by Erica James
Alone in the waiting room, Romily thought how she had not been entirely truthful with Hope. She had indeed grown bored recently. On the home straight with her latest book, she was planning to apply to the ATA, just as Sarah had been nagging her to do ever since January. Her friend had written to her only yesterday urging to get on with her application. YOU’RE NEEDED! she had written in large capital letters, just in case Romily hadn’t got the message.
Romily had also been somewhat economical with the truth over the way she felt about not having children of her own. She had never before had much contact with young children and so had not thought that motherhood was something that would interest her. But then along had come Annelise and Stanley and their presence at Island House had provoked an emotion she had previously not experienced. She now strongly believed that she and Jack would have seriously considered the possibility of having children together one day, even so late in his life.
As for Hope teasing her about Tony Abbott, well the girl was way off the mark there. Once Tony had realised his error, which was due in part to Romily not putting him in the picture right away, he had become a very acceptable addition to the household. Having a man around occasionally helped to offset the balance of so many women living under one roof.
The appearance of a steel-grey-haired man in the waiting room interrupted her thoughts. ‘Mrs Devereux-Temple?’ he said, his expression severe. ‘I’m Dr Longman.’
Romily stood up hurriedly. ‘How is Allegra?’ she asked anxiously, aware that she hadn’t heard her cry out for a while now.
‘I’m afraid Mrs Hartley is very weak. Her labour was not without complication.’
‘But she’s all right, isn’t she?’
The man shook his head. ‘She’s weak,’ he repeated. ‘She’s lost a lot of blood.’
‘And the baby?’
‘A girl.’
Just as Allegra always said it would be, thought Romily with a small smile.
‘Mrs Hartley was asking for you,’ the doctor said. ‘I wouldn’t normally allow it when a patient has undergone such a difficult birth, but in this instance I think it wise.’
The smile gone from her face, Romily said, ‘What do you mean, in this instance?’
His face unreadable, he indicated that she should follow him. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘come this way.’
At the sight of Allegra, Romily tried hard to hide her shock. Propped against the pillows, she lay inert in the bed, her eyes closed, her face, normally so animated and vibrant, a blank mask. The stain of dark violet smudges beneath her eyes was the only colour to her lifeless pallor. For a heart-stopping moment Romily thought she was dead. But then her eyelids fluttered open, and in a rush of relief, Romily bent over the bed and kissed her cheek.
‘You poor dear girl, how are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Glad it’s over,’ Allegra said, her voice no more than a breathy whisper. ‘Have you seen her? Didn’t I say I would have a girl? I knew all along.’
‘Indeed you did. I can’t wait to meet her.’
‘She’s a pretty little thing.’
Straining to hear, Romily drew up a chair. ‘I’m sure she’ll prove to be just as beautiful as her mother.’
‘I hope she won’t have my temper. I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible to you and Hope.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous; you were more than entitled to be as rude as you wanted. Has the doctor said when you and the baby will be allowed home?’
Allegra swallowed, and as though the effort was too much for her, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, they glistened with tears. ‘I want you to promise me something.’
‘Of course.’
‘I want my daughter to be called Isabella; it was the name of my best friend in the orphanage.’
‘That’s a lovely name.’
‘You will make sure that’s what she’s called?’
Alarm growing within her, Romily said, ‘I won’t need to, you’ll do that yourself.’
‘Listen to me, Romily, this is important. You mustn’t let her go to an orphanage if Elijah decides he doesn’t want to look after her. Or if he doesn’t come back.’
Romily’s throat tightened with fear. ‘Don’t wear yourself out thinking about things that won’t happen.’
‘I have to, Romily, I’m dying.’
‘No you’re not. You’re talking this way because you’re exhausted. You’re going to be fine. Just fine. I’ll make damned sure you are.’
With the slightest of movements, Allegra shook her head. ‘Will you tell Elijah that I’m sorry?’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘For leaving him. For leaving him all those years ago and for leaving him now.’ A ghost of a smile parted her pale dry lips. ‘I’m so unreliable. But then I always was such …’ she took a breath, ‘such a disappointment to everyone. I can never get things right, can I? And I did try. I really did.’
‘Don’t talk any more,’ said Romily. ‘Just concentrate on resting. You need to get your strength back, that’s all.’
‘There’s something else you must do for me,’ Allegra murmured. ‘Elijah said I was to put his name on the birth certificate. Will you do that for me? I want Isabella always to think he was her father.’
‘I’ll do whatever you say. Now stop worrying about everything, you must rest, you’re worn out.’
Allegra closed her eyes. ‘You’ve been very good to me,’ she said in a faraway voice. ‘Better than I deserved.’
A rustle of movement had Romily turning. It was Dr Longman. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to you again, Mrs Devereux-Temple,’ he said.
Romily followed him out of the room. ‘Tell me the truth,’ she said. ‘Allegra thinks she’s dying. Is she?’
‘I’m afraid she is,’ he replied gravely.
‘But she can’t be!’
He said nothing.
Shock and anger combined to fuel Romily’s next question. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘What the hell went wrong? And why couldn’t you stop it?’
‘We did our best, but Mrs Hartley’s body just wasn’t prepared for the fight it faced. Once she started to haemorrhage, there was nothing we could do.’
Unable to believe she was uttering the words, Romily said, ‘How long does she have?’
‘I doubt she’ll last the night.’
Her eyes filling with tears, she turned away. With one hand clenched into a tight fist, she pressed it hard against her mouth to stop a cry escaping. Oh God, this couldn’t be happening. Not Allegra. Not dying.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Allegra’s funeral took place on a bright and sunny spring day, just as the first of the daffodils burst into flower. Reverend Tate took the service and droned on in his monotonous, self-satisfied voice about the renewal of life and how Allegra’s indomitable spirit would live on through her child. And what would he know about Allegra’s spirit? Florence wanted to know.
Those closest to Allegra were now gathered around the grave, a small, mixed group of mourners – Miss Romily, Hope, Miss Flowerday, Mrs Partridge, Mr Fitzwilliam, Dr Garland back from his holiday, Wing Commander Abbott, and the biggest surprise of all, Arthur Devereux. Nobody had expected to see him today, but here he was, large as life and just as unpleasant. Florence wanted to think well of him for coming, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that he had done it for an unselfish reason.
The casket was now being slowly lowered into the gaping hole. Florence couldn’t bear to look at the wooden box that contained the body of a young woman who had been so vibrantly full of life. What a dreadful waste. And what of poor Elijah? God only knew how he had taken the news.
Miss Romily had volunteered to be the one to write and tell him what had happened. How she had found the right words was beyond Florence. She had found it hard enough telling Billy, even though
he didn’t really know Allegra. All her letters to him so far had been written with the sole purpose of keeping his spirits up and to let him know that she loved him and was planning for their future when the war was over. Not one word of complaint or pessimism had she written, not even when his mother had been so rude to her.
In so many ways Allegra had been an enigma to Florence. In the blink of an eye she could switch from being full of fiery temper to being funny and warm and gentle. Many a time she had reminded Florence of a cat – purring contentedly one minute, but when provoked, showing her claws. Life had never been dull with her around, that much was true.
To the left of Florence was Hope. She had cried when Miss Romily had returned from the hospital in the early hours of the morning with the awful news. They had all waited up for her to come back, eager to hear that the baby was born safely. Never had it crossed Florence’s mind that Miss Romily would come home to tell them Allegra was dead.
And now there was a motherless baby to care for. One thing Florence knew for sure, the child would not be short of love and attention here at Island House. The infant was now installed in the bedroom next door to Stanley’s old room. The arrival of a baby confused Bobby at first, and then he adopted the air of a protective guard dog and patrolled the landing outside her door. If she so much as whimpered, Bobby barked and came looking for someone to see to her.
Mrs Bunch had offered to mind the infant along with Annelise while the rest of them attended the funeral today, but she had made it clear that she couldn’t take on any regular sort of commitment to looking after either child.
Last night and unable to sleep, Florence had padded quietly down the stairs to make herself a drink and had found Miss Romily in the kitchen, Isabella in the crook of her arm taking milk from a bottle. ‘I was just thinking how like Allegra she looks,’ she’d said to Florence. She’d stroked the baby’s cheek tenderly. ‘Whatever am I going to do with you?’ she’d murmured.
Those words had stayed with Florence, and she thought of them now as the mourners took it in turns to throw a handful of earth onto the coffin. Whatever am I going to do with you? Had it been no more than a turn of phrase, or did it mean more: that Miss Romily would take on the full responsibility of the child?
The funeral over, and back at the house, Roddy still couldn’t believe that Allegra was gone. How could anyone so vital and full of promise be dead?
It pained him that for so much of her young life the poor girl had experienced more than her fair share of unhappiness and disappointment, and that when finally she had found contentment in marrying Elijah, a happy ending was to be denied her.
She had actually said on her wedding day, when Roddy had been alone with her preparing to walk her into the church, that ever since she was a child she had somehow believed she wasn’t worthy of knowing real happiness. ‘It’s my fate,’ she’d said, ‘to be denied a happy ending.’
At the time he had dismissed her comment as nothing but an example of her characteristically Latin melodramatic nature, but it had remained with him for days and weeks afterwards. Then last month, when Allegra had contacted him to request he draw up a will for her, that conversation had returned to haunt him. He’d told himself that he was overreacting, that she was only doing what was sensible now that she was married and had a child on the way, as well as an inheritance to safeguard. Yet now, as he sat in the drawing room with Romily and Hope to explain the contents of Allegra’s will, he couldn’t help but believe she’d had a genuine premonition of her death.
Arthur hovered outside the closed door of the drawing room. Had it really been necessary for Roddy to exclude him from the reading of Allegra’s will? Fair enough, it was unlikely his cousin would have left him anything, but Roddy had been gratuitously high-handed in his manner, treating Arthur like a badly behaved schoolboy instructed to wait outside the headmaster’s study.
With one ear listening out for Florence or Mrs Partridge, he kept the other to the door, hoping to catch the gist of what was being said. To be honest, he wouldn’t have guessed at Allegra being sensible enough to put a will together, but then neither had he imagined her dying so young.
Other than surprise, he had felt scant emotion when he’d heard from Hope that their cousin was dead. He’d made all the right noises, of course he had, had even said he would come for the funeral, but he’d merely applied himself to going through the motions of what he knew was expected of him. Had he behaved differently, Irene might have made a fuss. While his wife accepted there was no real bond between the members of his family, she still favoured an old-fashioned approach of upholding the pretence that one cared, no matter how superficially. In actual fact it suited Irene perfectly that their involvement with his family was so cursory, as she would forever be tainted within the Devereux clan – what was left of it – as the girlfriend who had treated Kit so badly by jumping ship to attach herself to Arthur.
Understandably, Irene had been alarmed at the news of Allegra’s death – dying in childbirth was a subject she did not want to dwell on – and for some unaccountable reason she had declared that she would accompany Arthur to the funeral. He’d vetoed that at once. ‘I don’t want you putting yourself, or the baby, through any unnecessary strain,’ he’d said, brooking no argument. ‘A funeral’s no place for a woman in your condition.’
‘I’m beginning to think you intend to keep me a prisoner in a gilded cage until the child is born,’ she’d responded with a sharpness to her tone he didn’t recognise. He’d noticed also that she had taken to looking at him oddly these days, as though trying to figure him out. And what would you think if you knew you were married to a cold-blooded killer? he often found himself thinking when she asked him to pass her the marmalade at breakfast, or enquired over dinner how his day had gone.
He didn’t see himself as a cold-blooded killer, not really; it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, a swift and decisive response to a threat. And while a small part of him genuinely regretted snatching up that glass ashtray, he knew deep down that he wouldn’t think twice about doing the same thing again. Very likely he would have to do something about that odious blackmailer; the man represented a threat that could only go on for so long. Dealing with him would be an act of self-preservation, no more, no less.
But he would have to be careful; it would have to be meticulously planned this time, nothing left to chance. Maybe he was a cold-blooded killer after all. But then so were all those men who’d donned a uniform to go and fight the Germans. Was he any worse than them? Or that wing commander who was at the funeral earlier and who had never left Romily’s side? Whence had he sprung? His stepmother certainly hadn’t been slow in finding a replacement for his father, had she? So much for dear old Jack being the great love of her life. People were such frauds.
From inside the drawing room, he finally heard Roddy getting down to the business of explaining Allegra’s will.
When Roddy had finished speaking, Romily said, ‘It really is as if Allegra knew what was going to happen.’
‘I feel awful that I didn’t take her concerns more seriously,’ responded Hope. ‘I kept telling her that whatever she was feeling was normal. But to my shame, and with her love for dramatics, I simply disregarded much of what she said and did.’
‘I feel the same way,’ said Roddy, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. ‘On the day of her wedding, she expressed the view that she didn’t see a happy future for herself. Which has to be the saddest thing a bride ever said on her wedding day.’
‘But now we have to listen to her properly,’ said Romily, ‘and do what is right. Before she died, Allegra made me promise that I would look after Isabella while Elijah was away, and that’s what I shall do. And just so we’re clear on the matter, and in accordance with what she has stated only too clearly in her will, if Elijah feels he cannot be Isabella’s father, or if he doesn’t return from the war, I will be her legal guardian.’
> ‘It’s a colossal responsibility and not one to be undertaken lightly, my dear,’ said Roddy. ‘Are you quite sure?’
‘I’ve never felt surer about a thing. Just as Jack tried to do the right thing by giving Allegra a home as a child, an attempt I freely admit he may not have got entirely right, I want to make amends and do the same for Isabella. I promised Allegra that the child would not go to an orphanage; it’s a promise I plan to keep.’
‘In that case I shall write to Elijah and explain that you will be the child’s temporary guardian in his absence, and that the bulk of his wife’s estate will go to him, with the remaining money split between a trust set up for Isabella when she comes of age, and another for you, Romily, to be used specifically for the benefit of the child while she is in your care.’
Romily shook her head. ‘I shan’t touch a penny of it. I shall leave it for Isabella when she’s older.’
‘That’s completely up to you,’ said Roddy. He turned to Hope. ‘There’s one last thing I have to do.’ From beneath the papers in front of him, he slid an envelope across the table to her. ‘Allegra wanted to explain in her own fashion why she chose Romily and not you to act as temporary guardian to her child. I believe she didn’t want you to feel overlooked in any way.’
Hope sighed. ‘She really did think of everything, didn’t she?’
‘Indeed she did, agreed Roddy. ‘Romily, I have a letter here for you as well. One for Kit also, and also one for Elijah. And now,’ he said, reaching for his briefcase, ‘I really ought to leave you and return to London.’
‘I’ll drive you to the station,’ Romily offered.
Romily was glad that Arthur was nowhere to be found when she and Roddy set off. They neither of them relished the prospect of being in the car for any length of time with him. He could make his own way to the station.
They weren’t even at the end of the drive when Roddy asked the question Romily had suspected he had been itching to ask the minute she had introduced Tony Abbott to him at the funeral.