A Promise Given

by Michelle Cox

  “Is it grander than Highbury? I’m assuming it is, since it’s a castle and home to a Lord and Lady.”

  “In a way,” he said, considering the question. “Mind you, I haven’t been there since the war. It’s not really a castle, though; it’s just called that. God only knows why. No doubt some ancient baron trying to set himself apart. Some chum of William the Conqueror, I think it was, that managed to live through the conquest.”

  “Does your family really go that far back?” Henrietta asked, intrigued.

  “I believe so. Lord Linley would be the person to ask. Or Father, of course. The house has burnt down a few times, I believe, so it’s possible it really could have been some sort of crude castle once upon a time. Now, it’s really just a big estate house, Georgian, certainly bigger than Highbury, but not a castle by any stretch. The name’s just stuck.” He set the paper back down beside him and reached into his pocket for his tobacco. “I haven’t been there in years, but from what I understand from Father, it’s not well maintained. It was conscripted by the army during the war and turned into an officer’s hospital. I always thought it a strange twist of fate that I did not convalesce there,” he said, tapping his pipe against the window. “Since then, I believe, it’s never really regained its footing. Father reckons it should be sold, but Uncle Montague won’t hear of it. Keeps hanging on, hoping Wallace will marry well, I suppose.” He stopped there as if that were the natural end to the story.

  “Go on!” Henrietta urged.

  Clive gave her a sly smile. “What else is there to tell? It’s the same with all of these old houses and titled families across the country. They can’t sustain themselves on the rents of the tenants, and no one’s really recovered from the war. It’s the same as at home, really. The war did something to all of us, and no one seems to know their way back to that old life,” he said sadly.

  “And the oldest son died, right?” Henrietta asked. “Your cousin?”

  “Yes, Linley,” Clive said grimly. “Died on the Somme. Wallace went to the front, too—the younger son—but he made it through, though just. Took a rather nasty bullet in the leg.” He looked across at Henrietta and smiled weakly. “We all used to play together when Julia and I were sent over every August.”

  “Did you like Linley?” she asked in her soft way.

  “He was by far my favorite,” he said, pausing to light his pipe now. “He was everyone’s favorite, I think. So honest and open, always had a laugh up his sleeve. In that way he was very similar to Julia. I used to envy him, really.”

  “You?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I know. But I think everyone did, somehow. He was just that type. Everyone loved him, and everyone was unbelievably devastated when he died. He would have done Castle Linley well.”

  “And Wallace?”

  “Ah, poor Wallace. He never could quite measure up to Linley, and, worse yet, he knows it, or at least once knew it. I’m not sure what his mental state is these days; I haven’t seen him for a very long time. I’m sure he feels guilty that Linley bought it in the war and he somehow squeaked through. Everyone who made it out feels that way at bit,” he said tacitly, looking out the window and then back at her eventually. “Yes, Wallace made it out but with a bum leg,” he went on, “but from what I understand, his nerves are a bit shredded as well.”

  “And he never married?”

  “Ah. Well, that’s the conundrum, isn’t it?” Clive said, taking a puff of his pipe. “He’s never really settled. Aunt Margaret’s been throwing women at him for years to no avail. I suspect the reception they’re holding for us will serve as yet another opportunity for them to invite eligible women. Wait and see,” he said, giving her a little wink.

  “Oh, how exciting. I love matchmaking!”

  “Well, don’t get your hopes up too much; Wallace, it seems, is not the type that wants to be caught.” Clive looked back at his paper. “He should go for an heiress, but they’re damn difficult to find these days,” he said, looking up at her with a grin.

  “Clive!”

  “I’m merely repeating bits of Aunt Margaret’s letters to Mother,” he said, affecting innocence. “Meanwhile, Castle Linley crumbles around them.”

  “You make it sound very bleak.”

  “Well, you wanted to know. Perhaps we’ll be surprised. As I’ve said, I haven’t seen it since the war. I fear, however, that you may be in for a disappointment.”

  Clive looked out the window now at the fields rushing by and was suddenly reminded of being on a very similar train, shipped from the field hospital bound for London. He had been barely conscious …

  And then Henrietta, in that way she had for sensing what he was feeling, moved beside him once more and took his hand, and he was grateful that upon his return, she was at his side.

  Chapter 10

  Castle Linley was a monstrously large Georgian house that was starkly beautiful in an austere sort of way. The sheer size of it overwhelmed Henrietta as they came upon it, and she laughed to herself when she compared it in her mind to Highbury. This was easily three times the size of the house in Winnetka, but it lacked the charm that Highbury now possessed for her. It struck her as odd that Highbury, with its turrets and chimneys and gabled roofs and gardens surrounding it, looked more like an actual castle than this, the Howards’ ancestral home.

  Castle Linley, in contrast, was an immense tawny-gray rectangle of local stone with no shrubbery to keep it company except a long, pristine lawn that ran before it, interrupted only by a reflecting pool with tall, trimmed shrubs planted periodically beside it in neat rows, as if they were soldiers standing at attention. The long drive, stretching endlessly up to the house (at least a mile, Henrietta guessed) was tree-lined, but no trees stood near the house, as if they would have detracted from its straight lines and thereby somehow thwarted its air of formality.

  Lord and Lady Linley were on hand to greet them, actually condescending to step out of the house and onto the pea-graveled drive as the car pulled up. Henrietta was nervous, but she felt a new confidence at being introduced as Clive’s wife, Mrs. Howard, and held her head up as Clive presented her. Henrietta knew that Lord Linley was of course Alcott’s older brother, but she had not been prepared for how much older he looked. While Alcott and Antonia seemed still in their prime, Lord and Lady Linley seemed by comparison to be almost elderly.

  “Let me get a look at you, my dear,” said Lady Linley in a high-pitched, quivering voice, almost like a fairy, as she peered at her, holding a pair of eyeglasses attached to a small rod close to her eyes. She was a slight woman with very white skin, which hung loosely on her, and gray hair that she had piled up on her head in the style of a bygone era. Her dress, too, was very old-fashioned, almost ethereal, like something from the Edwardian days just before the war. Her eyes, Henrietta noticed, were a watery blue, but they still held a spark of something that Henrietta would have called mischievous had Lady Linley not been so old.

  “Yes, Antonia was right. You are quite lovely. Ah, yes, and very young, as Antonia wrote. But then again, Clive’s always been one for the ladies, haven’t you, Clive? We never got to meet—what was her name, Montague? Catherine, that’s it!” she said before Lord Linley could offer an answer. “But Catherine, as I understand it, was quite pretty, too. Then there was Alice when you were no more than a boy here. Do you remember her? The Duke of Marlborough’s daughter? Montague said at the time that it was no more than a schoolboy’s lark, and he was right, of course. Still, it would have been a frightfully advantageous match, but, no, it was not to be. I’m never listened to. And wasn’t there some society woman, your mother said?” She paused for a breath of air and took the opportunity to look Henrietta over once again. “No doubt you saw this one’s hips, though, Clive. Ever practical, weren’t you, my dear boy? Good for birthing. Yes, I see that …”

  Henrietta gave Clive a bewildered look, which Clive responded to by merely opening his eyes wide as he tried not to smile.

  “Margaret
!” barked the estimable Lord Linley, finally. “Don’t scare the girl! They’ve just arrived. They’re in no fit state to listen to such prattle. Her hips are none of our affair, surely.” He turned to Henrietta now and brought her hand to his lips. “Welcome to Linley, my dear. You’re very welcome. Indeed.”

  Henrietta noticed that his own eyes lingered on her hips perhaps a little longer than they should have, but she was used to that. She turned to look at Clive and was pretty sure he had observed his uncle’s wandering eyes as well.

  Lord Linley had a broad chest, despite his age, though his hair was white, and he still sported thick white sideburns that ran all the way down his chin to connect with a busy white beard in a Victorian sort of style. One hand clutched a riding stick, though he was not otherwise dressed for riding, and one eye sported a gold-rimmed monocle. He was gruff and burly, as if he would be more at home on the battlefield than seated in the halls of parliament. In point of fact, he had been a decorated officer in the Boer War.

  “Where’s Wallace, Uncle? Surely he’s about somewhere?” Clive asked, looking around.

  “Having a bit of a lie down,” Lady Linley answered for him. “He hasn’t been well, poor thing. He’ll be down shortly, no doubt. But come in, my dears, come in. Stevens will bring us a lovely cup of tea, and you can tell us all about your journey,” she said as she gestured them toward the house, where the senior household staff stood lined up to greet the guests. Henrietta was a little embarrassed that all of the servants had just undoubtedly heard the whole exchange regarding Clive’s past loves and her birthing hips, but she tried to shake it off, knowing that the listening ears of servants was to be her life now, whether here or at Highbury, and thought of Antonia for inspiration, which she also found odd in and of itself.

  “Oh! I nearly forgot,” Lady Linley said, turning back toward them now. “Will you be wanting separate rooms?”

  Despite her newfound confidence, Henrietta did not know what to say and felt herself blush as Clive answered from behind her, “One will be sufficient, thank you, Aunt Margaret.”

  “Just as I suspected,” she quipped. “One room, Stevens,” she said to the plump butler standing by.

  “Very good, my lady,” he answered, bowing, as if she had been merely directing him to lay an extra place for dinner.

  Later in said bedroom, Henrietta dressed for dinner with the aid of one of the upstairs maids—Phoebe, her name was—assigned to her while they were at Linley. Antonia had urged Clive to take a valet and Henrietta to take Edna as her lady’s maid, but they had both refused, wanting to be as free of servants as they could be on their honeymoon. Henrietta had tentatively suggested that perhaps lady’s maids were becoming a thing of the past, but Antonia would not hear of it. She insisted on sticking to tradition and warned them that leaving their servants behind would not be looked upon favorably in England nor the continent beyond and that it would be received as most unseemly, but neither of them had cared. And as if to prove them right, Lord and Lady Linley seemed not to give a second thought to the fact that they had to supply their guests with personal servants from their own staff, but Stevens was of the opinion that it showed just how low the Howard line had sunk since its transplantation on American soil—but that was to be expected, and he had, with a sigh, assigned the two prodigals a valet and a lady’s maid for the duration.

  Phoebe had just left, feeling confident that her mistress looked quite perfect, herself thrilled to be speaking to an American and longing to ask her about the films she saw on her Tuesday afternoons off in the village, but she didn’t dare. “She’s lovely,” Phoebe reported to the rest of the staff below stairs, “not a bit high and mighty,” and they had all marveled.

  Henrietta was just pulling on her gloves, surveying in the mirror the deep green Schiaparelli gown that tightly hugged her figure as Clive stepped in from his adjoining dressing room.

  “You look stunning, Mrs. Howard,” he said, coming over to her and kissing her on the cheek.

  “Would you like to tell me about Alice?” Henrietta asked coyly. “I believe I’ve already been introduced to “the society woman” Lady Linley was kind enough to mention, which of course must be your friend, Sophia.” Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. “But Alice is new to me. Was she terribly young and pretty?”

  “Minx!” he said, grabbing her about the waist. “There’s nothing to tell. Only Aunt Margaret’s ravings. She’s quite dotty, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said authoritatively, “when you tell me later in bed.” Her eyes held a suggestive glow. “It seems you’ve been rather a naughty boy, and you’ll have to confess.”

  “If I must,” he said, his mouth twitching as he kissed her. Timidly, she touched her tongue to his as his lips met hers, causing him to stiffen and clutch her tighter. “I might have to take you now,” he said, breathing deeply and pushing her against the waist-high mattress of the bed. It was a mammoth four-poster bed, complete with old-fashioned curtains that went all the way around it and a little stool to assist in climbing up.

  “Clive! You’ll crush my dress!” she said, pushing him away.

  Clive obediently stood up, then, with a grin. “Lucky for you we’re expected downstairs any minute,” he said, his eyebrow arched as he straightened his ruffled tie. “And that this is some sort of princess-and-the-pea bed requiring a certain amount of wherewithal to get into it,” he said, studying it. “No throwing the damsel on the bed in a hurried state and having my wicked way. This requires some skill,” he said, looking it over thoughtfully.

  Henrietta merely laughed and took his hand, and he led her down to join the rest of the family.

  Dinner passed uneventfully enough, though it was on this occasion that Henrietta was finally introduced to the mysterious Wallace. He cut a strange picture, hobbling in with a walking stick, but was dressed elegantly in his white tie and tails. She was surprised that he looked nothing like Clive, with his thinning blond hair and dark brown eyes, which were red about the rims. He had a high forehead and almost gaunt cheeks, looking almost sickly compared to Clive’s robust form. For the most part, Wallace was adequately polite but quiet, spending most of the dinner merely picking at his food. It seemed to Henrietta that his mind was perhaps elsewhere, as if he were just putting in his time here until he was free to resume his own entertainment, whatever that might be. She likewise thought she detected a peevishness to him that she couldn’t quite explain.

  It was rather an amusing dinner, all in all, the eccentric Lord and Lady Linley asking her the most ridiculous of questions. It was all Henrietta could do to not break into laughter, for example, when Lady Linley asked her how many Indians she had in her acquaintance.

  “Mother! It’s 1935, for God’s sake,” Wallace said, exasperated, before Henrietta had a chance to answer. “There aren’t any more Indians!”

  “Aren’t there?” Lady Linley asked, quite mystified. “I’m sure I read that there were, Wallace, dear. Somewhere on the American frontier or other.”

  “Well, Chicago is hardly the frontier, Mother.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Of course not! It’s a thriving metropolis. It’s certainly bigger than Manchester, at any rate.”

  “That can’t be! Surely not! Tell him, Montague.”

  “Actually, Aunt Margaret, Chicago is a rather large city,” Clive put in. “There’s over three million people, I believe,” he said, taking a drink of his wine.

  “Well, I never! Imagine that, Montague!”

  Ignoring her, Lord Linley took his own direction in the unfolding dialogue, or, rather, interview. “I say, tell us about your work with the American police, Clive. Damned interesting, that,” he said, signaling the footman for more wine.

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve recently resigned, sir,” Clive answered, only Henrietta catching the slight note of regret in his voice.

  She had indeed brought up the topic on more than one occasion on their afternoon st
rolls on deck of the Queen Mary, getting him to finally admit how very hard it had been for him to leave the force. The chief, he had said, had even come to his office for a private word before he had left and had asked him to reconsider, that he would see about a promotion if he would agree to stay, possibly cut down the number of cases he was assigned to. It had been almost impossible to turn him down, Clive had told her, but he had no choice but to tell the chief that he had family obligations to attend to and that it couldn’t be helped.

  “Was he angry?” Henrietta had asked.

  “Not angry, just disappointed, I suppose,” Clive answered. “I had a final drink with him before I left from his private stash in his desk drawer. Told me he’d keep the door open,” Clive said, looking out at the ocean and the rolling waves.

  “Maybe it’s not too late then?” Henrietta implored. “To change your mind, I mean?”

  “Don’t tempt me!” he said sternly. The force with which he said it took her off guard. “I’m sorry,” he said then, attempting a smile. “That came out wrong.” He sighed and went on to explain, again, that he had given his word to the board of Linley Standard and, more importantly, to his father. That his greater duty was to Highbury and to her. He needed to provide a life for her, a safer one than what the city might offer. His real fear, he had admitted with a forced laugh, was that he wouldn’t be any good at running the firm, that he wasn’t suited to it.

  “Nonsense!” Henrietta had interjected. “Of course you’ll be wonderful!” she had said encouragingly, but the conversation had been revealing and made her all the more resolved to help him in any way she could.

  “I say, did you really?” Lord Linley said, surprised. “Whatever for?”

  “Clive’s taken a position on the board of Linley Standard,” Henrietta said encouragingly.

  “Yes,” Clive said, shooting Henrietta a grateful glance. “Thought I’d better learn what I’m about before Father retires,” he said stiffly.