by Evie Grace
A bilious mixture of grief, anger and resentment rose in her throat. How dare he control her like this! She wanted to give him a good shove and push him into the water. She would watch him drown.
‘I’ll come with you then, Father,’ she said coldly. The scales had fallen from her eyes, and she doubted she would ever be able to bring herself to call him Pa again. She was almost in tears, but she wouldn’t cry. Not this time. ‘I will never look at you in the same way.’
‘I’m glad that you’ve seen reason,’ her father said as they moved away from William who was watching them closely and the crew who were within earshot. ‘This is another occasion on which you must do your duty.’
‘What duty? I have done my duty in marrying the man of your choice to help the Rayfields out of their financial difficulty. I’ve done my part – I’m not obliged to do any more.’
‘But family is family – it never goes away. You were born a Rayfield – you will always have ties and obligations to me, your mother and sisters. We need you now, more than ever.’
She knew what he was going to say, what he was going to ask of her.
‘At least you will not want for anything,’ he began as they walked back into town.
‘Apart from the company of my husband,’ she said curtly.
‘I beg your pardon. Naturally you will suffer, but after a while, you’ll start to feel better. Arvin has left you well provided for. Being party to his financial situation, I can confirm that you will be very comfortably off. It is better to be a rich widow than a poor one.’
‘I assume that I will receive a jointure to live on, that’s true, but no amount of money can make up for my loss.’ Her voice wavered. She was a widow. There was no way – she accepted it now – that Arvin could have survived. He had drowned that night.
‘I know, but he has entailed almost the whole of his estate to you, his wife.’
‘I didn’t know … It is most unusual, isn’t it?’
‘Most husbands leave an allowance and an arrangement wherein their widows may remain in their home while holding the majority of their estates in trust for the eldest sons when they come of age, but Arvin was most insistent that his assets should pass to you, Mrs Brooke.’
‘How do you know about Arvin’s will?’ Violet asked, put out that he hadn’t shared it with her.
‘I asked him when we were arranging the details of your marriage and financial settlement. I had to make sure that your future was secured, and to that end, I gave Arvin an extra twenty per cent share of our business.’
Violet felt her brow tighten.
‘Now you own a share in Brooke and Rayfield, but don’t worry about it – I shall manage it on your behalf. There’s also the property in France; an apartment in Paris; the castle and vineyards.’
‘What about his sister?’
‘As I’ve said before, you have a kind heart – I know you’ll make sure that Claudette’s provided for too. You can draw up a contract allowing her to have the apartment for the rest of her natural life.’
‘I see. Perhaps she would prefer to stay on in the chateau – in fact, I might go and live there to keep her company.’
‘I think it must be sold to release the capital,’ Pa said quickly.
‘It will be my decision.’ Violet began to feel an unusual sense of power, being in control by virtue of inheriting a fortune.
‘Listen, I’m in deep water …’
‘An unfortunate turn of phrase, considering the circumstances.’
‘It was your husband who lost the gold—’
‘It wasn’t his fault.’ She had never felt so angry with anyone before. ‘If I were a man, I’d call you out.’
Her father lowered his eyes. ‘I apologise, but I’m in dire straits. I’m on the verge of bankruptcy, and if that happens, we’ll lose the house at Camden Crescent. Please, I’m begging you to do everything within your reach – as you’ve done before – to help your father who has fallen on hard times through no fault of his own …’
‘If Mama was well, she would beg to differ,’ Violet observed. ‘You’ve been foolish and downright unpleasant, taking advantage of me and Arvin for your own ends. If it hadn’t been for you encouraging him in this scheme, he would still be alive.’
‘He played his part in it.’
‘This situation is a result of your greed.’
‘I wanted to secure my family’s future,’ her father argued. ‘It’s part of a man’s nature to look after his nearest and dearest. I’ve only gone along with the normal way of things, but Fate has played against me. You wouldn’t let your mother and sisters suffer in poverty?’
Torn between wanting to punish her father and look after the rest of the family, she agonised over her response. She had done her duty before and look how it had left her. The grey stone walls of Dover Castle glowered down at them against the wintry sky.
‘I need to think about it,’ she said eventually. ‘I’ll give you my answer within a few days.’ She would let him stew in his own juice – as far as she was concerned, he deserved it.
Chapter Thirteen
A Most Disagreeable Caller
Dejected and frozen to the bone, Violet returned to the house she’d shared with Arvin, before remembering that she had no key. She went back to the Rayfields’ where she packed the few belongings she had there, and asked May – with her sisters’ permission – to accompany her.
Ottilie came to the bedroom to help her fold her clothes: her mourning outfits, nightgowns and slippers.
‘Pa’s in a right state – I can’t get any sense out of him,’ she said.
‘It’s been a terrible day. You aren’t going to believe this, but our father chartered a herring boat with divers today.’
‘He did what?’
‘He refused to take no for an answer when I said I didn’t want to go and he threatened Mr Noble who came with us with all kinds of trouble when he stood up to him. He’s a bully who’s threatened to disown me, his own daughter. I’ve tried to understand his point of view, but I can’t. I was under the impression that he was hiring the divers to look for …’ Violet’s voice broke, and she struggled to regain her composure ‘… Arvin, but all he wanted was to find the gold. That’s what pains me the most.’
‘What gold are you talking about?’
‘The bullion, Ma’s dowry. From what I can gather, he gave it to Arvin to take to France where he was supposed to deposit some in a bank and use the rest to buy wine. At least ’ – she bit her lip, drawing blood – ‘that’s what I would like to think. Ottilie, I have lost faith in our father’s goodness, and what’s more, I can’t help doubting my husband’s motives in all this.’
‘Oh Violet, I know you’re upset, but you can’t go accusing Arvin of anything, not when he isn’t here to defend himself.’
‘He behaved very coldly towards me when we boarded the boat – Arvin, that is. It was almost as if he didn’t want to know me. All his attention was on the trunk which I found out today contained the gold.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me – he knew he couldn’t afford to lose Pa’s fortune,’ Ottilie said. ‘They were partners – he had a vested interest. Violet, you must remember better times: the day Arvin proposed; your wedding day; the love letters he sent you.’
‘The ones he copied from a book, you mean?’ They had been an indication of his feelings for her, his young bride-to-be, and he’d said he’d done it because he couldn’t find the words to express his affection. Was that the truth? She hadn’t loved him, but she’d grown fond of him, and now she felt sick as she began to wonder how well she’d really known him.
‘Nobody is perfect. He was trying to do the right thing,’ Ottilie scolded, making her feel guilty for judging her husband.
‘I realise that.’ It had been her father’s behaviour which had unnerved her and made her start questioning Arvin’s attitude to her while they’d been travelling on the Samphire. Of course he would have been careful with the gold. She just
wished he’d explained the situation to her – she would have understood.
‘Pa says that you will be well provided for. At least you’ll be able to afford to keep the house on, and … I know it’s too soon to be thinking about it, but you will find plenty to keep you occupied, and one day in the distant future, you’ll marry again and bear children.’
‘Marry again? How can you talk of that when Arvin isn’t yet buried?’
‘Forgive me for speaking frankly, but you are young, far too young to spend the rest of your life on your own. One day, I promise you, we will go out walking together with our husbands and children.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Violet said. ‘I’d forgotten to ask you – how is John?’
‘He is well. All I wish for is Pa’s blessing, but it’s never the right time to ask him. Firstly, he and Uncle Edward part company over the Dover Belle, then Mama falls ill, and he starts to worry about our financial security, and then we seem to begin to get back on to an even keel with your marriage and his partnership with Arvin, and now this … Never mind. I will never give up hope. Why don’t you leave your packing and stay here?’
‘My life is unravelling. I don’t know what to do or where to go, but in the meantime, I find it untenable to continue to live under the same roof as our father.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll take May with me as agreed.’
There were no other staff left – both Jacques and Mrs Davis had taken their holidays when Violet and Arvin were supposed to be in France. Violet supposed she would have to contact the housekeeper through the agency to inform her of what had happened. As for Jacques, she had no idea how to get in touch with him.
‘I didn’t think we’d be coming back here today,’ May said as they walked up the steps to the house at East Cliff. ‘You should have sent me ahead to air the rooms and light the fires to chase the damp away.’
‘I didn’t plan it in advance,’ Violet said wryly as she stepped inside, shivering.
May put her bags down in the hall and Violet followed suit.
‘Let me take your coat,’ May said. ‘Can I get you some brandy? It’ll take a while to boil a kettle for tea.’
‘No, thank you.’ A lump caught in her throat at the sight of the empty hooks on the hallstand where Arvin’s coats should have been.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss. The master, although I ’adn’t known ’im long, often had a kind word for me.’
Keeping her coat on, Violet made her way to the parlour.
‘I’m sorry to have to ask this, and I know it’s probably too soon for you to have made any plans. I mean, I don’t think Mr Rayfield’s too keen to keep me employed over at Camden Crescent, and you might wish to give up the lease on this ’ouse …’ May said.
‘I want to stay here for a while. I’d give you plenty of notice if I decided to move somewhere smaller and more modest.’ Or go to France, she thought, to start a new life and forget about this one.
‘Then I’m very grateful.’ May walked over to the fireplace, her long black skirt dragging across the carpet.
Violet slumped in a chair with her legs tucked underneath her. She stroked the locket at her throat – engraved with a skull and containing a miniature of Arvin’s portrait – while she watched May light the fire, using the tinderbox to create a spark to ignite the kindling.
Gradually, the coals began to smoke and glow orange on their undersides, but it wasn’t until the clock chimed, tolling the passing of another hour, that the room began to warm up.
Violet had been transformed from wife to wealthy widow, and now she had to make something of her life while waiting for her time to be taken up to Heaven. She teased out a loose black thread from her sleeve, picturing days, months and years of sorrow, tedium and idleness. Could she use some of her inheritance to help both the Rayfields – for her mother’s and sisters’ sake, not her father’s – and the families of sailors lost at sea? It seemed like a reasonable idea, but grief had taken hold of her – body and soul – and she couldn’t see how on earth she would find the energy to instigate it.
The following afternoon, Violet was sitting in the dining room alone at one end of the long table with the gas lamps burning to brighten the winter gloom. Picking at a light luncheon of ham and scrambled eggs that May had prepared, she gazed towards the aquatint photograph of her and Arvin which she’d turned to face the wall because she couldn’t bear to look at it. As for the pretty arrangements of pressed flowers from her wedding bouquet, the delivery of which she had looked forward to with great anticipation, she had put one in Arvin’s place at the dining table, and the other in her bedroom.
She stifled a sob. She was confused: still mourning her husband and feeling affection for him, as she believed a good wife should, but – she felt guilty for it – angry about what had been revealed during her father’s expedition to try to find him.
‘Oh, Arvin, I’d do anything to be able to talk to you now,’ she whispered, picturing him sitting opposite her, scraping his plate and getting on her nerves. ‘There’s so much I need to know. Why did you lie to me about the gold? Why did you treat me so unkindly when we were on the mail packet? Why did you seem to care more for the contents of the chest than your wife?’ She had listened to any number of sermons on how riches were to be found in human relationships and family ties, not gold and silver. She supposed that the tendency for men to think the opposite was the reason for the vicar’s frequent reminders.
The harsh ring of the doorbell and the sound of the maid’s footsteps on the tiles in the corridor disturbed her solitude.
‘No, Mrs … Ma’am … I’m sorry, ma’am.’ She heard May’s frantic calls.
Quickly, Violet stood up from the table and ran from the dining room to find a woman pushing her way past the maid in the hall. Was there news?
‘At least wait ’ere until I’ve spoken to my mistress. This is ’er private residence.’
‘I must speak with Mr Brooke tout de suite,’ the woman said, dismissing Violet’s hopes that Arvin’s body had been found.
‘My mistress is in mourning and entitled to ’er privacy. If you wish to call on ’er, please leave your card and make an appointment.’
‘I’ll deal with this,’ Violet said, recognising that the woman wasn’t going to take no for an answer. ‘May, bring some tea.’
‘Are you sure?’ The maid raised her eyebrows in surprise at this breach of social propriety.
‘Quite sure, thank you. This way, miss …’ Violet showed the woman to the parlour, noting how her navy coat with brass buttons was cinched in at the waist, making her seem waspish. Her eyes were blue, her cheekbones highlighted with rouge, and her hair coal-black and falling in ringlets from beneath her hat. Who was this petite stranger with a French accent? Could she possibly be Arvin’s sister? She was quite a beauty, a little faded and older than Claudette by at least ten years, and certainly not disfigured.
‘How shall I address you?’ she asked, showing the woman to one of the chairs beside the fire. A shiver ran down her spine even though the room wasn’t cold, as the stranger removed her grey kid gloves, using her teeth to pull them off before taking them in one hand.
‘I’ve come to see my husband, mon mari. Je suis Madame Arvin Brooke,’ the woman said.
‘How strange. I am Mrs Arvin Brooke,’ Violet said, rather aggrieved at the way the stranger had entered the house under the false pretence of an association with Mr Brooke. ‘I don’t understand.’ She’d made a mistake in letting her in – she was a fraud and a charlatan. ‘I’d like you to leave.’
‘I will be staying here tonight – Arvin and I will dine together. This is his house?’
‘It is our house.’ Violet’s brow tightened and her head began to ache. Something wasn’t right. Was it the custom in France to invite oneself into any old stranger’s home? Was this woman referring to a different man of the same name?
‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I m
arried this man …’ The woman showed her a carte de visite from her reticule. The subject was undoubtedly Arvin – he stood with one foot in front of the other, resting one arm on the back of a chair. He looked rather smug.
‘That’s Mr Brooke. That’s my husband,’ Violet said curtly. She glanced down at her widow’s weeds – she didn’t need this intrusion.
‘You can’t be – Monsieur Brooke and I are married.’ Her unwelcome visitor dropped her gloves on the low table next to Violet’s embroidery where her needle glinted from the fabric, like a dagger through her heart.
‘No, we are married. I am the widow of the very same gentleman.’
‘Widow? Oh!’ The woman paled. Fearing she was about to collapse, Violet took her arm and sat her down.
‘Tea isn’t adequate for a situation such as this. I’ll call for some brandy instead.’ Watching the tears catching in the woman’s long dark lashes, Violet picked up the brass bell from the table and rang for May.
‘The rumours are true. He has perished?’
Violet nodded. This wasn’t happening. The woman was deluded. She should be committed to the asylum.
‘Then it is no wonder that he didn’t arrive in Paris as we arranged.’ The woman’s expression hardened, and Violet felt as if she had stepped straight on to the pages of a sensationalist novel as she went on, ‘Where is the gold? He was bringing gold bullion over to France. Where is it?’
Violet decided to keep some of the truth to herself.
‘The gold belongs to my father. I don’t see that this has anything to do with you. Arvin didn’t get the chance to arrange the purchase of goods so the gold remains the property of Mr Rayfield.’
‘Oh, you are so naïve, you poor little Englishwoman,’ the woman sneered. ‘My husband was never going into business with your father – he didn’t need to.’ The coals sank into the grate with a menacing clink. ‘Once he’d won Mr Rayfield’s trust and persuaded him to let him carry the gold, he planned to abandon you in Paris …’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Violet said acidly. ‘He treated my father with great respect, and we were going to do some sightseeing in Paris before going to stay at his home in France. It was all arranged.’ The implications of what the woman had said began to sink in. Had they all been taken in by Arvin’s quick tongue and smooth talking? Had their marriage been a sham, part of a plan to defraud the Rayfields of what was left of their money? She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘What is your name?’ she asked.