Given his privileged birth, he could have chosen an entirely different path. However Douglas Ashton was driven to something else and this drive, to attain whatever it was he desired, was what Mrs. K admired. Although a cold man, Mrs. Kilpatrick felt (with some pride, even though it had naught to do with her) that Douglas Ashton was not a bad man (not like his father). One couldn’t say exactly that he was a good man but he certainly wasn’t cruel and, considering his upbringing, to avoid that end was a feat in itself.
His determination was what she feared, along with his rumoured ruthless tactics. No man should work that hard, that long, sacrificing whatever morals and ethics (and, if gossip could be believed, were all of them) to get what he wanted. Lord Ashton was not a man to be denied, if he wanted something, it was his. If he wanted Mrs. K to employ a pretty, young Russian girl with no references, no experience and nothing but a passport, then he’d have it. And he did. And Mrs. K was just one in a small army of people who did his bidding, or faced the consequences.
She worried about him because he seemed so unapproachable, so cold and so very alone. He had no one and needed no one and Mrs. K couldn’t believe anyone, truly, lived like that, at least not happily. Even though Douglas Ashton never gave any indication he cared one whit about Mrs. Kilpatrick, she was the kind of woman who cared about just about everyone. She had a special place in her heart for the two children she watched grow up at Sommersgate, both of them, even Lord Douglas Ashton. It wasn’t his fault he was the way he was, indeed, he could have turned out very, very different. That was why Mrs. K loved him, was devoted to him and his house, even though he would never know how she felt.
Margaret Kilpatrick’s attention returned to Veronika. “Help me with the coffee, then you can meet Miss Julia and then you can see to the unpacking.”
As ever, Veronika did as she was told and they brought a tray to Julia with an exquisite silver coffeepot, a delicate china serving set and a plate of biscuits all sitting on a crisp, lily-white linen serviette.
Julia stood, a smile on her lips, when she saw Veronika.
“Veronika,” she started, again putting out her hand to shake the girl’s. The girl hesitantly allowed this but gave a small cry of surprise when Julia pulled her in for a swift kiss on the cheek. Julia thoughtfully ignored Veronika’s startled cry when she continued. “I hear you’ve been taking care of my nieces and nephew. Thank you.”
Veronika nodded and stepped back, this warm reception was not something she’d encountered before from anyone, not even Mrs. Kilpatrick. Veronika Raykin and Julia Fairfax had met only once and the circumstances at the time were most dire.
Julia smiled at her and Veronika looked at a loss of what to do next. “I unpack your case,” she announced finally and then fled the room.
“She’s a little shy,” Mrs. Kilpatrick explained.
Julia nodded, her face thoughtful as she watched Veronika go.
“Her timing wasn’t great, just coming to this gothic monstrosity when…” Julia stopped and looked at Ruby then she started again. “Tell me, how are things?”
Mrs. Kilpatrick knew exactly what Julia was asking.
For the past five months, Julia was at home in Indiana preparing to move to England and care for her brother’s children under the strict terms of he and his wife’s will. These terms were rigid and, to everyone’s surprise, included that the children be brought up in England, live at Sommersgate and be reared under the guardianship of Lord Douglas Ashton and Ms. Julia Fairfax. Unless Julia was willing to give up custody, which she obviously was not, this meant she had to quit her high-paid job, sell her home, disburse her belongings, say good-bye to her friends and family and move to a foreign country to live at Sommersgate for at least the next thirteen years.
Julia had done all of this without murmur, leaving the country four and a half months ago after the funerals and after the will was read, shattered from grief and jetlag, and spent the ensuing time readying herself for this change in life.
In that time, Douglas Ashton and his mother Monique had not changed their habits one iota. They’d left the care of three bereaved children, who also had left their home to move to Sommersgate, in the hands of Mrs. K, her husband, Roddy, Veronika, and Sommersgate’s chauffer and handyman, Carter.
Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t mind. She openly adored Tamsin Ashton Fairfax, who shared not a single trait with her mother, father or brother, all proud and haughty. Fifteen years ago, Mrs. Kilpatrick had immediately fallen in love with the tall, athletic, fair, blue-eyed American boy from the Midwest, Gavin Fairfax, who was friendly and outgoing and who thought Tamsin resided on a pedestal (Mrs. K agreed). And in loving them both, Mrs. K loved their children and would do anything for them.
But she was not their family. Monique Ashton had not showed an interest in mothering her own two children and she showed even less of an interest in her grandchildren.
Douglas Ashton was worse. He worked long, inhuman hours, day and night, travelling from city to city, country to country, continent to continent. On those very rare occasions when he wasn’t working, he was playing and he played with the same intensity as he worked. An expert skier, an avid horseman and a collector of tall, young, frighteningly skinny blondes, brunettes and redheads, he was a man who was responsible to no one but himself. And even though, on a dark, wet road five months ago, that had changed, Douglas Ashton had not.
Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t know why Douglas worked so hard. He was born to money, property and a title. He was immensely good-looking and was one of Europe’s top bachelors.
Roderick Kilpatrick, Mrs. K’s husband, reckoned it was power. Mr. Kilpatrick worked as groundskeeper for both Douglas and his father and he felt in the position to have a pretty reliable opinion on the subject (indeed, Roddy felt he was in the position to have a pretty reliable opinion on a lot of subjects).
Mrs. K would always cringe and more often than not quickly cross herself when thinking of the older Ashton because he surely existed in purgatory, or worse, for what he put his son through. She tried not to think about it, the scenes, the shouting, the ugly, hideous words. As a mere servant, she didn’t exist to the Baron, therefore, it didn’t matter what she’d heard and she’d heard a great deal.
How young Douglas had borne it, she couldn’t imagine but it was a testament to his strength of will. It wrecked Tamsin, who idolised her older brother. Those two were inseparable when they were young, clinging to each other in a home where controlled violence or absent neglect were the only constants.
Mrs. K never saw evidence of beatings, and there were times when she wished for it, for no matter what lofty a position Maxwell Ashton held, Social Services would frown upon physical violence and Mrs. K would have reported it, make no mistake. But there was never any physical evidence of the type of lashings Douglas would endure.
When he wasn’t verbally abusing his son, Maxwell spent his time in the pursuit of power and pleasure which were the sum total of his interests for his short sixty years. Years that ended in a massive heart attack on a ski slope in Gstaad.
Monique seemed quite happy to be left to the pursuit of her own pleasures. And this was exactly what she did, leaving her children to fend for themselves most of the time.
Roddy Kilpatrick felt that perhaps Douglas wanted to prove he was worthy of some attention from the both of them, the kind a proud father and mother would show.
Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t believe that. Maxwell Ashton had been dead for years and there was no sign Douglas intended to slow down or settle down. Further, he seemed to regard his mother, as with everyone and everything else, with a cold disregard. She existed and he acknowledged that fact, and that was the end of it.
Rumour had it he’d more than quadrupled the family fortune and the way he did it was, no other way to say it, suspect. He had an office in Bristol and held a full staff at his offices in London. What he did to make his money, Mrs. K had no idea. He had a reputation as a dangerous man and it was a fact that he’d mysteriou
sly disappeared for two years, without word or sighting. He had returned with no excuses for his absence looking no longer boyishly handsome but with a thin scar marring his hard mouth and lines etched into the sides of his eyes that were caused by wind and sun, and obviously not from playing polo.
His disappearance was never explained and, as for the rest, it was simply none of her business.
Mrs. Kilpatrick knew Samantha Thornton, Lord Ashton’s personal assistant, had been keeping in close contact with Julia and Julia and her mother called the children once or twice a week since the accident. Julia was no fool; she knew that the children had been left in the servants’ care.
“We’re all well, we’re just happy you’re here,” Mrs. Kilpatrick answered, loyal to the last to her employers who kept her and her husband fed and housed in the Groundskeeper’s Cottage up the lane.
Julia looked like she didn’t share Mrs. K’s sentiments but she was discreet enough not to say so.
She looked down at Ruby. “Well, we’ll get things sorted soon enough,” she said with considerable feeling, leaving Mrs. K to wonder what she meant.
“Er… well, as you know, Lady Ashton has been called away…” On a cruise, Mrs. K thought but did not say. She was as shocked as she was certain Julia and Patricia had been when they heard that Lady Monique would accept an invitation to cruise the Mediterranean rather than welcome a member of the family who was to move into their home. “And Lord Ashton wanted me to tell you he had unexpected business in London and won’t be home until late tonight, but I have a nice welcome dinner planned for you and the children…”
“You’re a gem, Mrs. K.” Julia smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes and then turned to her niece.
Mrs. K inclined her head in an acknowledgement. “Once Veronika has unpacked your bags, I’ll show you to your rooms.”
On that, she left, hearing Ruby chatter away to Julia while she walked away.
The children adored their Auntie Jewel, who came to visit often and would meet Tamsin, Gavin and the children for holidays. Mrs. K had to believe that Julia would find a way to heal the raw wounds of a family torn asunder.
As for Sommersgate and its master, Mrs. K could only hope.
Fervently hope.
Mr. Kilpatrick thought his wife was slightly mad but Mrs. K had been at Sommersgate long enough to love it. The house, too, had wounds to heal and those were a great deal older and more imbedded than the three Fairfax children’s.
What Sommersgate needed was love, laughter and happiness and, for over one hundred years, the house had lacked all three. It was a tall order, to think this headstrong American woman could soothe the overwhelming grief of three young children and cure a century of sorrow that clung to a pile of stone, glass and iron.
Her biggest challenge was to melt the heart of the dangerously cold Douglas Ashton who was the key to it all.
Mrs. Margaret Kilpatrick had been neither seen nor heard in that house for thirty-seven years. That did not mean she neither saw nor heard. And she knew that there was something between Ms. Julia Elizabeth Fairfax and Lord Douglas Ashton, Baron Blackbourne. Something even they didn’t know was there and now there were no husbands or siblings to get in the way.
Mrs. Kilpatrick had to admit she was tense, but, still, she had hope.
Chapter Two
The Chill and the Scream
“I’m on the archery team and next year, I might get to play polo.”
Willie was chatting on the phone with Patricia, who had taken the day off work to wait for Julia’s call to say she was at Sommersgate, safely ensconced in the freakishly strange Gothic Victorian mansion with the children firmly tucked under her wing. Being thus in the evil clutches of the evil Ashtons who never really welcomed Patricia’s beloved son (or at least Monique hadn’t) and to whom, Patty maintained, Tamsin had been the result of an unfortunate mix up in the nursery at the hospital.
That afternoon, Willie and Lizzie had come home from Tancote Boarding School, a posh “public school” located forty-five minutes away where they were day students rather than being boarded there. They used to be at the local community school but Monique had quickly taken care of that. She’d not liked the idea that they would be partaking of government funded schooling and had not had a problem telling anyone who would listen to her displeasure.
Julia was annoyed when she’d heard from Sam, Douglas’s PA, that the kids had been enrolled in a new school so soon after their parents had died. However, thousands of miles away and powerless to do anything, she’d simply gritted her teeth and waited.
Polo and archery, oh my, Julia thought sardonically as she listened to Willie chattering away to his grandmother while she watched Lizzie studiously doing her homework and Julia tried to pretend that everything was all right.
But everything was most definitely not all right.
They’d come home from school in the Bentley chauffeured by Carter, wearing posh school uniforms and had been sat down immediately to “tea” of cucumber sandwiches and a pot of fat free yogurt each.
“What on earth are you feeding them?” she’d whispered to Mrs. K.
Mrs. K shrugged and answered, “Lady Ashton doesn’t want them falling into unhealthy eating habits. We’ve never stocked sweets, crisps or puddings in this house, unless we’re entertaining, of course.”
“What about those biscuits you gave me earlier?” Julia asked.
“I was entertaining,” Mrs. K explained.
Of course.
Even though Julia was sentenced to live in spooky Sommersgate for the next twelve to thirteen years, she was still considered a guest.
Monique Ashton wasn’t worried about health; she was worried about the kids gaining weight. Monique herself was ten pounds underweight and was of the mind that fashionable, well-bred people emaciated themselves as proof of their fine upbringing. This, too, had been something Julia had heard Monique wax on about on more than one occasion, often pointedly looking at Patricia, who very much liked chocolate, potato chips and puddings of all kinds and looked the sort who did. Tamsin had always had a kitchen full to the brim with food, from grapes, apples and carrot sticks to chocolate covered malt balls and bags of microwave popcorn.
“Okay, she’s right here, Lizzie, Grammy wants to speak to you,” Willie called, breaking into Julia’s thoughts.
Lizzie threw her pencil down and slinked to the phone. She cast a brief glance in Julia’s direction as she took the phone from her brother and said, “Hello, Grandmother.”
Julia tried not to grimace.
Grandmother.
Patricia wouldn’t like that one bit. Monique was called “grandmother”. Patricia was Grammy, Gramma or just plain old Gram.
Julia watched Lizzie talking on the phone. The girl’s dark, normally lustrous, thick hair was lank and needed a wash. Her face was pale and lifeless.
Her dark blue eyes were dead.
Julia knew from her own conversations with the children over the last few months, not to mention the last several hours, that Ruby was taking the loss of her parents in stride. The child had always been a little strange. However, as Julia never had any children or been around any who had suffered such a tragedy, she couldn’t really imagine how a four year old would react.
Willie, on the other hand, was bearing up as any good Midwestern boy would, even though he’d been born and raised in England. He looked and acted exactly like Gavin at ten years old. Tall, straight, blond and blue-eyed, he was a handsome young man and it broke Julia’s heart to look at him, he so reminded her of her brother. Perhaps he had his dark moments but he never let either sister see, just like Gav would do. It was all teasing and light and any intense moments were saved for his own company.
Lizzie was remarkably different from both her brother and sister, not only in colouring, she being so dark (like Tamsin and Douglas) to their fair, but also in temperament.
The girl was not bearing up nearly as well. She was not like Gavin, Tamsin or Ruby. She was sen
sitive, stubborn and dramatic, quite like Julia herself. Normally quick-witted (and equally quick-tempered), smart and brimming with affection, the loss of her mother, who she adored, but perhaps most especially her father, who she was beloved by and loved herself (to distraction) had been a terrible blow. The twelve year old was having troubles and she had nothing familiar around her, her school and old school friends were gone and so was her home… and her parents.
She chatted to her grandmother for a bit, her heart obviously not in it, and then said, “She wants to talk to you again, Auntie Jewel.”
While taking the receiver Julia made certain to give her a loud, lip-smacking kiss on the top of her head in the hopes of gaining a familiar giggle but Lizzie just scuttled out from under the embrace and went back to her studies.
“Hi Mom,” Julia greeted.
Patty immediately went on the offensive. “All right, that’s it. His Lord and Master doesn’t even show up to dinner on your first night and she’s off on a yacht somewhere –”
Julia cut in. “Mom –”
Patty was having none of it and interrupted in return, “That’s simply not good manners. Forget it. Find out how to get those kids back home.” By “home” Patty meant their little farm town, fifteen miles west of Indianapolis, this topic being a recurring theme of their conversations these last months. “We’ll take care of them, you and me. We’ll give them a loving, happy home with big Christmases and pink frosting on their birthday cakes. Those two obviously have no interest.”
Julia had inherited the drama gene from her mother but never had quite eclipsed Patricia’s flair for it. Her mother was right, of course, but the kids had been through enough without throwing an ugly custody battle at them. Julia had to find some way to make this impossible situation work.
And impossible it was. With over a decade of the not-very-nice (to say the least) Monique Ashton yawning in front of her, without any family or friends of her own nearby and with everything familiar to her so far away, it was not only impossible, it was inconceivable.
Sommersgate House Page 2