“You needn’t worry there, my pet,” Win smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, Oliver will never set foot on Winthrop Manor property again. However, I do believe my parents should know we’re secure.”
“Yes, indeed. I agree.”
Win truly meant to go further into facts about his own financial dilemma, but he decided he would wait a few more days. Perhaps, if he were fortunate, Josephine would never have to know.
* * *
Not many weeks after that conversation, Win and Josephine were jarred awake by sobs, screams, and hysterical weeping. Win slipped out of bed, running toward his parents’ bedchamber, located in the west wing of the house. Josephine slipped on her robe and slippers and followed her husband.
Upon arrival in the earl and countess’s room, they found a horrible scene. Win’s father was lying on the bed, gurgling and making strange sounds. It was as though he was trying to communicate but couldn’t form the words. The left side of his face drooped downward and only one eye was open. He thrashed ‘round on the bed and nothing anyone said or did could calm him.
Lady Beatrice was beside herself, screaming at Win to do something.
He ran to the bedside table, grabbed the telephone, and asked the operator to connect him with Tom Drew. His chum from Oxford days was now his brother-in-law having married Win’s sister Elisabeth, after her first husband, Andrew Chambers, Josephine’s brother, was killed in the Great War. Tom and Elisabeth lived in Cloverdale, the next village over from Winthrop-on-Hart.
When Tom’s sleepy voice came on the line, Win gave him a quick rundown of the facts. Tom said that he would be at Winthrop Manor in a matter of minutes.
By then, the old earl had ceased to thrash about and was lying quite still. He was breathing, but his breaths came in ragged gasps. He was making a supreme effort to speak, but it was impossible to understand what he was saying. The only intelligible words were, “Never lose the manor.” It was clear that Win’s father believed he was dying.
Win sat on the edge of the bed, holding his father’s hand, and Lady Beatrice sat on the opposite side, tears streaming down her face as she choked back sobs.
“Oh Rupert, my darling. I’ve always loved you so. Please, please don’t leave me. I need you, dearest,” she whimpered.
Such a show of feeling rather surprised Josephine, since Win’s mother had never been the sort to show emotion. Josephine never would have considered her in-law’s marriage a love match. Nevertheless, in this tragic moment, Lady Beatrice’s words gave proof that there had been real affection between them.
Tom Drew appeared in the doorway only moments later. He made straight for the patient. Utilising his stethoscope, he carefully listened to the earl’s heart. He then placed the instrument on each side of the patient’s neck. Finally, he turned and spoke to Lady Beatrice.
“I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you this, Lady Beatrice, but your husband has suffered a severe stroke. Did he complain earlier of a headache or numbness anywhere?”
“Yes,” replied Lady Winthrop. “When the trouble first began, he threw his hands to his forehead and cried out, ‘My God, my head!’”
“I’m not surprised,” Tom replied. “There could be several reasons for this. I’m sorry to tell you, but he is not a candidate for surgery, as I suspect he will expire quite soon. He has a very slow, faint heartbeat. I’m going to give him an injection of morphine to alleviate any pain he’s experiencing. Are we in agreement?” he asked.
There was a moment of silence. Finally, Win spoke. “Yes, Tom. Please make him as comfortable as possible. He wouldn’t want to live as a vegetable, and I suspect that’s what the outcome would be if he were to survive this.”
“Right you are. The chances of survival are very, very slim.” Tom filled a syringe and injected fluid into the earl’s upper arm.
Almost at once the earl’s body relaxed, and he looked more as though he was sleeping comfortably than facing death.
Lady Beatrice had stopped sobbing and sat staring at her husband’s face, a stoic look on her own, holding his hand.
Tom continued to monitor the heart with his stethoscope. It was only moments later when the earl turned his head to the left on the pillow, taking one last breath.
“He’s gone, milady,” Tom said.
“God rest his soul.” She leaned over and kissed her husband.
“Goodbye, Father. I’ll follow your wishes. Winthrop Manor will continue to be the splendid estate it’s always been,” Win whispered.
Elisabeth stood by her father’s side, looking bereft. “Dear Daddy. You were so special to me. As long as I’m alive on this earth, you will continue to be, since you’ll always be in my heart.” She began to weep.
Josephine reached over and took hold of her husband’s hand. The earl had been kind to her. She took the old man’s hand in hers. “I loved you, milord,” she whispered into his ear. “I intend to raise my son to follow your footsteps. Rest in peace.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I’ll contact the mortician,” Tom said.
Chapter Two
Win’s father was interred in the family mausoleum, outside of the chapel attached to Winthrop Manor. A space remained for his wife of over fifty years to be laid to rest next to him. Lady Beatrice had always been the picture of health, and there was no reason for anybody to assume she would follow her husband into the hereafter for a long time to come.
It came as a shock to the family, therefore, that not even a month later Lady Beatrice came down with the deadly flu virus that had ravaged the globe during the last year, killing more people than had died in the entire four years of fighting. The terrible pandemic had appeared to have waned when Lady Beatrice was struck with the well-recognised symptoms. In the morning, she’d accompanied her maid to the garden to clip some roses to brighten the dining table in the dower house, where she’d moved after losing her husband. By evening, her temperature had soared, and she was showing signs of terrible chest congestion, coughing unrelentingly. By midnight, her heart stopped beating. Win was stunned at the rapidity with which he had lost both parents. Another funeral was hastily arranged, and the late Countess and Earl of Winthrop lay side-by-side in the mausoleum outside of the ancient chapel.
Life as the new countess and earl at Winthrop Manor was tedious for Josephine and Win. Neither had expected to take on such responsibilities at their young ages, even though they had shouldered much of the responsibility since Win’s return from the war. Josephine was then just twenty-four years old and Win was thirty. England had seen many changes following 1914. The class structure had begun to shift, as gentry and working man struggled side-by-side in the despicable trench warfare during the Great War. As a result, barriers between the classes tumbled. Many members of the serving class, who’d earned their keep by long-held positions in the homes of aristocrats, left those jobs and accepted better, higher-paying positions in factories. Additional facilities had sprung up to meet demands of a country at war. Women had taken jobs men had previously held when sons, husbands, and fathers were called upon to defend their country. Win and Josephine were more fortunate than many, for their loyal staff remained at Winthrop Manor. Josephine’s inheritance had been able to provide the large sum needed to keep Winthrop Manor afloat, which meant that the young couple hadn’t found themselves in the quandary many of the owners of great houses throughout England were facing.
Win did inherit money when his parents passed away, but he was somewhat shocked to learn that there was not nearly as much as had been anticipated. Even with Oliver having been cut off without a penny as a result of his dreadful plan to kidnap young Andy, Win was surprised to learn that he would not be receiving a large sum. Thank God for Josephine's inheritance.
Win’s parents had not been frugal with finances, having paid little attention to what they’d spent. Lady Beatrice had been particularly extravagant, believing it a necessity to redecorate the house every three years. It also had been tremendously important for her to tr
avel to Paris for the spring couture fashion shows each year. In addition, Win’s father had put thousands of pounds into expensive horseflesh and fancy automobiles.
Thus, once again, Josephine was forced to put her skills with numbers to use. Due to her acumen, along with her own inheritance, Winthrop Manor was able to pull through. To keep their loyal and long-serving staff, Josephine made certain each person was given a significant increase in wages. At long last, all was in order, and while the family did not live the luxurious lifestyle as before the war, the large estate was on solid footing by 1925.
Win was enjoying the freedom to follow other pursuits. Before the war, he’d held little interest in nightlife, but the deplorable time spent as a POW, not to mention his memories of gruesome trench warfare, had altered him. Since the war’s end, many men his age had returned with vastly different attitudes. Josephine hadn’t noticed any profound change in her husband immediately after his return in 1916, following his escape from the POW camp.
He’d been wounded in the foot with the bayonet, but as time passed, the injury healed. He walked with a slight limp, which only added to his charm, since it signified that he had endured hardship during the Great War. He was so pleased to be on English soil again, able to be with his precious wife and their newborn son, that he’d had no desire to leave the peace and solitude of Winthrop Manor. Following his parents’ deaths, he found himself fully occupied with the need to learn everything necessary to oversee such a massive estate.
As more and more leisure time became available to him, he began making frequent trips to the family townhouse on Curzon Street in Mayfair for weekend getaways with chaps who were of like mind. Private clubs were springing up throughout the city, and Win began to make frequent use of them, much to Josephine’s dismay. His particular favourite for gambling, dancing, drinking, and jazz was The Pussy Cat Club, which had full-time bands playing day and night, seven days a week. It also had a reputation for many kinds of debauchery.
Win began to spend more and more time at the family townhouse, located in the heart of Mayfair, a highly prestigious area for wealthy landowners. Win’s parents had purchased their second home on posh Curzon Street in the late 1800s. It had become the perfect spot to settle during the months of the Season, from May to July, or simply when the couple felt a need for a getaway to the capital city.
Now, in the same vicinity, the most fashionable, privileged club in London had popped up. Located in the heart of the West End, in the cellar of a deluxe building, The Pussy Cat Club had its primary entrance on Haymarket. The structure enveloped an entire complex, consisting of a large, embellished theater, as well as the social club itself. It was an ultra-stylish, members-only club, described as “deluxe, but wonderfully homelike”–an immensely patronised and posh night spot. Such was its popularity that within a short space of time, membership exceeded six thousand–including princes, cabinet ministers, dukes, and their peers. All London clubs were packed every night with the aristocracy, both affluent and notable.
Josephine paid scant attention to their emergence. She’d never found enjoyment in such settings and had never cared for the society life enjoyed by so many Londoners. Nor did she follow the latest gossip regarding “Bright Young Things,” as the newspapers dubbed the “it” girls among young debutantes of the era. For that matter, Win had never shown much interest in such pursuits either, except when an occasional opening of a well-thought-of West End play occurred.
Nevertheless, as years passed between the end of the war and the rejuvenation of London as a city of fashionable, voguish style, Josephine was astounded to realise the changes that her husband’s personality had undergone. Win—who had always been so levelheaded, trustworthy, and mature—had begun to act in an increasingly immature manner. It was no wonder she’d never conceived the baby she so desired, since her husband was seldom at Winthrop Manor in the evenings.
He would spend his days at the office on their property, working with the land agent and accountant, riding across their acreage on Black Orchid and enjoying a cocktail before dinner with his wife. Their chauffeur would then drive him to London for an evening of revelry.
While such activities held appeal for Win, he didn’t completely forget that Josephine was waiting for him at the manor. He felt some guilt for the nights he spent away from his wife. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, for he most certainly did. In fact, he truly wished that she would agree to join him in delightful evenings at the clubs.
On the other hand, when he was having a bad evening and thousands of pounds were lost to other men at the poker table, he was thankful Josephine wasn’t present to see such demeaning and heartbreaking defeat. No matter his wishes, his wife had absolutely no interest in London nightlife and had grown to love Winthrop Manor with all her heart.
Like a great number of chaps who’d fought in the Great War, Win had witnessed depravity he’d never dreamed of. He spoke little of the horrors he’d seen. Men with intestines spilling out of their abdomens when they were annihilated beneath a hail of gunfire; decapitations from grenades thrown by Huns, soldiers left with nothing but shattered body parts. Sights too horrible to ever speak of. Win had buried his best friend and brother-in-law, Andrew, following convulsions brought about from dreadful, chemical gas used by the Huns in their attempt to defeat the English and Allied Forces.
Such atrocities had caused Win to see the world in a different light. Win knew that Josephine made every effort to take the horrors of the War into account. He strongly suspected that she never criticized his frequent absences from Winthrop Manor, for fear of causing him to justify himself by relating the shock he had gone through.
* * *
Unbeknownst to Josephine, an even larger problem loomed on the horizon. Win had developed a true obsession with gambling. Poker was a popular pastime for the chaps who gathered at the nightspots. Win had never held any great affinity for the game. However, during his time in the German POW camp, prisoners had turned to the card game as a means of passing time. They used matchsticks as currency.
When money became the medium of exchange, Win discovered a heightened enjoyment and developed an addiction to it. On one particular evening at The Pussy Cat Club, he gathered his winnings and was stunned to discover that they amounted to over twenty thousand pounds. The thrill he felt as he cashed in his chips was like nothing he had experienced before. It was as though he’d taken a powerful drug–one of which he could never get enough.
From that time on, poker became an obsession for the young earl. He lost more than he won, but when he did rake in a large pile of chips, he felt an indescribable thrill. He said nothing to his wife about the new pastime. He knew she would have been distressed to learn he was squandering money in such a fashion, particularly after she had given up her inheritance to keep them from losing Winthrop Manor.
Win fantasised about arriving home one day with an enormous fortune. He could picture presenting the money to Josephine, thereby paying back everything she had sacrificed to restore the manor, plus payment of exorbitant taxes and a re-establishment of their lifestyle. He could almost see the expression on her lovely face when he showed her his windfall. Unfortunately, that day never arrived.
A different sort of day did arrive, however, and with it came extreme heartbreak and anxiety for Josephine. She questioned whether she would be able to withstand the pain. She learned the vile details by complete accident while chatting with a lady friend she’d known for years. They’d met on the High Street in Winthrop-on-Hart, while Josephine was shopping for a baby gift meant for a dear friend from her school days. She encountered her old chum, Barbara Stanley, when they happened to be standing at the same counter in one of the village’s upscale shops, dedicated to selling infant and children’s goods.
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” exclaimed Barbara. “I haven’t seen you in donkey’s years, Josephine. Am I still allowed to address you by your given name? I heard you’d become a countess.”
“Don�
�t be absurd, Barbara. When did you ever know me to be enamoured by titles?”
“I’m only jesting,” Barbara laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t turn into a toff.”
Josephine had known Barbara from their early school days together. Barbara had been raised on a much lower socioeconomic level than Josephine but had married a rather well-to-do farmer and now lived a comfortable life. Of course, it was certainly nothing the likes of Josephine and Lord Winthrop’s, and Josephine sensed a bit of envy while speaking to her old friend.
“How have you been, Barbara?” Josephine asked. “You’re looking splendid.”
“Thank you, Josephine. So are you. Of course, I’d expect it of you. It’s hard to imagine you going from living in your uncle’s little cottage to becoming the countess at Winthrop Manor. My, how our lives do change.” She smiled.
“Yes. I would never have predicted such a thing either. Of course, if I hadn’t fallen head-over-heels for my husband, I would very likely never have ended up a countess.”
“That reminds me,” continued Barbara, “I saw your husband last week in London.”
“Really? Where would that have been?” Josephine asked curiously.
“He was leaving that fancy club everyone is talking about–The Pussy Cat. Naturally, Ethan, my husband, and I aren’t members. We just happened to be in the neighbourhood. It’s then we spotted your husband–isn’t his name Win?”
“Yes, that’s right. His close friends call him that,” Josephine replied.
“Yes, well, he was leaving the club. He was with a rather young woman. She was dressed in the new fashion–one of those short dresses, with fringe–you know the sort. I suppose she’d be known as a flapper. He was hailing a taxicab and having quite a time, as several people were leaving at the same time. He seemed to give up after a spell, and a beautiful Rolls-Royce, complete with chauffeur, drove to where he and the young lady were standing. I assume it was his personal vehicle.”
War Comes Home to Winthrop Manor: An English Family Saga (Winthrop Manor Series Book 2) Page 2