Change of Heart

by Margaret Eastvale

  It was within easy reach. From time to time Julia had spoken vaguely of getting a tenant for it, hut nothing had ever been done. Anne would make that intention the excuse for her interest.

  She would ride over now, this very day, to inspect the house and set any necessary repairs in progress.

  Resolutely she turned back to the drawing-room to demand the keys. Julia dare not raise any objection in front of Weston. Her hand on the doorknob she hesitated as Weston’s voice came from within low with fury: ‘Be damned to the money, Julia! Listen to what I am saying.

  We can’t go on this way! You must tell her!’

  Julia’s silvery laugh tinkled out.

  ‘Now, Phillip, don’t be tedious,’ she replied lightly, ‘I’ve told you we must wait a little longer.’

  ‘Don’t try my patience too far!’ The menace in his voice made Anne shiver. ‘Or I might be tempted to reveal a few more secrets that you would prefer to keep hidden.’

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  ‘THERE it is at last, Jonas, Ashorne! Isn’t it as beautiful as I’ve always told you?’

  Edmund reined in his black horse at the top of the hill and proudly pointed out to his groom the green valley spread below, at its head an extensive mansion of mellowed brick.

  Originally the retirement home of an Elizabethan mariner, rich from exploits in the Spanish trade routes into which his descendants preferred not to enquire too closely, the manor had been added to by successive generations in a clutter of styles that nevertheless blended into a harmonious whole.

  Perhaps it might not appeal to the classical purist, but it was very attractive to Edmund’s eyes and very dear too. Doubly so as in the past six years there had been many times when he had despaired of ever seeing it again.

  ‘Fairish place,’ conceded Jonas with Northern caution. ‘Tidy bit of farmland too. Graze a goodish number of beasts, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘The best in England!’

  ‘Bar Yorkshire,’ declared his groom, automatically but without much conviction.

  Edmund grinned broadly back at him. ‘I’ve already told you that you may return home if you can’t bear to settle in the south here.’

  ‘Nay, sir, what’s the use? My folks are all dead and gone now. There’s nowt to go back for. I’ve looked after you for nigh on six year and I’ll not desert you now. This’ll do me. It may not be Yorkshire, but it’s a sight better than those rubbishing Frenchy lands we’re just come from!’

  Edmund nodded sober agreement.

  ‘Don’t mention them in the same breath. It’s good to be home at last.’

  He gazed round in contentment at the green buds bursting free from the spiky hawthorn hedges. Already the birds were busy gathering stuff for their nests. The first primroses were thrusting their yellow heads into the bright spring sunshine. All around everything seemed to be burgeoning into new life as if to celebrate his return. Only a gleaming sheet of water across the meadows on either side of the stream below, reminded him of the snow that had so lately covered the landscape. He spurred his horse on in a sudden fever to reach his destination.

  ‘Come, Jonas, no dawdling now we are so near. We take the path down and across the stream. That willow on the far bank is where I used to fish when I was a boy and could manage to get away from the schoolroom. Many’s the trout I’ve landed there.’

  ‘Aye, I reckon we’d best press on, Major. There’s a nasty cloud coming up behind us that threatens a downpour. I told you we ought to have come in the carriage.’

  ‘And been shut up inside it for hours on end! I’d rather be soaked a dozen times. Haven’t you had your fill of being caged in, Jonas?’

  ‘Sorry, Major, I was forgetting. Being a prisoner was harder for the likes of you than for me. I got pushed into a factory when I was a nipper for twelve hours a day. Not much light or air for us there. Th’army was a rest cure after that, and even the Frenchy prison not too bad.

  It didn’t chafe me to be locked up like it did you.’

  ‘I think it was only the thought of all this waiting for me that kept me sane for all those years,’ admitted Edmund soberly.

  Of Ashorne and Julia, he added inwardly—but he must not think of Julia now; must not waste time hoping that, against all reason, she had remained true to him.

  As so many times before, he put a hand to his pocket to touch the miniature that had been his consolation throughout his captivity. His captors had seized its jewelled frame, but with Gallic sympathy for romance had allowed him to keep the portrait it contained, which in his eyes had been infinitely more valuable.

  Throughout his long incarceration Julia’s dancing blue eyes and teasing smile had cheered his cell. For six years he had poured over her picture, using up the endless hours in daydreaming, planning their future in a thousand different ways. It had been difficult to remember in that dreary period that time was not standing still for Julia too.

  It was only on his return to England that doubts began to torment him. It had been frustrating not to be able to seek her out at once to set his mind at rest, but his own affairs must wait a little longer. Before he sought Julia out he must settle matters with the poor woman who dwelt in the house below, unaware of the blow fate had dealt her—Thomas’s widow. It would be too cruel to let her hear of this extraordinary tangle only from rumour while he was busy with his own concerns. Much as it irked him, he had to deal with her first.

  Edmund had often wondered in those long-drawn-out years how things were going at Ashorne in his absence. He had fretted helplessly over what confusion might ensue, but never in his wildest imaginings had he envisaged a state of affairs such as met him on his return to England. How could he have supposed that everyone might think him dead?

  When, before that fateful battle, he had lent his spare tunic to Harry Ashburton, whose own kit had been lost somewhere on the long march across country, neither of them could have foreseen what confusion the simple action could cause. It had not even been a major engagement that day—just one of the minor skirmishes. Yet after it Ashburton lay dead, his corpse so mutilated that only the papers in his pocket identified him—Edmund’s papers— while Edmund himself had been taken prisoner, suffering from a head wound that made remembrance of those early days hazy.

  If it had not been for the efforts of Jonas, captured at the same time, he might never have survived, and the mistake would never have been discovered. But he had recovered and returned home at last to find himself officially dead; to discover that Thomas had, nearly six years ago, succeeded to his title and lands.

  Which, he reflected, must have delighted Thomas who had always been envious of everything his cousin owned. Edmund would not have minded upsetting Thomas by his return but to dispossess his widow was a different matter. It appeared there was a child too though fortunately, from what the lawyers said, he was too young yet to understand what he was losing.

  The lawyers had offered to write on Edmund’s behalf to explain the tangle to the supposed Lady Ashorne but he had refused, feeling that this was something he must sort out himself and do it face to face, not by an impersonal letter.

  It had seemed simple enough in London, he thought rue, fully, to decide that by seeing Thomas’s widow himself he could break the news more gently, could set at rest any fears that she might be left destitute. Now as he neared the Manor it seemed less straightforward as, for the first time, he wondered how he was going to set about the task.

  Men he knew and understood after his years in the army but he had little experience of dealing with women. Suppose the poor creature had hysterics? He still had an uncomfortable memory of his helplessness in face of Julia’s terrifying outburst of sobbing and screaming when he first told her of his posting abroad—innocently expecting her pride and delight to be as great as his own. Not that he blamed her—women looked at these things very differently.

  It had been foolish of him to break the news so baldly. All the same he had been heartily glad of her young sister�
��s intervention to calm Julia down. But for Anne’s help he did not know how he would have coped.

  Julia had begged his pardon later and he had readily forgiven her but he could not forget the incident nor his inability to deal with it.’ Would there be anyone at the Manor to help him cope with the distress Thomas’s widow was bound to feel. Already bereft of her husband she must find the loss of her home and lands a stunning blow. Small wonder if it precipitated an even more violent reaction than Julia’s had been.

  For a moment his courage failed. He checked but immediately urged his horse on again.

  Now that he had come this far he must not give up. With Ashorne so close he could not bear to turn back without seeing it once again; and more than that, he knew it his duty to go on. The confusion they were now in was none of the widow’s making. He had to ensure that she understood that although he took his estates back from her, she would not be left wanting.

  Poor woman! She had suffered enough in being left widowed with a young child after so short a marriage. He must treat her as generously as he hoped anyone else might deal with Julia were she in the same plight. Only then would he feel free to pursue his own interests.

  In front of the familiar porch he dismounted and gave his reins to Jonas.

  ‘The stables are through that archway. There is bound to be someone about to help you deal with the horses, but mind what you say. Let them think us ordinary callers as yet. I don’t want any wild, rumours circulating before this poor woman has had time to recover from the shock of my news.’

  The dour north-countryman sniffed his contempt of the injunction.

  ‘ I hope I know by now how to keep a still tongue in my head. Shall you be wanting the beasts again today?’

  ‘Yes, I imagine so. We’ll need to ride down to the village later and rack up at the inn there for a while. We must give the widow time to arrange her affairs, and I cannot expect a stranger to take us into her home without warning.’

  He stood for a moment in the porch running an affectionate hand over the great lion’s-head knocker that had hung there as long as he could remember. Nostalgia overwhelmed him.

  Behind him towered the great beech tree he had scaled so often as a boy. Just the faintest tracery of leaves clothed the huge branches that would be hidden in foliage in a few weeks.

  Nothing had changed here!

  Then, chiding himself for dawdling to put off the evil moment, he took a deep breath and knocked loudly.

  The echoes rang round the great hall inside. Soon Edmund heard the thud of the butler’s footsteps as he walked slowly to answer the summons. When the door opened Edmund, set to greet Wickford, saw with a shock that it was a stranger confronting him. Wryly he reflected that although things might remain static, people continually reminded him of the passage of those six lost years.

  Of course Wickford had been well into his sixties when Edmund left home, and already was ponderously slow. Thomas, with little time for sentiment, would have had no compunction about replacing him. He must seek out the old man and make certain he had been given an adequate pension for his years of service.

  Suddenly he realised that Wickford’s successor was still holding the door open, impassively awaiting his instructions. Resolutely he stepped inside and asked for Lady Ashorne. ‘I fear that her ladyship is out at present, sir.’

  Edmund stopped in dismay, not having anticipated this setback. His concern must have shown in his face for the butler went on smoothly, ‘I believe, however, that Miss Wetherly is at home if you wish to speak to her instead, sir.’

  Julia! The relief that flooded through him was so tremendous that he did not stop to wonder what she was doing here at Ashorne. Julia would be able to solve his problem of explaining matters to the widow, quite apart from the fact that her presence here would save him more weeks of agitation while he sought her out. He had dared make no enquiries before, lest his resolution to deal with Lady Ashorne’s affairs first weakened. Thankfully he exclaimed, ‘That would be even better. Please ask Miss Wetherly if she will be so kind as to spare me a few minutes.’

  Miss Wetherly! His heart sang the name over again. So, after all, Julia had remained unmarried as he had scarcely dared to hope. In a few moments he would see her once more.

  His pulses quickened at the thought. Exasperated, he saw the butler was still lingering.

  ‘Who shall I say wishes to speak to her, sir?’ Edmund hesitated, knowing how swiftly gossip would spread through the servants’ hall into the countryside around if he gave his correct title. To delay its start, spare Thomas’s widow, cushion Julia’s shock, he temporised.

  ‘Tell her that it is Major Claverdon—a relation of the late Lord Ashorne.’ Which was true enough, though not quite as the man might suppose.

  ‘Very good, sir. Will you wait in the library?’ Impatiently Edmund followed him. He seethed while the portly butler stalked away with maddening slowness. Why could he not hurry, this red-faced stranger who had taken Wickford’s place? Had not sufficient time been wasted since he saw Julia last? Edmund listened tensely as the footsteps plodded down the hall, bracing himself to meet Julia once more. What would she say? How would she react to his sudden reappearance? Could it be possible that her love had remained as unchanged as his?

  Unable to keep still, he paced the room. Even in his agitation he noted the alteration there.

  Foolish to resent the fact that a thick red carpet now covered the oak floorboards, or that rich velvet curtains took one’s eye away from the leatherclad books, but he could not help regretting it. After feeding on his memories of Ashorne for so long it was disconcerting to find the reality changed, even in such minor ways. What alteration, he thought in sudden panic, would he find in Julia?

  Anne had taken advantage of her sister’s visit to the local dressmaker to make a thorough onslaught upon the linen stores. She was determined, whatever Julia might say, to have everything in perfect order for Edmund’s return. It would be difficult enough to arrange matters and make a fair division of the household goods, without finding everything higgledy-piggledy and in need of repair.

  So for the past week a startled housekeeper had found herself embarked on the earliest and most thorough bout of spring-cleaning she had undertaken for years. Already Anne had whisked her through the kitchens and china store, sorting and cleaning things that had lain untouched for years. Now they had turned their attention to the upstairs rooms.

  Here were the same signs of lack of a proper care. Everything was clean and neat enough, but clearly there had been no overall system in the management of the stocks. Julia paid little heed to her household duties, and her careless attitude had in turn made the servants slapdash in their approach; knowing that their mistress had interest only in those parts of the manor she used herself, they neglected the rest. Anne was unfolding some sets of linen that she judged from their yellowed creases to have been part of Edmund’s mother’s trousseau when the butler interrupted her.

  Her heart thumped so wildly as she listened to his message that she thought he must hear.it.

  She knew this Major Claverdon must be Edmund. So he had come at last!

  ‘I told him that her ladyship was out so he asked to speak with you, miss.’

  For a brief panic-stricken moment Anne was tempted to deny herself but she realised what a strange impression that would give—enough to cause the sort of comment she most wanted to avoid. After all, she had to meet Edmund some time. Perhaps it was better to get it over at once. With an outward calm masking her inner ferment, she replied, ‘Thank you, Stone, I will come down directly. Have the maids wash these sheets, Mrs.

  Norwich, and put them into use in the guest rooms immediately. It is criminal to see them lie here going to rack and ruin.’

  Only a faintly heightened colour betrayed her agitation as she smoothed down her gown and hurried downstairs. After all those romantic fantasies long ago of greeting Edmund’s return in a breathtaking ball gown, she was in her oldest work dress now
as she went to welcome him. Her hair was dusty and she strongly suspected that there was a smut on one cheek. She rubbed anxiously at it then stopped shyly in the library doorway, gazing at the tall figure awaiting her there.

  It had grown more difficult over the years to recall Edmund’s features, but now that he stood before her she could recognise the slight alterations. His dark hair was as thick as always, his eyes as keen. Though thinner after years of deprivation, he held himself as erect as ever he used. With a rush of pity she saw that those six years had etched lines on his handsome face, making it sterner, less carefree. But despite the differences there was enough resemblance to her childhood hero to make her pulses throb, however calm she had determined to remain.

  ‘Edmund?’ she faltered.

  He moved eagerly towards her, hands outstretched to grasp hers. Then, in a daze, she saw his expression alter and, as in those foolish daydreams of so long ago, she watched his eyes light with passion, felt his arms close about her. He bent to kiss her with all the pent-up longing of six lonely years.

  His touch was more thrilling than she had ever dreamed. Anne felt the delight flood through her as for one heart-stopping second she responded with an eagerness that equalled his.

  Then as sanity returned she tried to pull away. Even before he raised his head to murmur, ‘Julia, it has been so long!’ she had realised his mistake.

  Scarlet with shame at her stupidity, she struggled free, exclaiming in panic, ‘No, you must not!’

  ‘Forgive me, Julia,’ contritely he released her. ‘My coming has been too great a shock for you. I should not have been so sudden.’

  ‘You certainly should not!’ she retorted fiercely. ‘You ought first to have made sure of your facts. I am not Julia!’

  ‘Not Julia? Oh my God! But who…?’

  His dismay was even more infuriating than the error.

  ‘I am Anne Wetherly, of course!’ she snapped quivering with mortification.