‘Margaret is so secure with Nicolardi, Val. She looks radiant. I suppose none of us noticed how unhappy she had become with Philip.’
‘I did,’ Val said, at once. ‘The children were also affected. Trouble is, I put it down to your decision to go off to the Sudan.’ He leaned back and gazed across the garden. ‘It seems so long ago now — like a different existence.’
‘It was, old lad. You and I are different people now. We’ve lived, in the fullest possible terms. Margaret has, to a certain extent. With Nicolardi she’ll become the woman she was destined to be.’
‘That leaves poor Lottie,’ mused Val. ‘She wrote to me out of the blue just before Christmas. I naturally thought it was the worst possible news, but it was only a long informative letter in surprisingly friendly tones. I’m afraid I haven’t replied yet. I’ve been busy, and I was never much of a hand at letters.’ He made a rueful face. ‘I’ve kept in touch with Margaret, for all that.’
‘You two were always close. She practically brought you up after Mother left. Lottie … ’ Vere hesitated. ‘She was terribly lonely after we all went off under our separate clouds. I can understand what it must have been like for her with only an old man who cursed us all up hill and down dale whenever he emerged from his nostalgic solitude.’
Val nodded. ‘She must have been knocked for six when you left again after being at home for such a short time. She’s devoted to you.’
Vere looked slightly uncomfortable. ‘Devotion can be unwise in certain circumstances. Poor Lottie misguidedly fashioned her life around the family, forgetting that we would fly from the nest. I had the devil’s own job not to wallow in guilt over my decision. Then I reminded myself that my life was my own. The old man wanted me to sail to China with the West Wilts; Lottie wanted me to run the estate and grow gardenias. I had to get away and live free … until duty called.’ He frowned. ‘You know, Val, I often wondered if I was partly responsible for your trouble at Chartfield by going off to Egypt as I did, placing the burden of inheritance on your young shoulders. It must have increased your problems no end.’
‘By God, no!’ Val said in surprise. ‘I’ve never wanted to be Grandfather’s heir, because this is what I want to do with my life, but I was more concerned with what I thought of as the bloody idiocy of your decision.’
He chuckled. ‘You asked me to take care of the girls, and I remember thinking what a fat chance I’d have of doing that. Margaret mothered me, and Lottie thought I was beyond the pale. Neither would have heeded a word I said.’
‘So you don’t resent having the heirdom wrenched back?’
‘Wrench away! I’m bloody thankful to be rid of the responsibility.’
‘And Martin Havelock lives on?’
Some of Val’s gaiety faded. ‘The consequences of being found out are even worse now I’ve been commissioned, and I’m more likely to be recognized by someone I know. I’m banking on the fact that I haven’t been at Knightshill for two years and my moustache is a partial disguise.’
‘If you walked past in the street I might think you looked familiar. If I was told you were Second-Lieutenant Havelock I’d not take a second look.’
‘Good. Vere, I might not be known as an Ashleigh but I’m still very much one inside.’
‘I know that, idiot … and I know you’ll be the greatest of us all one day.’
Such words were music in Val’s ears but he shrugged them off to pursue another topic. ‘I can’t wait to get back to the regiment. My long-standing vow to destroy that fool Pickering can now be realized.’
His brother looked unhappy. ‘I wish you’d drop that notion. If he’s a fool he’s certainly not worth risking your career for.’
‘You don’t understand the situation. The little bugger’s out to get me. But I’m going to get him first.’
‘Be careful. You’re skating on thin ice as it is, Val.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ he said forcefully. ‘There’s a bloody long list of insults I’m going to blast away with one massive salvo. When I’ve finished with him there’ll be nothing left but a stinking little pile of manure.’
After a moment’s silence, Vere said, ‘You not only look different, you’ve also become tougher, more aggressive. And you’ve picked up some very colourful language.’
Val gave him a frank look. ‘Life in the ranks is hard, Vere. Boys at Chartfield could be cruel to those who didn’t fit in for some reason, but even their worse punishments were nothing to the things a man can suffer at the hands of troopers. My first weeks in a barrack room were indescribable, because a massive character named Deadman with a certain criminal past found that everything about me offended him. His campaign of punishment culminated in the torture of being held face down in a bucket of horse piss until I was on the verge of drowning, then being revived in order to repeat the process. I damn nearly died.’
Vere looked horrified. ‘I know enough about being a military misfit to understand that you could do nothing to stop him, but how on earth did you survive?’
‘Pickering returned from leave. The moment he began his campaign, Deadman and his mates became my fervent champions. They all hate him more than they hated me. Even so, I knew I would have to earn their championship. It was a slow business until there was a fire in the troop stable. Deadman and I brought out most of the horses against the odds. He would do anything for me now, and so would the rest. I was much happier as a sergeant, but I then knew enough to fit in well with the rest.’ He gave a short sigh. ‘I suppose I’ve become Martin Havelock to a certain extent … but I’m sure I’ll be a better officer for the experience. My men won’t be just a collection of familiar faces to me, they’ll be people I truly understand because I’ve been one of them.’
‘Yes, you’re right, Val. I’ve lived amongst young officers. They’re mostly suicidally courageous, but many are still senior schoolboys in outlook.’ Vere gave a rueful smile. ‘When I believed I was going off to a mock hero’s death in the desert, I regretted not having been a better brother to you. The wide gap between our ages was mostly responsible — you were away at school much of the time — and our interests were incompatible. I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying getting to know you.’ Val was also enjoying this reunion. They had never before talked on equal terms, never before found such common ground. It was a unique experience to discover a brother after twenty-one years. Vere shortly afterwards referred to those years.
‘You came of age last month. I know you could have no greater gifts than a commission and a medal for gallantry, but as soon as I heard the news I decided that I should like to make you a present of your sword. Under other circumstances Grandfather would do the honours. Please allow me to represent him.’
Val flushed with pleasure and found it difficult to reply immediately. Vere saw this and spoke again quickly. ‘I’d like to present it to you on Friday evening. I’ve already been told that you are perfectly at liberty to accept any weekend invitations.’ He smiled. ‘I want you to meet the lady I’m to marry on Saturday.’
Val was dumbfounded. ‘You damned sly old fox! Who is she? Why wait all this time to tell me? Well, I’ll be … congratulations.’ He offered his hand. ‘All the very best in the world. You deserve it. Now tell me all the details.’ Val’s visions of a second Annabel Bourneville were quickly dismissed as he heard that his new sister-in-law was a widow with a small son. He was further surprised to hear that she was not one of the well-born women who had come out from England to roll bandages and raise money to buy comforts for the troops, but had spent most of her life in the diamond community. Although Val was certain his brother knew exactly what he was doing, he could not help wondering what would happen when the bride arrived at Knightshill. Vere seemed destined to break every Ashleigh tradition ever established.
As Val listened to his brother’s plans, a sudden shadow fell across his knees. He looked up to see Vivienne Beecham regarding them with a smug smile.
‘Hallo,’ she said pertly to Vere
. ‘You two have been talking so earnestly you haven’t noticed tea has been set out on the terrace.’
Vere got to his feet with a charming smile. ‘Thank you for coming to tell us.’
‘Not at all,’ she responded, her smile widening wickedly as Val stood up glowering at her. ‘Havelock is usually hungry by now. You must have had some extraordinary things to say for him to almost miss tea.’
‘Well, we haven’t met for … ’
‘Miss Beecham is the daughter of my colonel,’ Val put in with heavy emphasis, before his brother could continue. ‘She was under siege here, unfortunately.’
‘I sympathize, Miss Beecham,’ Vere said smoothly enough. ‘I was with the column that relieved Ladysmith. The tales of hardship and fear I heard there were very moving.’
Vivienne linked her arm through Val’s in proprietary manner, completely in command of the situation. ‘Which regiment do you serve, sir?’
Vere shot Val a swift glance before saying, ‘I’m not a military man.’
‘Ah, a columnist for a newspaper?’
‘Something like that. You work here as a volunteer, Miss Beecham?’
She was not to be deterred by Vere’s attempt to put the emphasis on her. ‘Like many others. How do you come to be in Kimberley, sir, when you helped to relieve Ladysmith?’
‘The fortunes of war. I suppose you will return to England now the siege has been lifted.’
Val envied Vere his aplomb. He was, of course, well used to social intercourse with females of all ages through his many visits to the London home of stage designer Gilbert Dessinger. Even so, Val knew this was a potentially dangerous situation. Vivienne was not going to abandon the hunt now the fox was in her sight. He cast around for a way to put her off the scent and came to a reluctant conclusion. There was only one way to disconcert her.
Seizing Vere’s hand he shook it heartily. ‘Well, thank you very much. I’ll expect further news on Friday. You must excuse me while I escort Miss Beecham to the terrace for tea.’ Squeezing her arm hard against his side to prevent her from freeing herself, and clasping her hand tightly, he marched her with great determination across lawns well populated by patients and their visitors. He received several knowing winks or leers at their close proximity, but he walked on with the girl virtually imprisoned by his hold.
‘I wouldn’t have missed tea for anything,’ he said breezily as he practically dragged her up the steps to the terrace. ‘Good-oh, there are ham sandwiches today. Ah, there’s Miss Potter with Bramley Sparsholt. Let’s join them.’
Only when they reached another young volunteer helper sitting at an ornate table with a subaltern of the Horse Artillery did he release the arm Vivienne had slid beneath his own. Sitting her on a chair beside Amelia Potter with a firmness which brooked no opposition, he said he would bring her tea and crossed to the table covered by a starched cloth. As he filled two plates with sandwiches and cakes he congratulated himself on his initiative in averting danger. When he returned to Vivienne he saw his mistake. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes starry, and she wore an expression akin to excited hunger as she looked him over from head to foot. He had seen that same expression too often on the face of her cousin Julia Grieves. Life as an officer of the 57th Lancers was going to be tricky. This girl could hold his entire future to ransom.
10
KNIGHTSHILL WAS ALWAYS surrounded by a blaze of colour in April. Azaleas and rhododendrons bordered the walks of formal gardens where forget-me-nots formed carpets around narcissi and wallflowers. In the orchard, fruit trees were smothered in pink and white blossoms, and tall magnolias bearing huge ivory-coloured candles made the park both fragrant and beautiful.
Charlotte surveyed it all with a sense of warm contentment as she strolled with Kate on a sunny morning half-way through the month. Things were looking up. The news from South Africa had put Sir Gilliard in a happier frame of mind. Throughout the sieges he had been outraged, damning then despairing in turn as he read of the disastrous battles endured by the relief columns. He had ranted and raved, vilified the commanders, written countless letters to The Times and various military publications, and spent hours locked away with his maps and memories. The three invested towns were now free: the war was virtually over. Regiments shipped out as reinforcements would soon be coming home. Spring in England was celebrating with nature’s bunting.
Charlotte’s light-heartedness sprang from knowing that her two brothers were no longer in danger. Vere’s spasmodic letters had indicated that he was in the thick of the campaign. Val had not replied to her friendly note, but he was also certain to have been in the heart of the conflict around the besieged settlements. They were both now safe. With Grandfather emerging from his black mood, with sunshine and flowers all around her as she walked with Kate holding her hand, it seemed to Charlotte that happiness was on the threshold. Vere would surely come home soon.
As they turned into the water garden where sunshine sparkled the fountains and highlighted shimmering gold and silver carp, Charlotte wondered if the sight of her beloved uncle would disperse the fear which had kept Kate silent for so long. The child had regained her health and appetite and appeared contented in her childhood home, but she still did not speak. After his stern ultimatum that Charlotte could have Kate at Knightshill providing she was kept out of his way and her upbringing was resolved without reference to him, Sir Gilliard acted as if she was not there.
To compensate for this cruel treatment on the part of her great-grandfather, the little girl was cosseted by John Morgan who, as a bachelor, had established a surprising rapport with her. Yet the bailiff’s evident fondness and Charlotte’s devotion were not enough to break through the trauma that had brought about Kate’s silence. Charlotte had initially taken her niece to see Sir Peter Heywood once a month, but the visits had been discontinued when he ruled that Kate had discovered she could get all she wanted with nods or gestures and had grown lazy. His instructions not to respond to her silent messages, and to withhold what she wanted until she repeated words quoted by Charlotte, had been abandoned after just one distressing day.
Letters to Margaret and Laurence in South America took some time to reach them and produce replies. On this issue it appeared they could not agree, so Charlotte was given leave to do as she thought best. Although she did not object to taking such responsibility, she found herself more and more frequently seeking John’s opinion and advice. They formed a curious trio — a spinster, a bachelor and a child who looked upon them as substitute parents. Kate clung to Charlotte despite the fact that Nanny, the woman who had looked after the Daulton children from birth, had been re-engaged. Burgeoning loneliness no longer dogged Charlotte’s life, but she still dreamed of the day when the Ashleighs would again all gather at Knightshill.
The morning walk invariably ended with hot chocolate in the conservatory, or on the terrace if the weather was good. The sunshine allowed them to sit outside, and they had settled on chairs on the warm flagstones when John came from the direction of the greenhouse and stopped with a smile on the path below them.
‘I was hoping for a word with you, Miss Charlotte.’ He doffed his cap and swept a deep bow. ‘Good morrow, Mistress Kate. Have you visited the rabbits this morning?’
The girl smiled and shook her head, then offered her plate on which was a slice of spice cake.
‘Well, now, is that for me or for the rabbits?’ When Kate pointed at him he laughed. ‘I should get the length of Cook’s tongue if she saw me eating that after I’ve just turned down one of her apple dumplings. You wouldn’t want that, would you?’
Kate shook her head and began on the cake with gusto. Charlotte asked why John had been looking for her, and they fell into a discussion on the gardenias in Knightshill’s hothouses.
‘I’d be glad if you’d take a look at them,’ John admitted. ‘Benson says the blight that hit so many last year shows signs of bobbing up again. It might be worth taking out the doubtful ones and bringing in new growth.’
/> ‘You’re probably right,’ she agreed. ‘There’s no sense in risking the loss of them all. Perhaps we should consider something altogether different for next year. Branch out. If Vere had gone to China with the West Wilts he could have brought back fresh orchids. I have to say I prefer them to gardenias.’
‘Each flower has its own beauty,’ retorted the lover of all growing things.
Charlotte smiled. ‘How like Vere you sound. Maybe he’ll introduce some rare South African plants to Wiltshire when he comes.’
‘You’ve heard from him?’
‘Not yet. Doubtless there’s a great quantity of mail delayed by lack of means to transport it. We must be patient.’
John gave her a keen look. ‘You’re so certain he’ll return soon?’
‘Of course. He’s been away eighteen months. Now the war is won there will be nothing there for him to paint.’
Perching on the low pillar at the foot of the steps, he said, ‘I hope you’re right. There are a number of things I’d like him to consider and decide on before I go ahead with them.’
‘What nonsense, John!’ Charlotte told him warmly. ‘He gave you a free hand when he left because he has every faith in your judgement. We all have. When Vere gets here, I’m sure he’ll be happy to let you continue what you do wonderfully well. He’s certain to be much occupied with art commissions. His name is now greatly respected, and his work so generally admired, I imagine he will have little time for estate matters.’
John looked pensive. ‘Life plays some funny tricks, one way and another. Mr Ashleigh’s been renowned for his war pictures in the Illustrated, yet those paintings he did before going off to war are far better, in my opinion.’
‘How I agree with you,’ she cried with feeling. ‘He referred to them as “rustic daubings”, but they’re more beautiful than pictures of soldiers cleaning guns or lining up to receive letters. I sincerely hope he’ll return to his early love of the countryside in his future work.’
A Distant Hero Page 25