by Edwards, Eve
‘Damn my eyes, if it isn’t little Sebastian!’ crowed the earl as the family got down from the carriage. Once six foot, now stooping a few inches lower, the earl made an impressive figure with the full sideburns and flowing locks of the fashion of his youth, white now rather than the ginger he had once been. ‘A tad bashed up, but still a fine figure of a Bessick! Old Jerry didn’t get you, eh? Good boy! Good boy!’ The last exclamation was accompanied by a hard slap on the back, quite ignoring the obvious fact that Sebastian used a cane to keep balance. Theo Trewby kept a firm grip on his son’s elbow to stop him falling, muttering maledictions against his father-in-law.
Sebastian’s mother slid in between her father and son. ‘Father, Sebastian is still recovering. You must go gently with him.’
‘Rubbish, the boy looks in top-notch condition! Bessicks don’t take as long as mere mortals to get over a brush with a bullet. I didn’t – emerged from the Crimea without even a scratch. Now that was a fight, I tell you. Not like this modern tactic of hiding in the ground and not facing each other like real men. Give me command of the army and I’d have it sorted out in a week!’
Theo rolled his eyes.
‘I think you’ll find, Father, that Sebastian has done more than his fair share of combat,’ Lady Mabel said firmly. ‘He did not get his injury hiding from the enemy.’
‘Of course not! He’s our blood, isn’t he, Mabel? Theo.’ The earl nodded at Sebastian’s father. ‘Good to see you. How are my shares, eh?’
‘Doing somewhat better since you gave them to me to look after,’ Theo replied. He and his father-in-law, after years of bitter family warfare (no American was good enough for an earl’s daughter), had finally come to a peaceful coexistence.
‘Tolly’s running up fearful bills in the Guards; could do with some funds.’ The earl frowned slightly at the thought of his wastrel of an heir. He had had to wait for a son, having first a string of ‘damned useless’ girls like Mabel and her sisters. Tolly was only thirty and still unmarried, living a bachelor’s life to the full in London in the fashionable Horse Guards regiment.
‘The idea, sir, is to allow the shares to mature, not to pluck the fruit prematurely,’ Theo cautioned.
‘Hmm, I suppose you’re right. I’ll have to see what I can get for the Rembrandt then. Gloomy thing – can’t say I’ll be sorry to see the back of it.’
Sebastian grimaced at this sacrilege. The artwork was a beautiful Dutch still life, one he had enjoyed studying and sketching as a child before he even knew it was famous.
‘Had hoped to leave it to your boy here, but there you are.’ The earl cruelly dangled grapes in front of Sebastian then whisked them away again.
‘Perhaps I could buy it off you,’ Theo suggested.
The earl waved away the matter. ‘Speak to my agent. Would be good to keep it in the family, even in a cadet branch.’ Sebastian suspected that his grandfather had been angling for such an outcome even before he had broached the subject. He was a wily old fox, keeping his world together by strength of will. ‘Come along then. Let’s go in and see the women.’
That rather ungracious description meant his wife and the unmarried daughters who were unfortunate enough still to live at home, Lady Gertrude and Lady Clara. Sebastian could not bear the elder, Lady Gertrude, who had inherited her father’s manner, but he cherished a soft spot for Aunt Clara who was a happy soul in her late thirties. It was a tragedy that her beau had died in the Boer War; she had never found love again and been condemned to spend her spinsterhood in the unforgiving company of Gertrude. She really should be allowed out for good behaviour, Sebastian thought.
The women were waiting for them in the countess’s drawing room. Sebastian’s grandmother, a bird-like lady with bright eyes and iron-grey hair fastened back in a gauze snood, glided forward and reached up to kiss her grandson. The jet beads on her purple gown glittered in the candlelight (Grandfather resisted conversion to gas, let alone new-fangled electricity). ‘You are a naughty boy, not letting any of us visit. We are so pleased to see you well again.’
‘Grandmother.’ He felt a rush of warmth towards the old lady. He would not have minded her visiting, but that would have been a breach in the dam letting in the earl and Aunt Gertrude.
Clara joined her mother. ‘Dear, dear Sebastian, we have been so worried about you! And, thank the Lord, you came through with only a scratch or two considering the danger you were in!’
‘It’s nice of you to make light of my appearance.’ He kissed the slender Clara on the cheek, noting that her auburn hair had picked up a few white streaks of late. He hoped he was not the cause.
Her intelligent brown eyes twinkled. ‘Fiddlesticks, Sebastian, you look very fine. A few knocks make a man more interesting to us ladies.’
A deep cough sounded behind her. Aunt Gertrude was waiting for Sebastian to pay his respects as was her due. He bowed. ‘My lady, I hope I find you well?’
‘Tolerably so. This autumn weather is playing havoc with my lungs.’
‘Fie, Gertie, you’re as strong as a horse!’ teased Clara. Compared to the elfin Clara, Gertrude was something of an Amazon, broad-shouldered and stately. She would have made an admirable eldest son had fortune fallen differently, a vast improvement on the frivolous Tolly.
‘Is Uncle Bartholomew going to be here tonight?’ Sebastian asked his grandmother.
‘Tolly? Heaven knows! We are the last ones to whom he confides his plans.’ His grandmother moved on to greet her daughter and son-in-law, her thoughts skipping over her son like a flat stone on a pond. He had given her too many sleepless nights for her to worry any longer.
The earl stood before the hearth and kicked the cast-iron fire dogs. ‘I hope you’ve got a good appetite. We’ve asked cook to prepare a special dinner before the ball. Thank the Lord for our home farm else we’d be eating corned beef if the government had its way. Can’t bear that foreign muck.’
Sebastian thought fleetingly of all the navy men who risked their lives to escort the flotillas of ships across the Atlantic to keep Britain from starving. His grandfather had never been known for his gratitude to others, but expected inordinate praise whenever he did something.
‘I’m sure that will be very welcome, sir,’ Theo said calmly, refusing to rise to the jibe against foreigners and their food.
‘Sebastian, you can sit by me,’ the earl declared, ‘tell me all about the war. I know a few people in the House still who have the ear of the men who count; now’s your chance to put them straight on a few things. First order I’d give if I were in charge would be to turf them all out of their headquarters and put them where our boys are fighting – that’d soon wake them up!’
Sebastian made a mental list of all the subjects he would prefer to discuss: art, music, family, Helen – not that he would want to broach any of these with his grandfather. The war was the last matter he wanted to dissect over dinner. ‘I’m not sure I know very much, sir. I only saw my little corner of the front.’
A gong sounded in the hall. ‘Ah, time to go to the table.’ The earl rocked on his heels, knees clicking. ‘Don’t put yourself down, my boy. A Bessick always sees more than another man. I’m sure you know a great deal more than those idiots in Whitehall.’
Theo gave Sebastian a sympathetic look, but the fact that he did not step in to demand a reorganization of the seating arrangements was proof that he considered his son recovered enough for the ordeal. Sebastian supposed that was good news.
Clara took Sebastian’s arm as he was to lead her into the dining room. She patted his damaged left hand. ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’ll sit beside you and head Father off as much as I can.’
&nbs
p; He raised her hand for a light kiss of gratitude. ‘Thank you, Aunt. I fear I may need your cavalry charge before dessert.’
Helen stepped off the train at Norton Fitzwarren, the station closest to White Towers. A little branch line, few others alighted there, only a couple who hurried away to a nearby house before she could ask for directions, and a well-dressed man from first class. The guard unloaded a stack of London newspapers then got back on the train. She didn’t want to look too closely at the bundle; she lived in fear that her story had become public. It was only a matter of time.
Dusk was gathering, the world fading. A few beacons of colour resisted the darkness: a bank of evening primroses bloomed against a south-facing wall, teetering on the brink of destruction, yellow trumpet flowers fanfaring the night; a scattering of late white roses rambled over the gate that led to the road below. As the train puffed out of the station, the man paused on the platform to light a cigarette, the flash of the match illuminating his narrow features and military coat. Moths mobbed the light over the closed ticket hall, wings a wicker of protest. Helen looked around her, wondering how she was going to get to White Towers. Sebastian had never said how far it was from the railway station. She supposed she could walk; there seemed no other option available at this sleepy place, not even a porter. Steeling herself, she realized she would have to ask the military gentleman for advice.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ She stopped a few yards from him, not liking the necessity of approaching a stranger on a darkened, lonely platform. The shadowy elms rustled nearby competing with the sound of the retreating train; a union march of rooks circled, scraping the sky with their raucous protests before settling back to their nests.
‘Yes, miss, how can I be of assistance?’ He gave her the easy smile of a man about town, amused by her nervousness. Helen felt he had rapidly assessed everything about her from her parentage to her purse, working out if she were the sort of girl who was up for a night’s companionship.
She assumed her primmest manner. ‘I wondered if you had heard of a house in the area called White Towers?’
Interest flared in the man’s eyes. ‘Indeed. Why, may I ask, is a lady like yourself asking for the Towers?’
‘My … my friend lives there.’
‘Oh yes?’ His gaze ran over her modest coat and dull shoes. ‘And who are you exactly, my dear?’
She was not prepared to hand out her name to a stranger, not with scandal chasing her. ‘I’ve just returned from medical service in France, sir. I wish to visit my friend; he’s been injured.’
‘Ah.’ His manner warmed a little. ‘So you do know Seb then. Met him in France I expect?’ He was fishing for details; why, she could not fathom.
‘No, we met in London, but we also saw each other in France too. But is this relevant, Mister …?’
The man threw away his cigarette and held out his hand. ‘Bartholomew Bewley, Viscount Fitzwarren. Your Sebastian is my little nephew.’
‘Oh, er, sorry.’ Helen shook the hand and dipped an awkward curtsey, feeling quite unprepared for the niceties of English high society on a country station.
‘Not at all, dear girl, not at all. Now, you want to know where White Towers is?’
She nodded.
‘Well, I’m not going to tell you.’
‘Oh.’
He grinned at her crestfallen expression. ‘I’m going to do better than that: I’m going to take you to your Sebastian. Seeing you will cheer the poor chap up after the beating he’s taken. What say you to that?’
‘That would be very kind of you – if it’s not too much trouble.’
He waved her remark away. ‘No trouble at all. Innsworth will be along in half a tick with the carriage and I can take you right to him.’
‘If you’re sure it’s not out of your way.’
‘Not in the slightest. You see, my dear, Seb is at our house tonight – I can deliver you right into his waiting arms. How does that sound?’
Helen was trying to put what she knew about Sebastian’s family together with what the viscount was telling her. Weren’t they frightfully high class, far above her touch? ‘I wouldn’t want to interrupt a private occasion.’
‘Nonsense, dear girl, nonsense. Half the county is at Bewley House tonight. One more lady won’t make any difference.’ He turned to the lane. ‘Ah, I can hear the carriage approaching. Are you coming?’
Helen decided that his offer was the best she could hope for, surely preferable to walking the country roads only to find Sebastian not at home. ‘Thank you. I am much obliged to you.’
The viscount took her arm and steered her down the dark steps to the lane below the station platform. ‘No trouble, Miss …?’
‘Helen Sandford.’
‘Miss Sandford. I look forward to seeing the expression on my nephew’s face. You make me feel like Father Christmas delivering an early present.’ He swayed a little too close, wafting brandy-breath over her.
Moving discreetly out of range, Helen did not say anything to disabuse him of this pleasant idea, but she was acutely aware she was bringing a whole parcel of problems. She was still whirling from her hurried expulsion from France, desperate to see Sebastian, but afraid that even he would distance himself from her when he heard the story. Exhausted, Helen just wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and weep, but would he let her?
20
One good result of sitting next to the earl for dinner was that Sebastian was looking forward to the ball like a prisoner his release by the time he reached the port-and-cigars part of the meal. The girls who made up the committee organizing the event were already in occupation of the ballroom, directing the last-minute preparations. The room was filled with autumn flowers – chrysanthemums, roses, sprays of greenery and strings of small pumpkins – and looked splendid. Knowing it had to be faced, he made himself brave an audience as he went forward to congratulate Jilly.
‘You’ve all done a marvellous job!’ he declared with forced jollity.
‘Sebastian! I’m so glad you like it!’ Jilly took his arm proprietarily. ‘You remember Gladys and Wilhelmina Jones?’
He nodded, greeting the sisters who were busy distributing the music to the orchestra.
‘Belinda Forbes, Minnie Bennet …’
Sebastian held out his hand to Minnie who was closest to him. ‘Miss Bennet, how are you?’ He had not seen her for years. She had grown up from a freckled little know-it-all into … well, a freckled larger know-it-all if her combative expression meant anything.
‘Mr Trewby. We are delighted you could come this year, though we regret the cause that brought you home,’ Miss Bennet replied neatly.
‘Thank you. And Miss Forbes. How is Michael?’ Her brother had been his senior by a few years; their paths had crossed a few times in the village cricket team.
Belinda Forbes, a pale, fair-headed girl with an uncertain air to her like a faint sketch on ageing parchment, squeezed her hands together. ‘I’m afraid he’s …’
‘He’s missing, Mr Trewby,’ Minnie said stoutly, sparing her friend from having to make the admission. ‘In France. We are all praying for his safe return.’
Missing. Sebastian knew what that meant. Unless Forbes had the extraordinary good fortune of being made a prisoner, it indicated that there hadn’t been enough left of him to make an identification. He closed his eyes, swaying on the spot as a snatch of battle-memory shook him in its teeth. ‘I’m sorry; I hadn’t heard.’
‘Old news now,’ Belinda Forbes said quietly. ‘He’s been missing a year. That’s probably why no one thought to tell you.’
There had been so many losses in the intervening months that o
ne man’s fate could get overlooked.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sebastian repeated. ‘I … pray …’ No, he couldn’t pray, not any longer. God – if He existed – had stopped listening to prayers from the battlefield. ‘I hope he turns up soon. He could be in Germany.’ He cursed himself for offering such false comfort when the chances were so slight.
‘Yes, that is what we hope too, but …’ Belinda gave a shrug, gesturing to a year of waiting and praying, a fruitless vigil.
Sebastian’s thoughts went back to the village cricket team – the boys of his generation – and realized that none of them, not a single one, would be playing next season. So many gaps, the rest away, the entire side had been bowled out.
‘Do you need to sit down, Sebastian? You’re looking a bit peaky.’ Jilly took his elbow and steered him to a chair by the window where he would have a good view of the dance floor, but enough air to breathe. He felt stifled by her overly solicitous manner, but it was easier not to protest.
‘Thank you, yes, I will. I hope Miss Forbes didn’t mind my clumsy words.’
‘You weren’t to know. No one blames you. I should have briefed you properly before you came in here. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
She smiled, gently brushing a petal off his arm. ‘If I am exonerated, then it is equally foolish to blame yourself. Just tread carefully tonight; there are many families who have lost someone.’