Seasons of Love

by Anna Jacobs

Shame made Daniel flush again. ‘There is no need to say that. She will, of course, ride in the first carriage, with me.’

  ‘And afterwards?’ demanded Mr Napperby, determined to have every last detail clear.

  ‘Afterwards she will naturally be invited to return here with the other mourners and partake of refreshments.’

  Mr Napperby inclined his head, his eyes glittering with triumph. ‘And, as she is a beneficiary, she must also be present with the rest of the family at the reading of the will.’

  ‘Of course. And if she wishes to move to the house for the time being, we shall be pleased to receive her.’

  ‘I think she will be better in her own home, among those who truly care for her. Even though that home is in no fit state for a lady to live in.’

  ‘The Dower House hadn’t been made ready for her?’

  ‘No, sir. Not a thing had been done.’

  Silence hung heavily around them for a moment, then Daniel said, ‘There must have been a misunderstanding. I thought I’d given orders to – ‘I shall take my mother to call upon Mrs Carnforth this very afternoon.’

  His mother would go with him and be civil, if he had to drag her there by force! How could she have behaved like that and landed him in this embarrassing predicament? Had she run mad in her old age?

  After that, the funeral arrangements were quickly settled - subject to the widow’s agreement, Mr Napperby insisted, with a challenging look in his eyes - and a guest list was drawn up.

  Mrs Carnforth's elaborate flights of fancy as regards staging the funeral were mentioned by the parson and dismissed out of hand by his lordship.

  On the way out, however, Mr Napperby turned round and stared Daniel in the eye as he reiterated, ‘I have your word, sir, that the widow will be treated with all courtesy.’

  ‘You have my solemn word.’

  After he had watched the two men leave, Daniel turned round and strode up the stairs to his mother's room, fury sizzling through him.

  The formal visit of Daniel and his mother to the Dower House did indeed take place that afternoon, but only after a fit of hysterics.

  ‘You can either,’ repeated Daniel, ‘make the visit with me today or leave immediately for Bath.

  It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘You cannot mean that! I am your mother.’

  ‘I do, indeed, mean it. Your discourtesy to the widow has shown us in a very bad light and I’m deeply ashamed of what has happened. We shall now make every atonement possible to the lady.’

  ‘But she is not a lady! That is the whole point.’

  ‘She is Cousin Charles's widow, and as such will be treated with every courtesy, lady or not.’

  ‘You cannot expect me to associate with a - a wicked creature.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about her nature. Mr Napperby assures me she was genuinely devoted to our cousin.’

  ‘But - ’

  ‘You need do nothing that you do not wish to do, mother. As I said, I shall be happy to place a carriage at your disposal for your return to Bath. Within the hour, shall we say?’

  He was all cold dignity, reminding her so much of his father that fresh tears flowed. She sobbed a little, then gave in. She had no intention of missing this funeral. It would look bad if she wasn’t present and her dear friends in Bath would want to know all about that woman.

  The two of them were received at the Dower House by a heavily-veiled Helen, who didn’t wish them to see her reddened eyes.

  Her son stood protectively by her side, scowling at them the whole time. He knew these were the people who had upset and insulted his mother. Briggs had explained it all to him, for no one else would.

  A stilted conversation followed. Both ladies were almost monosyllabic in their responses to each other's polite questions, and Daniel, who was not a man famed for his conversational skills, found the visit a nightmare. He explained the arrangements for the funeral, asked if they met with Mrs Carnforth's approval and agreed to change some details at her request. He then went through the guest list drawn up by Mr Napperby and Mr Morpeth and gave her a copy.

  His mother breathed deeply while arrangements were discussed, and reflected upon ingratitude, which was indeed sharper than a serpent’s tooth, or whatever it was the Bible said. She would look that up the instant she got home, see if the good book could offer her any consolation for this embarrassment.

  And that woman looked exactly like a blowsy actress to her. Nothing would convince her otherwise.

  After a very correct twenty minutes, the visitors stood up.

  As they were leaving, Daniel looked across the room at Harry, wondering if he should say something to the lad, who was, whether he wished it or not, now his ward. However, he encountered a look of such hostility that he muttered something under his breath and left.

  Celia harangued her son all the way home on the folly of giving in to vulgar persons. She went on to decry the ridiculous affectation of women who wore such heavy mourning inside the house -

  ‘too theatrical for words’ - especially when everyone knew that the woman had only married poor Charles for his money!

  ‘You are not to say that again, Mother!’

  ‘But everyone knows it's true.’

  ‘True or not, I should be obliged if you would refrain from repeating it in future.’

  A moment later she was off on another tack. ‘And one can only wonder what she's hiding under that veil. She's probably pock-marked, or - or raddled from wearing too much paint upon her face.’

  ‘Mother!’

  She flounced in her seat and hunched her shoulder at him, but said nothing more.

  Her son spent the rest of the day out riding.

  Formalities, and therefore county society, being satisfied, the funeral was arranged for three days later and the coffin was taken in state to lie in the village church, the compromise agreed upon.

  Because she still wept at the slightest thing, Helen continued to wear the heavy veils she would normally have despised. She couldn’t think what was wrong with her lately, but admitted to herself that she was exhausted and promised herself a good, long rest when all the ceremonial was over.

  On the sad day, Helen and her son rode to the church in the first carriage with the heir, as was proper. Celia Carnforth, trailing black lace and crepe, stayed at the house.

  The boy seems a surly cub, thought Daniel, for again Harry had done nothing but scowl at his new guardian. By the time they arrived at the graveyard, he had to admit that at least Harry was attentive to his mother and spoke like a gentleman's son. No doubt that was due to his stepfather's influence.

  Her son’s scowls, as Helen well knew, were Harry's defence against the dreadful crime of weeping like a baby for the only father he’d ever known. So she didn’t reprimand him, just touched his hand from time to time, and put her arm round his shoulders for a minute when they got out of the carriage at the church.

  It didn't even occur to Daniel that he hadn’t yet seen the widow's face. He’d been up until late the previous night grappling with figures and estimates for the most necessary of the renovations and was more tired than he would admit, so he simply sat there during the short journey to the village church and let the well-sprung carriage lull his muscles into a semblance of relaxation. He was very relieved that Mrs Carnforth made no attempt to spoil this short respite by forcing a conversation, and even more relieved that his mother had chosen to stay behind at the big house with the other ladies ‘as is proper, dearest, whatever anyone else may think’.

  After the ceremony the widow thanked Mr Morpeth for his brief, but moving eulogy, lingered for a moment by the graveside, head bent, then squared her shoulders and turned resolutely back towards the carriage, her hand on her son's shoulder. Not much longer to endure now, she thought.

  I shall get through it.

  On their return to Ashdown Park, Helen hesitated for a moment when offered Daniel's arm to descend from the carriage and walk into the house. Then she
decided that for Harry's sake, she should preserve the civilities and laid her hand on the arm. After today, she hoped to see as little of this man as possible.

  He led her into the great south drawing-room, where Mrs Carnforth and several other ladies awaited them.

  ‘May I give you a glass of wine, Mrs Carnforth?’ he asked, seeing that his mother, now whispering to the lady beside her, had no intention of offering this guest any refreshments or easing her way into the group.

  ‘No. Thank you.’ It would have choked Helen to try to eat or drink. She felt unhappy and very much alone, in spite of the presence of her son, but didn’t intend to let Charles down now.

  She sat quietly in the chair to which Daniel led her, thanked those who came up to offer her their condolences and endured the slow formalities as best she could. Two or three times Harry's hand squeezed hers secretly, which gave her the courage to continue.

  By this time, everyone else in the room was curious to see her face, but she made no attempt to lift the veils, or to speak beyond the necessary responses to their greetings and condolences.

  After a while the other guests took their leave and Daniel came to offer Helen his arm again. He led her into the library to listen to the reading of the will.

  Celia Carnforth walked sulkily behind, furious that such a woman should be given preference over her, and more than curious to see exactly what provisions her husband's cousin had made for his wife.

  ‘ . . . to my beloved wife, Helen, I leave all the property and incomes which are not entailed, being . . . and to my stepson, Harry Robert Perriman, five thousand pounds, to be invested carefully and used for his education and later establishment in a suitable occupation . . . the said Harry Robert Perriman to be under the joint guardianship of my dear friend and lawyer, Samuel James Napperby, and my heir, Daniel Carnforth.’

  Daniel listened with an impassive face and a bitter heart to the reading of the will. That woman had stripped his inheritance of all but the minimum covered by the entail. He was left with few reserves to pay for improvements and an income much reduced after years of neglect by an absentee landlord who had cared less than nothing for the estate Daniel already loved.

  When the reading was over, he stood up and thanked Mr Napperby for his care of the family's interests. ‘I hope you will continue to oversee them.’

  Samuel inclined his head. He had wondered whether to ask Daniel to find another lawyer, and he would have done so had Mrs Carnforth been offered anything but the most civil treatment today.

  But all in all, it was best that he keep an eye on things, and on the boy, too.

  While her son was speaking to the lawyer, Celia turned to Helen and said with a sweetly-acid smile, ‘Well, you certainly made sure you were comfortably left, did you not, Mrs Carnforth? How much money do you think now remains for my son to restore and run the estate after your husband let it go to pieces?’

  Helen made no attempt to answer this accusation. Was it true that the estate had been stripped of funds? Was Daniel really so short of money? She didn’t know, and her head was aching so fiercely that she couldn’t think about it until later. She would ask Mr Napperby for his advice, but at the moment, all she wished to do was lie down.

  Besides, nothing she could say would convince this vicious woman that she hadn’t known any of the details of Charles's will before his death, so why bother to try? She’d seen the way the group of ladies looked at her after the funeral and it had hurt her badly. That was why she’d kept her veils on.

  As soon as Daniel had finished speaking to the lawyer, Helen went over to take her leave of him.

  ‘You’re welcome to stay for a while.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m feeling a little tired.’ And tearful. And nauseous. She didn’t know what had got into her lately. She was usually so energetic, even in times of trouble.

  ‘I’ll see you to the door, then, Mrs Carnforth.’

  ‘There is no need. You have your other guests to think of.’

  ‘I insist! It would be discourteous to do otherwise. And I wouldn’t want you to think we hadn’t treated you with every respect due to my Cousin Charles’s widow.’ He tried to catch his mother’s eye, but she was looking in the other direction.

  Helen signalled to her son, who fell in behind her in his usual unobtrusive way. Few children of his age had had such a long training in being seen and not heard, she felt. Now that they were at last settled, she must see that he learned to run and shout, to behave more like a boy should - even to get into trouble at times. In fact, she would make sure he led as happy and normal a life as possible.

  As they were crossing the echoing hallway with its dark panelling, Daniel saw Mrs Carnforth stumble, sway for a moment, as if dizzy, and put one hand to her temple. Quickly he took her arm, ready to catch her if she should faint. His mother, who made great play of her ill-health, had never actually fainted in his presence, but this lady, who had said nothing and asked for no sympathy, looked to be drooping with exhaustion.

  ‘I'm afraid this has all been a great strain for you,’ he said, his deep voice more gentle than before.

  ‘Yes. I'm sorry to be a nuisance. I'm - very tired now.’ She continued to lean heavily on his arm as they moved across the hall, then she straightened up as they reached the main door and tried to compose herself.

  Daniel waited there with her until the footman announced that the carriage was ready. He didn't see, but Harry did, that tears were trickling down her cheeks, for she kept her head bent.

  As the footman opened the front doors, Helen uttered a choked, ‘Goodbye, Mr Carnforth,’ and hurried out to the carriage before he could escort her any further.

  Harry, who had not heard what they said to each other as they crossed the hallway, turned to his host. ‘I hate you!’ he hissed. ‘You always make my mother cry! I won't have you for a guardian!

  Leave her alone, you bully!’

  Daniel, who had been too stunned to say anything, watched him run to the carriage and saw him put his arms round his mother before Briggs closed the door. Mrs Carnforth’s shoulders were definitely shaking. She was crying. That would explain why she had hidden behind the veil.

  Could she be genuinely grief-stricken, then? Mr Napperby seemed to think so, and the lawyer was a shrewd fellow.

  He sighed and went back to the library. When the guests had left, he escorted his mother firmly to the door of this room, in spite of her protests that she wished to stay, to help her poor, dear son.

  Then he started going into some details of the estate with Mr Napperby.

  If men were allowed to cry in times of trouble, Daniel would have been perilously close to it himself by the time the lawyer had finished explaining exactly how he stood financially. He was left with the bitter knowledge that he would be able to make few, if any, of the improvements he had planned, even those that were desperately needed, like repairs to cottage roofs. He would, in fact, be hard pushed even to maintain the rambling old house whose roof needed urgent attention.

  Over dinner that evening, Celia said, ‘My dearest, your mother’s heart aches for you. She has stolen your inheritance! Stolen it!’

  ‘Sir Charles was at perfect liberty to leave his money as he chose, Mother, as we have already discussed.’

  ‘Well, you will just have to put the rents up.’

  He didn't attempt to argue. She would never understand his concern for the long-term well-being of his land, or his care for his tenants, some of whom could barely afford the present rent, and who depended on him for so many things.

  A little later Celia started on matters closer to her heart. ‘We really must find you some proper staff now. I was ashamed for the way that maid served the tea. We are fortunate she didn't spill it all over someone. What we need is an experienced butler, and perhaps one or two . . . ’

  ‘I don't intend to hire any other servants, mother, and certainly not a butler. I can manage perfectly well with the staff I already have. I shall be living very si
mply from now on - indeed, I think I shall close up some of the rooms - I shall not be doing much entertaining, after all. You know I’m not fond of parties and such fooleries.’

  She stared at him in horror. ‘Not entertain! But dearest - you are a great landowner now, the owner of Ashdown Park. It is your duty to entertain. And I am quite prepared to sacrifice myself to help you until you are married - and we really must find you a suitable wife! You cannot delay doing your duty any longer!’

  ‘Mama, I shall be so busy setting the estate to rights that I shall not have time to waste on social exchanges.’ He took a deep breath. Why did he always find it so difficult to manage her? ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that it will be best for you to return to Bath. I'm grateful for your help, but I fear I shall be but poor company from now on.’

  Spots of colour burned in her cheeks. ‘Fine thanks you offer me, turning me out of your house!’

  ‘I've just told you - I shall be living very quietly. You would be moped to death here. And - I'm afraid I shall have to sell Bellborough. This estate needs so much doing to it. Before I left, Stephen Ferndon approached me and - in short, he made me an offer which I shall now accept.’

  Surprise and shock held her silent for a moment, then she stood up, pushing her chair back so violently that it fell over. ‘I see. You are a true Carnforth, are you not, Daniel? My family's inheritance counts for nothing with you!’

  ‘You know that I love Bellborough,’ he said, his quiet voice in great contrast to her shrill tones.

  ‘'If there were any other way at all to manage . . ’

  ‘You don’t really care! You Carnforths are all the same! It’s all Ashdown, Ashdown, Ashdown!

  Your father was just as selfish! You haven't even waited, haven’t even attempted to find other ways to set matters right! A good marriage could - ’

  ‘I already have a good offer for Bellborough. And I have no desire whatsoever to marry at the moment.’ He tried to speak courteously, but he was rapidly running out of patience. Did she think he cared nothing for his old home, for the acres he’d loved and cared for ever since his father died?