The Snow Rose

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Arthur . . . it was awful.’ She begins to tremble with the shock. ‘I thought I was going to die. That I’d never see you again.’

  ‘I should never have left you here,’ he says grimly. ‘I knew I should have insisted. I could have guessed it would be dangerous here. I’m sorry, Letty.’

  ‘We’re together now,’ she says gratefully, as he puts his coat around her shoulders.

  ‘And always will be,’ he replies, holding her close as they turn onto the road.

  Letty glances back for a moment at her old home. I should think I’ll never go back. She feels a mixture of regret and excitement. Her gaze lands on the figure of her sister, dark against the house but clearly full-bellied, one hand resting on her stomach. Goodbye, Arabella. I hope you’ll be happy.

  Cecily receives Letty at High Hill Farm with the kind of warmth a prodigal daughter might expect. At last, the scales have fallen, and Cecily is all concern and fuss, making sure Letty is put to bed with a cup of beef broth and a big stone hot-water bottle.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. If only Arabella would see things the same way,’ Cecily says soberly as they sit in the chilly farmhouse drawing room the following day. A doctor has looked at Letty and pronounced her unharmed but she is very tired and her chest hurts. They had to walk most of the way to the farm, before they got a lift from a passing motorist, and it was late by the time they finally arrived. Arthur left first thing this morning to report to the police station about last night’s events, and then to take the train to London to visit the newspaper he’s been writing for.

  ‘She never will,’ Letty says. ‘She’s determined on it.’

  Cecily is quiet while a maid brings tea and anchovy toast and sets it out for them. The toast looks cold and unappealing, the anchovy paste thin. The tea, when Letty tries it, tastes watery. She is struck by an unexpected pang of homesickness: for the house, the warmth of the community, the comfort there and the delicious, unending food. Life outside, she realises, is going to be tougher than she is accustomed to. There will be challenges she does not yet understand, harder things to face than bad toast and horrid tea.

  That is the price to pay for independence and freedom.

  When the maid has gone, Cecily sniffs and says, ‘I can’t believe she is a lost cause.’

  ‘She is firm,’ Letty says. ‘We talked about it. I believe that in her heart she knows that the Beloved – sorry, the Reverend Phillips – is pure bunk, but she’s come to rely on her faith in him. It gives her life a meaning she’s always searched for, in the same way some get obsessed by politics or art or whatever.’

  ‘Politics I could have taken,’ Cecily says bitterly. ‘At least then we’d have preserved our inheritance.’

  ‘You still have your money,’ points out Letty. ‘The house was always Arabella’s.’

  Cecily sighs. ‘I suppose so. But she was – is – quite insane, I don’t care what the judge said. By rights, Hanthorpe should have been taken away from her before she gave it to that maniac and his ridiculous herd of women.’ Cecily takes a sip of tea. She looks over the china rim at Letty and when she puts the cup back on the saucer, she says delicately, ‘And was it all true? The scandalous stories of what you all got up to in that house? I know he did some disgusting things, and in public. We all heard about the way he selected girls to be his bride for the week, and married off everyone willy-nilly. Shocking.’

  ‘That’s not quite the case,’ Letty says. ‘Nothing was done in public, and the marriages were supposed to be spiritual only. But I suspect it was a way of keeping people in the flock, and making sure they didn’t remove their financial support. It was only the rich ones he married off.’

  ‘Spiritual only!’ Cecily says mockingly. ‘That’s why Arabella’s expecting, I suppose!’ She sighs primly.‘Such debauchery. I believe we still have a case for proving she’s mad if only we could get her out of that place. Edward thinks the same.’

  ‘You mean kidnap her, like you tried to last time?’ Letty shakes her head. ‘Leave it be, Cecily. Please. If she is insane, it’s as well that she lives happily at home than rots in an asylum.’

  ‘But if she’s unfit, the house would come to you and me! Wouldn’t you want that?’

  ‘You should stop yearning after it. It will only make you unhappy. This house is lovely; you’ll fill it with children and make a new home.’ Letty puts her teacup down as well. ‘Let go of the house. It will only bring you trouble. We both have more than enough to be comfortable.’

  Cecily purses her lips and sniffs again. There’s a pause and then she gives Letty a look, her eyebrows raised. ‘And you . . . weren’t you involved in one of these spiritual marriages? I imagine Phillips was keen to keep you in the community with your income.’ Her eyebrows rise higher as she sees Letty flush scarlet. ‘Ah. I see. You were. And let me guess.’ She smiles. ‘Arthur?’

  Letty blushes even more deeply and nods.

  ‘And not quite as spiritual as it was supposed to be . . .’

  ‘He’s always been a perfect gentleman!’ bursts out Letty, disliking the insinuation. ‘We both knew it wasn’t a real marriage.’

  Cecily says quickly, ‘Of course, quite right. I’m sorry if I implied anything else. But it is quite clear how you feel about each other.’

  ‘Is it?’ Letty is filled with a sudden and desperate yearning for Arthur. She hasn’t seen him since he kissed her goodnight and promised to see her later today. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I’m pleased. He’s a sensible young man. Has he asked you to marry him?’

  Letty blushes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. And let’s hope his writings mean that even if we can’t stop the goings-on at the house, we can at least put any more innocent people off the idea of joining in.’

  ‘Yes.’ Letty sips her tea. Then she says, ‘But you know, despite everything, it was a happy place. I’m going to miss it.’

  ‘Miss it?’ Cecily looks outraged. ‘How can you?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I will.’

  Letty is watching the drawing room fire die down to the embers when she hears, at last, the sound of the motor coming up the long drive to the house. Edward is returning and that means he will have Arthur with him. She jumps and runs out of the house, leaving the front door wide open behind her and casting gold light onto the ground. As soon as the car pulls to a stop, Arthur gets out, sees her and opens his arms.

  ‘Come here,’ he says simply, and she rushes into his embrace. They stay like that as Edward comes around the car and says:

  ‘Hello, Letty, hope you’re feeling better.’

  She can’t answer, she’s too happy to be nestled into Arthur’s chest, reunited with him properly and for good at last.

  Arthur is staying at the farmhouse but of course there’s no question of them sharing a room. They stay up very late, lying together on the drawing room sofa, talking quietly in between their kisses.

  ‘What happened at the police station?’ she asks, looking up at him anxiously. ‘Did you tell them about the fire?’

  He looks down at her, his grey eyes solemn. ‘You asked me not to. So I didn’t. Much as I wanted to reveal the extent of that man’s villainy.’

  ‘We can’t be sure. We have no evidence. Arabella would never support me if I accused him, and she’s the only witness. It would only be the most awful, terrible scandal. I couldn’t face it.’

  Arthur sighs. ‘I understand. But if he’s capable of hurting you and driving Emily to her death, isn’t he capable of hurting others?’

  ‘I’m afraid he has a power over others that makes him dangerous. We can’t stop that.’

  ‘We could lock him up!’ replies Arthur. ‘We ought to try.’

  ‘It’s my word against his, and Arabella’s, and all the rest of them. And I never saw him do it. It could have been someone else. It could have been an accident.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Arthur tightens his hold around her for a moment. ‘Well, I’ll fight him the only way I k
now – by revealing exactly what he’s like in print. The newspaper is interested in my writing a series of eye-witness accounts of what went on in the house. I’ll make sure he’s turned into a joke. It’s the only way you can stop these strutting megalomaniacs getting carried away with their power and causing real harm.’ He kisses her again. ‘I’m so glad you’re away from that man.’

  ‘It’s thanks to Arabella I got out of there,’ Letty answers. ‘She saved me in the end.’

  ‘I never would have thought she’d have it in her.’ Arthur thinks for a moment. ‘Do you mind very much about what’s happened to her?’

  ‘Of course I do. And about the baby. Goodness knows if she’ll be able to look after it. You know, in a funny way, I don’t think she actually realises she’s going to have a child. It doesn’t seem to mean anything to her. When the baby finally arrives, she might be in for a shock. I wish I could be there to help her through it.’

  ‘You’re a kind soul, Letty. Brave and kind.’ He kisses the top of her head tenderly.

  ‘But what about you?’ she asks, looking up at him. ‘You’ve lost your parents to the Beloved. I mean, Phillips. And your inheritance.’

  Arthur shrugs. ‘They’re alive and happy enough. It’s better that they stay there now. Pa’s name is mud in town since the news came out about the place. He’s been blackballed from his club, and let go from his firm – not that he’s been there in months. The money will be sucked away to Phillips, but all the old ladies will be looked after with it. Worse things could happen than that it keeps a lot of old biddies happy and well stocked with sherry and crumpets while they wait for the great Day.’

  ‘You’re a kind soul,’ Letty says happily.

  ‘Two kind souls together.’ He smiles down at her. ‘And I rather fancy the idea of being a self-made man. Arthur Kendall, the great journalist and businessman. And Letty Kendall, the magnificent woman he marries.’

  ‘Yes.’ She hugs him tightly. ‘Let’s get on with living. Right away. We won’t waste another moment.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The snow rose sits, tiny and exquisite, in its little pot on the windowsill. Its petals are small white trumpets that are beginning to spread out towards full bloom, and its dark green leaves are tiny and almond-shaped. Its gnarly branches twist and bend. It truly is a beautiful little tree.

  I don’t know what to say to Sissy. I don’t understand how she can have known about Heather. It doesn’t make any sense.

  Matty gets up and goes over to the range to get the kettle, which she fills. ‘You look spooked,’ she remarks. ‘You mustn’t be frightened of Sissy. She’s got a gift. Some call it intuition, some call it being psychic.’ She shoots a look at her sister and says loudly, ‘I even call it being nosy. But there’s no doubt that she sees things most don’t. And it’s got stronger since she went blind.’

  ‘How did you go blind, Sissy?’ I ask, hoping to divert her away from the thing I most don’t want to discuss.

  ‘It was very rum,’ Matty says, ‘wasn’t it, Sis?’

  Sissy nods. ‘I knocked my head, you see. Bending over to pick something up, I whacked it on the side of the table. I said at the time, I’m sure I’ll go blind. Well, I was fine all that day, but I woke up the next morning and so it was. I couldn’t see a thing. And I haven’t since.’

  ‘The doctors can’t find anything wrong,’ puts in Matty. ‘That’s the strangest part.’

  Not wanting to say outright that it looks to me as if she’s got perfectly good vision – considering the fact that she can knit, write and all the rest of it – I say, ‘But you do so much just as if you can see.’

  ‘That’s my gift.’ Sissy shrugs. ‘That’s what helps me do all that.’

  I’m not convinced but I don’t know what else to say without sounding as if I don’t believe her. I manage something inoffensive: ‘Well, perhaps you’ll wake up one day and you’ll be right as rain again. Sometimes it happens like that, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It doesn’t stop me seeing things that others can’t,’ Sissy says, turning those blank eyes towards me again. ‘That’s how I knew about your little girl. I sensed her around you. I felt the weight of your sorrow that she wasn’t in this world anymore. She feels it too, very much. She’s so sad for your pain. That’s why she stayed with you, so you’d have the time you wanted to say goodbye to her.’

  I gasp lightly. It’s so hard for me to accept the truth. That my little Heather, my angel, my child, really is gone from me, forever. Tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a broken voice, and the tears rush out of my eyes, pouring down my face as suddenly and fiercely as though an invisible tap has just been turned on. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You need to do it,’ Sissy says softly. ‘You need to cry. You must mourn her, you must grieve. You haven’t yet, have you?’

  The sisters look at me with pity. Sissy’s kind, quiet voice is too much for me. ‘I couldn’t bear it,’ I say with a sob. ‘I couldn’t bear for it to have happened.’

  ‘Of course. You must express your sorrow that you’ll continue your journey in this physical world without her. But there is comfort. She’ll always be with you, walking with you in the spirit world.’

  ‘Will she?’

  Sissy nods. ‘Oh yes, I can see her now. She’s with you. She loves you. She’s worried about you.’

  ‘Why can’t I see her?’ I cry, the tears falling harder. ‘I want her so much! I don’t want her in the spirit world, I want her here, now. I want her to go to school and parties and play in the park. I want her to grow up, and tell me about the boys she likes and the fashion she wants to wear, and I’ll tell her off for piercing her ears and her belly and dying her hair. I want to be at her wedding and hold her hand when she’s had her first child. I want all that . . . I want it and it’s all been taken away, and it’s all my fault because I couldn’t save her, and I’m her mother and I couldn’t be with her when she needed me and I couldn’t save her . . .’

  I can’t go on. The tears are too strong, the grief too overwhelming. I weep and weep and weep.

  I don’t know how much later it is that the storm subsides, as all storms have to in the end. Matty is beside me, her hand on mine, her other arm around my shoulders. She’s pressed tissues into my hand so that I can mop my eyes and stem my streaming nose.

  ‘You need a good blow,’ she says comfortingly.

  ‘Yes.’ I use the tissue, and sniff. Then I smile weakly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Please don’t be,’ Sissy says. She’s still in the rocking chair but her knitting is on the sideboard and she watches me blindly, rocking gently. ‘It needs doing, and why not? It’s awful to be left alone in this world, isn’t it? Your pain is very great. It won’t lessen but it will grow easier to bear, I promise. And you must believe that her essential being – the one that never would have changed no matter how old she got – is with you.’

  ‘I can’t stand the pain of losing her.’

  ‘Yes. But you must understand you are not alone in this pain. So many parents have lost their children. So many children have lost their parents. These losses and griefs come to us all at different times. They are part of life, part of our journey.’

  I nod, acknowledging the truth of this. Strangely, it helps a little. I think of the photographs and portraits that hang all over this cottage – all people dead and gone. It comes to everyone. I’m not alone. All things pass.

  ‘Is she still here?’ I ask, the horrific feeling of loss a little lightened by my outpouring. I want the comfort of knowing that I haven’t lost her entirely, as I so feared and dreaded.

  ‘Oh yes. She’s very worried about you. She’s been trying her best to help you in whatever way she can.’ Sissy frowns and seems to be listening to a voice that only she can hear. ‘She’s been trying to tell you something. It’s something you’ve forgotten.’

  I clutch harder to the tissue in my hand. Somewhere, deep down, in the darkness, a knowledge is
locked away. Something I’ve lost and forgotten, something very precious. But . . . I have the mental image of a rusted lock, and a key inserted, about to be turned.

  Sissy turns her gaze up to the ceiling, and I feel as though Heather has floated somewhere above her head. ‘Ah. She’s talking about someone, someone very, very important. What is it . . . who is it, darling? It’s . . .’ She frowns. ‘It’s Madam.’

  A chill passes over me when I hear that name. I feel something like the sensation of dread I had when Heather said the same word to me. The invisible friend. The friend from the old home. The one I thought was gone. I dreaded to hear it because it threatened to break down the imaginary world I’d created with such effort. It could bring everything crashing down, and make Heather disappear. But with the dread is something else: great excitement and wonder as something precious is revealed. The key in the lock starts to turn.

  Sissy frowns and shakes her head. ‘But Madam isn’t a woman. No . . . no . . . it’s a little boy. Isn’t it, sweetheart? Is that what you’re telling me? Yes . . . yes, a little boy. His name is . . .’

  ‘Adam,’ I say. ‘She called him Madam when she was only little. Adam. My Adam. Madam.’ I gasp, a hand flying to my chest. ‘Oh my God! Ady!’ I get to my feet, giddiness spooling through me but suddenly desperate to move, to leave, to get to the place I’m really supposed to be but had forgotten for all this time. ‘I have to go!’

  ‘Yes,’ nods Sissy. ‘Oh, she’s happy now! She’s given you her message, and you know what to do now, don’t you? There’s a good girl, well done!’

  I look about, longing so hard to see what Sissy can see. ‘Is she here? Is she? How can I leave her?’

  ‘Oh,’ says Matty, who’s let go of my hand, ‘you don’t have to worry about her.’

  Sissy nods. ‘Leave her with us for now. We’re a pair of old ghosts ourselves, all that’s left of another life. And she’ll be with you when you need her. Don’t worry about that.’