He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t bank on it. He’s not the same man after experiencing all he has over the past three years. We think this old house with its surroundings the best place on earth, but I daresay that’s because we’ve spent our lives here. Mr Ashleigh’s seen half the world now. He won’t look on this tiny corner of it the way he did before. No more will Mrs Nicolardi and young Mr Valentine after their travels.’ He smiled. ‘You and I are regular country bumpkins, I reckon.’
Charlotte smiled back. ‘And perfectly happy to be so.’
‘Aye, that’s true enough. I’ve all I want right here.’
On the point of impulsively concurring Charlotte hesitated. The past nine months had been enjoyable ones. John had become a close companion; it had been his opinion she had sought on many things ranging from the progress of the war to Kate’s continuing silence. There was no one else to ask. He had revealed surprising general knowledge, and reassuring common sense on the subject of the child left in her charge. The three had spent the greater part of most days together on estate business or in entertaining Kate. They could have been mistaken for a happy little family, except that the girl was not Charlotte’s and John was an employee — facts she sometimes overlooked in her contentment. However, complete happiness remained elusive.
‘I shall have everything I want only when Vere, Margaret and Val come home,’ she said wistfully.
The warmth in John’s glance began to fade as he got to his feet again. ‘Might as well wait for the moon to fall from the sky as to wait for that to happen. Mr Ashleigh will certainly have to return when Sir Gilliard passes on, but your sister and young Mr Valentine have shaken the dust of this place from their boots for good.’ His brow furrowed as he added in gentler tone. ‘Don’t lose sight of the fact that the little lass will one day return to her parents. Better to make the most of what you have than long for things unlikely to happen.’
Chilled by the reminder of something she did not want to face, Charlotte rose and walked to him, ‘Don’t mention that in front of her,’ she commanded in a semi-whisper. ‘Fear of returning to that life could keep her silent permanently.’
‘Aye, and so could your refusal to do as Sir Peter Heywood advised.’
‘You set yourself up as expert on children, do you?’
‘I’d not be so arrogant, no, nor so foolish, being a bachelor,’ he said calmly in the face of her challenging tone. ‘But Sir Peter is, and what he told you makes a lot of sense to me. She’s naught but a scared little creature who will remain that way unless encouraged to come out of her safe corner. A nervous foal will stay in the dimness of its stable all the time food is placed in there. You have to stand the dish a little further away each time to encourage it to venture outside. In some cases the beast will go hungry rather than face what it fears, but deprivation soon drives it to get what it wants by the only means. Once in the open it sees there is nothing to be afraid of.’
‘You can’t compare a child with a foal,’ she declared, trying to keep her voice low.
‘They’re both young, uncertain and easily scared.’ Angered by his level reasoning, Charlotte said with muted passion. ‘You didn’t witness her distress when I withheld the things she wanted. It was heartbreaking!’
‘Aye, there’s the problem. You’re too caring. Always have been when the family is concerned.’
‘You’ve made no attempt to do Sir Peter’s bidding. Kate gets all she wants from you.’
John’s ruddy country complexion darkened slightly as he said, ‘The lass has not been put in my charge. I’m paid to do as I’m bid by members of the family.’
Thrown into confusion by evidence that the situation had somehow become awkward in its frankness, Charlotte mumbled, ‘Don’t be silly. This is not an estate matter.’
John was clearly still uncomfortable as he settled the cap on brown hair silvering at the temples. ‘I spoke out of turn. It’s not my place to take you to task.’
‘But many times I’ve asked your advice on what to do, John. You must give your true opinion or I shall not trust anything you say.’
His colour darkened further. ‘There’s no man you can trust more. I’ve told you that before. With your brothers away, and Sir Gilliard feeling his age, you need someone to turn to. You know best what to do with your own kin, however.’ He began to move away. ‘I’d be pleased if you would see Benson about the blight on the gardenias some time this morning. It’d be a shame to lose them all.’
Charlotte watched him stride off and sighed. It was so easy to forget that he was in the family’s employ and regard him as the friend he had been since the day she had brought Kate to Knightshill. His words this morning had touched on a source of her own fear: that of the child rejoining her family. Was he right in believing the Ashleighs would never be here together again? Staring out over the gardens in which she had revelled a short while ago, Charlotte knew there was truth in what John had said. Val had always had his sights set on a career which would take him from Knightshill; his regiment would travel the world in pursuit of service to Queen and country. Laurence Nicolardi would travel it in pursuit of distinction, and Margaret would go with him taking Timothy, and baby Jonathan born last month.
Vere would surely have to return, whatever his plans, when their grandfather died. He had returned after war in the Sudan, but their relationship had not been the former warm closeness they had both enjoyed. Vere had been irritated by her attempts to revive it; she had been angered by his careless approach to all he had once deeply valued. Nothing would bring back those early days before Philip Daulton caught mission fever, before Vere met Annabel Bourneville and Val lost his head over the wife of his housemaster. John was right. Might as well expect the moon to fall from the sky. If Kate emerged from her silent state, if her parents sent for her to join them … Charlotte turned quickly to the child as apprehension stabbed at her heart. If Kate were ever taken from her she would return to a life of empty loneliness. This little silent child was her only means of escape from it. She fervently hoped the Nicolardis would remain content with their two boys.
After almost an hour in the glasshouses inspecting the gardenias with Benson, and concluding that the infected plants should be removed but not replaced until she had given some thought to the scheme of trying something new the following year, Charlotte took Kate to the nursery before tidying herself in readiness for luncheon. The black mood induced by her earlier thoughts remained as she entered the room where Sir Gilliard was already enjoying sherry.
‘Thought you had taken it into your head to forego food today,’ he commented glancing at the clock. ‘Like punctuality, you know. A man who is punctual makes a good soldier. Disciplined, in command of himself. Never knew a fellow who could not keep to time make anything of his career.’
Tempted to comment that it was fortunate she was a woman, Charlotte merely said, ‘I’ve been inspecting the gardenias. Blight has claimed rather a lot of them, I’m afraid. We shall suffer a loss this year.’ Accepting a full glass from him, she added, ‘I think we should consider new varieties for the future.’
Sir Gilliard’s white eyebrows closed together as he frowned. ‘Waste of valuable time! Always used those glass houses for flowers to put around these rooms. Never approved of growing them for moon-faced imbeciles-about-town to present to creatures who prance and warble on stages of theatres. Namby-pamby fellahs with no backbone. Never see a regimental officer make a fool of himself like that.’
Charlotte could not let that pass. ‘They certainly do, Grandfather, although I cannot agree that presenting flowers to a lady makes anyone appear foolish — it’s a very pretty custom — but I saw several officers waiting with bouquets outside London theatres when I was there with Margaret last summer.’
His frown became a glower. ‘I believe I have specifically forbidden you to speak of someone who disregarded all notion of propriety and duty to this family.’
‘That happened two years ago … and Margaret is still your
son’s daughter.’
‘She forfeited any claim to kinship by running off to live in sin with that man — a damned foreigner, to boot. The subject is closed, Miss. More to the point is when are you going to get yourself a husband?’
Swallowing her anger, Charlotte said, ‘I have no wish for a husband, being perfectly content with my life.’
‘Poppycock!’ he said explosively. ‘Never known any woman to be content without a man to guide her through life. I will not live forever — more’s the pity — and my place will be taken by a painter. Like it or not he will have to produce an heir before too long, and whoever he chooses for the purpose will not take kindly to having you moping around the place under her feet.’
Charlotte rose to that instantly. ‘I do not mope, Grandfather. I spend the greater part of most days around the estate with John Morgan.’
‘The man is perfectly able to manage it himself. Dogging a bailiff’s footsteps will not get you a husband.’
‘I have Kate to care for and educate.’
Sir Gilliard put down his glass with such force the stem shattered. ‘That child was brought here against my express orders. The moment she is cured of her affectation, she is to be packed off to her mother, d’you hear?’
‘Yes, I hear. You tell me so every time the subject is raised.’ Knowing his mood was liable to continue throughout luncheon unless she redirected his train of thought, Charlotte adopted a conciliatory tone. ‘Benson told me that his nephew has returned from South Africa full of praise for Lord Roberts, who ordered the heroic dash for Kimberley. The poor man lost a leg — Benson’s nephew, that is — but says he would not have missed the experience of fighting under one of the greatest generals in the army.’
‘Hmmm, should have sent Roberts at the outset. The whole affair would have been over within a week. Expressed that opinion in a letter to The Times. Prompted a missive from Lord Gamier. His grandson, Edward Pickering, has been kicking up a lot of dust on the same subject and getting himself disliked at Horse Guards. Great mistake! Subalterns should never presume to air their opinions, in print or in words. Damn his chances of advancement, it will, although his wounds make his military future somewhat doubtful, by all accounts. Pity. Good family, except for one weakling. In the cavalry, of course,’ he added with derogative satisfaction. ‘Thinks to get by on connections with minor royalty on his maternal side. Won’t, you know. Only thing that matters is a father’s pedigree. That shows the strength or otherwise of a line, nothing else.’
Riding his hobby horse he led the way to the smaller dining-room, yet Charlotte could not shake off the chill his earlier words had produced. Coming so soon after John’s reminder that Kate would have to return to her parents eventually, they again raised an unwelcome suspicion that haunted her quiet moments. Was she ignoring Sir Peter Heywood’s stricture only because Kate had been so distressed by having things withheld? Was there not also an inner fear of losing someone who made her life worthwhile, if the harsh treatment brought the child out of her self-imposed silence? Margaret and Laurence had indicated that they were reluctantly leaving Kate in England until she was cured. Their frequent letters expressed concern that no progress was being made. It was clear they missed the girl despite the joyous advent of a new son. Charlotte could not imagine Knightshill without Kate, could not think about sending her away to South America and returning to her own former state. If John was right and the family would never again assemble at Knightshill, then Kate was all she had to make life bearable.
The subject of generals and upstart subalterns occupied Sir Gilliard throughout the light meal, until Winters entered with letters on a tray. Charlotte was then treated to the usual speech concerning the advantages of horse-drawn mail coaches over trains which could not keep to a timetable. She did not listen because the handwriting was Val’s on the letter which topped those Winters placed beside her. The envelope was bulky. It was unlike Val to write a long letter, but she supposed he had a great deal to tell her about his exploits during the war. It was certain to be an enthusiastic account of things in which she had no interest, written with the same eager unselfconsciousness he used when relating things close to his heart. It was curious how her feelings for her brother had mellowed, how she now recognized his youth. Sudden yearning to see him after three years’ absence took her by surprise. They had never been close — not the way she had been with Vere — yet the sight of his boyish handwriting affected her deeply. This morning had produced too many truths. The threat of a lonely future once more hovered over her.
Keen to go through his pile of mail Sir Gilliard elected to be served coffee in the library, where he spent most of his time. Charlotte declined the drink and took her letters to her room where she sat to read them by the window, warmed by sunshine. She first opened Val’s and took out several sheets of paper folded around a photograph. It was a studio portrait of a very handsome young officer in elaborate and highly flattering uniform, with an impressive sword at his side. Charlotte studied the face sporting a moustache as blond as the crisp hair, and at the clear eyes gazing frankly at her. The man must be Val’s commander, yet he looked somehow familiar. Putting the picture aside she began to read the letter.
Dear Lottie,
I’ve been commissioned after a small engagement at an isolated farm outside Kimberley. I’m sending the photograph to you because I’m not sure Grandfather would open and read a letter from me, but I want you to show it to him as proof that I’m keeping my pledge to redeem myself. I was given a medal, too. My commission and the award will be gazetted, so he’s bound to see the entry. But please tell him yourself just in case he misses it. Of course, I’m still Martin Havelock, which takes the gift off the gingerbread, but I hope he’ll be pleased with the news, anyway.
Charlotte reached for the photograph. Was this assured young man the schoolboy brother who had been dishonourably dismissed from Chartfield and joined the ranks rather than face his disgrace at home? He looked so splendid and … yes, of course, he very much resembled the portrait of Vorne, hero of Khartoum, which hung in the main dining-room. The longer Charlotte studied the photograph, the greater the resemblance to their older brother appeared. How would Sir Gilliard react to this evidence that Val had made good? When was the best moment to produce it? His refusal to discuss Margaret, much less consider forgiveness, suggested that he was unlikely to relent towards Val, yet his obsession with the army might allow a softening of attitude on seeing this photograph. Val looked every inch an Ashleigh whatever he might now be called. Surely the old warrior would feel pride when he looked at his fine grandson in officer’s uniform.
The letter continued with a description of a grand house in Kimberley where he had convalesced after being wounded, and an enthusiastic account of the final dash to the Diamond City by the cavalry.
You’ll know how disappointed I was not to take part in it, Lottie, but the 57th distinguished itself and I’m very proud to be a member of such a regiment even as Second-Lieutenant Havelock. Vere presented me with my sword — on behalf of Grandfather. Isn’t it a splendid one?
It was wonderful to see him again after so long. We’ve both changed, so we talked with greater mutual understanding than we had before. He’s certainly made his mark as an artist and in a way Grandfather surely can’t dismiss. Vere’s outshone us all by combining the army with the profession he’s so good at. By now you’ll have received his account of the wedding, which is certain to be more descriptive and enthusiastic than any I could write, so I’ll just say that I like Kitty enormously. She’s not as pretty as Annabel Bourneville but much more interesting. I’m sure you’ll get on well with her, and Simon will be company for Kate. How is she, by the way?
The remainder of the letter went unread as Charlotte stared at the last few sentences and tried to take in their import. Her first impression that Val had married a girl called Kitty soon faded. He was only twenty-one. His colonel would never have given permission for such a match. By now you’ll have received h
is account of the wedding. She quickly sifted through her other letters but there was not one from Vere. She’s not as pretty as Annabel Bourneville but much more interesting. Charlotte’s heart began to race. Vere had married someone called Kitty. Why had he not become engaged and brought her home for the wedding? Why such haste? He had not mentioned this girl in any of his letters, so the whole affair must have been unconventionally swift.
Scanning those lines again she knew it was impossible to interpret them any other way. Vere had chosen the next mistress of Knightshill and made her his bride without consulting his family. Who was this girl? Had Vere lost his head again as he once had over Annabel? Was she a scheming ambitious nobody? Was that the reason for a rushed alliance in a foreign country? Dear heaven, what had he been thinking of to behave so irresponsibly? Yet Val claimed that she and this Kitty would get on well, so the girl could not be too dreadful. However, Val had been mixing with rough characters for the past three years so his judgement could not be relied upon. Simon will be company for Kate. Who was Simon? Kitty’s young brother? Had Vere married an entire family?
Agitation set Charlotte on her feet with the page in her hand. Going to the window she read that fatal paragraph through again before gazing out across Knightshill’s acres. As Vere’s wife, Kitty Ashleigh would be mistress of all this. She, herself, had held that position from the day Margaret had married Philip Daulton. A good many years spent as lady of this fine old house, although she had always known her reign was temporary. Vere would never turn her out of her old home, she knew, but his wife might resent the presence of a lone spinster sister once Sir Gilliard surrendered Knightshill to his heir. Even if Kitty did not, her own status might become unenviable. Would she grow afraid to walk freely about the house in case she intruded upon their privacy? Would she detect in them pity for someone ousted from a place she could never again occupy? Would their laughter and private happiness emphasize her lonely future? Would she become merely an unofficial governess for Kate and Simon? Could she stay here under such conditions?
A Distant Hero Page 26