Empty Nest

by Marty Wingate

  “Come in?”

  Linus pushed open the door just wide enough to slip through. He looked as if three sleepless nights had gone by since this evening’s dinner.

  “You didn’t need to knock, Linus—it’s only the kitchen.”

  “Julia, I’m sorry about this. And”—he cleared his throat—“earlier, too. At your bedroom.”

  “It’s all right—don’t worry. Forget all about it. I have.”

  His face reddened and he looked at the floor, but not fast enough that I didn’t catch a brief smile. I had a feeling he might not want to forget all about it. I turned away to hide my own smile—perhaps I shouldn’t, but I thought it was sweet. I stirred chocolate into the milk, and we’d both recovered by the time I set our mugs on the table.

  “Does Isabel drop in often?” I asked.

  “God, no,” he said, his face losing all humor. “I’d no idea she was coming. Cecil probably rang to tell her what had happened here, and she took it upon herself to make sure he was all right. I’m not sure he was pleased to see her, and I’m sure that didn’t sit well. She’s done this before—appear suddenly out of nowhere. I haven’t laid eyes on her in…well, two years, I think.” He pulled his cocoa closer. “Her treatment of you and Addleton was uncalled for.”

  “Never mind,” I said magnanimously, “I know she certainly didn’t learn that behavior here at Hoggin Hall—must’ve been the way she was brought up.”

  Linus barked a laugh that bounced off the kitchen walls. “She’s the daughter of a shopkeeper—quite an earthy fellow, let me tell you. She didn’t learn to look down her nose at others from him.”

  He looked deep into his mug as if searching for something. “That’s where I met her, in the shop. I was off camping in the Yorkshire Dales with friends. The midges were dreadful that summer, the blighters, and I hadn’t packed any repellent, so I went into the village shop. They sold everything there, from milk to sticking plasters to garden supplies. Isabel was working the counter—she was just nineteen. Beautiful. A free spirit.” He glanced up at me. “I was thirty-one. We married later that year. She took the title of Lady Fotheringill, although I don’t know where she acquired her sense of entitlement. The zeal of the convert, I suppose.”

  I doubt if Lady Tarvin would’ve flirted with the butler or a new estate agent the way Isabel had with Thorne and Addleton, so perhaps she had retained some of her free spirit. “She doesn’t sound as if she’s from Yorkshire.”

  “No, she worked diligently to lose that accent. Too bad—I thought it was charming.”

  I should say something nice about her. “She loves Cecil.”

  Linus’s eyebrows jumped. “Yes, yes. She dotes on him—not really terribly appropriate for a man Cecil’s age, and he resents it, although he won’t admit it to me.”

  The mention of Cecil gave me permission. “Is there a problem with Cecil…and the police?”

  I saw fear in Linus’s eyes when he looked up at me.

  “Cecil made errors in a large auction lot—it was his dyslexia. He’s refused any assistance, any therapy that might help him find a way to…” Linus shook his head. “It was thousands of pounds. I covered the costs—there was no question of that—and neither the buyer nor the seller was aware of the problem. But Freddy Peacock knew, and he threatened to reveal Cecil’s mistakes. Cecil should’ve called his bluff. But he’s always been self-conscious about his problem, and he didn’t think it would look good for him or the integrity of the estate for the world to know that the Fotheringill heir can’t do his sums. And so he paid for Freddy’s silence.”

  “And now the police know?” Linus answered with a single nod. “Do you know where Cecil was that Monday evening?”

  “No.”

  “But you’ve…”

  “I’ve asked. He won’t tell me.” Linus set his mug down with a clunk. “But they’ve got the wrong end of it—Cecil could not have killed Freddy. It’s ridiculous—it’s melodramatic.”

  We heard the house creak and we both held our breath, waiting for the door to fly open and Isabel to catch us in…

  Honestly, this was silly. I stood, took Linus’s empty mug and mine—still almost full. I poured it down the sink. Wasteful, Julia.

  “Linus.” I turned to him and leaned against the counter. “I don’t want you to think this is about Isabel or Cecil or…anything. You’ve been so kind to let me stay here, but, please, I really do want my cottage back.”

  “Yes, enough delays,” he replied. “They haven’t really been mine, you know—as much as I enjoy having you here. We needed to find good strong English oak to replace the rotted wood, and…” His voice petered out. He shrugged, and began again, stronger. “I’m sure you would like to get back to a more normal life—you and Michael. You two make a fine couple.” I wish he wouldn’t talk about what a fine couple Michael and I were, because at that moment we weren’t, and I wasn’t sure if we ever would be. The thought made my eyes sting.

  “But Isabel, I’m afraid,” he continued, “may see you as a threat. She has got it into her head that I’m shopping for a wife in order to have another child.”

  “And take the estate out of Cecil’s hands? But he’s the true heir—he would be even if you did have another child.”

  “Yes, well—Isabel would prefer that there was no doubt in the matter.”

  The nerve, the absolute nerve of the woman. “It’s none of her business if you want to marry again or if you wanted to have a dozen more children,” I said hotly. “Let her go off to the Azores with Sergei.”

  Linus laughed as he stood to help me wash up.

  Chapter 30

  Sunday morning, I dragged myself downstairs. I had spent a fitful night as I felt the Fotheringill walls closing in on me. Since mentioning my cottage, it was all I could think of—safe and cozy, putting out seeds and fat balls for the birds in the back garden, and drinking my tea as I watched their antics. I felt Michael by my side, even though he’d spent far too few days and nights there. I picked one June afternoon to recall when we sat quietly holding hands out on the tiny stone terrace watching the baby chaffinches fledge from their nest just beyond my garden wall.

  When I reached the landing, I saw a sweep of stiff blond curls vanish into the small dining room, and I quickly made for the kitchen. As I walked in, Sheila leapt off a chair, her face red with guilt.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t take your tea up, I had no idea of the time,” she began, the kettle noisy behind her.

  “Stop this instant,” I said. “You are not obligated to wait on me, Sheila. You have far too many things to do in the Hall. I can certainly make my own tea.” The kettle came to a boil and switched off, and I busied myself at the counter, glancing at her over my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  She stuck her hands in her apron pockets and stared at the door for a moment. “She’s never liked it that Adam and Master Cecil are such good friends,” Sheila said in a low voice, because, after all, you never knew when Isabel might appear. “She thinks it’s beneath him as the Fotheringill heir.”

  “I hope that Cecil doesn’t listen to her.”

  Sheila shook her head as if trying to fling the thought from her mind. “She wants the best for her son—don’t we all? But those two have been fast friends since before Cecil could stand on his own and Adam was only able to cruise round the furniture.”

  I popped a slice of bread in the toaster and stood drinking my tea. “What room is she staying in?” I asked, planning to give her a wide berth.

  “Her old room in the south wing,” Sheila said. “His Lordship abandoned it after she left, and moved to the opposite end of the wing.”

  Thorne backed in the kitchen carrying a tray of breakfast dishes.

  “Was it all right?” Sheila asked him.

  “Lady Fotheringill lamented the fact that we no longer buy wholemeal bread from the bakery in Lavenham,” he replied.

  Sheila sighed. “Right, where’s my shopping list?”

  “It�
��s odd,” Thorne said as he paused from clearing the tray. “A few nights ago, I had a dream that her Ladyship returned—and now here she is. I wonder if I’m becoming a seer.”

  “Perhaps you’ve a new career in front of you,” Sheila said, laughing. “Julia, I managed to get all the tea stains from your blouse—I’ll take it up to your room.”

  “You won’t—I’ll take it when I finish my breakfast.” I had a renewed resistance to being waited on.

  Sheila pressed her lips together and exhaled in a huff. “You ate so little of your dinner last night,” she said. “And there’s a great deal of beef left—I’ll make you up a sandwich that you can take into the TIC today.”

  “Yes,” I said. “A sandwich would be lovely.”

  Having settled on something she could do for me, she fetched my blouse, and I took it upstairs, carrying my half-eaten toast with me and making a return pass through the kitchen, where I collected the sandwich, which Sheila had left wrapped in the center of the table. The door down to the laundry room stood open, and I could hear the washer. I went down a few steps to thank Sheila, but saw that it was Isabel. I beat a hasty retreat, taking my toast out with me. I tore it up, scattered the bits on the ground at the bottom of the yew hedge that surrounded the courtyard, and stood back. A dozen sparrows fluttered to the ground and began to squabble over their sudden feast.

  Chapter 31

  The day passed, but truly, I cannot say how. The world was cold and dull, and not a single person walked into the TIC. I couldn’t concentrate, and the work I did accomplish was interspersed with bouts of sitting and staring at the blank screen of my phone.

  No, wait—I do remember something. I rang my sister. I made a cup of tea and started in on the beef sandwich Sheila had made for me, but thought I should get a baby report.

  My ten-year-old niece, Emelia, answered. After we exchanged greetings, I got to the point.

  “Does the baby have a name, Emmy?” I asked. If I couldn’t squeeze the secret out of my sister, perhaps I could get it out of her older daughter.

  “Baby isn’t here yet, Auntie Jools,” she said. “It can’t have its name until it arrives.” Your mother’s taught you well, I thought—keep us guessing.

  “Where’s Mummy? May I talk with her?”

  The phone passed through several sets of hands—I heard both Enid and Emmet, plus Beryl—before, at last, my sister took control.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “I had a twinge this morning—this baby’s playing with me.” The weariness in her voice overrode the lighthearted words.

  “How is it with Beryl?”

  “She’s a jewel, really.” I waited through the pause. “I wish Mum were here,” Bianca added in a small voice.

  We would always wish that, no matter how much we loved and appreciated Beryl and how happy she and Dad were together.

  “And Dad arrived for his filming? How is he?”

  “Don’t you mean ‘How is Michael’?”

  I sucked in my breath. “You met him?” Over the summer, I had been to Cornwall on a visit when Emelia starred as Nana in her school production of Peter Pan, but Michael had not been able to go, and Bee knew only what I told her.

  “Mmm. Do you have something to tell me?”

  I rubbed my head trying to wipe away the gray mist that had gathered. I needed to explain to my sister what I’d done, but a lethargy crept over me, and I found it difficult to think straight.

  I struck out in a different direction. “What do you think, Bee—a matter of hours before little Erythrina arrives?”

  Bee snorted. “God, where did you get that one?”

  —

  My sandwich sat on the table for the rest of the afternoon, reproaching me every time I passed. I had managed only a few bites. Guilt over Sheila’s effort and my waste compelled me to get it out of sight. I wrapped it up and tossed it in the bin, then took the rubbish out for tomorrow’s collection.

  Most of what dragged me down, I knew, concerned Michael, but I also assigned a fair portion to the evening ahead. If I had thought recent dinners at the Hall unpleasant, what now, with Isabel?

  I searched for an excuse to ring Linus and beg off. Could I say I wasn’t feeling well and would prefer to have dinner in my room? No, he’d’ve seen through that in a second, and I didn’t want him feeling worse than he already did.

  I tried another excuse aloud: “I’m sorry to miss dinner with you, Linus, it’s only that I see this evening as my chance to catch up with all the work I’ve neglected. What with the Christmas Market approaching so quickly, and after that the Boxing Day Bird Count—and I did want to sketch out next year’s calendar. I’ll stay here and get stuck in on these projects and have a bite to eat at the pub.” Yes, that should work.

  —

  The faces of the locals in the Royal Oak glowed blue as they watched the silent highlights of the Chelsea-Liverpool football match on the television above the bar. Louisa finished pulling a pint and waved me over when I walked in.

  “Aren’t they missing you at the Hall this evening, Julia?”

  “I couldn’t face it,” I said, and looked over my shoulder to make sure no one listened. “Lady Fotheringill…”

  “Yeah, I heard she was about,” Louisa said, pulling me a half pint of cider.

  “Have you met her?”

  Louisa shook her head. “I know only what Cecil says. He loves her and all—she’s his mum—but I’d say he wishes she’d occupy herself in some other way.”

  “What’s up between you and Cecil?” I asked, seeing no other way of getting to the matter.

  Louisa laughed. “The eyes and ears of the Hall are on us, aren’t they? It’s business, Julia, nothing devious or unsavory. But it’s something that Cecil prefers to keep quiet, and so I can’t really say.”

  “Does Adam know the secret you’re keeping for Cecil?”

  “Of course he does—why wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes, why indeed.” I’d dug my own hole there.

  Chapter 32

  Normally, I enjoyed my days off, relishing the time for a longer morning walk, taking a second cup of tea into the library and sitting near the corner windows to catch the odd ray of sun. On this Monday, however, the heavy feeling from the day before remained. I pulled on old trousers and an even older pair of trainers—my others hadn’t survived the outing with Gavin—and a thin shirt topped with the stretched-out navy cardigan that had been my mum’s and—before that, my dad’s—topping it off with my heavy coat.

  On our brief bird outing, Thorne and I made our way through the formal garden, emerging into the native landscape. We stood, hands in the pockets of our coats, and watched redwings in the holly, feasting on the berries, and after that we walked down to the massive oak that stood at the corner of the near field and observed a handful of rooks acting as gleaners in the wheat stubble.

  Returned to the Hall, I made my second cup of tea and headed for the corner chair in the library. The window faced south, and so this late in the year, the morning sun fell at a slant into the room and outdoors across the hedges, casting deep shadows as if they were drawn with pen and ink. No one came in the library in the morning—it was my secret space, a haven.

  But today, my kingdom had been invaded.

  I made a futile attempt to back out the door without Isabel seeing me, but she turned, coffee in hand, and said, “It’s all right, Julia, you aren’t disturbing me. Come sit.”

  I skirted the room and approached her. She sat low in the chair with her legs crossed, and clasped her coffee to her chest, a ray of sun setting her hair aglow. She wore a pumpkin-colored high-neck sweater, earth-toned leather trousers, and deep brown boots up to her knees—the picture of the well-dressed countrywoman.

  “I used to come in here every morning,” she said.

  “Yes, it’s lovely,” I said, lowering myself onto a bench up against the wall, as it was the only other seat available near her.

  “Don’t stay too long
, Julia.”

  “Sorry?” Was she turfing me out a moment after inviting me in?

  “This place—Hoggin Hall—it’s depressing and cold. It will suck the life out of you.”

  She continued to gaze out the window as I thought back past the unpleasantness of the last fortnight to the first few weeks after I’d moved into the Hall. The cozy kitchen talks with Thorne and Sheila. The dinners when Linus had insisted we ask Vesta and Akash—and I had asked Michael, too, when he wasn’t off with Rupert and the production crew. We’d had game nights, and even Thorne, Sheila, and Nuala had been persuaded to join us. Those happy moments came back to me as I watched Isabel and realized that some people carry this life-sucking ability about with them wherever they go. I wondered was she ever happy.

  She continued to gaze out the window. “I remember sitting here, watching Cecil and Adam play spies in the hedge. Such energy those boys had. They would stalk Thorne as he walked through the garden on his way to the orchard. I watched you and Thorne out there earlier.”

  “We often go for a morning walk.”

  “You’re quite close to the staff at the Hall, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, and why not? As you pointed out, I am one of them.”

  She responded with barely a flicker of an eyelid. “No matter what Linus said to you—what he may have promised you—he and I agree that the well-being of our son is of the utmost importance. Cecil will be the Earl Fotheringill.”

  “Of course he will,” I said. “That’s a given, isn’t it?”

  The slow look she gave me out of the corner of her eye seemed to name me a key figure in the conspiracy to oust Cecil and replace him with some future spare Fotheringill heir. “Someone,” she said, “has gone to a great deal of trouble to make Cecil look bad over this business here at the Hall.”

  “This business? You mean Freddy Peacock being murdered—because you know that’s what happened, don’t you? He was poisoned. Shortsighted of Freddy, wasn’t it? He should’ve considered what that would do to Cecil’s reputation.”