Belonging

by Maria Bernard

  She watched him sitting with his elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of him. He stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing in particular. He made quite the impression, his wavy dark hair blowing in the breeze. He said nothing for an unmarked stretch of time. Gwen sensed he was on the verge of telling her something terribly important.

  Crispin struggled for the right words. He surprised himself at his desire to tell her everything. So far what had revealed, she had handled well and it had felt good to share it with her. From his fears of abandonment, his reluctance to be held, to sharing his memories of Maria, he’d never felt better, lighter, yet never had he felt more vulnerable.

  “When I was sixteen, I received a letter,” he started then paused for courage. The feel of Gwen’s hand on his arm gave him that courage. Where he once would have recoiled from that small gesture, he now welcomed it. “Apparently, I have or had an uncle who decided to track me down.”

  “An uncle? Wow… That’s a good thing, isn’t it? What did he say in the letter?”

  “Not much in the letter, just that he would like to meet me. He would either send plane tickets or come to me. He had something very important to discuss.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I folded it back up in that very same envelope you discovered this morning and never gave it another thought, until now.”

  Gobsmacked, Gwen sat staring at him. That letter was addressed to Crispin Hewson from someone of the last name Harlow, of Harlow Manor. It all came at her and suddenly she was excited beyond belief. “Crispin Hewson? Is that your real name then? So this Harlow of Harlow Manor? Would he be your uncle?”

  “Who the hell knows? Who cares, really?”

  “You mean you never followed up on it?”

  “I was sixteen. Having grown up to believe I had no one. I was angry. I didn’t want anything to do with whoever this was. I convinced myself it was a mistake and that I was not this Crispin Hewson person. It’s probably a mix up of some kind, anyway.”

  “So, you never heard from him again?”

  “I took off shortly after my sixteenth birthday. I emancipated myself and left the system. If there were more letters, I never got them.”

  “And you never wrote back or called?”

  “Like I said, I was angry and I didn’t want to believe it. How could I have had family and be left to fend for myself all those years? And if this Harlow person is truly my relative, then why didn’t he care to find me sooner? When it would have made a difference!”

  “Maybe he didn’t know,” Gwen said, giving his arm a squeeze. “You have the letter with you. You must have brought it hoping to look into it, right?”

  “Perhaps, but that was before you came along. Now I’ve got you. I don’t need anyone else and I don’t really care to go backwards. What’s the point?”

  “Aww… thank you,” she said with a smile. “You really do have me.” He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. “But I think you should pursue this letter.” She frowned when he groaned and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Crispin, you must be curious at the very least.”

  “It’s pointless, though. It’s a mistake. Obviously, this is just a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Really? How many other Crispin’s have you met?”

  “Well, how do I even know where that name came from? Crispin… It’s a rather ridiculous name. I mean, I liked it enough to keep it because it was different from all the Mikes and Peters and shit.”

  “I love your name. It’s unique, different. Like you.”

  “Thank you, I’m glad we agree on the important things.”

  “What if we just looked up the address and did a little research? I mean we’re right here and the town on the envelope is in the nearby Cotswolds, is it not?” When he nodded, she decided to make him an offer he could not refuse. “Tell you what… instead of having tea with Mr. Darcy at the Jane Austen museum, we’ll spend the afternoon taking a scenic drive.”

  “Well, gee, there’s a choice if I ever had one,” Crispin snarked, then pulled her in under his arm. “Now, listen here. I’ll agree to check this out, but only from a distance. I have no intention or need to go knocking on doors like a pathetic stray.”

  “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Gwen agreed. “But you owe it to yourself to find out if you do indeed have family in the area.”

  Chapter 31

  Inspired and determined to see this through, Gwen and Crispin returned to the B&B and got the letter, checked the address on the envelope again and got in the car. Before long, they were driving through the Cotswolds, an area of Gloucestershire dotted with charming villages and rolling countryside. Gwen tried keeping the situation light by remarking on the picturesque scenery and how lovely the towns were as they drove past. She would have liked to stop and look around but sensing Crispin’s tension, she didn’t insist. There would be time for that on the way back. For now, they were headed toward Harlow Manor.

  Having gotten lost in a labyrinth of winding roads, they stopped for directions in a local pub. At first sight of Crispin entering the establishment, the old man behind the bar, and a few of his customers couldn’t help but stare. Looking back and forth from the address on the envelope to Crispin’s face, the man was obviously thrown off for some reason. It was almost unnerving the way he paused for the longest time before speaking. Gwen couldn’t help but wonder what the problem was.

  “Harlow Manor?” the man repeated.

  “Yes, this address here.” Crispin pointed to the envelope again. He was about ready to lay into the old codger. Obviously, the man was judging his Gothness and was too horrified speak.

  “One moment, please,” said the man as he turned and disappeared through a door behind the bar.

  “What the fuck?” Crispin huffed.

  “I wonder what that’s all about?” Gwen whispered at his side.

  Before he could respond, the old man reappeared with a brochure in his hand and presented to Crispin. “What the heck is this?”

  “It’s the place you’re looking for,” said the old guy. “A ten minute drive south on the road you just drove in on.”

  “But all we saw were fields,” Gwen said with a frown as Crispin studied the curious brochure. When he then handed it to Gwen, she took it and realized that Harlow Manor was apparently a popular tourist magnet, a historical Manor House. You could even buy tickets to visit and take guided tours.

  “You must have missed the sign,” said the old man.

  Crispin scowled around the pub, tired of being the object of such obvious scrutiny. “What may I ask are you staring at? Have you never seen a Goth before?”

  “Are you kidding?” said a guy off to the side, sending his friends laughing. “You do realize you’re in England?”

  “So then, what’s the problem?” Crispin insisted, knowing damn well that the modern day Goth culture originated in England in the 80s.

  Gwen was shocked and surprised to hear the exchange. She had all but forgotten that Crispin’s eccentric style of dress might throw people off and more surprised to hear Crispin speak out about it. He must be stressed, she realized. The old man came around to where she stood holding the brochure open. He took it from her hand and showed them both the back.

  “This is why we’re staring at you. Have a look for yourself.”

  “Oh, my!” Gwen gasped, seeing a picture of a portrait of the owner and current resident of Harlow Manor.

  “What?” Crispin asked, confused. All he saw was an old painting of some guy with long blonde hair, looking like any other paintings they’d seen so far. Why was Gwen now looking back and forth from him to the brochure with the same expression as the rest of the people in the pub?

  “Crispin… you don’t you see the resemblance?”

  “Oh, come on, he has long hair and wears black. What’s your point?”

  “Thanks for your help,” Gwen said to the man and the others before taking Crispin outside, away from the gawking onlooke
rs. By the arm, she led him to a sunny spot by the car and held the brochure out for him to have a better look.

  “What exactly are showing me?”

  “Crispin, this is Piers Harlow. The P. Harlow who wrote you the letter.”

  “So?”

  “He’s the spitting image of you, but for the colour of your hair, and the fact that he’s a bit older.”

  “Give me that.” Snatching the brochure, he studied it closer and frowned at the realization that it was true. The longer he looked at it the more he felt as though he’d seen this man before, only it was his own reflection staring back at him. “Well, fuck…”

  Gwen watched as he crushed the brochure within his hand and rested his head on the car. His reaction confused her but she wasn’t quite sure what she should have expected. This must be all so overwhelming. From what she read on the brochure, Harlow Manor was right around the corner from where they stood and apparently, the immense property went on for miles. The Harlows were a wealthy family with ties to royalty. Piers Harlow was son and heir to the sprawling estate and the last of the line. According to the brochure, on occasion, he still resided there.

  Without saying a word, Crispin got in the car and waited for Gwen to join him. When she was safely seated and buckled in, he tore off down the road in search of Harlow Manor. Knowing now what to look for, they found it right away. They hadn’t thought to stop there earlier because neither were expecting to find Crispin’s long lost relatives in such a grand place. Why would a family with so much wealth have reason to abandon him? Gwen didn’t have the answers and she was reluctant to voice her thoughts at that moment. When they drove up to the gates, they found themselves in line behind a few cars of people buying tickets for parking.

  If not for the cars lining up behind them, judging from the scowl on his face, Gwen was sure Crispin would have turned the car around. “What the fuck crazy shit is this all about?” he scoffed after reluctantly purchasing a ticket and parking the vehicle.

  “I have no idea,” Gwen said, looking past the majestic manicured landscape to the impressive house at the centre of it. “But we’re here. We should go in and find out.”

  “This is bullshit,” he declared and started the car up again before Gwen could unbuckle her seatbelt. “It’s a joke. It has to be.”

  Placing a hand over his, she attempted to calm him. “Listen, we should go in, check it out like these other tourists. We don’t have to tell anyone who you are or about the letter just yet.”

  “Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

  “For the sake of your sanity!” she shouted at him, stirring him out of his rage. “For closure. Surely, you want to know what happened.”

  “Fine,” Crispin huffed. “We’ll grab a tour, stay in the background, and see what we can learn.” He gave his head a shake, convinced this was a mistake or more likely a joke. That letter could very well have been sent as a prank by any number of the little pricks from his years in foster care.

  “That’s the spirit, Crispin,” Gwen said, taking his hand.

  Chapter 32

  None of it made sense, thought Crispin. As he and Gwen followed the small group of sightseers and their appointed tour guide through the great hall and many ornate rooms of the stately home, the more he was convinced the whole thing was a farce. At a certain point, he gave up looking for any evidence that he had come from such a lineage as the Harlow family. From the antique furniture to the multitudes of vases and paintings that decorated every inch of the place, he felt more and more a fool for even coming here. As much as he would have loved to make a connection, if only for the sake of closure, or at least, for Gwen’s peace of mind, since she appeared so invested in finding a connection between him and this Piers Harlow person, he didn’t feel anything but disconnected from such a place.

  But that didn’t stop Gwen from absorbing every little bit of information offered as they went along. She really did love this historical stuff. He was glad to see it hadn’t been a total waste. At least, she was getting a kick out of the never-ending tour.

  As he stood staring out a window at the sprawling landscape, Gwen approached the tour guide and asked him a question. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, snapping the old man out of his thoughts. She had noticed him staring at Crispin throughout the entire tour and she had started to wonder if it was for the same reason the people had done so back at the pub. After his obligatory introduction to the current room, he gave the small group free reign to mill about. Standing where he thought no one would notice, he continued to gaze at Crispin with a thoughtful frown on his face.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, turning his attention to Gwen.

  Holding out the brochure and pointing to the picture on the back, she asked, “It says here that Piers Harlow still resides at Harlow Manor. Is it possible to speak with him?”

  “Highly unlikely.” He cleared his throat. “But not impossible. While he spends most of his time away, he is currently in residence. Why do you ask?”

  “My… boyfriend.” She smiled awkwardly at the word on her tongue. It sounded strange but nice all at once as she pointed across the room at Crispin. “He has reason to believe he is related to the Harlow family. He has a letter to prove it. Sent by Piers Harlow himself. We’ve come here to find him, yet we weren’t expecting all this.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help but notice a change come over the old man’s face. His expression went from skepticism to elation. She half-expected him to laugh, yet apparently, laughter was the furthest thing from his mind.

  “I knew it!” he said, snapping his fingers. Without warning, he crossed the room to where Crispin stood. Gwen scrambled after him and when she reached them both, it was almost comical to watch the smile of recognition on the tour guide’s face compared to the scowl on Crispin’s.

  “May I help you?” Crispin asked, giving Gwen a sideways glance.

  “It is I who should ask you that, sir,” said the gobsmacked man. “Well, I’ll be damned… you’re the spitting image of Cassandra Harlow.”

  “Cassandra Harlow?” Gwen repeated, feeling Crispin squeezing her hand almost painfully.

  “Please, follow me.” Immediately, the man got on his cell phone and started walking to the end of the room they were in. Through an ornate dark wooden door, they entered and then a few more after that. “Call me Jones,” said the man as Gwen followed on his heels while Crispin lagged behind with much reluctance. Holding his hand, she could feel his tension with every step. She was sure if she let go, he might stop altogether and walk the other way. The fear and hesitation, she recognized right away on his features as she glanced over her shoulder, and his body language was tense and guarded. She wanted to reassure him, but Jones was walking with such haste, she didn’t feel they should stop. “I’ve been with the Harlow family since I was a young man. Piers will be ecstatic to see you. It’s been a long time coming.”

  “Really? So, you believe us? You don’t need to see the letter?” Gwen asked, confused.

  “No need. The resemblance is indisputable,” said Jones as he opened one more door, a hidden door, through a private library no less.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Gwen in awe of it all.

  “To Mr. Harlow’s private apartments,” said Jones as he stood aside and gestured for them to enter.

  “Ridiculous,” muttered Crispin as he ducked through ahead of Gwen. He had no clue what to expect from this trip anymore. He had just convinced himself that any connection he had to the Harlow family and this ridiculously huge mansion was impossible. Why would a family of such obvious wealth place a child up for adoption? It made no sense.

  Finally, they reached what Gwen assumed to be their final destination, a grand room no less impressive than the ones they had seen so far. Only this one felt cozier for some reason, perhaps because it was lived in. There was a huge roaring fireplace on one end with set of lush chairs and a settee in front of it. More paintings adorned these high walls but unlike the other landscapes, and obscure
portraits, these were more modern portraits and both Crispin and Gwen could only stare in awe.

  “Piers has been notified of your arrival. He is on his way,” Jones said, stepping back through the secret library door. “Make yourself at home, young Master Crispin.”

  “Wow, did he just call you Master Crispin?” Gwen said, gripping his hand tenaciously. When she looked at him, she found him staring at a particularly large portrait above the mantle of a beautiful young woman with raven hair and very familiar dove grey eyes. Beside her stood a younger boy with similar features but for his striking blonde hair. The girl couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen. “Oh, wow, she could be your twin,” Gwen said, looking back and forth to the painting.

  “Not quite a twin,” sounded a deep voice from behind them. “But I see you’ve found your mother.”

  Both Crispin and Gwen turned to the source of that voice. They were both stunned speechless. At the end of the room, stood a man with silver blonde hair, worn long over his square shoulders. He was tall and painfully handsome, thought Gwen. If not for the colour of his hair, he was the spitting image of Crispin. Not only that, he dressed in similar fashion yet less obvious in its Gothic Victorian flare. He wore a fitted dark jacket, matching trousers, and a crisp white shirt. He had an air of wealth and distinction about him, quite eccentric in his own way. Gwen couldn’t help but liken him to David Bowie in the movie Labyrinth minus the spiky hair. With confident steps, he approached, his sparkling grey eyes glued to Crispin’s face. Gwen surmised him to be in his early to mid-thirties, devilishly handsome, too.