A tap at her door heralded Sarah Clarke, who apologized for intruding during the period in which her mistress normally took a short rest. ‘Mr Winters sent me to ask if you’d be so good as to step down to the library at the request of Sir Gilliard. I told him you’d be resting, Miss Charlotte, but he went all haughty as he sometimes sees fit to do and says, kind of sniffy, “The master does not require your comments, my good woman, he requires obedience to his instructions”. Well, it’s a good thing you’re not in your wrapper lying on the sofa, in my opinion, or Mr Winters would be obliged to wait for his “obedience”. My duty is to see to your best welfare, not to dance to his tune,’ she rambled on in aggrieved tones.
Charlotte was in no mood for her maid’s ruffled sensibilities. She guessed why her grandfather had summoned her at this hour, when he habitually read his mail in peace and privacy. Hardly knowing what she said to Sarah, she hurried from the room and made her way out at a very fast pace along corridors and down the broad staircase. Only when she neared the library did she feel sudden reluctance to enter and hear something which would irrevocably change her life.
Sir Gilliard was not at his desk. Standing with a letter in his hand by the framed and illuminated chart of the Ashleigh family tree, he appeared a remote and stricken figure as he gazed at the names of his distinguished ancestors. Charlotte waited silently until she grew convinced her grandfather was not aware of her entry.
‘You asked to see me?’ she prompted quietly, her heart still thumping.
He turned as if in a trance to stare at her. ‘I have received some disturbing news.’
‘Concerning Vere?’
‘Concerning my heir,’ came the harsh variation. ‘He writes that he has married a foreign widow of mature years, who has a son aged eight. They will arrive in England next month, when he proposes to take up residence here and resume life as a gentleman of property.’
Aghast at this news, Charlotte asked in unsteady tones if she could be allowed to read her brother’s letter. It was offered with a lethargic gesture. She scanned the lines written in Vere’s elegant script, taking in only the vital phrases … done me the honour to become my wife … charming, gifted, highly intelligent … late husband a wealthy diamond prospector … Simon is a bright but sensitive boy in need of security … grand-daughter of Sir Ralph and Lady Brinley.
Charlotte glanced up from the letter. ‘You said a foreign widow. She’s connected to the Brinleys. I met them when I stayed in London with Margaret. Laurence knew the family slightly. Sir Ralph is very deaf which makes conversation difficult, but his wife is known as an accomplished hostess.’
Sir Gilliard glared. ‘The woman has lived from childhood among some of the greatest scoundrels and rogues in the colonies. Any female reared with prospectors in a settlement containing establishments offering the vilest temptations of humanity, and in a country so primitive it is relatively uncharted, cannot be considered a lady and is certainly foreign.’
Charlotte unwisely continued in an attempt to lessen her own sense of shock. ‘Vere would not marry anyone unsuitable, Grandfather. He writes in great praise of her. Charming, gifted, highly intelligent,’ she quoted. ‘She cannot be the type of female you describe.’
The old general came from his initial trance with a vengeance. ‘I do not require the opinion of someone totally uninformed on anything other than the running of this household, Miss. You will see to it that appropriate accommodation is prepared for this creature and her offspring until the affair can be brought to a satisfactory conclusion. There are two small rooms at the rear of the east wing, well clear of the main area of the house. Have them cleaned and furnished with the bare essentials. They will be accustomed to far worse.’ He turned away and then seemed to forget her presence once more as he muttered aloud his thoughts. ‘Buy her off, that’s the thing to do. Easy to annul a ceremony performed in some hell-begotten corner of an uncivilized continent. I’ll get Parkington-Price on it. Weak! Always knew he was. Paintings. It’s the end of the line. Can’t consider the other one. That boy is beyond the pale and answering to another name.’ He put a finger up to touch a name on the chart. ‘The pride of the family dead at twenty-four. Bleached bones in the sand outside Khartoum. A giant of a man! A giant.’
To Charlotte’s additional distress, she watched Sir Gilliard’s white head bow as his shoulders began to shake. This sign of weakness in the man who had ruled the family with pride and great moral strength so disturbed her she turned and fled. Ten yards from the library she collided with someone who then held her steady. John looked down at her with concern.
‘You’d best come to the office,’ he said gently. ‘If you need help I’m here to give it to you, you know that.’
Once settled on the chair he pulled forward, Charlotte waited while he perched on the corner of his desk before revealing in quick agitated sentences what he would have to be told. ‘Vere’s married. No engagement. Married a widow with a boy of eight. In Kimberley. They’re arriving here next month. He says he’ll resume his old life.’ She gazed at him in appeal. ‘The acclaim he has earned with his pictures. All put aside as if unimportant! He sounds so … so settled. How could he give it up so instantly? Has he lost his senses? He need not have left Knightshill; spent all those months roaming the Mediterranean gaining experience.’ Her distress caused her tongue to run away with her. ‘Knightshill was no longer for him. If I had ever seen the desert I would understand, he told me. The world beckoned. He had to broaden his experience, meet people who could influence his career. Now he’s thrown it all away in a moment’s madness over this woman. How could he?’
John stilled her agitated hands by catching and holding them in his. ‘I’ve known Mr Ashleigh since he was a little sickly lad and he’s always taken pleasure in a brush and paints. He has a God-given gift. Taking a wife won’t rob him of it,’ he reasoned calmly. ‘Just this morning you hoped he’d return to painting flowers and wild creatures when he came home. That’s more’n likely what he’ll do.’ After some moments of silence during which John studied her with furrowed brow while she withdrew her hands, he said. ‘It’s not that that’s bothering you, is it?’
Still deeply shaken by what had occurred, Charlotte hedged. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your brother’s not the kind of man to bring to this grand old home of yours a lady who will make you feel uncomfortable.’
He had brought her fears into the open, yet still she avoided them. ‘Uncomfortable? Whatever do you mean?’ He continued to confront her, a solid, dependable man who had become a valued friend. ‘The new Mrs Ashleigh will be a stranger arriving at an unfamiliar place to meet people from a family which has owned this corner of Wiltshire for thirteen generations. Rather a frightening prospect, eh? She’ll look to you to help her settle in, show her over her new home. Without you to advise her, offer her a warm welcome, become her sister, her first weeks at Knightshill could be very unhappy.’
His words conjured up an entirely fresh picture. Kitty Ashleigh could be a sweet, gentle person overawed by her new affluent circumstances. She could be dreading her introduction to Vere’s family and friends. Grandfather would possibly terrify her. She would need the friendship and support of her husband’s sister.
‘She has lived since childhood in South Africa, although her mother’s family still resides in Berkshire,’ Charlotte told John thoughtfully. ‘She will be quite unfamiliar with England and how we go on here.’
‘Then she will badly need your friendship and guidance. Mr Ashleigh will be aware of that and knows he can rely on you to give it.’
‘Naturally. It’s my duty to do all I can for his bride — I think no one could accuse me of failing in that duty when Miss Bourneville was introduced — for, after all, she will be the new mistress of Knightshill.’
‘Aye, she will. Another frightening prospect for a lady from another country who knows little about how we go on here, as you already remarked. She’ll need you to guide her, take her beneath your wi
ng, so to speak.’ He gave a sad shake of his head. ‘You’ll have little time in the months ahead for Miss Kate. She’ll be all right with another child in the family — young ’uns soon warm to each other — but I … well, I’ll miss escorting you both on rambles and picnics.’
Charlotte smiled. ‘Nonsense, John! Summer is now on the threshold. You’ll have two children to amuse with such things. That’s if you have time. Vere will probably be full of new ideas and eager to implement them.’ She was suddenly struck by the thought that John was about to have his position at Knightshill usurped. After running the estate for three or more years on his own initiative, as if it were his own, he would next month revert to consulting and executing the decisions of his employer. Sympathy welled up causing her to stand and put a hand on his arm. ‘I suppose we must accept changes here once more, but the important thing is that this time an Ashleigh is coming home instead of leaving. I truly believe the others will follow.’
He stood. ‘Maybe. The only constant ones are you and me. We love this place and must pass that love on to the young ’uns.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘I’d best get moving. Mr Ashleigh’ll want to see everything in order when he arrives.’
‘He’s not coming until next month,’ Charlotte reminded him teasingly.
‘It’ll come round before we know it,’ he warned.
As she returned slowly through the silent house to her rooms, Charlotte reflected with slight sadness that a pleasant and enjoyable routine would be brought to an end with Vere’s arrival. She had certainly been longing for his return, although not under these circumstances, yet the past months had been very fulfilling. She had told John he would have two children to amuse, but it was unlikely. Vere would occupy much of his bailiff’s working day, then spend the rest of his time with Kitty and the members of his family. As their stepfather and uncle he would be the principal man in the lives of the children — and in her own, Charlotte conceded. Yes, everything was about to change once more.
Still musing on this, Sir Gilliard forgotten, she entered her sitting-room. Val’s letter and the photograph lay where she had left it. Taking it up she re-read the pertinent sentences that proclaimed Kitty more interesting than Annabel. The concept of a sweet, gentle person overawed by her new surroundings vanished. Val would never write this of such a person. He liked her. That was surely a compliment from a someone who normally paid little attention to females. Yet he had become disgustingly enamoured of his housemaster’s wife. Charlotte began to worry. Kitty was apparently a mature widow. Did Val like her too much, find her too interesting?’
‘Oh, stop, stop!’ she told herself softly. ‘All this speculation is ridiculous. I must wait until she arrives, then form my own opinion.’
At that point Nanny knocked before entering with Kate, who had taken her afternoon nap. ‘Do you wish me to accompany you to the village this afternoon? Sarah says you have to collect new shoes from the cobbler and deliver to the rectory a parcel of garments for the poor.’
‘No, Nanny, you need not come. I dare say we shall be offered tea at the rectory. Mrs Blunt hopes to solicit my help for the Spring Sale in aid of the destitute, and will soften my resolution with refreshment. She firmly believes such temptations as lemon cakes and sherbet will persuade Kate to speak in spite of consistent failure.’
Nanny’s mouth tightened. ‘Miss Kate is best left alone. If Sir Peter Heywood cannot succeed, it cannot be done. Prayer might do a power more good than lemon cakes for the poor little soul.’
To distract the woman from the subject on which she was prone to labour, Charlotte told her about Vere’s marriage. While Nanny oh my-ed and tut-tutted, Charlotte repeated the facts to Kate in tones of encouragement, adding the exciting news that she would soon have a companion in the nursery. The girl’s reaction was difficult to analyze. She merely clasped her aunt’s hand tightly as if afraid of losing her.
Once Nanny had departed in delight at the prospect of a second child to rear, Charlotte took up the photograph and held it out. ‘Look at this, Kate. He’s a person you know, although he looks rather different in this picture from when you last saw him. Do you recognize him?’
The girl gazed for a long time at the photograph of someone she had always regarded as a beloved older brother rather than a young uncle. An expression of joy slowly crossed her face, and she cried, ‘It’s Val.’ Reaching for the picture she hugged it against her smocked bodice. ‘I’m going to marry him when I grow up, Aunt Lottie.’
*
Vere’s letter arrived on the day following receipt of the news sent to Sir Gilliard. Her brother’s rapturous description of his bride created an altogether different picture of Kitty Ashleigh and confused Charlotte further. The new mistress of Knightshill clearly was no submissive creature overawed by her good fortune, neither was she the kind of woman Sir Gilliard had dubbed her. Intelligent, talented, courageous, warm hearted, generous and extremely vivacious was how Vere saw the lady of his choice. Charlotte read with astonishment the news that Kitty had owned and managed for some years an inn in the wild heart of South Africa, and before that had kept house with the help of a single servant for her father and husband, both diamond prospectors. However would she settle within the vast spread of her new home? She was a gifted pianist, according to Vere, who played Liszt for him without excessive persuasion. How had she learned this skill in the course of such a life? Most disconcerting of all was the information that Kitty was the daughter of Monkford Kellaway, an actor, who died tragically early in a brilliant stage career. Charlotte could in no way imagine the sort of person she must soon welcome as her successor.
The boy, Simon, would surely also be very much a fish out of water. Vere’s description of the boy’s life at a place called Vrymanskop suggested that he was shy, insecure and lonely. Used to amusing himself and roaming unescorted over uninhabited countryside, he seemed unlikely easily to adapt to the daily routine of Knightshill. A vision arose of an unkempt, surly child with little notion of good manners. Nanny would be horrified!
To counteract the apprehension created by Vere’s two letters was the joy of Kate’s emergence from silence. It had been instantaneous and complete. The child was now talking almost non-stop. Nothing would persuade her to relinquish the photograph of Val, which had created her release from self-imposed dumbness. She had always been intensely fond of him, and Charlotte began fully to realize the effect on Kate of Margaret’s secret departure from Knightshill. Tim was a typical Ashleigh with the desire to roam, but his little sister shared Charlotte’s love of home and security. Val’s photograph remained with Kate. Sir Gilliard was in no mood to see and appreciate what it signified.
The days prior to Vere and Kitty’s arrival were hectic. Charlotte immediately wrote to Margaret and Laurence relaying the good news about their daughter. She then arranged a visit to Sir Peter Heywood, believing it to be important to let him hear the child speak and proclaim her complete recovery. The consultation was not without its sting, Sir Peter declaring that the symptoms would have vanished a great deal earlier if his advice had been adhered to.
Charlotte booked a room in London for two nights in the hotel where she had stayed with Margaret and Laurence so that she could do some essential shopping. Vere would certainly wish to introduce his wife to the entire family as well as to local landowners. Visitors would again flock to Knightshill. Charlotte felt she should replenish stocks of linen, napery and glassware. Kitty would not want that onerous responsibility the moment she arrived, Charlotte told herself, refusing to own that her real reason was to ensure Ashleigh standards were maintained for her beloved brother.
After a morning selecting the best several stores could provide for her home, Charlotte took Kate to the exclusive modiste Margaret had patronized. She chose several dresses for the girl, then surrendered to impulse and bought a whole wardrobe of elegant day and evening gowns for herself. The ultimate madness was her purchase of a white velvet evening cloak lined with silk, and two coats, one of ras
pberry-red fine wool trimmed with satin, and the other a beguiling powder-blue broadcloth with cream-coloured frogging in military style. Several fetching hats were added to this selection, the whole to be sent to Dunstan St Mary by rail within several days.
Back at Knightshill Charlotte set about the next task. Sir Gilliard still occupied the master suite, and Vere’s rooms were suitable only for a bachelor, so she had chosen for the couple those once used by Margaret and Philip Daulton. They were situated near the nursery, so Simon would not be far from his mother. Charlotte was still disturbed by the fact of Vere’s bride having a son of eight. It was so contrary to what she had always imagined when considering a union which inevitably would end her reign here, and the close bond she had shared with her brother. Yet the break in those wonderful days of happy companionship had already been made, and she had no true justification to resent the woman who had somehow persuaded Vere to give her his name and the right to rule in a lovely old house the like of which an innkeeper with a chequered past never before would have seen.
The set of rooms took on many guises during the length of a week. Furniture was moved in, then out again so frequently that the servants despaired of their mistress ever being satisfied. The two sets of new curtains arrived from London and were first hung then taken down on each alternate day. Carpets were beaten and cleaned, laid, then taken up to be replaced by others. Bedcovers, pictures and ornaments all graced the rooms for a short while without satisfying the woman who was performing her last major task as mistress of the house.
Sir Gilliard made no mention of Vere or his marriage. His avoidance of the subject in any form added to Charlotte’s apprehension, which had mounted through being denied the chance of expression. She could not discuss Kitty Ashleigh with the servants, or with casual callers. If only Margaret were still at Knightshill! Although Charlotte had re-engaged Louise, the maid who had served Margaret until her abrupt departure, all she could tell the woman of her new mistress was that she was a former widow with a son, who would be taking over the running of Knightshill.
A Distant Hero Page 27