‘We shall talk later, at the hotel. The noise of the traffic makes all but the lightest of conversation impossible.’ Margaret gave a strained smile. ‘Grandfather would have a great deal to say on the subject. Does he still grow irate when the mail train arrives late?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘How is he?’
‘A little older, but much the same.’
The carriage was frequently halted by the mass of vehicles which made London’s streets increasingly noisy and dangerous. Drivers cursed and cracked their whips, horses snorted and whinnied until they surged forward again with a rattle of wheels and a tattoo of hooves, only to meet with an immobile line of traffic at the next junction. It was afternoon. Shopping was a favourite pastime for ladies who then called upon each other for tea and gossip. There would be a lull after four-thirty until people set out for theatres or dinner parties. Then the streets would be congested once more.
Charlotte was relieved when they reached the hotel and went up to the floor housing the suite occupied by the Nicolardis and the rooms they had reserved for her. She was tired after her journey and glad to rest before taking tea. The country peace of Knightshill seemed far away in the elegant rooms where she discarded her fawn travelling-dress and unpinned the demure hat her milliner had made her for this trip. Clothes that had seemed right in Wiltshire looked drab in these surroundings. Laurence was clearly a man of wealth. Perhaps he received an income from the Nicolardi glass business in Verona. Margaret dressed with a brand of elegance rarely seen in the provinces; her children wore clothes expertly tailored from quality cloth. They were now living in premises affordable only by those of consequence, and they had also apparently travelled extensively over the past twelve months. It made nonsense of Charlotte’s concept of a sinful, tawdry relationship.
Speculation was then banished by concern for Kate. Margaret’s behaviour in the carriage had suggested a serious problem, yet the child seemed perfectly well apart from an unusual quietness which could be due to the significance of the occasion. When one was only eight partings and reunions could be emotionally formidable, and Kate had always taken things greatly to heart. Recollections flooded in of days at Knightshill when the children had built snowmen with Vere or pelted Val with snowballs as he pretended to escape them. Then of summer days when they had picnicked on the downs, run races across the lawns and made daisy chains with the Benson twins, or peeped through an opening in the double doors at guests in excessive finery arriving for the Waterloo Ball. Those days had gone forever.
This reminder of loneliness set Charlotte dressing with determination in her best blue silk afternoon-gown. Action banished introspection. She would spend the coming three weeks in London, in company with people she loved. There were so many places to visit, and it would be over soon enough. Wiser not to spoil it all with foolish yearning for the past. Putting the finishing touches to her appearance, she decided that a shopping expedition must be undertaken if she was not to be dubbed a country bumpkin wherever she went.
This decision was strengthened on entering the other rooms where a dainty tea had been delivered. With her hat and jacket removed, Margaret looked stunning. Her golden hair had been swept into a complicated arrangement which would have defied the fingers of anyone at Knightshill, and her semi-sheer blouse revealed a lace bodice beneath. Charlotte’s silk gown looked dowdy against such finery.
It was certainly easier to converse with traffic noise deadened, and they talked of the times Charlotte had recalled earlier. Laurence sat patiently during these reminiscences from which he was excluded, and Charlotte began to warm to him. She hardly knew the man, of course. Perhaps her dislike and distrust had been unjustified. While Margaret and Timothy spoke with animation, Kate said nothing as she sat close beside Charlotte. The child drank a cup of milk but ate none of the sweet things that once used to tempt her.
After twenty minutes, Laurence announced that he would take the children to the park to feed the ducks, and rose to usher them from the room. Kate left without protest, but cast a longing backward glance at her aunt. Charlotte asked the nature of the girl’s illness as soon as she was alone with her sister.
‘We are endeavouring to find that out from Sir Peter Hey wood, who is reputed to be infallible in these cases.’
‘Which cases?’
There was a brief hesitation before Margaret sighed. ‘I had better tell you the whole story. You deserve to hear it, Lottie. When I left Knightshill, we were afraid Philip might try to trace and claim the children, so Laurence felt it would be better not to stay in any one place for too long. We left the ship on the coast of North Africa, then travelled to Egypt, Turkey, Russia and, finally, to a small Greek island. It was there that Vere’s letter caught up with us.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘News of Philip’s murder caused me no grief, I’m afraid. I merely saw merciful release for us all. You will probably find that hard to understand, because you can have no idea of the pain and humiliation a wife suffers at the hands of a man who abandons her and her children for an overriding passion.’ Another brief sigh punctuated her account. ‘We married as soon as Laurence could arrange it and began to plan a wonderful future. Then, on the verge of sailing to Italy to join the Nicolardi family, we were all smitten with fever. Kate was so ill we thought she would not be able to go with us when recovered. The Greek doctor said her constitution was not strong enough to withstand all the travelling we had done through countries with extremes of climate. I immediately thought of Vere, Lottie, and was afraid Kate had inherited the same weakness.’
‘I suppose it is possible,’ said Charlotte, concerned by what she was hearing, ‘although Vere was sickly from birth and Kate showed no signs of it at Knightshill. Sir Peter Heywood will surely set your mind at rest on that score.’
Margaret shook her head again. ‘It’s more complex than that. Since Kate’s fever broke she has not spoken to anyone — not a single word in two months.’
Charlotte could hardly take it in. ‘You mean she has been rendered dumb?’
‘That is what Sir Peter will discover — whether she cannot or will not speak.’
‘Will not?’ Charlotte cried. ‘Why would Kate do such a thing? Why would any child?’
Margaret’s voice suddenly broke, revealing the true extent of her distress. ‘Perhaps this is God’s punishment for my lack of grief over Philip’s death at the hands of those he felt driven to bring to Christianity. Or maybe … maybe my intense joy after misery has to be leavened by sadness because I sinned to achieve it. Either way, Kate is suffering.’
*
The following weeks were more eventful for Charlotte than the entire last year at Knightshill. Outings were planned each day by Laurence, who was skilled at arranging a timetable filled with variety and entertainment. Charlotte fell victim to his charm against her will, and then understood how Margaret had known her heart within so few weeks.
Her sister one day broached the subject of what story relatives and friends had been given of her whereabouts, and Charlotte told her, adding, ‘I imagine Grandfather will allow sufficient time to pass before announcing that you have remarried and settled abroad. I’m afraid he was adamant that he would not receive you at Knightshill, because you left for reasons he cannot accept.’
‘I suppose he is justified, Lottie.’
‘The same applies to Val.’
Margaret gave a faint smile. ‘That lad is too happily occupied to care. I wrote to “Martin Havelock” when Vere told me where his regiment is stationed. He replied with typical enthusiasm. He is now a sergeant hoping for a chance to be commissioned in the field if the present unrest out there develops into war — which I fervently pray it will not.’
‘According to Val, South Africa is the most spectacular country posing the ultimate challenge to men unfamiliar with the tricks it can play on them. It’s a somewhat enigmatic statement from our prosaic young brother, don’t you think? I suppose experience has changed him as it has Vere. He, by the way,
was fit and happy when we met. Not having seen him since he went off to the Sudan looking haggard and wretched over that Bourneville girl, I was delighted by the person he had become.’
Charlotte had read with mixed feelings Vere’s letter sent via Margaret. Her brother was visiting galleries, sites of historic interest and so much that he had never expected to be able to see in person. There was no mention of Knightshill or of missing her. He wrote that he had found instant rapport with Laurence, who had effected introductions to several influential people interested in new artists. Vere expressed delight at Margaret’s new lease of life with a man more worthy of her than Philip had ever been. He hoped Charlotte would find it possible to overcome her reservations and meet the Nicolardis in London, or she might forever regret a lost opportunity.
The letter dampened her spirits for a day or two with its reminder of a spinster who had little understanding of love, but she could not be long depressed in the company of those set on entertaining her to the utmost. Margaret led her into extravagance during several shopping excursions. She bought gowns in the latest fashion and in shades she had never before considered, not once dwelling on the likelihood of attending functions in Wiltshire which would justify the wearing of these elaborate clothes. Laurence knew a great many distinguished and cultured people so there were dinner parties, soirées and theatre visits in their company. Sir Gilliard was known, if only by repute, to most of Laurence’s more senior acquaintances; Vorne’s heroism outside Khartoum was revered by everyone. A great many people also had seen Vere’s impressive pictures of war in the Sudan published by The Illustrated Magazine. Speaking of her brothers and grandfather to these people revived Charlotte’s natural vivacity. This was how life used to be at Knightshill when they were all there together and she was at ease with their guests.
Beneath all the pleasure, however, she constantly worried about the reasons for the Nicolardis’ presence in London. Kate remained silent, although Sir Peter had established that her vocal chords were undamaged when she gave a cry of fright as he burst a balloon behind her. Each time Margaret and Laurence took the girl to the eminent doctor, Charlotte was left in Timothy’s entertaining company. He made no secret of his pleasure in being with her but, although he spoke of Knightshill with great affection, he gave no sign of wanting to return there.
‘I think Kate misses home,’ he said one afternoon, while walking in the park. ‘Before this happened to her she was always talking about it. Do you think it would help her to go to Knightshill?’
‘She would have to leave again,’ Charlotte pointed out.
‘I forgot that. Poor Kate! I wish I knew what to do.’
‘Sir Peter will know. We must rely on him.’ She pointed in the direction of the lake. ‘Shall we take this path?’
He grinned up at her. ‘I’d rather go the other way and see the Guards outside the palace. Is that all right?’
‘I suppose so.’ She had known all along that was where he intended to walk. The lure of a military uniform was irresistible to him. Not for the first time she wished Sir Gilliard would relent and see them all. He would be proud of Timothy, who resembled both Vorne and Val so strongly and who matched their warrior spirit. Grandfather could indulge this boy who was every inch an Ashleigh, and stop living in the past.
As they strolled the paths where nursemaids pushed perambulators containing the heirs to fortunes and titles, and where smart soldiers promenaded with their sweethearts, Charlotte was beset by the thought of just one week of her visit remaining. She must then return to loneliness; say goodbye to Margaret and the children without knowing when they might meet again. The halcyon days would end leaving more memories to haunt her.
‘What is it, Aunt Lottie? You seem so sad.’ Timothy was looking at her with such concern she longed to hug him close, but she knew he would be embarrassed by sudden affection in the park. Instead, she indicated one of the long benches.
‘Shall we sit here for a moment? I should like to talk seriously to you.’
‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘Are you feeling unwell? Mama does sometimes, and Father tells her to rest.’
As they settled on the warm wood, she asked, ‘You think a lot of Mr Nicolardi, don’t you?’
He seemed surprised. ‘Of course. He’s the most splendid man I’ve ever met. He knows exactly how one feels about things, and the answers to any questions one asks. I think he is acquainted with every country of the world.’ He moderated this exaggeration with a grin. ‘At least, it seems that he is. He’s a diplomat — but you know that — so I suppose he has to be on good terms with the people he meets.’
‘He is on particularly good terms with you?’
‘Oh, yes! We discussed, man to man, my wish to join the West Wilts and he approved right away. Not like my other father.’
Finding the boy more confiding than she expected, Charlotte decided to probe further. ‘Have you never missed the Reverend Daulton?’
Timothy coloured slightly, and gave his reply while looking ahead to where two dogs were barking at ducks gliding past in a flotilla. ‘I am sorry that he was killed by the heathens he wanted to help, but I always felt they meant more to him than we did. Kate was frightened of him, you know, and I was angry about not being allowed to go to Misleydale and then on to Chartfield like all Ashleigh boys.’ His flush darkened. ‘I would have run away and joined the regiment as soon as I was old enough. So, you see, it has all turned out well for me … and Mama is much happier with Father than she was with him.’
After waiting for a portly gentleman to pass with a very young woman in an astonishing yellow ensemble, who betrayed the fact that she was not his daughter by ogling him with a pair of brown eyes, Charlotte followed up Timothy’s last statement.
‘Is Kate as happy in her new life as you and Mama?’ Timothy was gazing at the swaying rear of the girl in yellow with a disconcerting amount of interest. Charlotte had to repeat her question before he collected himself and turned towards her.
‘Father is very fond of her. He says she is more intelligent than he expected after being denied regular lessons by our other father. Kate learns quickly and seems to enjoy being taught something more interesting than religious tracts.’
When he stopped, Charlotte regarded his intent expression for a moment. ‘You have not answered my question, Tim. Is Kate as happy as you and Mama?’
He frowned. ‘Perhaps not. But she’s not unhappy. She likes Father and obeys him without any fuss … but she’s always talking about Knightshill. At least, she was before she caught fever and stopped speaking altogether.’ His faced screwed into a pensive expression. ‘She’s never far from your side, is she? Do you think she would like to go home rather than visit all these fascinating foreign countries? Perhaps she’s too young to appreciate them,’ added the ten-year-old. When Charlotte made no immediate comment, he slid to the edge of his seat hopefully. ‘Can we go to see the Guards now?’
*
Margaret and Laurence were unusually quiet when they returned from Kate’s appointment with Sir Peter Heywood, saying merely that progress had been made. Charlotte did not press them for elaboration, guessing that it would be offered when the children had gone to bed. Her conversation with Timothy stayed in her mind whilst dressing in a gown of plum-red silk for an evening at Daly’s Theatre. The boy was very discerning for his age. She had not the heart to tell him Sir Gilliard had forbidden him and his sister to enter their former home. He would be deeply hurt.
The Nicolardi carriage collected a former ambassador, his wife, son and daughter, so conversation was lively during the short drive. The musical play was entertaining and colourful, if not a little saucy, but Charlotte laughed with her companions who were more sophisticated than she. In this mood of conviviality they all enjoyed the dinner Laurence had chosen to round off another evening which brought Charlotte’s departure nearer.
During the return drive she fell silent amidst the merry group. Thoughts of the empty rooms and corridors of Knightshil
l invaded her, and the spectre of loneliness drove away the pleasure she had known that evening. On reaching their hotel Margaret asked her to join them as she and Laurence wished to discuss something important. Suspecting that it concerned their meeting with Sir Peter, Charlotte walked with her sister to their suite furnished lavishly in blue and gold which had become a familiar venue after two weeks. Declining Laurence’s offer of a nightcap, she leaned back against brocaded cushions and waited for Margaret to begin. When she did, it did not appear to be about Kate at all.
Standing beside her husband, Margaret said, ‘When we left England last year Laurence resigned from the Diplomatic Service. He did not relish doing so but he had little choice under the circumstances. It was his intention to join his Italian family’s business, when we felt the situation allowed such a move. Philip’s death enabled us to go to them in Verona sooner than we anticipated.’
Charlotte was taken aback by talk of matters which should be confidential between husband and wife. She was further surprised when Margaret glanced at Laurence and said, ‘Perhaps you should continue, dearest.’
He nodded. ‘Charlotte, you have been made aware that I have acquaintances in high office in London, so it may not surprise you to learn that my presence has given rise to some discussion of my affairs.’ His eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘Although my marriage to a beautiful widow followed rather too soon after the death of her husband, it has been decided that the haste may be overlooked as my bride is the granddaughter of a renowned general who earned the gracious approval of Her Majesty during his years at Horse Guards. In short, my former masters have asked, nay, begged me to accept a diplomatic post for which I appear to them to be uniquely suited.’
Margaret spoke before he could continue. ‘Laurence will not tell you this, so I must. He is fluent in eight languages and has a distinguished record of service to this country. His mother remarried on the death of Antonio Nicolardi, so Laurence was reared as an Englishman despite having two Italian parents.’ She took her husband’s arm affectionately. ‘Lottie, he would never be happy as an Italian glassmaker. He is a talented diplomat and his resignation was the greatest of sacrifices for my sake. With all my heart I want him to accept this post.’
A Distant Hero Page 6