‘Oh, you mustn’t worry too much, my dear,’ began Sir Michael. ‘Lots of us who hunt take a tumble from time to—’
He was interrupted by the shrill of the telephone. Daphne sank gracefully into an armchair, and without looking at Felix, said, ‘Answer that, darling, will you? I’m sure it’ll be for you.’
Felix strode into the hall and snatched up the receiver.
‘Felix Bellinger.’
‘Felix? It’s Henry Masters.’
Felix caught his breath. ‘Any news?’ he managed to ask.
‘Yes, I’m afraid there is. Billy died at five o’clock this morning.’
‘What?’ Felix’s voice was a croak.
‘Charlotte was with him.’
‘But the hospital? The doctors there...’
‘Could do nothing for him. It was as I feared, he’d a broken skull. Felix, if he hadn’t died, he’d have been totally paralysed from the neck down. I hate to say this and I certainly wouldn’t say it to Charlotte or any of the family, but for Billy it was best. The Billy we all knew and loved wouldn’t have wanted to spend the rest of his life unable to move, entirely dependent on someone else for the slightest thing.’
Felix couldn’t speak, he simply nodded into the telephone. Knowing he was still there, Henry Masters went on, ‘I told John I’d let you know. There’ll be an inquest, of course, but I’m sure it’ll bring in accidental death or death by misadventure.’
‘Thank you for letting me know,’ Felix managed. ‘Tell them I’ll deal with Rustler, get him picked up by the meat wagon.’
‘That would be kind,’ said Henry. ‘I’ll tell them.’
Felix stood in the hall, the weight of the news bearing down upon him. Billy was dead. His wife was a widow and his children would have to grow up without a father. He wanted to shout out loud against the unfairness of it all. Yesterday, Billy had been laughing and joking, declaring it a perfect day; it had turned out to be anything but. Felix drew several deep breaths before he’d collected himself enough to return to the drawing room. As he came through the door, Daphne was laughing at some remark Sir Michael had made. They both looked up as he came in.
‘Who was it, darling?’ she asked, as if she really wanted to know.
‘Billy Shepherd’s dead,’ said Felix tonelessly. ‘There’ll be an inquest.’
*
Charlotte was still dry-eyed when Margaret and John arrived at the hospital in the morning. She had continued to sit with Billy for a while, and when they had come to take him away, she had waited until he was laid out on a bed in a small room in the basement, and then gone back to sit with him again. But now it wasn’t Billy who lay there, so still and pale, his eyes closed as if asleep. Not her Billy whose eyes were bright blue, wide with laughter and the joy of life, with his halo of blond curls springing up round his head, with his generous, mobile mouth. Not her Billy, lying so still and silent. Later, a nurse came in and told her that Billy’s parents had arrived and were waiting outside.
‘They’ve spoken to the doctor,’ she said. ‘They know he’s passed away.’
Charlotte nodded and letting go of Billy’s hand, leaned over and kissed his face for the last time before walking out of the room, rigid with self-control.
Her parents-in-law, drawn-faced, went in and took her place at the bedside while Charlotte went upstairs and waited. They were about to leave when Jane appeared. She hurried across to them, her face pale with anxiety.
‘I only just got your message,’ she cried. ‘Tell me it’s not true!’ But one look at the trio standing by the main entrance told her it was, and her face crumpled.
‘What happened?’ she whispered. And quietly her father explained.
‘You should have called me sooner,’ she said bitterly, and Charlotte knew it was true. She should have thought of Jane, working in this very hospital, but she hadn’t. Her entire being had been focused on Billy.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘So you should be.’
‘Now, Jane,’ said her father gently. ‘We’re all upset. Charlotte’s been up all night.’
Jane said no more, but with an angry scowl went down to make her own farewells to her brother.
Caroline was looking after the children, and Charlotte had phoned, to tell her the news and to ask her not to tell Johnny what had happened. ‘I’ll tell him when I get home,’ she said. ‘I need to tell him myself.’ Caroline understood and though she had taken them back to Blackdown House, where everything she needed for the care of Edie was at hand, she’d simply told Johnny that Mummy would be home again soon and suggested that he set up his farm animals. Once Edie was fed and comfortable, Caroline joined him at the kitchen table, helping him to build fences for his fields and paddocks with forks and spoons from the cutlery drawer. They were just building a farmhouse with some of his bricks when Charlotte got home. John and Margaret had brought her back from Bristol and dropped her off at the end of the lane.
‘Wouldn’t you like us to come in with you?’ Margaret had protested, but Charlotte had held firm.
‘No, thank you. I need to be with the children in our own home.’
‘Well, if you’re sure...’ Margaret had sounded a little put-out.
‘I’m sorry,’ Charlotte was adamant, ‘I have to do this by myself.’
Margaret seemed about to pursue the subject, but John put a hand on her arm and said, ‘Leave her, Meg, Charlotte has to do this her own way.’ Charlotte gave him a look of gratitude and he went on, ‘She knows we’re here to help her in any way we can.’
So Charlotte got out of the car and without looking back, walked up the lane to her home and her children.
‘Mummy!’ cried Johnny in delight as she came in through the back door. ‘Look, me and Auntie Caro have made a farm with my an’mals.’
Charlotte forced a smile and said, ‘So you have, Johnny. Well done.’
‘I’m going to show it to Daddy when he comes home. He’ll like it, too, won’t he, Mummy?’
Caroline looked across at Charlotte, not knowing how to respond. Charlotte bent down and hugged Johnny fiercely to her. ‘Of course he will, it’s a lovely farm.’ Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she said, ‘Caro, will you take Edie out for a breath of fresh air?’
‘Of course.’ It was a relief to Caroline to scoop up Edie and put her in the pram.
‘Can I go, too?’ demanded Johnny. ‘Are you going to the playground, Auntie Caro? Can I come?’
‘No, darling,’ Charlotte replied. ‘You and I are going to finish building your farm.’
When Caroline had left, Charlotte settled herself at the table and watched Johnny for several moments, not knowing how to tell him.
‘This is the pigsty,’ he told her, as he pushed three forks together and put one of the pink pigs into its sty. ‘She going to have piglets soon. Daddy says they need lots of space when they’re about to farrow.’
Charlotte’s heart contracted with love for him, so much Billy’s son, already a farmer at heart. She reached out a hand and said, ‘Johnny, come here, darling. Come and sit on my knee for a minute.’
The seriousness of her voice must have got through to him, for he put down the pig and looked at her for a moment before taking her hand and clambering onto her lap.
‘Darling, you know Daddy went out hunting yesterday—’ she began.
‘He was riding Rustler,’ Johnny interrupted. ‘He’s the bestest horse in the world, isn’t he?’
‘He was a lovely horse,’ Charlotte agreed, blinking back her tears, ‘but yesterday there was an accident. Poor Rustler fell over and Daddy fell off.’
Johnny glanced up at her. ‘Poor Rustler,’ he said and then added, ‘Poor Daddy. Where is he?’ He looked round as if expecting to see his father walk in the door. ‘Did he hurt himself?’
‘Yes, Johnny, I’m afraid he did. He bumped his head very badly. He went to the hospital, but the doctors couldn’t make him better.’
‘Why not?’ asked Johnny
, still unaware of the enormity of what she was trying to tell him.
‘He was too badly hurt. Darling, poor Daddy couldn’t get better.’ Charlotte pulled her son tightly against her, burying her face in the fair curls that were Billy’s. ‘Poor Daddy has died, Johnny. He won’t be coming home any more.’
‘But I want to show him my farm!’ Johnny cried.
‘I know you do, darling, but you can’t. Daddy’s not coming home again.’ She took a deep breath and overcoming the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her, went on, ‘Johnny, darling, I’m afraid Daddy’s dead.’
‘Like Mitzi was dead?’ Johnny asked with a frown, remembering the still form of his grandmother’s cat who had died a few weeks earlier.
‘Yes,’ Charlotte said. ‘Like Mitzi.’
Johnny looked up into her face and tears came to his eyes. ‘But I don’t want Daddy to be dead,’ he wailed.
Their tears mingled as she held their son, hers and Billy’s, close against her. ‘No, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘Nor do I.’
25
Felix had insisted that Daphne come with her to Billy’s funeral.
‘But I didn’t really know him,’ she protested. ‘I only met him once.’
‘That’s not the point,’ retorted Felix. ‘We go to the funeral to show respect for Billy and to support his wife and family.’
‘I don’t know them, either.’
‘Then bloody well stay at home!’ exploded Felix, his patience finally gone. ‘I shall go without you, and it’ll be clear to all and sundry that you couldn’t be bothered to come.’ He stormed out of the room, leaving Daphne staring, open-mouthed, after him.
Since the morning when Sir Michael had called and they’d all heard the news of Billy’s death, she’d been aware of a change in Felix. She knew he’d been among those who’d found Billy on the ground, who’d carried him to Dunn’s farm to await the ambulance, but she couldn’t see why that should make him so grouchy. He hadn’t been like that when his own father had died. Then he’d been quiet and sad and buried himself in the paperwork his father had left behind. But he had no responsibility for Billy Shepherd, so why was he so upset? He hadn’t caused his accident, he hadn’t even seen it. The man was dead and that was very sad, but Daphne couldn’t for the life of her think why Felix was so badly affected.
When Felix had put down the phone and told them Billy had died in the night, Sir Michael had assured them both that it was a dreadful accident.
‘Very occasionally these things happen when the hunt is out,’ he said. ‘There’s always a risk, but, really, a very small one.’
‘What about the man who caused it?’ demanded Felix.
‘My dear boy, no one caused it. It was an accident.’
‘The man on the skewbald?’
‘What about him? We don’t know he had anything to do with Billy’s fall. No one saw it happen. It was just a dreadful accident.’
Daphne had actually tried to say that perhaps if men, horses and dogs didn’t chase wildly across country after poor little foxes, then accidents like this wouldn’t happen, but Sir Michael turned such stern eyes on her that she realised her mistake and faltered into silence before she was halfway through her comment. Sir Michael Bowden was the sort of person Daphne was anxious to cultivate. A man who drove a Rolls Royce clearly moved in elevated circles locally and she’d turned on the full blast of her charm in the hope of getting to know him and perhaps receiving an invitation to Marystoke Hall.
Sir Michael had been charmed, managing to overlook her stupid ideas about foxes, putting them down to the fact that she came from London and had yet to learn the ways of the country, and he held her hand a fraction longer than necessary when he took his leave.
‘So nice to meet you, my dear. I hope we’ll meet again soon.’
‘Is he married?’ she asked Felix as they closed the front door behind him.
‘No, why?’ Felix sounded surprised.
‘I just wondered if he had a wife who I could meet. You know, invite them over for dinner one evening.’
‘Sorry,’ said Felix, who was in no mood for such thoughts, ‘you’ll have to do without him.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, Daph, I feel so helpless. I wonder if there’s anything I can do for Charlotte. She must be completely devastated.’
‘Go round and ask her.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Daphne. This isn’t a time to intrude. It’s just, well, I wish there’d been more we could have done at the time.’
‘Like what?’
Felix shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just something that might have made a difference.’
‘You did say you were going to deal with his horse,’ Daphne suggested, realising at last that it wasn’t the time for suggesting entertaining and dinner parties.
‘You’re right,’ said Felix, pulling himself together, ‘I did. I’ll ring the knackers now and then I’ll go out and see to Archie and Hamble.’
‘Archie and Hamble?’ Daphne looked confused. ‘Who’re they?’
Felix simply shook his head and said, ‘Horses, Daphne.’
News of Billy’s demise had sobered Felix up far more efficiently than any number of pots of coffee and he made his phone call and then went out to the stables.
*
Dr Masters’s expectation that the coroner would bring a verdict of death by misadventure proved to be right. It was clear to all that it was a hunting accident. Felix, John Shepherd, Andy Lawrence and Sam Burns were called as witnesses, but as there had been no eyewitness to the actual fall, they could only tell of what they had seen and the aftermath. Tom Jeavons, the man riding the skewbald, had been the guest of one of the farmers at the meet. When he was called he told the court that he’d jumped the wall well ahead of the man on the chestnut, and had no knowledge of the accident until he’d heard about it later in the day.
Dr Masters gave evidence of the injuries Billy had sustained and what he had been able to do to offer first aid; Sir Michael testified that he knew that there’d been an accident, a fall, but had no idea of its severity until the following morning when he’d heard that Billy was dangerously ill in hospital. Nobody was at fault, except, by inference perhaps, Billy. The coroner pronounced Death by Misadventure and offered his condolences to the Shepherd family.
Charlotte was sitting at the back of the court. The Shepherds had suggested that she need not go, but she knew she had to; she needed to hear what was said. She listened to all the witnesses, but knew the actual verdict didn’t matter to her or the children. Billy was dead and nothing would bring him back.
*
Billy was laid to rest in the churchyard, his grave next to Miss Edie’s beneath the old yew tree. The church was packed for his funeral, the susurration of the gathered congregation as they waited for the service to begin fading to silence as Charlotte, Margaret, John and Jane followed the coffin and took their places in the front pew. The children were not there, they were with Caroline. She had offered to look after them and Charlotte had accepted with gratitude. She had been adamant that the children should not go to the service, despite her sister-in-law’s expressed outrage at this resolve.
‘They need to say goodbye to their father properly,’ Jane said hotly when Charlotte was telling John and Margaret of her decision.
‘Edie will know nothing about it,’ Charlotte said, ‘and I want Johnny’s memories of Billy to be of him when he was alive; of the fun they had together. I do not want him to see Billy lowered into a hole in the ground and be left with that as his final memory.’
‘Well,’ sniffed Jane, ‘I think you’re wrong, but it’s your decision.’
‘Yes, it is,’ replied Charlotte, and she stuck to it.
She had already visited Miss Edie’s grave and it was here, sitting on the cold ground, that she finally gave way to her grief.
‘How am I going to live without him, Miss Edie?’ she’d cried as the pent-up tears flooded her cheeks. ‘How will the children grow up without a father? Johnny knows he’s de
ad, but he doesn’t understand what that means. He still talks of showing something to Daddy, or telling him something when he comes home. And Edie. Edie will never know him. She won’t have a single memory of her father.’
Charlotte had been determined that Johnny should not see her cry. She had to be strong for him, but sitting here beside Miss Edie’s resting place, feeling her close, she could allow herself the luxury of the tears she would not shed at home. Miss Edie would understand her agony. She, too, had lost the man she loved; but had never allowed herself the relief of tears. At her graveside, Charlotte wept for them both.
David and Avril Swanson had been as supportive as the Masterses, and it was David who had suggested that Billy should lie next to Miss Edie in the churchyard. Charlotte had been grateful, as if having them close to each other somehow kept them closer to her.
She stood at the graveside and as Billy’s coffin was lowered into the ground, Charlotte knew she had been right not to let Johnny see this. It was almost impossible for her to bear, to think of Billy lying under the weight of the winter earth, and she closed her eyes for a moment to shut out the sight. When she opened them again, David was saying the final prayers. Charlotte looked round at those who’d gathered with her, people who had known Billy Shepherd all his life, who’d been at school with him, who’d chased him when he’d been scrumping apples, who’d served with him in the Home Guard, who’d seen him grow up into the kind and generous man they all knew. For a moment her eyes rested on Felix, standing with Daphne. She saw his eyes soften in the faintest smile of encouragement and remembered that it was only weeks since he’d been standing at his father’s graveside.
What had finally persuaded Daphne to attend the funeral was the thought that Sir Michael would almost certainly be there. Perhaps she’d have the chance to engage him in conversation again, remembering to keep well clear of the subject of hunting. So, she told Felix that of course he was right and she would definitely go with him. On the morning of the funeral she dressed carefully in her dark overcoat and small black hat, a suitably sober outfit, and accompanied him to the church. It was a cold day with rags of grey cloud scudding across the sky in the blast of a north-easterly wind, threatening rain, and she shivered as they stood at the graveside. Charlotte Shepherd seemed entirely oblivious of the cold. She stood with Billy’s family, her pale face empty, as if she were trying to blank out what was going on round her. Daphne saw her close her eyes as the coffin was lowered into the ground and she shuddered. She didn’t want to look either. She glanced up at Felix and found he was watching Charlotte, a gentle compassion on his face.
The Married Girls Page 28