Angie laughs. ‘No, you’re very self-sufficient.’
‘Do I work? Someone – Philippa, I think – told me I was a graphic designer, but I can’t remember anything about it.’
‘You haven’t done much of that since you and Michael moved to Askerby. It was difficult when Michael was so ill. Felix was a baby, and you’d had to leave all your contacts back in London, and then Michael died . . .’ She pulls a face. ‘You were a bit lost for a while,’ she says. ‘But we’ve been building a new Visitor Centre at Askerby, and George suggested you could help with the displays, so you’d started working on that.’
I’m glad to think I wasn’t completely idle. ‘What sort of displays?’
About the history of Askerby, mainly. You were researching the family history, finding pictures and letters and stuff like that. You seemed much happier with something to do, but then . . .’ She hesitates. ‘Well, that’s when you started to get obsessed about the history and everything, before, you know.’
Before I started behaving ‘strangely’, presumably.
‘George still feels really guilty about it,’ Angie says, and I look at her in astonishment.
‘Why?’
‘He thinks that if he’d never encouraged you to look into the history, you’d never have gone up the tower in the first place.’
I’m silent for a moment. Putting together displays sounds a very innocuous activity to me. I don’t see how it could have led me to throw myself off a roof.
‘That’s nonsense,’ I say.
‘That’s what I tell him,’ Angie says eagerly. ‘It’s not his fault.’
‘Of course it’s not his fault.’
‘I wish you’d tell him that. I know he feels bad about it.’
I try to imagine myself happily researching in a library. It doesn’t feel right. Wasn’t I bored? ‘What happened about the displays?’
‘You never got around to putting them together. We’ve got a whole room in the new Visitor Centre waiting for an exhibition. I’ve offered to do what I can, but obviously with looking after Felix . . .’
‘Perhaps I could get back to it when I’m out of hospital,’ I say, without really thinking about it, but her face lights up.
‘That would be great. I liked it when you were thinking about the displays and feeling involved with Askerby. We used to have a good time whenever you came down to the estate office,’ Angie tells me with a nostalgic smile. ‘If George was out, we’d have a cup of tea and a good old natter. I miss those days.’
I picture myself gossiping with Angie. That’s a bit easier to do. ‘What did we natter about?’
‘Ooh . . . I don’t know. Anything and everything.’ Angie flutters her hands vaguely. A bit of gossip . . . Lady Margaret’s latest put-down . . .’
‘Who’s Lady Margaret?’
The brown eyes open wide. ‘Golly, you really have lost your memory! Lady Margaret is Lord Vavasour’s mother, and she’s quite a character. In her day she was a great society beauty, but now she’s definitely the matriarch of the family, and she believes in speaking her mind. You and she had some . . . differences of opinion,’ she finishes delicately.
‘Really?’ I’m pleased to think that I’m able to stand up for myself. I feel so blank that I’ve been afraid I must be very boring.
‘Oh, yes.’ She lowers her voice confidentially. ‘I think the Vavasours were a bit shocked when Michael brought you home.’
‘Shocked?’ Better and better. ‘Why, what did I do?’
‘Let’s just say, you weren’t how they imagined the future Lady Vavasour,’ Angie says. ‘You were a bit bohemian for them.’
From what I’ve seen of Fiona and Jasper, I can imagine bohemian didn’t go down well with them.
‘I suppose they were hoping for a nice “gel” with a headband and pearls?’
‘Well, someone who belonged in the country at least. You don’t even ride.’
My pleasure at the thought of shocking the Vavasours fades. Another person who claims that I don’t ride when it is the one thing I remember doing.
‘Oh, you mustn’t think they’re not fond of you,’ she says hastily, seeing my frown. ‘They’re used to you now. You have to remember that Askerby is a very traditional place, and it’s important to keep those traditions going. Lord and Lady Vavasour do a marvellous job,’ she assures me. ‘They’re really the heart of the community, and they do fantastic work for charity.’
Retrieving Country Life from the bedside table, she flicks through the glossy pages. ‘They hosted a ball in the long gallery in aid of various local charities.’ She finds the page she wants and folds the magazine back so that I can see. ‘Look, they gave us a whole page of pictures,’ she says proudly.
I examine photographs of groups of strangers smiling at the camera against a backdrop of wood panelling, which is all that can be seen of the long gallery. The women are in evening dresses, the men in black tie. They all look extraordinarily alike. The young women have long hair, the older ones have their hair elegantly cut like Fiona’s. Is this really my world? The names underneath don’t mean anything to me.
‘Oh, there’s Philippa!’ I exclaim, for something to say. She looks as if she wished that she were riding instead, and I don’t blame her. A thought occurs to me, and I glance at Angie. ‘I wasn’t there, was I?’
Faint colour tinges her cheeks. ‘No, you were in hospital. We did wonder about cancelling, but it was for such a good cause . . .’
‘I think I’d rather have been in a coma,’ I say, and Angie looks shocked at first and then she laughs.
‘Oh, Kate, you’re still the same!’
I turn my attention back to the magazine. ‘Is that George? He brushes up nicely, doesn’t he?’
Angie doesn’t say anything, but I sense her stiffen slightly, and I get the feeling I have put my foot in it somehow. She said there were no available men at Askerby, but of course there is one single man. There’s George.
I slide a look at her. Her face gives nothing away, but I can’t help wondering what she really feels for him.
‘Were you there?’ I ask her.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘I hope you had a nice dress,’ I say lightly.
‘I was behind the scenes,’ Angie says. ‘It was a busy night. I had to liaise with the caterers and the band, and the security . . . there was no time for dancing!’ She rolls her eyes humorously. She doesn’t seem to mind that the Vavasours get all the glitter and the glory, and she is hidden away.
‘It sounds to me as if you’re the one who does all the “fantastic” work for charity, not Fiona and Jasper,’ I say, disgruntled on her behalf, but Angie frowns.
‘Nobody’s going to pay money to meet me, are they? You’ve never been able to accept how things work, Kate,’ she tuts. ‘I’m happy to do anything I can. The ball was great publicity for Askerby,’ she says, ‘and that’s what matters.’
There’s a glow in her face when she talks about Askerby. I wonder if the Vavasours appreciate her devotion.
Anyway, I haven’t really asked how you’re feeling.’ Angie’s expression sobers and she leans forward.
‘I’m okay,’ I tell her. ‘Physically, at least. The doctors say I can leave soon. But mentally . . .’ I wonder how to explain how lost I feel without a memory. ‘It’s like I’m floating in a great, empty bubble, and I’ve got nothing to hold onto.’
Angie takes my hand and squeezes it. Her grip is strong and reassuring. ‘Hold onto me,’ she says.
Chapter Four
All at once, I am close to tears. It’s only now that I realize how lonely I have been, and how badly I need a friend. I feel a connection with her that I can’t explain.
‘Angie,’ I begin impulsively, wanting to tell her how much her visit has meant to me, but her phone beeps just then and with an apologetic grimace, she pulls it out to glance at the message. ‘Is that the time? I must go, I’m afraid,’ she sighs. ‘I promised to pick up some dry-cleaning for Lady Margare
t, and they’ll be closed if I don’t get a move on.’
‘Will you come again?’ I ask almost shyly as she gets to her feet. ‘If you’ve got time,’ I add.
‘Of course I will, especially now that I know you’re on the mend.’ She puts Country Life back on the bedside table. ‘I’ll leave you this to read, but is there anything else you’d like me to bring next time?’
I feel that I would prefer a book to a magazine, but it seems rude to say so. Besides, I don’t know what I like to read.
‘Could you bring some photos? Of the house maybe? Or anything you think might jog my memory?’
Angie knocks her knuckles against her head. ‘Why didn’t we think of that before? It’s a brilliant idea. I’ll see what I can dig out. You just concentrate on getting better until then. And don’t worry about Felix. I’ll look after him for you.’
I don’t know if it is the mention of Felix that brings the familiar stab of guilt, but she bends forward to kiss me on the cheek and as she speaks the dread swoops out of my memory and flaps in my face so horrifyingly close that I cannot help flinching back.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she says, contrite. ‘I forgot how sore you must still be. Did I hurt you?’
My pulse is hammering high in my throat, but the fear has vanished as quickly as it came. I’m left feeling uneasy and exposed, which is ridiculous. My ribs punish my sudden movement with a savage throbbing. That must have been all it was.
‘No.’ I clear my throat. ‘No, I’m fine. It was just . . . a twinge.’ I’m sorry she’s going, but suddenly I am exhausted. I summon a smile. ‘Thank you for coming, Angie.’
When she has gone, I lie back on the pillows. I don’t want to think about the terror that lurks in the darkness of my memory, waiting to ambush me when I am least prepared. Disquiet prickles over my skin at the thought of it. Remember, remember: the urgent whisper is back in my head, so loud that I press the heels of my hands to my ears. I’m afraid to remember. I don’t want to remember, not right now.
I think determinedly about Angie instead. I like her warm smile and the sparkle in her eyes, the droll faces she pulls, so it makes sense that I liked that about her before. Besides, there is something comfortingly familiar about her. I can’t put my finger on it, but we really are friends, of that I am sure.
It feels good to have a friend, I think, closing my eyes, and I remember thinking the same the day I first met Judith. The memory has sneaked into my head without me realizing it and suddenly it is there, fully formed and so vivid that my eyes fly open in something like shock.
When Oliver Raine puts his head round the door a few minutes later, I don’t even wait for him to sit down. ‘I’ve remembered something about my childhood!’ I tell him excitedly, not tired any more. ‘I remember the day Judith arrived at Crabbersett!’
‘Excellent.’ Oliver settles into the chair Angie has just vacated. ‘Is Crabbersett where you grew up?’
I nod. ‘I lived there with my aunt and uncle.’
Even as I say the words, unease prickles my excitement. Why would I have been living with my uncle and aunt rather than my parents? And didn’t Angie just tell me that I grew up in Africa? But I shake the feeling aside. I am too happy to have a real memory at last to start doubting it.
‘Tell me about Crabbersett,’ says Oliver.
‘It is a fine manor,’ I assure him. ‘There’s a stone gatehouse and a courtyard lined with stables and outhouses and barns, and when I lived there it was always busy with folks to-ing and fro-ing. I dare say it still is.’
Absorbed in my memory, I don’t register Oliver’s puzzled expression. I can see the Manor so clearly in my mind, it is hard to believe that I could ever have forgotten it. The grey stone mellow on that late-summer afternoon, the dimness of the hall. It was harvest time, and any servants that could be spared were helping to scythe and stack the corn while the good weather lasted. My aunt wanted me to sit and sew with her, but I hated sewing. I was too impatient, and I pricked my fingers and bled over the fine linen and then my aunt would scold me. Besides, it was a fine day, and the thought of sitting still on a stool made me dizzy. I slipped out after the meal and hid in the stables, my favourite place in the world. The stable boys were all at the harvest, and I had the place to myself.
My uncle had a horse he called Prince, I tell Oliver. I can see him now: liquid, intelligent eyes, powerful haunches and long, whiskery lips that were soft as velvet against my palm when I fed him a treat. They said he was dangerous, but I wasn’t frightened of him. I longed to ride him. It would be like riding the wind, but even I was not brave enough to defy my uncle.
I scratched Prince’s neck and then found my own pony, Doll, who whickered a greeting. I gave them each an apple I had filched from the barrel, and then scrambled up the ladder to the hayloft. I liked it up there, where I could pretend that I ruled my own kingdom. In the hayloft I was queen, like our lady Elizabeth, and I could make my own rules. Children could do whatever they liked in my land. There was no sewing, no stern lectures, no endless praying. In my land, nobody cared if you ran or shouted or laughed too loud.
The air smelt of warm hay and apples. I was hot in my skirts, and a piece of straw was caught in my bodice. It tickled uncomfortably through my shift, and I dug around to pull it free, wriggling against the confines of the lacings. One of the stable cats had had her kittens in the corner of the loft. They mewed and squirmed, and spat a little as I picked one up and gently stroked its head with my finger.
Down in the yard, the dogs had started barking, and there was a shouted exchange at the gatehouse. I set the kitten carefully back with the others and crept over to the edge of the loft in time to see the carter pull up his horses in the yard. They blew through their noses and shifted their great hooves on the cobbles while he called to them.
The cart was laden with sacks and parcels and a barrel. Salt fish, no doubt. I wrinkled my nose.
And perched next to the carter, a small girl.
I knew who she was. I’d heard my uncle and aunt talk of my aunt’s cousin who had disgraced herself by marrying a steward. Now she was dead, and the steward long gone. Her child was an orphan, and my uncle had decided to send for her to Crabbersett to be company for me.
‘And mayhap Judith will teach Isabel to be less unruly,’ my uncle had grunted.
The carter jumped down and turned to lift the girl roughly to the ground as he shouted to the maid to fetch her mistress.
I eyed Judith curiously. She was eight or so, I judged, about a year older than me, but age was about all we had in common. Where I was lanky and plain, with a tangle of red hair that made my aunt despair, Judith was small and plump and pretty. Her fair hair was braided neatly down her back, and she stood meekly with her hands folded in her apron as she waited for my aunt to arrive.
I felt sorry for her. I had only a hazy memory of my father by then, and the last time I’d seen my mother she had been strapped screaming to the bed. They had scooped me up as I struggled to unfasten the knots and carried me away, howling.
The next time I went upstairs, the chamber was empty. My mother was gone, and nobody would tell me where she was, but I saw the maids crossing themselves and whispering uneasily about ‘a sin’ and ‘madness’. The sickness took my father soon after, or so I was told. Much of that time was a blur, but I do remember how overwhelmed I felt when I arrived at Crabbersett for the first time.
My uncle had fetched me himself, and I had had a maid with me, but I knew how Judith must feel. I had been bewildered and lost at first, too. At least I had had Lawrence, my cousin, who was older than me and a boy besides, but he had condescended to let me tag along with him in his games sometimes. Lawrence had been sent into service with Lord Vavasour six months since, though, and I missed him. It had been lonely with just my uncle and my aunt, who were kind enough, but my aunt Marion especially liked to stand on her dignity, and she scolded me endlessly for playing with the stable boys and kitchen brats.
I leant out of
the hayloft as far as I dared. Judith looked as scared as I had been. She needed a friend, too. We would be like sisters, I decided, wiggling my hand to catch her attention. When she looked up at last and saw me, her eyes widened and her rosebud mouth dropped into an ‘O’, but I laid a finger to my lips and she closed it obediently. I grinned at her, and after a moment she smiled back before bending her head once more. She was just in time as my aunt swept out to greet the new arrival, stopping only to exchange a sharp word with the carter, who was anxious to unload and be on his way.
‘Judith?’ she said, not unkindly, and Judith nodded without raising her head. ‘I am your cousin Marion. Welcome to Crabbersett, child. You will be company for your cousin Isabel. I had hoped she would be here to greet you, but no, that girl is never where she is supposed to be!’
I ducked quickly back into the hayloft before my aunt could catch sight of me. I wanted to meet Judith without her stern eyes on us, and I turned back to the kittens, well pleased. I was sure Judith and I were going to be friends, and at seven, a friend was all that I could want.
It wasn’t long before Judith reappeared, clearly having been sent to look for me. She stepped cautiously into the courtyard, where the barrels and bundles unloaded by the carter were still piled up, waiting for the servants to return from the harvest.
Wriggling forward on my stomach, I beckoned to her from the hayloft.
‘Come up,’ I said, pointing to the stable door below me. ‘There’s a ladder in the stable.’
She looked doubtful but disappeared out of sight. I brushed the hay off my skirts and went over to the hole in the loft floor where the ladder was propped. I could see her sidling past the horses in the stable. They shifted nervously in response, putting back their ears and rolling their eyes as they stamped and snorted, and Prince reared up and kicked the wall of his stall as she crept past.
Judith flinched. ‘Take care not to show them you are afraid,’ I told her from my position above. ‘They can feel your fear.’
House of Shadows Page 4