by Julia Kelly
“She was in the kitchen garden with Mrs. Hastings. I believe Mrs. Hastings was casting an eye over the potato crop to see if they’re ready to be lifted,” said Mrs. Dibble.
“Could you please ask them to join me in the morning room?”
Mrs. Dibble bustled off to the cabinet to hang up Diana’s coat.
In the large, gilt-framed entryway mirror, Diana gave her hair a couple of pats to mold it back into place.
“You’re looking very smart.”
She glanced up to see Cynthia and Matron McPherson approach. “I’ve just come back from London.”
“I thought you were only going for a day,” said Cynthia.
“My business delayed me longer than I expected. It necessitated a stay overnight,” she said.
“Where did you stay?” Cynthia asked.
Diana dropped her hand and turned, plastering a smile on her face. “The Harlan Club. I’ve retained my membership.”
“Matron was just remarking on your absence. You’ve missed your usual round of letter writing,” said her sister-in-law.
The pop of Matron’s eyebrows told Diana that the conversation hadn’t quite had the judgmental tone that Cynthia implied.
“I only said that several of the men had letters in this afternoon’s post,” said Matron.
“I’ll be sure to make my way through the wards as soon as I’m finished with some urgent business,” she reassured the head nurse.
Cynthia sighed. With measured calm, Diana unsnapped the clasp of her handbag and pulled out the thinner of two envelopes she’d carried from London.
“It might interest you to know that I saw some old friends in London, including a Mrs. Delmonte, who was a fellow student of my old harp teacher. She began volunteering with the British Red Cross before the war, and she’s found herself rather high up in the Voluntary Aid Detachment. She was particularly interested in the work that you’ve done with Highbury House Hospital, Cynthia. So interested, in fact, that she thought it would be helpful to use your expertise as commandant in a convalescent hospital opening in Wales.”
“I’m needed here,” said Cynthia.
Diana smiled wider as she handed her sister-in-law the envelope. “I think you’ll find all of the details in Mrs. Delmonte’s letter.”
Cynthia snatched the envelope from her and ripped it open. A strange calm settled over Diana as she watched Cynthia scan the letter, then lift a glare to her.
“You’re to become commandant of Highbury House Hospital,” Cynthia spat.
“I am,” she said.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“When the hospital first arrived, I would have agreed with you. I thank you for all of the hard work that you’ve done,” she said.
“This is my family’s home,” said Cynthia.
“You may have spent your childhood here, but this is my home. And it will remain so when the war is over. You would do well to remember that.”
Cynthia paled, but still she pushed. “You don’t know the first thing about running a convalescent hospital.”
Matron McPherson stepped forward. “I have no doubt that, given Mrs. Symonds’s experience managing a house of this size and its staff, she will fit smoothly into the role.”
Diana shot Matron a grateful look, and the other woman returned a small smile.
“I think you’ll see that you are due in Wales in a week’s time, so it’s best if you begin packing your things. I’ll be needing use of your office immediately.” As Cynthia sputtered, Diana inclined her head toward Matron. “I would appreciate it if you could find some time to share a cup of tea and counsel this afternoon. I’m sure I will have many questions.”
“It would be my pleasure,” said Matron.
“Now, I have an appointment to keep, and then soldiers’ letters to write. If you’ll excuse me.”
A rush hit her as soon as she left the entryway. For the first time in a long time, she felt ebullient. In one fell swoop, she had eradicated her sister-in-law and taken back her home.
When she reached the morning room, she saw the door was already ajar. This conversation would be more of a risk, less likely to succeed. But, still, she must try.
She pushed open the door and smiled at Miss Adderton and Mrs. Hastings. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Mrs. Dibble said that you wanted to see both of us,” said Miss Adderton.
Carefully Diana set her handbag down on her writing desk and drew out the fat, heavy envelope her solicitor had drawn up. “I would like your answer to my question, Miss Adderton.”
“What question?” asked Mrs. Hastings.
“Mrs. Symonds would like to take charge of Bobby’s care so that I can go to London,” said Miss Adderton.
Diana held her hand up. “Actually, I would like to do more than that. I want to adopt your nephew.”
Mrs. Hastings’s hand flew to her throat in shock.
“You never said anything about adopting him,” said Miss Adderton.
“Because I did not know whether it was possible. I needed to speak to my solicitor first.” She paused. “I would be more than Bobby’s legal guardian. I would be his parent. He would be my son.
“Think about it, Miss Adderton. I can do for him things that you’ll never be able to do. You could never afford to send him to the right schools or give him the right clothes. When he’s older, I can introduce him to the best path in life. I can teach him what he needs to know to succeed. One day, Highbury House will be his. I can make his life extraordinary.”
“You can’t just trade one son for another,” said Mrs. Hastings.
Diana’s eyes narrowed. “No one can replace my son, and nothing can bring him back. I wish with every fiber of my being that I had secured the keys to the winter garden better or that I’d pulled up every dangerous plant in this garden. I will never stop regretting that my last words to him were to shoo him away. He was my son,” her voice cracked. “He was the very best part of me, and only one other person here comes close to understanding what that feels like to have lost him,” she said.
“Bobby is a five-year-old boy,” said Mrs. Hastings.
“And I am the mother of his best friend. Bobby and I will always be connected by our loss.”
“I could understand you wanting to adopt Bobby if he didn’t have a family, but he does. She’s standing right here.” Mrs. Hastings gestured to Miss Adderton, pale as a ghost.
Diana closed her eyes. How could she convince these women? For the first time in a long time, she could see her life beyond the walls of this house. She didn’t want to collapse in on herself in grief. She wanted to spread her arms. She wanted to give all the love she had to this child.
“Can you even do this?” Mrs. Hastings was asking.
“Miss Adderton, if you would take a moment to look at the documents my solicitor has drawn up—”
“I’ll do it,” Miss Adderton cut her off, and swept up the papers from the desk. “I sign these and Bobby is yours?”
“Yes,” Diana breathed. “My solicitor will take care of the rest.”
Miss Adderton looked down at the papers covered in black type.
“Stella…” Mrs. Hastings began.
Miss Adderton turned to her. “I can’t be Bobby’s mother, Beth.”
“No one is asking you to be,” said Mrs. Hastings.
“But you are, even if you don’t use those words. I can take him to school and remember to feed him and make sure he takes a bath, but those are all items to check off a list. I can’t love him the way I should. I’ve been trying to make myself since Joan died, and I can’t,” said Miss Adderton.
“But you’re his family,” Mrs. Hastings pushed.
“I would have thought that you of all people would know how terrible it is to live with someone who is obligated to care for you.”
Mrs. Hastings’s eyes widened. “What happened with my aunt was completely different.”
“Was it truly, though?
Wouldn’t you have wanted a chance to be raised by someone who loved you?” Miss Adderton asked.
“I can love Bobby,” Diana interjected. “I already love him for who he was to my son. In time, I can love him as my own.”
Miss Adderton nodded, her eyes still fixed on the papers in her hands. “I sign these and you’ll give me the money to move to London?”
“Yes,” breathed Diana. “I’ll give you the money for a room in a boardinghouse or flat, if you prefer. I’ll help you with a wardrobe and pay for your courses—not correspondence courses but an actual secretarial college. I can ask my friends in London to help find you a placement. You can travel. Let me help you live the life you’d always wanted.”
“It hardly seems like a fair trade,” said Miss Adderton with a hollow laugh.
Mrs. Hastings looked from one to the other. “I can’t believe that you’re actually considering this.”
Miss Adderton whirled on her friend. “I hate it here. I hate being in service. I hate that my sister left Warwickshire and I stayed behind. You have the life you want, Beth. Let me try to have mine.”
Mrs. Hastings, who looked as though she was about to argue, snapped her mouth shut.
“You can see Bobby whenever you wish. I would be happy to bring him up to London if that’s easier,” said Diana.
Miss Adderton crossed her arms over her stomach and hugged herself closely. “Mrs. Symonds, please understand: If I sign these documents, I will never see my nephew again, but I do want to know how he is. Will you write to me?”
“Of course,” she said.
The cook reached for a pen. “Where do I sign these?”
“There are three copies, one for you, one for me, and one for my solicitor to register the adoption,” she said, easing the papers out of Miss Adderton’s hands so she could show her the spaces to sign. Then she bent down to put her own signature to the pages.
Straightening, she held out the pen to Mrs. Hastings. “We require a witness.”
Mrs. Hastings stared at the pen, and for a moment, Diana thought that the woman would refuse.
“Beth, please,” Miss Adderton whispered.
Mrs. Hastings snatched the pen out of her hand. “Fine.”
“Please keep an eye on him, Beth. You’re going to be so close,” Miss Adderton said.
When Diana lifted her brow, Mrs. Hastings said, “My husband and I have an agreement to let a house on the grounds of Braembreidge Manor. We’ll move there when the war is over.”
“It sounds as though we’re all beginning anew,” Diana said.
Mrs. Hastings pursed her lips but nodded.
Diana blotted the signatures and stood back. It was done.
“What now?” Mrs. Hastings asked.
“I’ll speak to Bobby and tell him he’s to live here. Unless you want to, Miss Adderton,” she said.
“No. I’ll make arrangements to leave by the end of next week,” said Miss Adderton as she took her copy.
“I’ll write to my banker. He’ll see to it that you have what you need,” she said.
Miss Adderton turned to leave, but then she glanced over her shoulder.
“You can’t call him Bobby any longer. It’s far too common a name for the heir to this house. Robert would be better.”
Diana squeezed her eyes shut. “That was Robin’s given name, as well.”
“It’s a good name,” offered Mrs. Hastings.
Diana gave her a weak smile, grateful for the olive branch. The other woman might never understand—most wouldn’t—but Diana knew that she’d done what was right for the three people who mattered.
“We’ll see what Bobby thinks, but later,” she said. “Right now, one change at a time.”
• EMMA •
OCTOBER 2021
Emma stamped her boot down onto her spade and levered more earth out of the hole she’d been at for the last five minutes. Beth’s drawings had shown two beautiful stands of hydrangeas up against the winter garden’s wall. Usually hardy plants, the ones she’d revealed when cutting back foliage had been diseased beyond the point of preservation. A couple of calls and a few favors, and she managed to secure two huge pot-grown plants to replace them at a deep discount.
Normally, she’d only dig down about a foot and plant out the shrubs, but the surrounding roots were so dense she was digging down further to give the hydrangeas a fighting chance. Twice already she’d had to pull out the handsaw to get through a dense thicket of roots, and she’d already shed her jumper.
“Hi!”
Emma looked up, squinting against the glare of the overcast day. At the top of the ladder into the garden stood Henry. His hair was, as always, a mess, and he wore his usual crooked smile—the one that made her heart flip.
“Hi. Are you looking for Sydney or Andrew?” she asked.
He came by looking for you. Charlie’s teasing words pinged around in her brain.
“Actually, I’m looking for you.” Henry hitched a long leg over the wall, and she watched him climb down. She was a little disappointed that his T-shirt was covered up by a black cable-knit jumper.
As soon as Henry was off the ladder, he looked around. “This is going to be beautiful.”
“Thanks. It’ll be another full year before you can really start to see things come together, but it’ll get there,” she said.
“I heard that Sydney’s got you re-creating the kitchen garden and doing some work on the orchard,” he said.
She laughed. “I took Charlie on as a business partner, and his first act was to overrule my decision to pass on the kitchen garden. It was a coup.”
“I didn’t take Charlie for a despot, but maybe all he needed was a little taste of power. How are you feeling about the project?”
“It won’t be historically accurate—we’re planting more disease-resistant vegetables, for instance—but it should be fun. Zack and Vishal are measuring for raised beds right now.”
“I saw. Sydney walked me through.” Henry gestured to her spade. “Have you got another one of those?”
She nodded and retrieved the one Charlie had been using earlier. When she passed it over to him, their fingers brushed. Another flip.
“How deep?” Henry asked, seemingly oblivious to what just the thought of seeing him did to her. Or maybe it had always been this way, and she’d just tried her best to ignore it.
“About a foot more,” she said.
He grunted and sank the spade into the ground. After a moment’s hesitation, she did the same on her end of the hole.
“What did you want to see me about?” she asked, tipping her head to keep her ponytail out of her face to watch him.
“I just wanted to see you. It’s been a while, and I wondered where you’d gone. I thought maybe you’d started to think about what you might do after Highbury.”
A smile twitched her lips. “I have another garden job lined up, but I thought I’d keep Bow House for a little while.”
He looked up sharply. “Really?”
“Really. I’ll be working up in Berwick-upon-Tweed, but I’ll commute back on the weekends.”
“What about your nomadic lifestyle?” he asked casually.
“I’ve realized there might be some merits to staying in one place for a while,” she said, thinking about the appointments she already had lined up with a local real estate agent to see properties around Highbury.
“You know, we never did have those welcome-to-the-neighborhood drinks,” Henry said.
She laughed. “We’ve gone to pub quizzes together.”
“Welcome drinks needs to be one-on-one. It’s a rule,” he said.
She drove her spade into the earth again, but this time it didn’t budge.
“You okay there?” he asked.
“I must have hit a taproot or a rock,” she said. But when she wiggled the spade, she heard the scrape of metal against metal. She pointed. “Hand me that trowel, please.”
He did, and she crouched on the ground, bringing up trowe
ls full of dirt.
“Can you work on the other side?” she asked.
Shortening his stroke so as not to hit her, he cut away to expand the hole while she dug around. It took some effort, but in a few minutes they’d exposed the top of a tin box studded with nails.
“What is that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s loose enough over here. I think I can lift it.”
“Got it,” he said.
They both heaved, and the rest of the box broke free from the earth. A padlock hung from a rusted loop.
“Let’s see that trowel?” Henry said.
She handed it over, and he used it to knock the loop clean from the box in a few strokes.
“I know a few historians who would be livid with you right now,” she said.
“Good thing they aren’t here, then, isn’t it?” he asked cheerfully. “Do you want to do the honors?”
She nodded and slowly opened the lid.
Inside was an oil cloth. She lifted it and found dozens of old photographs of a young boy. In some he was alone, but in others he stood with an elegant woman, posed formally for the camera.
“Who’s this?” Henry asked.
“No idea,” she said, lifting one of the pictures.
“We should show this to Sydney,” said Henry, pulling out his phone, dialing, and putting it on speaker. “Hey, Syd?”
“You all right?” Sydney asked.
“You’re going to want to come to the winter garden. Emma and I found something,” he said.
“What is it?” Sydney asked.
“Come and see,” he said.
“Okay, but bring it over the wall. I’m not up to climbing ladders today,” Sydney said.
“Will do.”
While he hung up, Emma replaced the photos and closed the lid. They lashed the box closed, and Henry climbed up and over to the top of the outside ladder. Emma threw him a rope she’d tied around the box, and he hauled it up as she climbed, using one hand to steady the box with every rung she took. When she reached the top, Henry climbed down, and she lowered it to him.
Emma was just coming down the outside ladder when Sydney strode up. “What did you find?”
Emma opened the box again and took out one of the photographs. “Do you know who these two are?”