smile, that should she ever find herself in a like situation, feeding the infant herself would make escape so much easier. Oh well, she grinned, while Lady Frampton announced frankly that she was ready for her bed, not much danger of finding myself in that kind of predicament, and – certainly for the present – no need to think of escape.
Miss Armstrong bade everyone a quiet goodnight and Charlotte followed her and the Penburys up the oak staircase. They turned towards the older part of the house, while Charlotte politely conducted the guest to the room next to her own.
‘Pray do not hesitate to knock on my door if there is anything I can do for you,’ she told the other woman. Miss Armstrong nodded her thanks and turned into her room, looking suddenly drained and weary.
As she blew out her candle, Charlotte frowned. Perhaps I have met Mr Armstrong at some date, she pondered. If so, it might explain that odd sense of recognition I felt when I saw the late Verena, though we had scant conversation. She shrugged and snuggled down under the covers. Twelve years ago I was a child, she thought. I could easily have met him and forgotten his name, but still find his face drawn to mind. I wonder….
Next morning, Christmas Day, a groom rode over with an invitation for the entire family at the manor, including Lady Frampton and Charlotte, along with any guests, to attend Oz Granville’s eleventh birthday tea on Boxing Day.
‘Thank heavens,’ Lily whispered. ‘Imagine how awkward it would be if she had not invited them too.’ At that moment, Sibella and Dr Chant entered the dining-room so Lily informed them that the Finchbourne party would be taking tea with a neighbour the next day. Charlotte purloined the letter and grinned to herself as she read the stately phrases. She recalled her own description of the lady, when discussing her with Lady Frampton. A ‘woolly lamb’, was it not? She could scarcely have chosen a less appropriate description for a woman whose air of haggard grandeur emphasised a character whose nature was reticent in the extreme. Still, compared with Miss Nightingale, Lady Granville was almost a human being.
Charlotte was drawn to Lady Granville because of her two obsessions: her son and her magical garden, but she was wary. I’d better be careful, she mused. She certainly won’t like it if I become too friendly with Oz. I must not arouse any maternal jealousy as I fancy she could be a difficult customer and perceive slights and liberties where none was intended. Her colouring is quite un-English. I must ask somebody if those dark, haunted eyes and olive complexion suggest any Italian or Spanish blood. If that were so I might even find myself involved in a vendetta of some sort.
I shall be circumspect, she told herself briskly; I do hope Oz will be pleased with his birthday present. The fearsome pocket knife, complete with all manner of attachments had been among the effects of her late, and decidedly unlamented, husband and although she had protested with heart-felt sincerity that she had no need of such mementoes to remind her of Frampton, her sister-in-law Agnes, now wife of their vicar, had pressed the box upon her. It had proved simpler to accept it and stow it away in a dark cupboard at the manor, than to make any further fuss, and now here was the knife, the perfect present for an eleventh birthday.
Charlotte suddenly remembered Miss Armstrong who must also be given a gift. The other woman would not expect anything and was highly unlikely to have provided herself with gifts for her hosts, but an embroidered linen handkerchief was an unexceptionable little gift and Charlotte had provided herself with a new one for Christmas Day. Luckily Lily had decreed that presents were to be exchanged after today’s early dinner so there was time to wrap it in silver tissue paper
‘I’m going to walk over to Knightley Hall this morning,’ Charlotte announced to Lady Frampton before breakfast. ‘I begged a slice of bread and butter from the kitchen, so I’ll forego breakfast here. I’m only going to offer the season’s greetings to Elaine and Kit, and I’ll be home in plenty of time to smarten myself up in time for church.’
‘Season’
s greetings, hey?’ The old lady reached out to press Charlotte’s hand with hearty sympathy. ‘Poor souls, it won’t be much of a Christmas for them, I fear, not from what I ’ear of Mrs Knightley’s state of ’ealth.’ She glanced at her dear companion’s face and nodded, noting the sudden pallor and the grief that darkened her hazel eyes. ‘You’ll feel it very much, me dear,’ she added, with kindly affection.
‘Yes,’ was all Charlotte could say as she hastily rose from her chair in the old lady’s room. She went to find her outdoor garments, along with the tiny nosegay she had fashioned from sprigs of rosemary and a spray of yellow winter jasmine from the garden. It was a small enough present, she sighed, but what could you give to a woman who was dying?
‘So you enjoyed your visit to Brambrook Abbey?’ Elaine Knightley looked so fine-drawn and delicate that Charlotte was hard put to disguise her concern, though she knew that any reference to her friend’s health would be quite unacceptable.
‘I did,’ she agreed. ‘I really accepted the invitation to please young Oz, but I found Lady Granville much less daunting than I had anticipated. Do you know anything of her history? She told me her husband’s father had built the Abbey and that he was a mill owner from Lancashire, but I know nothing of her own background.’
‘I believe her mother was French and…’ Elaine frowned as she marshalled her thoughts, ‘her father was English, Viscount something or other, I don’t think I ever heard the name. Lady Granville was brought up at her mother’s home in Provence where I presume they returned after Napoleon’s defeat. I do recall someone telling me that she provides the respectable lineage in the partnership, while his lordship is the one with the money.
‘A great deal of money too, from what I’ve heard, so nobody has ever wondered that she put up with his rumoured infidelities, though I believe it was said that she did so with an ill grace. I gather though, that when she finally managed to bear a living child, her nature seemed to soften and that she and her husband have since been on much happier terms.’ For a moment Elaine’s delicately lovely face wore a shadow and Charlotte knew she was thinking of her own still-born child.
‘I have a conundrum for you, Elaine.’ The sorrow on her friend’s face was too much and Charlotte cast about for some new diversion. ‘I must tell you something very disturbing.’ She recounted the various mishaps that had troubled Lady Granville at the christening, along with the sadly unexpected death of young Mrs Chant the next morning.
The diversion worked perfectly. Ignoring her weakness, Elaine Knightley sat upright on the chaise longue agog with interest. ‘My dearest Char,’ she exclaimed, looking round to call for fresh coffee. ‘What a perfectly dreadful thing to happen and on top of that shocking murder last week. What is the village coming to? That poor young woman and her sister too, bereaved so suddenly.’
‘Kit thinks I’m yearning for adventure,’ Charlotte confessed. ‘Oh, he was very polite and concerned but I know he believes I’m exaggerating all the little coincidences and seeing murder on every side, because of my experiences in Bath.’
‘Kit talks a great deal of nonsense,’ was the caustic reply. ‘He knows very well that you were nervous and shaken for weeks after our stay there, but….’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her visitor, ‘Your life is very quiet, Char. However, perhaps it is about to liven up with the arrival of this old acquaintance from Australia?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Is that – forgive me, my dear, but you have told me something of your early life. Are you likely to find yourself embarrassed by this elderly servant’s reminiscences? For you know I will do whatever still lies within my power to help.’
‘Dear Elaine….’ Charlotte was touched and gave the thin hand a loving squeeze. ‘How like you to offer, but no, I don’t fear Bessie’s tales. She knew us at a time of relative prosperity and of quite unparalleled propriety, so there are no secrets to be spilled by her.’
No, she made a face, shamed again by the memory. It was fortunate that Bessie’s departure to Tasmania, with the large and handsome vagabond who had swept her off her feet, had occurred just before Will Glover tired of being respectable. ‘I’m sorry, Molly,’ he told Charlotte’s long-suffering mother, when she realized he had absconded with the church building fund, cajoling her with the smile he knew she found irresistible. ‘But living a life of stifling respectability has definitely begun to pall upon me. What do you say? Shall we seek our fortune over in the goldfields? I hear there are rich pickings (of every description) to be had around Ballarat.’
There had certainly been gold, easily picked up, though not through sweating in the fields – that was hardly Will’s style – by a handsome and charming Anglican clergyman (albeit a former convict posing as such). Charlotte recalled her mother’s gritted teeth as Will blithely set himself up as vicar to a mining township.
Much better not to bring those days to mind, she sighed, and hastened to reassure Elaine Knightley that she would be safe from scandal.
‘Goodness,’ she exclaimed. ‘I nearly forgot. You’ll never guess what has happened, Elaine. Miss Nightingale has offered me a situation!’ She explained about the letter and told of Lady Frampton’s dismay on hearing of the proposed post. ‘I told Gran I had no intention of accepting,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But even though it’s true what I said, that Miss Nightingale would surely be the most difficult of employers, I must confess that I’m more than a little tempted.’
‘I can see that,’ said Elaine, to Charlotte’s surprise. ‘You still don’t feel entirely at home here, do you?’ She reached over to clasp the other girl’s hand. ‘I’ve seen that look on your face sometimes, in an unguarded moment, when you look as you did when you first arrived at the manor. Alone, fiercely independent and as wary as a hunted hare.’
‘You know me too well,’ Charlotte admitted with a slight smile. ‘I’ve promised Gran that I won’t accept and I sent a polite refusal to Miss Nightingale only this morning, by way of one of our stable lads who has gone to see his mother on the Embley Park estate. Of course I shall stick to my word, I can’t hurt Gran, but yes, I confess that I’ve been rather tempted. Perhaps Kit is right about me? I don’t seem to have a true purpose in life and I am restless, but…’ she brightened and gave a light laugh, ‘I don’t think I’m so bored that I’m reduced to seeking out non-existent murderers so, for the present, I shall continue to be a companion to Gran and to help Barnard with the place, as well as spending Christmas trying to prevent practically everyone else from strangling Melicent Penbury.’
Elaine leaned back against her pillows looking exhausted, but she opened her eyes and waved Charlotte back to her seat, when the younger girl rose to tiptoe out of the room.
‘No, don’t go, please, Char. I’m well enough for the moment. I was just wondering about you, my dear.’ Her grey eyes were larger than ever in the delicate face, now so much more fine-drawn than even a few months ago when they had first met. ‘It sounds a worthy enough purpose, to look after Lady Frampton, and I know that the old lady is a splendidly cheerful companion, but still…. Is there nobody else? Nobody you could call a kindred spirit? It’s a lonely life after all. However fond you may be of Lily and Barnard at the manor – and indeed, they of you – you will need a friend in the coming months, dearest Charlotte.’
Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears but she said nothing and sat looking down at her hands, while she fought back the sob that threatened to choke her. It was painful beyond measure that it should be Elaine who recognised the gap that would soon yawn ahead of her, but out of love and respect for her friend, Charlotte made no comment other than to summon up a tremulous smile and say, ‘I have little hope of making Miss Nightingale a bosom friend, I fear, though I do rather like the look of our visitor, Miss Armstrong. She is bearing her troubles with dignity and I respect that in her and I believe I’ve surprised a glimpse of mischief once or twice, when Melicent Penbury has been particularly trying. Miss Armstrong has an unexpected dimple that came into view when Gran was berating Melice
nt last night. I can and will befriend her for a day or so, but it will not answer in the long term for the poor girl must begin to look for a situation as soon as Christmas is out of the way and her sister safely buried.’
She knuckled her tears away with a sudden glimmer of amusement. ‘I must say that Lady Granville is proving surprisingly sympathetic, astonishing as it might seem.’ At Elaine’s exclamation of surprise, Charlotte nodded. ‘I know. It’s hard to picture it, is it not, but she is so enthusiastic about her wonderful garden, that it’s difficult to recognise the normally stately lady. Besides,’ her smile was reminiscent, ‘She is so utterly devoted to her son that I can’t but be charmed.’
‘I believe his arrival was the greatest joy to her,’ Elaine remarked. ‘I was newly married at the time and I know Kit’s mother, who was a friend of hers, felt exceedingly anxious during the long wait before his birth. It was said locally that the lady took to her bed for near the entire time, with visitors strictly rationed lest they bring infection to the house, so anxious was she to avoid disappointment. In fact, I believe she was conveyed very gingerly and in easy stages to a small place near Bournemouth for the last month or so, to benefit from the pinewoods and the sea air and that was where she was confined. It’s no wonder she is so besotted with the boy.’
She looked nostalgic. ‘It’s one of the places Kit took me to a year or two ago after someone had praised it to him as being the perfect place for a cure. So it might be, for someone else,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s very restful and if you want some society there’s a lending library and an assembly room. The pine walks are charming but I don’t imagine Lady Granville saw much of them.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘You could do worse than take her for a friend, Char. I doubt Lord Granville enters into her pursuits. I gather he likes a peaceful life at home and lets her rule the roost but otherwise, from what Kit tells me, spends most of his time shooting and hunting, and riding about the estate.’