by Gay, Gloria
Sir Hugh’s eyebrows were also abundant and little could be seen of his face, which was thin and deeply ridged. But in his eyes was still a strong glimmer that bespoke of strong character, a character that had been needed to hold on to this lovely old house.
He motioned for Celia to pick up the pile of papers and the book. When she had done so he said, “The book seems to be a personal diary. The key is attached to it with the string. I have not looked into it because I supposed what was written in it to be private.”
“Thank you, Sir Hugh,” said Celia, “I appreciate very much your allowing us to visit, and of your kindness in delivering these things to my mother. Mama has a strong sense of family and she will be very happy to have these papers of her father.”
Mrs. Botts came in with the tea and proceeded to serve Sir Hugh with his cup. He held it with his hands around it, no doubt to warm his long, thin fingers.
The tea was strong and the pastries hot and well baked. There was strawberry and apricot jam as well as honey for the scones that were overflowing a basket. Sir Hugh ate slowly and very little of the pastries before him and sipped his tea carefully, his long bony fingers grasping his teacup as though he was afraid it would fall from his hand.
“You will please tell your mother that I have appreciated her many letters throughout the years. I have never been a correspondent myself, though. I hope she will forgive me.”
“Yes,” said Celia, “I am certain she will be happy to hear you appreciated her letters, sir.”
He sipped his tea thoughtfully and then said,
“My grandson, Hugh is away. He will be sorry to have missed you.”
“I’m sorry to have missed him, also,” said Celia.
Mrs. Botts, who hovered nearby behind Sir Hugh shook his head at the mention of Sir Hugh’s grandson, as if she doubted the grandson would be sorry to have missed them. She seemed to be waiting for a signal from Sir Hugh, which he finally gave.
“You will excuse me for making this visit short,” said Sir Hugh after he had sipped the last of his tea.
“Yes, of course,” said Celia, rising.
“Mrs. Botts will show you the house if you are so disposed.”
“Yes, thank you, Sir Hugh.”
“Please give my best regards to your mother.” Sir Hugh’s voice had become thin, almost a whisper.
The girls followed the housekeeper out of the library, leaving Sir Hugh gazing silently at the flames.
“I’m sorry it was such a short visit,” Mrs. Botts said when she had closed the door of the library, “but as you saw for yourselves, the old gentleman is not…”
“I understand.”
“It isn’t often I can show the place,” said Mrs. Botts as she led the girls up the wide, circular stairs and around the gallery, which was bare of paintings. The view from the gallery was stunning, as though, thought Celia, one looked into a kaleidoscope. The octagonal hall with its long, stained glass windows were in a myriad of colors.
“It’s a beautiful place.”
“Yes it is,” agreed Mrs. Botts, and added, “I have lived in it more years than out and so have become quite attached to it. Amy was born here.”
“You came in when Sir Hugh came into possession of it?”
“I was with him long before that, when he got married. I was about fifteen years younger than him, barely ten. My mother worked for him and he brought both me and my mother with him.”
One after another they went through the rooms; up and down corridors lit by only a single sconce that Mrs. Botts carefully turned on and then off when they had left it. Economy had become second nature in the house and Celia noticed that most of the rooms were not furnished. No doubt furniture and paintings had long ago been sold to pay bills. There was a parapet around the roof which when they walked around it gave them the feeling of being in a castle.
Mrs. Botts lingered with them and did not hurry them in the least. It was obvious she was enjoying the break from her work just as much as they were enjoying their tour.
“Were balls held here when you first came with Sir Hugh and his wife?” asked Henrietta when they were examining the vast ballroom that had layers of dust on the parquet floor and leaves that had pushed through a loose shutter.
Mrs. Botts went to secure the shutter but hardly glanced at the piles of leaves. It seemed to Celia that she was much used to the state of things and managed to keep it from bothering her. Celia did not blame her. She and Amy could not do the housework of such an enormous house by themselves. They did too much as it was.
“Sir Hugh married late in life, and though his lady was fairly young there was the scarcity of money to deal with even back then. It was all Sir Hugh could do to keep the place standing. Most of the extra money must go to the farm hands or there would be no income to keep the house. That’s why only Amy and me take care of the huge house. There’s only a gardener that also fixes things when they break down. Sir Hugh’s biggest concern has always been to keep the place going and I have to tell you that he gets no help from that useless grandson of his. A pity that it will be him taking over when the old man dies, for he has little interest in the house or the farm. He prefers to be out in London or Bath with this friends.”
“Sir Hugh has managed to keep the place up, at least,” said Celia with appreciation.
“Lady Downing died four years ago. Sir Hugh was a little happier back then. She took his good humor with her for he never again smiled after she was gone. ”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
* * *
“What did you like most of all?” Henrietta asked Celia when they were again at the lodge.
“I loved it all,” Celia replied with a sigh, “especially the entrance hall with the stained glass. I also loved the gallery above the ballroom. Mama told me they had minstrels there at one time.”
“I thought the ballroom the grandest thing!” said Henrietta, “but I think that blue bedroom in the east wing was matchless. The housekeeper was partial to it too,” Henrietta added, “for she keeps the lovely furniture dusted.”
“It must be one of the few rooms in the house with furniture, Celia said, “and it has a matching one in the opposite wing, with its own balcony. Mrs. Botts told me about it while you were going around feeling the damask. But she said the room is empty. The furniture was sold years ago to pay bills.”
“What a pity!”
“Yes.” Celia sipped her tea thoughtfully. “I liked Sir Hugh, even though he measures his words with extreme economy. Of course, now that I have met him I realize it’s because of his frail health.”
“Oh, I like him, too,” said Henrietta. “What a pity he has never known any good times as far as money goes.”
“I wonder if his grandson will do better.”
“Not from what the housekeeper says,” laughed Henrietta. “When you went to see the view from the terrace she told me that he was “unstable as a young man, always getting into hare-brained schemes to make money. She said that if he had settled down in the estate and taken care of it, it would not be in the state it was in now. And you heard her go on about him before Sir Hugh came into the library.”
Do you think we might return to Farley Hall?” Asked Henrietta.
“Return?”
“You could contact young Hugh,” said Henrietta excitedly. I’m certain he would have made contact with you had their father or his grandfather allowed it. Why do you suppose they didn’t?”
“I have no idea why. You have seen Sir Hugh’s character, Henrietta. It’s obvious he likes seclusion, and seems also to want it for his grandson, for he did not offer to have him contact us. Besides, from what Mrs. Botts said, young Hugh prefers more to carouse in London than to take his responsibilities seriously. I dread to think how the estate will fare under his care.”
“Are you not curious about him? To meet him for the first time?”
“I am,” Celia admitted.
“Sir Hugh might not like me to contact his grandso
n without his knowledge,” added Celia, bemused that Henrietta had taken such a liking to the estate.
“Sir Hugh is hardly of this world anymore,” insisted Henrietta, “He seems so fragile he might blow away like gossamer with the merest breeze.”
“We might have become very fond of him had he allowed contact all these years,” said Celia, “but even now, he seems to want the thinnest contact, and to have it end as quickly as possible. You saw that our meeting lasted about four minutes.”
“Three and a half,” said Henrietta laughing. “Oh Celia, you cannot agree to such an arrangement. Surely you are curious to meet his heir?”
“I am, I confess it,” said Celia.
“It’s unnatural to keep members of a family apart. Never mind what Sir Hugh thinks. He will relent in the end.”
“What if his grandson is not interested either? From Mrs. Botts’ description he doesn’t seem to be the kind that would be interested in meeting us.”
“You cannot find that out unless you contact him, now can you?”
“Indeed, what could be the harm of it,” said Celia. “A letter will do, and if he doesn’t answer, or answers in the negative, well, then that will be the end of it.”
“Well, now that you must contact young Hugh, I hope you will consider extending your visit.”
“Mama would cease speaking to me. She is longing for me to arrive. I’m not even going to mention I earned money with the professor. She would consider it ‘trade.’”
CHAPTER 17
Later, alone in her room, Celia wrote a very long letter to her mother, telling her in detail about the visit to Farley Hall, her impressions of the Hall and of Sir Hugh.
She changed into a warm dressing gown, settled by the little hearth and untying the key from the diary she fitted it into a lock and turned it. Not for a moment did she think of not reading the book. Sir Hugh might have scruples about reading it but she did not. She had been denied knowing her grandfather and she hoped she might learn a little about him through his own written words.
The journal spanned at least a decade. Her grandfather had not written on it on a daily basis but rather, only when something of importance justified an entry.
It seemed to have been started as a sounding board, a place in which her grandfather, whose name was also Sir Hugh Downing wrote of the growing problems to save his property and his family’s way of life, as though by writing about these things he might find a way to resolve them. So it was indeed a history of the family at the point in time when what they had possessed for at least two centuries was slipping away from his fingers like the sands of an hourglass.
It had not happened all in her grandfather’s Sir Hugh’s time, though; thousands of acres had been lost by his forebears, but it was the last of it that was so hard to relinquish and the lot had befallen on him.
And so the diary served as a justification for whoever read it after his death of the struggle, the incredible fortitude in resisting fate, and the sad outcome.
Through her grandfather’s words, Celia felt what he must have felt himself and came to know him, for he came alive for her through the uniform square handwriting.
She could picture him as he strolled in his thoughtful walks with his cane. Celia could almost see him gazing at the fire in the library where she had seen the present Sir Hugh sit even as her grandfather had done, and worried at the fate of his only grand-daughter, Margaretta, when the entailed property would revert, at his death, together with his baronet title, to his cousin Hugh.
Years of struggle had taken their toll and he felt his health failing. What possessed him most in the last entries was Margaretta’s future. How to secure it? This was the problem come again and again to, since his heir, Hugh Downing, would not have a great interest in securing the future of a cousin he had not ever met. He wondered if the marriage he had arranged for her would be sufficient to secure her future. He had not had the time to acquaint himself with the young man as much as he would have wanted to because time was against him. He felt his life slipping away from him like the sands in the hourglass on the table by the window.
The physician has no hope for Annabel’s recovery, Celia read, the consumption has invaded her lungs to such a degree that she can hardly move her hand so that I must feed her myself. I do this with such love! Could I but be given this to do for the rest of my life, how gladly I would do it, if the Lord would grant me the wish of her life. But I see my dear’s life tapering to so thin a line that she can hardly lift her eyes to me, so weak she is. And she so strong she was before and struck down so suddenly with this evil malady. How strong I felt when I had her strength with me, to struggle year after year with no abatement from this ill luck to which I was born. I suffered everything gladly, for I had her. But now—can I be expected to go on in the loneliness that awaits me when my dear is gone? Yes, yes, I must continue the fight for the grand-daughter left to us, our little Margaretta, whose parents, my son Arnold and Katherine, died of the typhus, leaving their daughter in my care.
Celia closed the diary softly, unable to continue. She could hardly see the lock clearly to secure it, for her eyes were filled with tears.
She realized that her grandfather lived on in her mother and in Fred and Bella and herself and was thus comforted. It was for him they should carry their name in dignity. She had never felt as proud to be a descendant of Sir Hugh Arnold Downing as she was now, with her grandfather’s pride of family and tradition growing strong within her. And she thought back to her own struggles to keep her little family afloat now, and realized that she had carried her grandfather’s struggle unknowingly, since her father’s death.
She was writing the last letter she would write her mother before leaving in two days’ time back to Rook’s End on a bench in one of the two side gardens in front of the lodge. Then a rustle of horses nickering made her look up. She froze on seeing the Shelton Carriage turning on the circular drive and stop at the front door. Then she stood up.
Lord Robert Merrick alit and helped his sister Ellen, down.
Emotions inside her like whirling autumn leaves made Celia freeze and for a few moments even her vision was blurred.
With a bounding leap of her heart and the breath catching at her throat she saw Robert suddenly appear before her. He took her hand in his and placed a warm kiss on it that went clear down to her toes and back. She stood up, holding the chair for support for her legs were wobbly.
“I’m glad to see you again, Miss Meade.”
“Thank you—yes—I am, too,” Celia stammered.
Robert’s nearness had such a dizzying effect on her that after a hurried greeting to Ellen she led them quickly inside lest she fall right before them. She needed to sit and quickly! Her legs could not support her.
As if reading her thoughts Robert led her to a sofa when they entered the drawing-room a little apart from the others. Celia rang the bell and soon Henrietta had joined her and after the introductions she called for tea.
“I have seen members of your family on several occasions,” Robert said, sitting beside Celia. “They have expressed to me they miss you very much, especially your mother.”
“Yes,” Celia said through a tight throat. “I leave the day after tomorrow. Mama is incapable of managing on her own. She has written two and three letters a day, begging me to return from the moment I left.” She smiled indulgently.
She knew that if she looked into his eyes her eyes would fill with tears, so she looked down at her hands as he addressed her again.
“I have learned from your sister, Bella that you are taking painting lessons and are working with Justin Welsh. I know his work. He enjoys a success now, does he not?”
“He enjoys a modest success, my lord,” Celia replied, looking over his shoulder, “and not as much as he deserves. He is extremely talented but belongs to a group that has advanced ideas–ideas that do not sell when translated to the canvas. Yet his conventional paintings and classes furnish him with a very adequate li
ving. He is a very happy man, for he works at what he loves.”
The bell rang again and it was Liddell who called. And he was soon followed by Jeoffrey and Dora.
Celia was glad of the distraction as they were both pulled away from each other. She could not have held her tears for much longer.
Toward the close of the evening Celia, glancing up, happened to look toward where Robert was and saw that he was looking at her. Her body shook, so much that she wondered if it was obvious to the others. That blaze of light that Robert had brought into her life and that she had been forced to push away had come back to invade her heart the moment she saw him again.
* * *
As if reading Celia’s thoughts Lord Merrick crossed the room and asked her if she could take a turn in the garden with him.
But even together as they walked around the garden’s circular path, they seemed to be in opposite ends of a tunnel which was fearful because it was the unknown. Celia’s circumstances had not changed but she sensed that although Robert had been hurt at her refusal, he appeared to have accepted it and did not press her. Instead, he wanted to remain her friend, if they could not be…
“Your family misses you terribly,” he said but his eyes told Celia that it was he who missed her most.
And then he put into words what was in his heart:
“The time we spent together in the wood was the happiest of my life, Celia.”
“It was the happiest in my life too, Robert.”
Robert kissed her hand and then let go of it, slowly, softly.
Even though they parted, Celia knew that they would remain together in their hearts and that he would find the way for them to be together in their lives. She had seen the determination in his eyes.
“I can’t wait until you return to Shelton, Celia,” said Ellen when they rejoined the group, pressing Celia’s hand, as she and Robert moved to leave the drawing-room.