Close to the Wind

by Zana Bell

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘At first I couldn’t imagine, but now I know he’s working for Walsingham, I suspect we’re after the same thing.’

  ‘So why are you here and how does Walsingham fit in?’

  Harry stirred the embers for a second then settled back onto his heels and looked at her. ‘It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it tonight?’

  ‘I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve heard it,’ said Georgiana with perfect truth.

  ‘Then we’d better get comfortable. If we sit back to back, we can share the bedroll and prop each other up.’

  Harry wrapped Georgiana in a blanket and he pulled on an overcoat. Though it was late spring, the night was very chilly and Harry warned they’d soon feel cold. She leaned against the broad strength of his shoulders and felt the shift of muscle as he wriggled to be more comfortable.

  ‘Settled?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘Right, remember when I told you about being arrested for stealing?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, I never quite finished the story. When I was packing up my mother’s things I remembered my promise to look after her poetry book and wondered why she’d been so insistent. I flicked through it but there was nothing. Then I bent the covers back, looked down the spine and there it was – a piece of paper, hidden all those years. I can show it to you if you like.’

  Harry wriggled his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out an old piece of paper which he handed to Georgiana. Though the firelight was flickering, there was just enough light to make out the faded words written in old-fashioned, sprawling copperplate.

  My Dear Wife (how strange and wonderful that phrase sounds)

  Only a few days now until my brother’s wedding and then we may astonish the world with our own glad tidings. No doubt you were right to caution secrecy so as not to upset the applecart for Alex, but I am impatient to acknowledge you openly to the world. Not long now.

  Your loving husband.

  ‘It pleased me to know my mother had always told me the truth about being married, though I couldn’t say why it should matter. After all, I still didn’t know who my father was, but I was sure that somehow he must have been known to the old woman I’d met in prison. She’d seemed to recognise me and my mother had once said I looked very much like my father. I’d always wondered if he’d stolen from her – had been her footman perhaps. If I wasn’t the bastard son of a wealthy man, it could be the only explanation as to how my mother could afford my education.

  He gave a shrug but she heard the self-loathing in his voice and snuck a hand down to his braced in the grass. Their fingers entwined and it seemed his tone was lighter as he continued with his tale.

  ‘I went abroad because I couldn’t bear the idea of returning to Cambridge, aping the manners of a gentleman when I could be the son of a thief. It was equally impossible to stay in the village, for I was well past being accepted as a fisherman.’

  Georgiana didn’t need to say anything. Harry had come from two worlds and belonged to neither. Perhaps he and Charles were not so different; young men of character who, rather than compromise, had sought adventure in the far-flung reaches of the world. For the first time, she felt she was finally meeting the real Harry who was neither the hero of her dreams nor the assassin of her nightmares but a man with both fine qualities and flaws.

  ‘So what happened the day you went to see Lord Iver?’

  ‘Did the crew tell you anything about it?’

  ‘Some. They told me of your meeting with Iver and the delivery of the box. Alec was very grim about that.’

  Harry laughed. ‘Should’ve listened to him. But then, if it hadn’t been for Iver, we’d have never met, Georgie.’

  Hearing the casual warmth in his voice, Georgiana smiled into the darkness which nestled about them, marooning them in the pool of firelight. The river murmured as it flowed over the rocks and the smell of distant snow was clean and crisp on the night air.

  Harry continued. ‘Young Iver was wracked with opium and consumption when he met me in Shanghai, so I didn’t pay much mind to his mistaken identity. But later, when I went to his father’s house, I was surprised by Lord Iver’s equally strong reaction. He invited me to take a seat and took the news of his son’s death in his stride – had been expecting it, I gather. But I became suspicious when he started plying me with questions about my background. He kept darting looks at me and finally asked if the names Walsingham or Elrington meant anything to me. Of course I’d heard about Walsingham in Shanghai, but Elrington meant nothing to me. Iver recommended I visit Lord Walsingham who was his neighbour. He thought it would afford us both some interest. Looking back, I realise the old devil was stirring up trouble.

  ‘My curiosity was up so after I’d left him – and yes, he was still alive when I did, Georgie! – I walked over to Elrington Manor. When the butler answered the door, my suspicions were further aroused because he went the colour of old pastry. I don’t know why but I had a deep conviction the old woman was there and asked if I might see the senior lady of the house.

  ‘While he went to enquire, I looked at the portraits in the hall. They were a grim bunch, but then I saw one of two brothers when they were about twelve years old. The younger brother could have been myself at that age, apart from his colouring. I have my mother’s eyes and hair. I suddenly had the feeling I should leave at once, leave Pandora’s box unopened.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’ Georgiana leaned her head back into the nape of his neck where it fitted well. The sky was huge and splashed with stars, the Milky Way a river of silver-white against the blackness. She could feel the rumble of Harry’s voice through her back, describing the scene so vividly that she could picture everything that had happened to bring him around the world to this night, beside this river. With her. Surrendering to the story, she let his words wrap around her, and pull her back to a world they had both left long ago.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The butler returned and led Harry upstairs to a drawing room where the old woman was seated on a canary-yellow sofa. Harry paused in the doorway. He forced himself to maintain an air of social calm, though every instinct was on high alert. He knew now without a doubt he was about to learn who he was, but he was not at all sure he was going to like it. ‘Ah, my fairy godmother.’

  Her face had been filled with anger and suspicion, but now she gave a harsh laugh. ‘Is that how you think of me?’

  ‘You came, freed me and left without telling me your name,’ he reminded her, crossing the room and bowing over the hand she extended. ‘I had to call you something.’

  ‘I am Lady Elrington. How did you find me?’

  ‘Fate.’

  ‘And why are you here?’

  ‘To thank you.’

  ‘Impudent scamp. Do you hope to ingratiate yourself for a particular reason?’

  ‘I doubt anyone has ever managed to ingratiate himself with you if you did not will it.’

  ‘Not many, but my sons came close on occasions.’

  Harry nodded. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about them.’

  ‘Indeed? Perhaps it is time after all these years. Pray, take a seat.’

  He perched on one finely-turned chair while Lady Elrington surveyed him. ‘Have you been seeking me?’

  ‘Not at all. I have wondered, of course, over these past seven years, who you were and what your connection to my mother was, but I have been abroad most of the time.’

  She tilted her head. ‘And yet now you are here.’

  ‘Fate, as I say. A delivery brought me to Lord Iver. His reaction to my appearance and his suggestion that I visit Lord Walsingham piqued my interest. I felt sure I might find you, for you too had seemed to know me.’

  A shadow crossed her face. ‘Yes, I knew you.’

  ‘That’s my father,
isn’t it, in the stairwell?’

  ‘Yes, he was my younger son, Henry. His brother was Alexander. But why do you look so perplexed?’

  ‘I don’t understand, but perhaps you can enlighten me,’ said Harry, drawing out his father’s letter which he carried with him everywhere, and passed it to his grandmother. How unreal their unacknowledged relationship seemed. He scanned her face as she read. He had her cheekbones, he thought, but otherwise he could not see any likeness. Despite her rigid control, the colour drained from her face and tears welled as she lay the letter down in her lap once she’d read it. Harry produced his handkerchief, noting ruefully how grimy it looked. Only that morning he’d used it to polish the sextant. Her ladyship did not appear to notice its state, but she paused to look at the monogram sewn by his mother. She dabbed her eyes then looked back at Harry. ‘Yes, it is Henry’s writing.’

  ‘But then I am not his bas—his illegitimate son?’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘So why—?’ he broke off, hardly knowing which of the thousands of questions he wanted answered first.

  For a moment she regarded him before speaking reluctantly. ‘You have a right to know everything, I suppose. It is God’s punishment on me, for I have been a wicked woman. It began with your grandfather. He was an unsteady man in his time – a womaniser and a compulsive gambler. There were sideslips of his in the village for whom he paid upkeep. He also lost several small fortunes at the table – so much so that it became essential that our sons make good marriages. I did not see a problem with that.

  ‘Both boys were fine young men and very amusing – no women could resist them. We should have curbed them more, though. I see that now. At the time, however, it was hard to resist their charm. They were only a year apart and were always daredevilling one another. Oh, the scrapes they got themselves into.’ Lady Elrington broke off with a soft laugh. ‘Both were reckless, heedless boys. It runs in the family.’ She looked at Harry speculatively. ‘There are some Elringtons who are steady, of course. My grandson is one. Oh, I can see from your expression you didn’t know that I had another one. I’ll come to him. Anyway, they were the best of friends but were always challenging each other to silly stunts. I thought marriage would steady them.

  ‘Alexander, being the elder, was to make an advantageous marriage to the daughter of a man who’d amassed a fortune in coal mining. Alex was happy about it – like his father, he expected to have many mistresses so love did not enter the equation. Margaret was happy because she would get the title she craved. Preparations were made and during that time Henry was often off, roaming the countryside in sport – or so I thought at the time. Later I discovered that he was with your mother.’

  Harry leaned forward. She had his absolute attention.

  ‘The night before the wedding, Henry and Alex went off for some final high jinks together and, well, the story is legend in the village, now. They had a wager to climb the church steeple. Your father succeeded but your uncle slipped at the last minute. Henry lunged for Alex and caught his sleeve, but it was ripped from his fingers. The memory haunted him for the rest of his short life.’

  She paused, her face drawn. After so many years, Harry could still see the memory pained her. His heart too went out to both his dead uncle and his remorseful father. What a terrible burden of guilt he must have carried.

  His grandmother resumed her tale. ‘In our grief, we lashed out at Henry, for the wager had been his idea. Later, when our pain and denial lessened, we knew we’d been wrong to blame him, but at the time …’ she shrugged and shook her head. ‘Not once did he try to defend himself. We also insisted it was his duty to marry Margaret. The estate seemed so very important in those days. Now my two sons and husband are dead and I wonder why we fussed so. Henry initially refused. We were outraged and pushed and pushed until he became distraught, shouting, “I cannot! I’m already married.” ’

  ‘It’s hard to explain how we felt with one son dead, the other having made a disastrous marriage without our consent. I assumed he’d only married in order to have his way with some village girl who must have been a scheming wench to trap him thus.’

  ‘She’d have never—’ Harry began in hot defence, but his grandmother interrupted him by raising her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, Harry, that’s just what I thought at the time. I’d watched my husband’s small affairs for many years and was used to dismissing them. What we did next, I’m ashamed to say, was monstrous. Henry told us her name and where she lived in the village and that night we secretly visited her.’

  The old lady paused and rubbed a tired hand over her eyes. ‘The little thing was terrified. We swept in and told her she must go away. She cried and said she couldn’t leave her husband, that she loved him. I pointed out that if she loved him, she could prove it by leaving. He was heir now to a vast estate. Could she be the lady of all that? He would be the laughing stock of the village. She could never maintain her role and he would learn to hate and despise her. The estate would fall into disrepair and pass out of our hands if an advantageous marriage was not forged immediately. I even said, God forgive me, their marriage vows were not sanctified because he had not received our blessing. Gradually she stopped crying and I could tell she was listening, though she would not look at us. Finally she just nodded and I was relieved she’d come to her senses. We told her we would arrange for a carriage at dawn to take her away and would provide her with a stipend, but she surprised us by slipping off alone sometime during that night. I realised at that time I may have underestimated her, but concluded it was too late.’ She looked at Harry. ‘I’ve often since wondered if she knew at that time she was with child.’ Then, with a resigned shrug, she continued.

  ‘Your grandfather, however, was always more sentimental than I, and his conscience clearly bothered him over the years, although he never confided this to me. Instead, he began a secret search for her which took years. I cannot imagine how he must have felt when he discovered there was a boy, but he did right by you, sending you to Harrow. Yes,’ she said with a small, grim smile as Harry started, ‘my husband paid for you to attend his old school. Our sons went to Eton, at my insistence. I only found all this out when I went through his papers after I’d visited you in prison. I’d never looked at them before, afraid of what I might find in the way of debts and poor decisions.’

  ‘I thought some rich uncle paid for me. My mother would never talk about it.’

  ‘Well, it was your grandfather. He died nine years ago, just as you were finishing school or no doubt he would have paid for your university too.’

  Understanding dawned. ‘Instead of which, my mother began selling jewellery. But how—?’

  ‘Henry must have given her some necklaces and rings he’d inherited from his grandmother. It was very naughty of him, but they were ones I had never much admired and to be honest, I did not notice they had been gone for many months. When I realised what must have happened, I felt your mother had been well paid for her disappearance.’

  Harry could hardly speak for the anger that choked him. ‘She never wore them, not once. God knows where she hid them either, for we had precious little my whole life.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said his grandmother simply. ‘If I’d known there was a child perhaps things might have been different … But there is little point in dwelling on the past. I thought the whole matter ended until our family jeweller, who knows every piece he or his father ever made for us, reported the strange occurrence of a shabby woman selling a necklace he’d made some thirty years earlier.

  ‘Unfortunately Margaret – your father’s second wife – received the message and set the law upon your mother, thinking it right to retrieve family jewellery even though she’d never heard of this particular piece before. You see, she had never known about her husband’s first wife and I only became involved when she told me that this woman’s son had confessed to the
crime. I had to see who the son was. Later, I told Margaret everything to prevent her from pursuing the matter further. Naturally she was beside herself with rage.’

  Harry cared naught for the feelings of his father’s second wife. One furious and bitter question dominated his thoughts. ‘Did my father accept my mother’s disappearance so easily that he was married a few weeks later?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Lady Elrington paused and sighed heavily. ‘This part is hardest of all to tell. We knew if we said that she’d run off, he would search till he found her, so we had her cottage torched. He believed she’d died in the fire.’

  Harry’s fists clenched. ‘What sort of people are you?’

  She spread her hands. ‘We did it for this.’

  Unable to sit still any longer, Harry strode to the window and stared out. The shadows had lengthened over the immaculate green slopes of the grounds. The setting sun tinged the lake with fire as two swans glided across, their wakes smoothing out almost immediately in the mirrored surface. He leaned his forehead against the glass whilst his grandmother’s voice picked up the story once again, listless yet determined to take it to its conclusion.

  ‘The loss of his brother and his wife changed Henry. When the greatest despair had blown out, we were able to marry him off to Margaret quite easily. It was if he’d ceased to care about anything. He was like a man in a dream. Drank heavily. Never laughed any more. Rode his horse like a wild man through the forest until he took a tumble one day and broke his neck. When they brought his lifeless body back, I couldn’t even cry. He’d moved beyond us and all I could hope was that he’d finally found some peace.’ Her voice became defiant. ‘But Henry had left us one final gift. Margaret was with child.’

  Harry raised his head from the glass and slowly turned around. She nodded. ‘Yes, you have a half-brother, Phillip. You are both the spitting image of your father though your eyes, your hair, are your mother’s. Phillip grew up here and he loves the place.’ Her voice warmed. ‘He’s always got several projects on the go and you should see the improvements he’s made. The tenants adore him.’