Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama)

by Carole Williams

  “I’ll fetch you a nice hot cup of tea, Your Grace, and I expect Dr. Arnold will give you something to help you sleep when he arrives. Don’t you worry about anything. Hardy and I will see to whatever needs to be done for now,” she said, handing Ruth a big box of tissues from the bathroom.

  It wasn’t long before Dr. Arnold arrived. Ruth heard his car crunching across the gravel outside and then, minutes later, his footsteps coming along the corridor, entering the master bedroom and closing the door behind him. She was still shivering, even though Betty had brought her a hot water bottle, hot tea and placed another quilt over the bed. Her whole body just shook uncontrollably and the tears wouldn’t stop. She had never cried so much in her whole life.

  It wasn’t long before Dr. Arnold knocked on her door and came in, his face sombre and downcast. He took one look at her and rifled in his bag.

  “I am so sorry, Your Grace,” he said. “The Duke was a lovely man. He’s going to be sorely missed by many people … however; I am worried about you now. I think you should take some of these.” He handed her a bottle of pills. “They will help calm you down and give your mind and body a chance to take this all in. I suggest two now and two more in around four hours and then see how you feel. I will arrange everything that needs doing for now, with the help of the Hardy’s, so there is nothing you need concern yourself with for the time being. Just be kind to yourself for a while. You need it.”

  Ruth drifted in and out of consciousness for the next forty-eight hours, only vaguely aware of Mrs. Hardy and Vicky at her side now and again. Every time she woke and remembered what had occurred, the pain was too great to bear and she swallowed another couple of pills, sending her back into oblivion and away from the dreadful, painful truth.

  On the third day, she woke early in the morning and when the awful realisation that Charles was no longer alive and it wasn’t just a horribly bad dream hit her again, she automatically reached out for the pills but stopped herself. She sat up in bed and looked out of the window at the wet, dismal day. It was a typical April morning. A light shower caressed the window panes and a slight breeze rippled through the trees. It chilled her soul. She slipped out of bed and walked to the master bedroom, pretending that when she opened the door Charles would be dressing and would smile and ask her what she would like to do today.

  The familiar scent of his cologne overcame her when she opened the door but he was gone. Although it was freshly made up with clean linen she moved to his side of the bed and caressed his pillow, the scene of their last conversation vivid in her mind. The awful, excruciating pain enveloped her again. It was absolutely unbearable and she collapsed on the bed, sobbing desperately into his pillow.

  “Charles, Charles,” she wailed. “I can’t go on without you. I can’t ….”

  “Ruth!” Vicky, who had been on her way to see if Ruth was awake and heard her anguished cries, came rushing into the room and threw her arms around her. “Ruth, darling Ruth. Please … let me take you back to bed.”

  “What am I going to do, Vicky? What am I going to do without him? It hurts so much. I feel as if I’m breaking in two.”

  “I know, darling. I know. I can’t believe he’s gone either. I’m going to miss him terribly,” replied Vicky, the tears welling up in her own eyes.”

  “Oh, Vicky. I’m being so selfish. I forgot how much you loved him too,” Ruth sobbed, clutching Vicky’s hand.

  “Yes. Life is going to be dreadful not having him in the background; advising, helping, loving. He was a wonderful father to me. It’s going to be so different without him.”

  The two women held each other tightly and cried for the man who had been their rock and who had cared for them both the best he could.

  “Let’s get you back to bed,” said Vicky, as the flood of tears subsided. “And you’ve had nothing much to eat ever since. I’ll get you something and then you can have some more of your pills. It’s my turn to look after you now so please, let me. Do you want to stay in here or go back to the guestroom?”

  “I want to stay here … all his things are here. I want to be as near to him as possible,” Ruth whispered, as Vicky pulled back the covers and helped her into the bed. “The funeral, Vicky … what about the funeral … it needs to be arranged … I can’t deal with it, Vicky. I can’t.”

  “Don’t worry. I can do it. I’m becoming quite an expert,” Vicky said grimly, “what with Richard and Barrie … and now Father. Alex is getting in a temporary manager for the club and is coming up today so he will help me. There’s absolutely nothing you need to do if you don’t want to … but what about Stephen? Don’t you want to see him?”

  Ruth shook her head. Her face felt so sore from all the crying and her eyes were still watering. Where did it all come from? “No. I can’t weep all over him. It will frighten him. Let him stay happy with Tina. She will look after him for now.”

  The pills worked their magic and for nearly a week Ruth slept, blissfully unaware that the body of the man she loved so much was being laid to rest beside his father, mother and Richard in the churchyard. She had been told when the funeral would be but couldn’t accept it.

  “I don’t want to go,” she had whispered to Vicky when she had told her about the arrangements with the funeral directors. “I just can’t bear the thought of seeing his coffin being placed in the ground. I can’t do it, Vicky. I just can’t. I am so sorry.”

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Ruth. Alex and I will be there and everyone will understand.”

  So, Vicky became chief mourner at her father’s funeral. Delia was still in hospital, having been informed of her father’s death but showed no desire to attend the ceremony. Ruth took another couple of pills and slept through it all.

  CHAPTER 37

  CANLEIGH – AUGUST 1977

  Ruth smiled at Philip, sitting beside her, driving his brand-new cream Volvo estate car towards Canleigh. Stephen, now three and a half years old, was in his child seat fast asleep in the rear, having enjoyed a birthday party he had been invited to by Lady Caroline Compton who lived in an enormous gated detached mock Tudor house in Alwoodley and whose son, Marcus, had just turned three too. Not long after becoming Duchess of Canleigh, Ruth was invited to an event for Cancer Research held by Caroline at her home. The two women hadn’t exactly become firm friends but they liked each other and joined forces occasionally to fundraise for a variety of worthy causes and as their boys were the same age and liked each other, they were allowed to play together, sometimes at Canleigh but more often than not at Caroline’s.

  Ruth and Philip had dropped Stephen off at Caroline’s at the appointed time. He looked tremendously cute toddling into the house carrying a big box wrapped up in shiny blue paper with a massive dark blue ribbon top; his present for Marcus. Then they drove into Leeds and spent a pleasant afternoon strolling around the art gallery where Ruth went into raptures over oil paintings by John Atkinson Grimshaw, a Victorian artist who produced beautiful, haunting pictures of Leeds and Yorkshire. They then toured the shops and bought some clothes for Philip, who had decided he needed a few things and appreciated Ruth’s opinion on what he should buy. Hungry and in need of a cup of tea, they followed up with a scrumptious afternoon tea at the Queens Hotel before heading back to Alwoodley to collect Stephen.

  The birthday party was attended by thirty lively youngsters and Stephen, delightfully full of beans and never shy when meeting new people, had thrown himself into all the party games with gusto. As a result he was exhausted, flushed and over-excited by his afternoon of fun and frivolity and once he was securely fastened into the rear of the car for the journey home, and regaled Ruth and Philip with tales of what games he had played and shown them the prizes he had won, fell promptly to sleep.

  How happy they all were now, Ruth reflected as they headed out of Leeds towards Canleigh. Three years ago, her life had teetered on a knife edge and she could never admit to anyone that in the horrendous days following Charles’ death, she had contem
plated suicide more than once. To have been with him for eternity, to have ended all that pain and misery, had seemed the only thing she could do. For a while nothing else mattered and it took a very long time before Ruth could laugh again, tears always on the surface, threatening to fall the moment Charles was mentioned or something happened to remind her of the golden time they shared together.

  Her pleasure at being mistress of Canleigh had diminished rapidly. While Charles was alive the relatively quiet life they led was delightful but once he was gone the Hall seemed more like an expensive museum rather than a home and after Stephen was put to bed, the day staff departed and the Hardy’s retired for the night, the house was inhospitable and lonely. She noticed noises she hadn’t before and grew jumpy and nervous at the slightest sound. It was difficult to sleep and even her joy in reading disappeared. She picked up a book, read the first few pages and then put it down. The television could hardly hold her interest either, nor the radio. She tried to paint but all she produced was rubbish and she spent more time crying over canvases than applying oils. Invitations to attend various functions arrived but she turned most of them down, unless Caroline was involved.

  Her nerves were in shreds and she took up smoking, a habit she had always loathed in others but searching through Charles’s desk in the library for a pencil sharpener, she found a packet of Benson and Hedges and a gold lighter, engraved with the initials MC, pushed to the back of the drawer. Charles had never smoked to her knowledge so she could only surmise they must have belonged to Margaret and he had never thrown them away, probably because so many other bits and pieces obscured them. She pushed them into the pocket of her jeans and that evening, when she was alone in her room, pulled one out and lit it. The initial bout of coughing which followed was a bit of a shock but after a few inexperienced puffs, she found the smoke entering her lungs to be relaxing. The taste wasn’t pleasant but the sensation was good. For a while she restricted herself to one cigarette every evening after dinner but gradually wanted more and found, within a couple of months, she was smoking at least ten a day.

  Stephen put an end to it when she was tucking him up in bed one night. She had thoughtlessly smoked prior to entering the nursery. The smell was still on her clothes and on her breath and he didn’t want to cuddle her, pulling away with a look of distaste on his face. She went back up to her room, ripped up what remained in the packet and never smoked again. Stephen was the only person who she could kiss and cuddle and she couldn’t afford to ruin their bond.

  Vicky rang and visited frequently, always issuing an invitation for Ruth and Stephen, along with Tina, to visit London.

  “There’s so much we can do here, Ruth. I can always have a few days off and we can take Stephen and Tina sightseeing; there’s London zoo, the Tower, a boat ride on the Thames, walks in the parks. Stephen will love it and it will be good for you to get away.”

  Ruth politely refused every time. She didn’t want the bustle of London. All those people jostling for space on the pavements, the noise of the traffic, the general pace of life. It wasn’t for her at that time but it made her think about having a break from Canleigh and with clarity one morning when waking up all alone in bed, she realised where she would like to go. She drove into Leeds to consult a travel agent. A flight was booked to Greece, somewhere she and Charles had planned to visit, and with Stephen and Tina in tow, she left the country for four months. It was money well spent as far as the whole party were concerned. Lovely, glorious days were idled away on a warm, sunny beach, Stephen loving every minute, his main aim to build a bigger and better sandcastle than the day before. Ruth hired a car and drove them around, exploring ancient ruins and tiny villages, stopping to sample local delicacies on the way. They came back to England suntanned and relaxed and Ruth was far more ready to face whatever life should throw her way.

  But they came home to sad news. Poor Sue Kershaw had stomach cancer, according to Betty Hardy, and hadn’t long to live.

  “Sue thought she was suffering from indigestion for a long time and just took Rennies and the like but it grew worse and Philip insisted she see Dr. Arnold. He had her rushed into hospital; they discovered the cancer and gave a pretty grim prognosis. It seems she only has a few weeks. She’s at home. Refused to stay in hospital, poor love and Philip is finding it very hard. He’s devastated.”

  “Goodness,” Ruth exclaimed, “how awful. She’s so young. Poor Sue. Poor Philip.”

  “They have a nurse who comes in every morning, I believe,” continued Betty. “But even so, it’s a lot for Philip to cope with. His business has grown substantially since he had Sue to help him and he’s had to take on extra staff so he can spend more time with her. It’s so tragic. You know he lost his grandparents not long after each other a few years ago and now this. I feel so sorry for him. He and Sue have been so right for each other … so happy together. Far more than he would ever have been with Lady Delia,” Betty sniffed.

  Ruth didn’t know the couple that well. Their paths crossed rarely but on the odd occasion when there was a village event, usually held on the lawns at Canleigh, she had found their company to be most enjoyable and wanted to see if there was anything she could do to help ease their suffering at this awful time in their lives.

  She paid a visit to Tangles that afternoon. Philip was obviously busy as there were a number of cars in the car park beside the house and he was greeting a group of jolly, laughing people who had arrived for a hack around the nearby countryside. Seeing Ruth, he said something to the group and they moved towards the stables to collect their horses while Philip made his way over to her. His smile was tense and strained and he looked desperately tired.

  “Hello, Ruth,” he said.

  She was glad he had remembered to use her Christian name. The continuous ‘Your Grace’ seemed so silly with people of her own age and always put a distance between them.

  “I gather you’ve been away … to Greece … I do hope you found it beneficial … and you feel a bit better.”

  Ruth nodded. “Yes … it’s certainly helped … but I’ve heard about Sue. Is there anything I can do, Philip? I want to help if I can … after all, I know from bitter experience what it’s like … I gather you have a nurse in the mornings but if you’re busy and want me to visit Sue in the afternoons, I'm more than willing to do so. You know I nearly became a doctor” she grimaced, “so I can be of use with the nursing … that’s if you would like me to.”

  Philip’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled more with relief than pleasure.

  “If you can spare the time, Ruth, it would be much appreciated. Sue needs the company and as much as I want to be with her all the time, there are things I have to see to with the business.”

  “Leave it to me,” replied Ruth. “I have quite a bit of free time, thanks to my nanny, and I would be delighted to help. You go and see to whatever you have to and I’ll pop in now and say hello.”

  “Thanks so much, Ruth. I have no-one to accompany this party of riders as all the staff are otherwise engaged and as a couple of young ladies can’t ride too well, I would like to go with them to make sure they are all safe.”

  “Go,” commanded Ruth. “I’ll see what needs doing indoors.”

  Sue was in bed when Ruth explored the house quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she was asleep. She had only been to Tangles on a couple of occasions and never further than the large, comfy old kitchen with the Aga and great big table in the centre. She took off her shoes in the hall and in her stockinged feet crept quietly through the kitchen, into the hallway and then up the stairs. All the bedroom doors were shut apart from one in the middle of the corridor, which was slightly ajar. Ruth padded up to it and looked in. Sue was lying in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. From what Ruth could see of her, she looked frail and thin, which was a shock as the Sue she had chatted to in the village shop a few months previously had been complaining of putting on weight.

  “Sue?” said Ruth quietly, not wanting to startle her. “H
ello, it’s Ruth. Philip sent me up. I wanted to see if there was anything I can do to help.”

  Sue struggled to sit up, her face twisted in pain, her eyes full of unshed tears. Her face was gaunt, her blonde hair thin and lank. Her lips trembled.

  “Oh, Ruth. How nice of you … I hate to ask but if I could have a cup of tea, I would be most grateful … my mouth is so dry and I’ve drunk all my water,” glancing at the jug beside the bed.

  And so the next few weeks gained a routine. Ruth would see to her duties at Canleigh in the mornings when the nurse was at Tangles and then after a quick lunch with Stephen and Tina, she would drive over and spend the afternoon with Sue, reading to her, helping her eat, fetching and carrying cups of tea and hot water bottles … and just keeping her company. Sometimes Sue would want to sleep, other times she would want to chat but even so, with the strong painkillers her oncologist had prescribed, it wasn’t long before she slid into slumber. As the weeks progressed the periods when she was awake and lucid grew shorter and fewer and only six weeks after Ruth had first visited, Sue died.

  Philip was devastated. He had loved Sue deeply and to have had her taken from him after only four short years of marriage was a sharp blow. The funeral, held in Canleigh church, which Ruth helped arrange, was well attended. Philip and Sue knew a lot of people, especially in the horsey world, and they came from far and wide to pay their respects. Philip was stoic throughout the long afternoon, politely mixing with all the mourners but once the last car had driven away from Tangles, leaving only Ruth to keep him company, his brave demeanour gave way. He ripped off his black tie, undid the top two buttons of his white shirt, sank into the rocking chair by the Aga and cried piteously for the woman he had loved so much. Ruth dared not leave him for the long night ahead. Dr. Arnold had provided some sleeping pills and once the paroxysm of weeping subsided, she managed to persuade him to have a couple.