Daughters of Castle Deverill

by Santa Montefiore

  Suddenly Digby spun round and began marching back towards them. His face was as red as a berry, his arms outstretched as if he was hoping to shield them from something he didn’t want them to see. ‘Ladies, please go back to the castle,’ he said and his voice was fiercely commanding. Celia was suddenly assaulted by a wave of nausea. Behind her father, swinging from a tree, she could see the body of a man. She put a hand to her mouth and gasped. ‘Please. Beatrice, take the girls back to the castle,’ he repeated, more forcefully. In any other circumstance they would have done his bidding. But Celia, propelled by a sense of terror and dread, stubbornly strode past him, thrusting him out of the way with such vigour that he nearly fell over. Digby regained his balance and reached out a desperate hand to restrain her, but she was already running through the snow, her vision blinded by tears, her breathing laboured and rasping. There, hanging pale and still like a sack of flour, was Archie.

  Celia threw her arms around his legs in a vain attempt to lift him. A low moan escaped her throat as she struggled beneath the dead weight of her husband. At once her father was pulling at her, trying to unpeel her hands. His voice was soothing, encouraging, but all Celia could hear was the blood throbbing in her temples and the groans that rose up from her chest and were expelled in wild, unnatural sounds that were alien to her.

  Beatrice was sobbing, Maud staring in shock at the dreadful scene unfolding before her, while Charlotte collapsed onto her knees in the snow and wept with relief. And then, amidst the turmoil, Harry strode into view. They all turned to him in astonishment and Harry’s eyes shifted to the limp body hanging from the noose and to Celia who was still clinging on to his legs, unaware that no amount of lifting could save him. He was long dead. Charlotte scrambled to her feet and fell against his chest. ‘Oh, Harry! I thought it was you!’ she howled. Harry wrapped his arms around his wife, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Archie’s blue face and broken neck. Slowly the full horror sank in.

  At last Digby, with the help of Harry and Eric, who had been drawn to the scene by the commotion, managed to prise Celia off the body and take her back to the castle. Digby telephoned the Garda and the doctor, then he called the Hunting Lodge to inform Bertie of the dreadful news. ‘Good God!’ Bertie swore. ‘What on earth made him do it?’

  Digby sighed. ‘There’s only one reason why a man in Archie’s position would take his own life and that’s money,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling that Celia is in for a rough ride.’

  ‘I’m coming right over,’ said Bertie, putting down the receiver.

  It wasn’t long before the entire family had assembled once again in the drawing room, muttering in low voices: ‘He had everything, why would he throw it all away?’ Did anyone notice he was unhappy?’ I don’t think I’d ever seen Archie so content.’ ‘Appearances can be deceptive.’ ‘He must have been hiding something terrible.’ ‘Poor Celia, what’s she going to do without him?’

  Celia sat by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, drinking a glass of sherry. The glass trembled in her hand and her lips were quivering in spite of the warmth of the room. She was a pitiful sight, sobbing quietly. The woman who only moments before had been commenting on her good fortune was now grieving the loss of it. ‘He’s ruined Christmas,’ she snivelled. ‘He’s ruined my New Year’s Eve party. How could he, Mama?’

  Beatrice, who had drawn her daughter against her bosom and was stroking her hair as if she were a little girl again, turned to her older daughters and said, ‘She’s in shock. Poor child.’ Leona and Vivien nodded, feeling guilty now for the animosity they had felt towards their younger sister who had appeared to have it all.

  Kitty arrived with Robert. She flew to her cousin where she knelt at her feet and took her hands, squeezing them gently. ‘My darling Celia, I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  Celia lifted her swollen eyes and smiled through a blur of tears. ‘We were so happy,’ she said numbly. ‘Archie was so happy. Castle Deverill and his family were his greatest achievements. He was so proud of it all. Why, when he was celebrating his success, did he feel the desire to run away? I don’t understand. How could he do it to me?’

  ‘He typed a note that said simply I’m sorry,’ Beatrice informed her. ‘It wasn’t addressed to anybody. Isn’t that an odd thing to do? Why didn’t he write it in his hand and why didn’t he explain himself?’

  ‘He won’t have been in his right mind,’ said Kitty wisely. ‘He won’t have been thinking about you or his children. When people are that unhappy they think only of themselves.’

  ‘He didn’t seem unhappy,’ said Leona.

  ‘He seemed very happy,’ added Vivien.

  ‘But he’s left me a widow!’ Celia stated sadly. She stopped crying as if the thought had only just then occurred to her. ‘I’m a widow. My children are fatherless. I am alone.’ And she was overcome by another wave of sobbing.

  ‘You’re not alone, darling,’ said Beatrice, pulling her deeper into her bosom. ‘You have all of us and we’ll never leave you.’

  Kitty pulled a bag of green leaves out of her pocket and thrust them in Beatrice’s hand. ‘This is Adeline’s cannabis,’ she told her. ‘Infuse it in tea. It will calm her down.’

  Augusta filled the doorway in her Victorian black dress and black shawl and stood for a long moment leaning on her stick and gazing around the room imperiously, searching for her granddaughter. When at last her eyes found her in her mother’s arms by the fire, she waded through the throng that parted for her deferentially and ordered her husband, as she passed him, to bring her a very large glass of brandy ‘at once’. She approached the sofa where Leona and Vivien were sitting and flicked her bejewelled fingers so that the two women vacated it at her command. Their grandmother dropped into the cushions and seemed to spread like a chocolate pudding until there was no space for anyone else either side of her. Kitty, who was still at Celia’s feet, moved herself to the club fender where she duly sat alongside Leona and Vivien like one of a trio of birds on a perch.

  ‘Well, my dear, this is a tragedy none of us could have foreseen,’ Augusta began gravely. ‘He was much too young to die. One never knows when the Grim Reaper is going to gather one, but to gather oneself is surely an act of the most selfish kind.’

  ‘Augusta,’ said Beatrice in a warning tone.

  ‘I cannot hide my feelings, Beatrice. This young man has done a wicked, wicked thing. Celia does not deserve this. She has only ever been a good wife. Believe me, I have had moments in my life when I would rather not have woken up – but I would never have burdened my family with the shame or the misery. What on earth was he thinking?’

  ‘We just don’t know,’ said Beatrice, trying to be patient. She wished everyone would leave so that she and Celia could be alone together.

  ‘Money,’ said Augusta with a snort. ‘A man only goes to such extremes over a woman or money. We can safely assume that it was not on account of a woman.’

  Celia sniffed. ‘He had pots of money, Grandma,’ she said.

  ‘Well, we shall see,’ Augusta sniffed. She ran her eyes over all the expensive things in the room. ‘This just might have been his undoing,’ she said tactlessly as her granddaughter dissolved once again into sobs.

  The doctor arrived and Celia was taken upstairs by Kitty and her mother, where she was given valerian drops to calm her and put to bed, as Adeline had been the night Hubert was killed in the fire. ‘We’re cursed,’ said Celia drowsily.

  ‘We’re not cursed,’ Kitty reassured her, sitting on the side of her bed and taking her hand. ‘Adeline used to say that I was a child of Mars and that my life would be full of conflict.’

  ‘Then I must be a child of Mars too,’ said Celia.

  ‘You sleep now. Archie is all right where he is. You have to trust me on that. You are the one we need to look after now.’

  ‘Is he really all right? He’s not still hanging from that tree?’ Celia’s eyes shone with fresh tears.

  ‘He escaped that body before he even
knew what was happening.’

  ‘But he’s not going to rot in Hell . . .?’

  ‘God is love, Celia.’ She stroked the hair off her forehead. ‘And souls can’t rot.’ She smiled tenderly at her cousin and remembered the long talks about life after death that she used to have with Adeline in her little sitting room that smelt of turf fire and lilac. ‘Archie was not a bad man. I suspect he took his life because he couldn’t face the future. It is not a sin to lack courage. He’ll be embraced by loving souls and shown the way home, I promise you.’ Celia’s eyes grew heavy. She tried to speak but the words were lost on her tongue as she retreated into slumber.

  Kitty returned to the drawing room. Everyone was talking in normal tones now that Celia was no longer in the room. ‘We will have to inform Archie’s family,’ Bertie was saying, standing in a huddle with the other men.

  ‘That’s a responsibility I would not wish on my worst enemy,’ said Victoria from the sofa where she was sitting beside her mother. She had lit a cigarette which was placed in its elegant Bakelite holder and was looking at Augusta, who had subsided on the sofa opposite and fallen asleep, her chins sinking into her bosom like a collapsing soufflé.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the sight,’ said Maud weakly, sipping her second glass of sherry. ‘To think that might have been Harry.’

  ‘It wasn’t Harry,’ said Victoria reasonably.

  ‘But Charlotte put the fear of God into me,’ Maud continued. ‘What on earth was that all about, do you think?’

  Victoria drew on her cigarette holder. ‘I haven’t a clue. Perhaps they’d had a fight.’

  ‘Men don’t write suicide notes because of a petty quarrel,’ said Maud. ‘I hope they’re not in trouble. Our family can’t cope with any more scandal.’ She looked up as Bertie took the place on the sofa beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry you were frightened,’ he said softly. ‘Charlotte feels very bad for having scared you.’

  ‘Good,’ said Maud crisply. ‘Because she did. Silly girl, making a fuss about nothing.’

  ‘I suppose Harry’s been suffering in silence,’ he said.

  ‘Suffering? About what?’ Maud asked.

  ‘Losing his home. We’ve all had to put on a good show, but I dare say it hasn’t been easy for any of us.’

  Maud dropped her gaze into her sherry. The sharp edges of her face softened a little as she let down her guard. Leona and Vivien had moved to the other end of the room and Augusta was still asleep, so they were alone, just the three of them. ‘No, I’m sure you’re right,’ she said. ‘It hasn’t been easy for anyone. Not even for me who never really loved this place like you all do.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ The tenderness in Bertie’s voice took her by surprise.

  ‘For all my stubbornness I mind dreadfully that Harry won’t ever really be Lord Deverill of Ballinakelly as he ought to be, by right. The title’s meaningless without the castle.’

  ‘I mind too, Mama,’ Victoria agreed. She grinned raffishly through the smoke. ‘We’ve all been very brave.’ She didn’t feel it polite to add that, if the castle had been as comfortable before the fire as it was now, she would never have been so keen to leave it.

  ‘I’m happy that you decided to come back,’ said Bertie, gazing at his wife with appreciation. ‘I’m only sorry that your stay has been marred by tragedy.’

  ‘We’ve endured a great deal of tragedy,’ said Maud, lifting her chin to show that she wasn’t going to allow another to devastate her. ‘But we’ve survived. We’ll continue as we always have. You Deverills are made of stronger stuff. I’m not, but you drag me along in your slipstream and that helps.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Thank you, Bertie. Your concern is touching.’ Bertie smiled back and Victoria wondered whether the embers of their marriage hadn’t entirely been extinguished as she had thought.

  Kitty’s eyes strayed to one of the windows where she could see a group of Gardai in their navy uniforms and peak caps carrying Archie’s body across the lawn wrapped in a sheet. ‘Where’s Digby?’ Kitty asked as Robert joined her.

  ‘In the library talking to the inspector. I dare say we’ll find out shortly why he killed himself,’ said Robert. ‘He might have left a kinder note,’ he added. ‘Celia has no explanation, nothing.’

  ‘That’s because he was too ashamed to articulate it.’

  ‘About what? Do you know something, Kitty?’

  ‘I suspect he’s lost all his money, like so many have. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Celia that they have nothing left. I can’t imagine why else he’d want to end his life. I’d put my money – the little I have of it – on shame.’

  ‘Good Lord. I hope she won’t have to sell Castle Deverill.’

  ‘I hope not. If she does, then we’re all in trouble.’

  Robert took her hand and smiled affectionately. ‘Whatever happens, Kitty, we’ll be all right. We’ll weather anything that’s thrown at us because we’re united and strong.’

  Harry later found Charlotte in their bedroom. She was sitting at the dressing table, brushing her long strawberry blonde hair with a silver brush. ‘I was wondering where you had got to. I’m sorry. I should have been more attentive.’

  ‘Come and sit down,’ she said, replacing the brush on the dressing table and turning round on her stool. ‘I have something important I want to say.’

  Harry pulled up a chair and sat facing her. He dreaded that she was going to request a divorce. He didn’t think his mother would survive divorce, especially after the horrors of today.

  Charlotte gazed at him and he noticed that her blue eyes had softened like water in springtime. They were no longer frozen with resentment but glowing with warmth. ‘I thought it was you who had hanged yourself today,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Oh my darling. Do I look so miserable?’

  She smiled sadly. ‘Yes, you do. When I saw the empty bed and then heard what was in the note, I assumed that you had gone and done something stupid. So I made a bargain with God.’

  ‘What sort of bargain?’

  ‘I told him that if you were alive I would forgive you and let you see Boysie again.’

  ‘Charlotte—’ he began.

  ‘Don’t interrupt. I’ve thought about this a great deal. I love you, Harry. I wouldn’t have been so hurt if I didn’t love you. I’m sure that you love me too, in your own way.’

  ‘I do,’ he replied.

  ‘But I know you don’t love me in the way that you love Boysie. It’s not conventional, but it’s not for me to judge you. Love is a wonderful thing, wherever it flows.’ She looked down at her hands which were folded neatly in her lap. ‘I don’t know whether Deirdre is aware of how Boysie feels about you. Perhaps she knows and it is I who have been naïve. But I’m not going to be naïve any longer. I love Boysie too. I’m unhappy that he is not in our life any more. I miss him.’

  ‘Oh Charlotte . . .’ Harry unfolded her hands and took them in his. ‘I do love you. Do you think there’s room in our marriage for the three of us?’

  She laughed and blinked away the tears, all except for one, which glistened in her long eyelashes. ‘I think there is,’ she said.

  The irony was, that in that moment of magnanimity, Harry realized that he loved his wife more than he had known.

  Chapter 19

  New York, 1929

  Bridie’s happiness was complete. She was engaged to the dashing Count Cesare di Marcantonio and living in a city drunk on optimism, opportunity and rising wealth. America shared her confidence. President Hoover foresaw a day when poverty would be wiped out; economists defined a ‘new plateau’ of prosperity and predicted that the country’s affluence was here to stay; ordinary people believed they couldn’t go wrong buying stocks and everyone, from the shoeshine boy to the wealthiest men in the city, played the Stock Market. Bridie sang along to Irving Berlin’s ‘Blue Skies’ with the other New Yorkers who believed they had at last reached the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and she
spent with the extravagance of someone who believes that pot to be bottomless. She ignored Beaumont Williams’ warnings of an imminent crash, but Beaumont, so right about most things, was right about this.

  The Crash, when it happened, was devastating, falling as it did from such a great height. Bridie listened to the wireless and read the newspapers and her first thoughts were for herself. She never wanted to return to the poverty of her youth. ‘How does this affect me?’ she asked Mr Williams as she settled into the familiar leather chair in his office in front of the fire which had not been lit on account of the warm autumn weather.

  ‘It doesn’t,’ he replied, crossing his legs to reveal a slim ankle and a crimson sock. ‘I took the liberty of instructing your broker to buy you out before the panic-selling,’ he explained casually, as if his ingenuity were but a trifle. ‘You might recall that I have been expecting this for months. Stocks have been grossly overvalued for years and I decided you should take your profits. Rothschild wisely said, “Leave the last ten per cent to someone else.” You’re richer than ever, Mrs Lockwood.’ Indeed with unemployment rising, farms failing and automobile sales falling he wasn’t the only person to sense the oncoming of disaster, but he was certainly one of the few to act in time to avoid it.

  Bridie flushed with gratitude. ‘Why, Mr Williams, I don’t know what to say . . .’

  ‘Your husband Mr Lockwood was a shrewd man. He invested much of your fortune in gold. I predict that the gold market will recover.’ He opened a leather book and rested it on his knee. Then he pulled his spectacles out of his breast pocket and settled them on the bridge of his nose. ‘I suggest we arrange a meeting with your broker, but in the meantime I requested that he send round your portfolio to put your mind at rest. As you will see, Mrs Lockwood, your money has been wisely invested in short-term bonds to the US government, in prime property and land. I am not one to heap praise upon myself, but in this instance, I might concede that I have, indeed, been canny.’