by Kirsty Ferry
‘Stop!’ commanded Lorelei, banging on the carriage and startling the driver. ‘Don’t go any further!’
The driver did as he was bid and the carriage drew to a halt. Lorelei gazed in dismay as the couple closed in on one another and began to kiss. Lorelei felt sick to her stomach as she watched them, and saw the man – a tall, rangy man whose hair was too long – lean down and lift the girl’s skirt, his hands running up beneath her petticoats in a very tawdry fashion.
Julian was with another woman. Someone he didn’t want her to know about. Why else would she have been in the bathing hut? Was this, then, a farewell to the woman – another little flirtation he had enjoyed as the summer lazed away?
Lorelei’s head was spinning with questions and suppositions. Who the hell was she? And what was Julian doing with her? It was a private beach – nobody had access to it, and certainly nobody had access to her bathing hut. It was like a slap in the face, like he was flaunting some woman he had bedded in Staithes, and saying farewell to her in the only way she understood.
Lorelei raised a shaking hand to her face, aware that her cheeks were wet. She hadn’t realised she had been crying. But she knew she had two choices. She could go down there and confront the bastard, the way she had always dreamed of confronting Walter about the Harlot. Or she could just get the hell away from Yorkshire and forget about the whole damn lot of them. She should just accept that she was unloved and unlovable and nobody would ever be faithful to her. It had happened too many times; it always happened. She’d hoped Julian was different, but he wasn’t. They never were.
I have youth and a little beauty, she thought, her insides twisting as she recalled the last time she had used that phrase. She had made the mistake of trusting Julian and he, like others before him, had simply used her.
Lorelei took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. ‘Please continue,’ she commanded the driver in a voice that sounded stronger than she felt.
‘Where to, Madam?’ asked the driver.
‘To Whitby. To the railway station.’
‘Very well, Madam,’ replied the driver. And the horse began to move again.
Lorelei sat very still as she drove away from her dreams, and the wind from the sea dried the salt-water tears on her cheeks.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Dower House/Sea Scarr Hall, 1905
Julian installed Florrie and Archie in the kitchen, Florrie showing him her pudding-like ankle in despair.
‘Archie had a look before we came in here, but he says he thinks it’s just sprained,’ she told Julian. ‘He couldn’t feel anything sinister, could you, Archie? After this, shall we go to the Hall and see Lorelei?’
‘She might come here,’ Julian said, ‘She’s supposed to be on her way. Just eat your soup and rest your ankle up for now. She won’t be long and I’d rather keep you here than take you up there in case Lord Scarsdale gets a little cross with you running away and contacting young Archie.’
He took himself back outside after what seemed an age and looked up at the driveway. It was empty and he felt, for the first time, a creeping sense of panic.
‘Where are you, Lorelei?’ he muttered, unwilling to admit that he thought Walter had possibly discovered her plans, flown into a brutal rage and finally killed her. Damn it, I should have gone with her after all.
It was when he saw the column of smoke rise over the trees and heard the faint crackle of flames that he took to his heels and ran up to the Hall, oblivious to the gradient or the fact that anyone might see him.
He ran as fast as he could, all the while aware that the smoke column was growing thicker and the noise of the fire was becoming louder. His heart was pounding, and not just from the exertion. What if Lorelei was in there? What if she was trapped? What if she was already dead; strangled or stabbed by her husband’s own hand?
Julian arrived at the gravelled pathway where he had been greeted by Lorelei on the afternoon of that tea party. He could still see her in his mind’s eye, even through the thick smoke, as she flitted here and there in that white dress, holding onto her big hat, looking up at him and laughing.
All around him, people were shouting and screaming. There seemed to be a surfeit of servants rushing around and he reached out his hand, grabbing one of them as they ran past him. It was a young girl of about fourteen years old. He recognised her as little red-headed Phyllis.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘Fire broke out, Sir. In the library. It’s taking over the house. The master and mistress are missing!’ The girl stared up at him with round, terrified eyes, her face streaked with smoke and her red hair escaping from her hat. ‘What shall we do, Sir?’
Julian shook his head, releasing her. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what can be done.’ He looked around helplessly, searching for someone a little older and less excitable. His eyes alighted on a man – the one who had greeted him the evening of Florrie’s ball: Heimdall. His stomach churned as he remembered that Florrie and Archie were still in the Dower House, oblivious to any of this and he ran over to the man.
‘Has anyone found Lady Scarsdale?’ he asked. ‘Please. Just tell me if anyone has found her. And you should know there’s a lady in the Dower House who needs medical attention as well, once help arrives.’
The footman or butler or whatever the hell he was looked at Julian, his expression as terrified as the young girl’s had been. ‘The authorities will have to come, Sir. They’ll see to the lady you mention. But there’s a body in the library. Yates said he saw someone in there on the floor but he couldn’t get in to rescue them. We don’t know who it is. The flames chased us out.’
Julian stared at the man dumbly as the world went in and out of focus. ‘Lorelei,’ he managed eventually. ‘Is it her?’
‘I don’t know, Sir. I just don’t know.’ The man looked torn between politeness to Julian and supporting the staff – an innate need to be courteous trying to win over a desire to help.
‘Please. Go to the staff, do what you can,’ choked out Julian. ‘I’ll help. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’ll tell the authorities when they come—’ He couldn’t go on.
‘Thank you, Sir.’ The man bowed slightly and hurried off.
But Julian, despite his offer of immediate assistance, froze for a moment and could do nothing but stand and stare at the burning, crumbling Hall before him and pray that the body in the library wasn’t Lorelei’s.
But if it wasn’t Lorelei, where was she?
And then he truly felt the world shift as he sank to his knees and realised that he might never see her again. Because if she wasn’t in the Hall, and God knew nobody who was still in there could have survived, then she hadn’t come to the Dower House in the carriage for him after all.
Was she alive or dead? Was she even now lying in the burning Hall before him, or had she simply driven away and lied to him about everything? He didn’t know how or if he would ever find out.
And he had no idea which alternative was the worst.
Julian didn’t want to consider that Lorelei Scarsdale and the bright future he had imagined for them were lost to him forever, so there was not even a second’s hesitation.
He got to his feet and stared at the building. There was a hope, a very faint hope that she was somewhere in there – somewhere hidden away and terrified. Somewhere away from the flames.
He scanned the building – the wing where he knew her sitting room was had escaped the worst of the fire just now.
So before he was even aware of what he was doing, Julian ran towards Sea Scarr Hall, pushing past the crowds of people, intent on finding Lorelei.
He didn’t even stop at the side door and think about where he was heading. He ran through the opening and vanished inside.
What, after all, did he have to lose?
Cornwall, 1905
Lorelei had, in fact, ended up in Cornwall. She had just boarded the first train she could and headed in whichever direction it took her.
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br /> The direction happened to be south. And Cornwall seemed as good a place as anywhere. After all, hadn’t her parents lived at Newlyn for a while? Then they had gone to Lamorna, she remembered, after she sang the praises of the Bohemian community that had lived and worked there.
But Lorelei discovered that her parents had moved on and she had no real idea of where they were now. She guessed they would send a letter to Sea Scarr Hall and tell her, when they remembered they had a daughter who might like to know where her family was. But she didn’t want to think about how she would actually get that letter now.
One of the artists she met in Lamorna told her he thought Lorelei’s ‘friends’ – she had been very careful not to tell him her relationship to them, just in case – had gone to Wales.
‘I could introduce you to some of the other artists,’ the young man told her. ‘They might know more than me.’
‘It’s all right,’ Lorelei said hurriedly. It had been a long time since she worked with anyone in Cornwall, but she certainly didn’t want anyone asking too many questions. She didn’t after all, have a very common name. ‘I might try St Ives or Polperro. I’m sure my friends have links to those places. Thank you for your time.’
‘Well, if the subject comes up, who shall I say was asking?’ The artist smiled, his face open and honest, although he had a quiet, serious demeanour about him for such a young man.
‘Well, my name is Laura,’ she told him, lying far too easily; but the least he knew about her the better. Walter or Julian might come looking for her. She felt a little sick thinking about Julian and that woman again, and she certainly didn’t want to give her real name to anyone down here.
Lorelei had already sold the ring and the photograph – she’d pretended the picture was an actual Cameron print and the dealer she had spoken to in Penzance had been ridiculously excited and she’d made an awful lot of money from it. The ring she had sold to a jeweller – and again, had made a tidy profit. She wanted nothing to remind her of Julian. Both items had to go.
‘And your surname?’ prompted the young artist, breaking into her thoughts. He shifted his canvas from under one arm to the other and Lorelei made a mental note to buy some more paints. She was glad she had left them and the seascape behind at the Hall. Two more items that held too many memories.
‘My surname?’ she asked.
‘Yes, your surname.’ The artist smiled. ‘I take it you’ve got one?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course I have.’ Lorelei looked out at the blue sea twinkling in the cove and the quarry-like rocks that protected the place. She thought for a moment she saw a young woman in a red dress scrambling over them, and a man who looked an awful lot like Julian waiting for her. But then she blinked and they were gone; just one more trick of the light.
Her heart twisted and she guessed that pain was something she was going to have to get used to.
And then she spoke, almost without thinking. ‘My surname,’ she said, looking back at the awfully patient young man, ‘is Cooper. Yes. My name is Laura Cooper.’
The Dower House, Present Day
‘It’s definitely been a summer to remember.’ Lissy drained her third glass of champagne, perched on the table somewhere between the remains of Grace’s birthday cake – a rather impressive hedgehog with chocolate button prickles – and the remains of a bottle of champagne she had taken custody of, a little while ago.
She and Stef had decided to make good use of the twinkling lights from the beach hut and had draped them across the railings of the terrace, and all around the windows and doors of the Dower House. They had looked so pretty, Lissy had then decided it was a shame to waste the twinkles – and waste the last few days of summer – and hosted a party on their final night in Staithes. Their cases were more or less packed, their luggage ready to be piled into their cars, ready for them to travel tomorrow; and then they would be heading back to Lissy’s apartment in London. Stef would stay with her until the Mayfair exhibition and, they both knew, he would be staying even beyond that. They had to plan their campervan expedition for next summer, after all.
‘It’s definitely been a wonderful summer,’ said Becky, a little tipsy by now. ‘Your engagement, Cori and Simon’s engagement and Grace’s fourth birthday. Cheers to you all!’ She raised her own glass in the direction of her friends.
‘And of course, we can’t forget Cori’s baby news,’ added Lissy. She smiled at Cori who was certainly a lot more curvaceous than she had been two months ago, and in much better spirits. She was currently sitting on one of Lissy’s reclining chairs, her hands resting on her rounded stomach and a Virgin Mojito within easy reach. She and Simon were staying in the studio flat that night, so there was no real hurry to go anywhere. Becky had been right with the scan – Cori was having a girl, and Cori and Becky had joked that the pressure was now on Lissy to have one too.
Grace, the birthday girl, who of course thought the whole party was for her and her alone, had delighted in pressing her ear to Cori’s tummy, and placed a tiny fairy cake on the hard, neat bump, whispering to the baby that it was for her. Grace had shrieked with laughter when a tiny fist or a strong little foot had thrust itself out and made the cake topple off, and she had subsequently tried to make it happen several more times, until Becky finally made her stop.
The birthday girl, however, had hit the wall about half an hour ago, and currently lay sleeping, sprawled out on her back on one of the sofas in the Dower House. Her arms were flung above her head like a starfish and her legs were bent up, frog-like, in that attitude all small children display when they are fast asleep and completely and utterly relaxed.
From where Lissy sat, she could see Stef, bare-footed and bare-chested, poking around at the barbecue, the few, wispy clouds behind him rose-pink in the low sun. A little thrill ran through her body as she saw the glow of the coals reflected on his skin and a scowl of concentration on his face. His hair was flopping forwards, but not enough to hide the sharp edges of his chin and his cheekbones, and not enough to cover his eyes. One dark, wayward curl was hanging over his forehead, tantalisingly close to his eyes, and she longed to move it away, just to touch him, just to be close to him – but she had all night to do that. She had the rest of their lives. The thought excited her and she smiled over in his direction.
Jon and Simon were near Stef, huddled together, looking at the barbecue in the way that only men can do. Jon had a bottle of cola and Simon was clutching a bottle of beer, waving it around as he extrapolated on something probably quite academic. Simon laughed loudly at, quite possibly, his own joke, and Jon nodded sagely.
‘I can guess who’s driving you guys back to Whitby, Cori.’ Lissy pointed at Simon. ‘He is well on his way to getting drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drunk.’
‘Well it’s only fair,’ replied Cori with a laugh. She shifted in the recliner and pulled herself more upright, the twinkling lights sparking off the emerald on the third finger of her left hand. ‘It’s Simon’s engagement as much as mine, and I’ve got the best excuse in the world to stay sober. Only three and half months to go. Fourteen weeks, give or take.’
‘Not that you’re counting,’ teased Becky. ‘Oh, but it’s making me broody. Jon! Jon!’ She cupped her hands around her mouth and pretended to be calling him. ‘We need another one!’
‘Seriously?’ Lissy stared at her. ‘And you’re far too loud!’
‘Am I? Battery’s dead.’ Becky waved her hand around her right ear and pulled a face. ‘Anyway. I will act on it. Unless you want to be the next one? Best enjoy the champagne while you can.’
Lissy laughed and pushed Becky’s shoulder gently. ‘What with you and Stef – leave me alone. Please!’
‘Hey, do we need to change the music?’ Cori looked around. ‘It’s stopped.’
‘I’ll do it. I’ll check on Gracie as well while I’m in there. My goodness, though, I hope Jon and Simon don’t try any Dad-dancing.’ Becky stood up. ‘Well, Jon’s allowed to do it, I suppose, and Si
mon should get in some practice, I guess.’ She giggled and wobbled a little. ‘What do you want on?’
‘Just choose something. Anything,’ replied Lissy.
‘It makes no difference to me,’ grumbled Becky. ‘Battery’s dead. I told you. Can’t hear a damn thing. Dance music maybe? It’s got a beat to it. I might feel it through the floorboards, poor old me. Still – big secret – we’re looking into cochlear implants. Can’t wait! Jon reckons with the expected income from Mayfair, especially with Stef putting his photos in the exhibition, we can go for it quite quickly. I wonder if I can still switch it all off though, if Grace whinges too much?’
Her pretty face creased into a thoughtful frown and Lissy stifled a giggle. ‘Stef’s got plenty of dance music on the laptop.’ She chivvied Becky up gently. ‘His music, his choice – not mine. But it is a party after all.’
‘Then dance music it is.’ Becky stumbled off, not quite walking in a straight line, but heading in the general direction of the laptop.
‘God love her,’ said Lissy, shaking her head as she watched her sister-in-law leave. ‘You can tell she’s out of practice with this champagne thing.’
Cori laughed. ‘This is lovely though. Thanks for inviting us. It’s a shame to be going home tomorrow – I’d much rather laze around by the sea for a few more days, but we’ve got work and that’s the thing.’ She rubbed her tummy gently. ‘This little one, though, I’m going to make sure she visits the seaside as much as she can. You can’t beat it, can you?’
‘No,’ replied Lissy. ‘The seaside is simply heavenly. It’s been a perfect summer.’ She smiled at the group of people she loved the most – her best friends in all the world, her family and her future, all together on this perfect evening. ‘I don’t think I could be any happier,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Not at all.’
Stef looked up at that point and waved at her. His smile lit up his face and she waved back. For a moment, they were the only two people in existence and everything else melted into insignificance, as it always had done when she was with Stef.