A Bright Young Thing

by Brianne Moore

  “Then learn, Jeremy!” I ordered him. “If you don’t want to just give up as your father did, then don’t. If I could learn all about rubber manufacturing, then surely you can learn a thing or two about farming.”

  “Ahh, but you forget that you are an exceptional creature of rare talents,” he said.

  “I’m nothing of the kind. I did what had to be done, and you can and should too.”

  “And what would you suggest, then?” He crossed his arms, stepped back, and looked at me. Head cocked, smiling, inviting me to take the challenge. And oh, I would.

  “Use your imagination. Joyce opened Wotting Park to visitors during the fete and charged a few shillings for the privilege. They went through in crowds; she raised a mint for the Benevolent Society. And that’s just Wotting Park, a place of no real significance at all. A place like this, with its stories …”

  “Tours once a month, led by a real-life earl—” he mused.

  “—who just so happens to look like a movie star? They’d come from far and wide, Jem, mark my words! And you could charge more than a few shillings for that, too.” I trotted over to the window and pointed out into the garden. “And that marvelous glasshouse—put it to work!”

  “Growing a cash crop to ship to London!”

  “Or points beyond! Start small, and build outward! Engage, Jeremy!”

  He laughed, ran over, and kissed me. “I do love you,” he declared, cradling my face in his hands.

  I rested my forehead against his and looked him in the eye. “And you love this place too, I can tell. And you should, Jeremy. It’s magnificent. And you have a responsibility here. Hensley—much as I loved it—was just a house and a garden, but this is an estate. You have farms and tenants and people who rely on you. What will become of them if all of this goes and becomes some suburb? Where will they go?”

  “I’m well aware,” he said. “It’s nearly the only thing keeping me here.”

  “The house too,” I said, “it’s part of history—yours and the country’s. We can’t lose that. Too many of these old estates are going nowadays. Soon there’ll be nothing left and nobody to remember what once was.” I took a deep breath. “Your family’s been here for hundreds of years. Your past and your future are both in this place. Jeremy, be the sort of man I know you are. Don’t sit around waiting for a miracle. Go use all your advantages and save Midbourne.”

  He grinned, a glowing, delighted smile, and I realized he hadn’t needed me to tell him that. He had already resolved to do it. I think he just wanted to see how I felt about it. Find out if I had that same determination he did. The same protective instinct and affection for the place that was difficult to fully explain or understand. Yes, I silently told him. I am your partner in all this. I understand.

  “Since you seem full of ideas, how do you feel about a walk around the gardens?” he suggested. “I’d very much like to know what you think.”

  * * *

  Laura returned after dinner, clattering into the hall, groaning, “Lord! Must remove all this nonsense!” as she stripped off her gloves and kicked off the high heels.

  “Did you lose Freddie?” Joyce asked.

  “’Course not. He’s spending the night in town. Now don’t worry,” she added, noting my alarmed look. “He’s under strict instructions to behave, and he wouldn’t dare disobey. Astra, come with me.”

  I collected the shoes and gloves before following her upstairs. By the time I arrived, she was already tossing aside the turban and wriggling out of her dress, which she left in a forest-green puddle on the floor.

  “ Help me, will you?” She gestured for me to undo her brassiere. “Ahh,” she breathed, sending it to join the dress. “Freedom.” She wrapped herself in a silk kimono, lit a cigarette, and reclined on the bed. “I hope you appreciate all that I’ve done for you,” she said, waving the cigarette toward the discarded clothes. “Only the greatest love could get me into the glad rags and up to London on a day like today.”

  “And what did I have to do with it?” I asked, joining her on the bed.

  “It was all for you, of course! While you were off gadding about Midbourne—I hope you were really wicked there, by the way, and you’ll have to tell me all about it—Freddie and I were off saving your reputation!”

  “Were you, indeed?”

  “We were! You remember our former deputy headmistress?”

  “How could I forget?” Dear Miss: savior of the sweetshop.

  “Well, she and I have kept in touch over the years. Christmas cards and the like. So I phoned her up and asked her to meet me for tea. And she agreed, so we met, and wouldn’t you know it: Freddie and three of his sisters just happened to be there for tea as well! What luck!” She smirked. “He brought them over for introductions, and I happened to bring up that trick Millicent pulled at school. You remember, when she tried to make it seem as if you were cheating? It was like tipping a bucket with Miss—all manner of stories about the things Millicent did spilled right out. Freddie’s sisters were aghast. The story’ll be around half of London by now, I’ll wager. So we’ll see if this bears fruit.”

  “Oh, Laura!” I was so touched I nearly cried. “Laura, that’s so awfully sweet!”

  She waved her cigarette case. “What are friends for? Now”—she smiled wickedly at me—“tell me all about your afternoon at Midbourne.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Summer was over, and we’d slipped into an amber-colored September rich with the tang of autumn. Laura and Freddie had both gone home, and Wotting Park seemed empty and quiet without them. I would have to go before long too. Joyce had shrugged and said I could stay as long as I liked, but I couldn’t be a permanent guest. She and David (who were doing much better, it seemed) would be off on the shooting party rounds soon, or away on some holiday. I couldn’t very well putter around their house while they weren’t there.

  And I should really be back in London, to attend to business. I’d put some of the money from the sale of Hensley’s buildings into Vandemark in return for a larger share of the business. I owned half of it now, and Freddie, Raines, and I were planning our expansion. We were moving on to product areas we could exploit with our current clients. Gaskets and hoses for the engines in cars and airplanes. We hoped to try other things eventually, but it seemed best to start here and build up gradually.

  So, I needed to be back in London. The question was: Where would I go? I waited for Aunt El to get over her tantrum and for Toby to give me the all-clear, but so far, nothing. And did I even want to go back to that place? Wouldn’t it be best to make a break now?

  I was thinking about it over breakfast one morning, perusing the “rooms to let” section of the newspaper and noting some possibilities, when Joyce came into the dining room with the morning post and announced she had a new project.

  “Do you? And what is it? Village Christmas fair?” I asked, smiling.

  “No, something more ambitious.” She sat down, put the post aside, and looked straight at me. “It’s Hensley, darling.”

  I blinked at her, confused. “What about it?”

  “It’s my new project, like I said. It occurred to me that there’s quite a lot of hardship up that way—I saw plenty when we were there for Belinda’s wedding. And a lot of the trouble comes from people not being trained up in areas where they might be able to get good jobs. I mean, if a girl wants to become a secretary or something, she has to go off to secretarial school and pay for the course and for her room and board while she’s taking it, and all the while she’s far from her family and probably in a city, which is expensive. So I thought, why not bring the training to them? Hensley’s in the perfect neighborhood for that. So, I’m going to turn the house into a training school for girls. I thought we’d start with courses in dressmaking and office work and branch out from there. All offered for free, of course. What do you think? Oh, and I think I’m going to preserve the bit of the garden closest to the house, so the girls and the people in the houses around
have somewhere to get a bit of fresh air.”

  I stared at her for a little while, thinking, Hensley won’t go! The gardens won’t go!

  “Will your father agree to it, though?” I asked apprehensively. “It’ll disrupt his building plans, won’t it?”

  “Oh, I’ve already gone to work on Daddy and gotten him to agree,” she answered with a shrug. “It wasn’t so hard, really. Apparently taking old buildings down is a bother, and between you and me, I think he’s quite fond of Hensley—thinks of it as quite the lovely little jewel box of a place, just like an illustration out of a charming novel. He’ll still put up his houses; they’ll just be built around it.”

  “Oh, Joyce,” I squeaked, as grateful tears stung my eyes. “Joyce, you are the loveliest!”

  She smiled, then started leafing through the post. “I’m glad to be able to do something for you and for the greater good. Two birds, one stone.” She paused, looking at the address on one envelope: “This is yours.” She handed over a letter. I tore into it and saw it was from Alice Horshaw.

  My dear Astra,

  I’m very sorry to begin a letter with ill tidings, but I fear I must: my sister, Bellephonica, passed from this life three days ago. As you know, she’s been in poor health for some years, and I believe death came as some relief to her. Forsan miseros meliora sequentur.

  My sister’s passing has given me much to think about, as well as the time to do so, and, my dear, I have been thinking a great deal about you. I regret terribly holding things back from you, things which so closely concern you and which, I believe, you have a right to know. With Bellephonica gone, there is one less person to share this story. Someday, not long from now—yes, it must be said!—I shall be gone as well, and then who shall answer your questions? No, best to tell you everything now.

  You were very correct that your mother and aunt had another sister. Mary was her name. (That much I knew already: the day I’d visited Raymond I’d gone to my grandfather’s old parish and consulted the christening records. There it was: 29 March 1887. Mary and Lillian Carlyle, Daughters of Rev. Edmund G. S. Carlyle and Elspeth M. Carlyle. Not just Mother’s sister: her twin.) She was a very dear, vivacious girl, much like your mother.

  Shortly after your parents were married, Elinor produced young Tobias. I’m afraid she found motherhood a struggle, so Mary was sent to stay with her, to help.

  Mary was with Elinor in London for three months, and then suddenly she left and joined your mother at Hensley. A visit to her sister would not, of course, have seemed remarkable but for the fact that your parents immediately canceled all their engagements, refused invitations, and had the doctor around a great deal (naturally, he and Bellephonica saw each other often, and he happened to mention having frequently been called to Hensley). And then, hardly a week after Mary arrived, Elinor left London as well and went to Hensley. When she discovered Mary already there, however, she refused to stay and instead came here, to Elmswood. She told Bellephonica that she simply couldn’t bear to be in her own home, which she said had been polluted and ruined. She couldn’t be near her husband either, she said. It was very clear to us that Mary had got herself in trouble.

  Your mother came, to try to reason with her, but Elinor wouldn’t have it and told your mother that as long as Mary was under her roof, Elinor would have nothing to do with her. Your mother argued that Elinor should help their sister and take some responsibility for the child. There was a terrible row, and your poor mother left in tears. Your father was in quite a temper when he heard of it. He came and gave both Elinor and Bellephonica such a piece of his mind, and rightly so, I think.

  A day or two later, your father was back, accompanied by his brother-in-law. Mr. Weyburn sat and talked with his wife for nearly an hour and convinced her to come home. Elinor left us the following day, by the early train, and never mentioned any of this again. I believe she quite put the whole thing out of her mind.

  Was such a thing possible? Could someone really forget an event that had shaken and sundered their life, forcing them to rebuild from and on what was left? Could you lock your pain away, until something came along that burst that door open again? My aunt’s behavior, which had seemed outrageous to me, suddenly made a little more sense.

  Not long after Elinor left, your mother did too, along with Mary. We never saw or heard from Mary again, and I didn’t dare ask after her. As I said before, there was a coolness between Hensley and Elmswood after that, though I dearly wished to be friends with your lovely mother. We saw each other once or twice after you were born, but then the invitations to Hensley ceased, and mine were politely refused. I can’t say I blame them, really. Bellephonica’s behavior toward your parents during and after this crisis was quite shocking.

  I have now told you all I know of the matter, my dear, and I hope this helps set your mind at some ease and answers some of your questions. I am very sorry for keeping this from you for so long. It feels wrong to have concealed it, and right, now that I’ve told you. It seems it’s true what they say: Veritas vos liberabit: The truth shall set you free.

  And one more thing, my dear, if I may: please do not judge your parents too harshly for keeping this from you. I realize, of course, it has pained you to discover their secrets, but you must know that they meant no harm by it. They loved you more than you can imagine, and they wanted you to be happy and unburdened by this painful history. Perhaps, if they had known what would happen, they would have done differently, but of course there are things in our lives we can never anticipate.

  My dear, I shall leave you now with this. I hope you can now find some peace and that your business dealings are coming along.

  With the very best and warmest wishes,

  Alice

  I sat for a long time with that letter in my hand, letting my mind unknot and order everything. There was little here that I hadn’t already guessed for myself, but as Alice had noted, there was something calming about knowing it all for sure. It is, after all, best to know things—you can’t go into the world blind. Part of growing up is feeling real pain that comes from discoveries, and learning to breathe through it. How much had I learned in the past year? About love and friendship, desire, compromise, compassion, strength, and family? How much did it hurt to learn some of these things? How rewarding had it been learning others? The person I had been the previous year—wailing and moaning about finding a way to pay for train tickets and party dresses—seemed a stranger to me now. Would Porter have done business with that child? Would Jeremy have kissed her, said he loved her, shared his own secrets, hopes, and desires?

  No. Nor should they have.

  My parents had been afraid for me. They knew, keenly, how painful and terrible adult life could be. And so they swaddled me up, protected me from the bumps and jars of life, even though they knew adulthood was about to intrude. It lurked at the edge of my comfortable bubble, brandishing pins and needles. They couldn’t know how I’d manage, and so they’d held off preparing me. They lacked faith, but really, who could blame them? I was, after all, entirely untried.

  Alice had given me answers, and I was deeply grateful to her, but there were still some questions that nagged, some suspicions that needed confirmation. I wanted everything out in the open. These secrets had haunted the family long enough. Time to throw open the windows and air out the shuttered room.

  “Astra!”

  My head snapped up. Joyce was looking at me in alarm.

  “Is it bad news?” she asked. “You’re pale as death!”

  “Not bad news,” I answered, folding the letter and shoving it back into the envelope. “Joyce, can you drive me to the station? I need to catch the next train up to London.”

  * * *

  I arrived at Gertrude Street and found Toby dozing on the sofa. He sprang up as I came in, and his eyes widened.

  “Oh, hello,” he said. “Didn’t you get my telegram?”

  “I won’t be long,” I promised, heading for the stairs. “Is your mother at home
?”

  “Dressing room,” he answered, trailing me up the stairs.

  I knocked briskly on the door to her dressing room and entered without waiting for an answer. She was at the desk, scribbling away at something. As I walked in, she looked up and actually recoiled. “My God! You’re brown!” she cried. “You must have lived in the sun!”

  I stood in front of her and took a deep breath. “Aunt Elinor, I want you to know that I know who Raymond’s parents are: Mary and Uncle Augustus, is that not right?”

  Behind me, Toby gasped.

  I gave her a look that I hoped conveyed both sympathy and understanding. “Aunt Elinor, I’m so sorry.”

  She slowly laid down her pen and sat up straighter. Her gaze was as hard and cold as granite. “And who told you about Mary and Augustus?”

  “So it is true, then? Your husband and your sister …” I grimaced, reaching for her.

  With a violent thrust, Aunt Elinor shoved my hand away. She shook and her eyes now blazed. “She was always a wicked, wicked girl!” she declared.

  Toby actually backed away several feet, as if he were afraid of being incinerated. I couldn’t help but stare at her, as though mesmerized.

  “She always wanted what someone else had,” Elinor growled. “She would even steal my dolls as a child, and my parents indulged her. They let her do as she pleased, and look what happened! She brought shame on our family and she—she …” Elinor clenched her jaw and both fists.

  Now I leaned away slightly, wondering if she might try to hit something, and if that something might just be me.

  “She got her reward, didn’t she?” Elinor continued. “Both of them did. The Lord’s judgment made flesh. That cursed creature.”

  My heart seized at the words. “That cursed creature?” I repeated coldly. “You mean Raymond? Your nephew? Toby’s brother?”