by Mary Wood
‘Lady Eloise is my niece? I – I thought . . . I mean, how are we related?’ Looking over at her, he saw Eloise blush. He’d let his guard down, and they must all know how he felt, or maybe thought he was determined to have one of the sisters and, as Lady Andrina had gone . . . Oh God, why had he shown such surprise and disappointment?
‘I’m not your real niece, so you needn’t worry. I am only a niece-in-law. And you needn’t look so horrified at being related to me. I am still your boss, Jay Tattumby, I – I mean Lord Daverly! You have to give me notice before I release you from that shackle.’
Everyone laughed and the tension broke. It was funny how they could laugh when they were there for such a sad occasion, but Jay knew that often happened at a wake. There was always more laughter than tears.
Christian, who hadn’t spoken until now, came over. ‘I echo my brother’s words, Jay. Thank you for your generosity.’ And then he said to his father, ‘Father, Jay is about the same size as me. I propose that he changes into something of mine and we introduce him right now as the heir. What do you think, Douglas? Could you cope with that?’
‘Yes, better sooner than later. What do you think, Father?’
‘I agree.’
They all still stood around him and, as they had addressed each other, Jay had been able to turn his head to look at the speaker of the moment. His own concerns now came to the fore.
‘But what shall we say about me – where I came from? I wouldn’t want to start a scandal for you all.’
Looking from one to the other, he saw that it was Douglas who spoke. ‘We will just have to tell the truth. After all, it will come out eventually: the villagers all know you, the staff all know who you are. Besides, sometimes just coming out with the truth stems any scandal.’
‘Won’t they think me a ruffian?’
‘Not at all. I know you cannot hear yourself, but although you have a flat tone to your voice, due to your deafness, you speak like an educated man otherwise. How you have learned to speak so, I can’t imagine; it must have come naturally to you. Your mother . . . I mean—’
‘No, it is all right. Mrs Tattumby will always hold the rank of my mother, and I know you were going to say that she did a good job. She did, and she has devoted her life to me. And I suppose, as she knew who I really was, she made it her duty to make me speak properly: the King’s English, she called it. Thank you, Douglas. You’ve given me confidence to meet the people I will be mixing with.’
Lady Eloise came up to him and touched his arm. ‘Would you be so good as to take me into dinner when you are ready, Lord Daverly?’
‘I’d be delighted to, Lady Eloise.’
Again a chuckle went around the room. Then a serious note overcame the company. Jay felt confused.
‘It is my uncle,’ Eloise told him. ‘He said that he is dreading the dinner. Poor soul. Convention can cause a great deal of pain at times. Why can’t it be that just the family are together at such moments?’
Looking around, Jay saw Sir Christopher being comforted by his brother, and his heart went out to him. As he watched, Douglas and Christian took over from Lord Mellor and supported their father, and Lord Mellor came over to him. ‘Well done, Jay. I take everything back, and apologize for my outburst earlier. If you will excuse me, I need to go and inform Lady Felicity of what has happened. Come along, Eloise. We will wait in the drawing room until all the family is gathered together and then go into to dinner as one, with Jay heading us.’
A little squeeze of his arm from Lady Eloise gave him encouragement – something he needed, along with courage, to face the room full of aristocrats and dignitaries. But he would have her by his side, and that is how he hoped it would be for the rest of his life.
21
Edith
London, first week of May 1917
Only hell awaits
‘Edith, I still can’t believe you’re home. Has it really been a week since you arrived? Are you feeling a little better, darling? I have so much to tell you.’
Tell her. My God, hadn’t she been told enough already? Andrina, her lovely cousin, and her own dearest mother were dead!
‘I’m sorry, Eloise, but I can’t cope. Please leave me alone for a while. I know you are doing your best, but this situation is too much for me at the moment.’
‘I won’t leave you, Edith, but I will stay quiet. I will just sit with you until you’re ready to talk.’
Would she ever be ready to talk? Could she ever tell Eloise about all that was tearing her apart inside? The premature birth of her darling twin girls had drained her. Leaving them had wrenched her soul from her.
In the end she’d had no choice. But, once she felt strong enough, she would sort out a secret home for them, and a nanny and other staff. Once that was done, she would visit Marianne and collect her adorable girls on the way home. It wasn’t a good plan – it was sketchy and not fully formed yet – but somehow she would be reunited with her darling daughters.
So many frightening questions visited her, but she had no answers for them. Questions like: How would she keep them secret? How would she be able to stop them wanting to be a part of her life? Her real life, not the life she would lead when she visited them, but her normal life. Oh God, I feel so weak.
‘That was a big sigh, darling. Can I get you anything?’
‘Just peace and quiet, Eloise! Is that too much to ask?’
‘Forgive me. I only speak out of my love for you.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry, please don’t be offended. I’m not myself.’
‘I will fetch Aunt Marianne. She can always settle you.’
Edith felt relief when Eloise left the room. In the week since she and Marianne had arrived back in England, everyone had wanted to celebrate. But how could she, with the dreadful news she had returned home to? Marianne had told her as gently as she could, but the impact of it all hadn’t really hit her until she’d stepped through the door of their Holland Park home. Oh, how she wished the family had been at Hastleford Hall. How did it happen that Douglas is not the new lord? How is it possible for life to have been turned so topsy-turvy, and in just a few short months! How can I ever call Jay Tattumby ‘Lord Daverly’? It’s just ridiculous, unbelievably ridiculous!
Getting up from the chaise longue that her mother had loved, she walked over to the French doors. Mama had loved this room. Oh, Mama, wherever you are, do you know my suffering? Do you understand? In life you would have condemned me, and maybe even have banished me from home, but in death do you accept me? She allowed her tears to flow and through her wet eyes saw the early signs of summer vying with a winter coating as the sun banished the last of the slight ground frost. An unusual occurrence for this time of year, but although it was dry and sunny the temperatures remained low and produced an overnight covering that whitened the world, when really it was blood-red, churning pain into everyone’s hearts. She didn’t know what was more painful: thinking about the death of those around her, or thinking about the two tiny babies she’d left behind.
Born on the 19th of March, her twins had arrived a few weeks early and she’d had to fight to help them to survive. When she’d left they had been thriving. She had asked Petra to name them, and she had called them Elka and Ania – such lovely names. Dear Petra and Aleksi, she owed them so much; and now she had taken even greater advantage of their kindness, but she knew they loved the girls and would care for them until she could return. As promised, she’d transferred a large amount of money to them, to pay them back for all they had done for her and all they were continuing to do. She would always keep them close to herself and the girls.
Petra and Aleksi had been afraid and heartbroken when the Russian Revolution broke out in March, thinking their daughter would be lost to them forever. But they had been happy when they’d had a letter telling them that Marcelina was safe and had returned to the eastern sector of what used to be Poland. Safe? Edith wasn’t so sure about that.
Frightening things were happening
in that area, she had discovered. Having access to the up-to-date news, once she reached Marianne’s, she’d heard of the terrible losses and displacement of people in Eastern Europe and had feared for Petra’s daughter.
But she also had another niggling worry: she hadn’t heard from Petra and Aleksi since leaving them. She had given them Marianne’s address and had written to them, but although she had been at Marianne’s for two weeks before returning home, no letter had come in return. This just didn’t fit with how they had been when they said farewell. Petra and Aleksi had taken her to Paris in their battered old car. At the station she had held her twins to her. Her despair had been so deep that, when her train was announced as arriving imminently, she’d turned and said, ‘I can’t go. I will stay lost forever. I cannot choose my old life over my girls.’
Petra had seemed afraid at first, but then she was probably just feeling anxious. ‘But you must – you cannot change your mind now!’
Aleksi had stepped in. ‘Petra, my dear, whatever Edith chooses to do will be the right thing. It is very hard leaving one’s children – we know that.’
Petra had calmed, and her outburst had become more understandable. ‘That is what I meant. Think of your family, Edith; your poor mother, not knowing if you are alive or dead. Her heart must be breaking. Elka and Ania will be safe with us. You can come back for them, as you plan to do.’
With reluctance, Edith had told them that she knew they were right and that she had to go back, but it was the hardest thing she’d been called on to do in her whole life. The couple had put their arms around her, and the hug the three of them and the girls were in lasted for several minutes. During it Petra said that Edith had become a second daughter to them, and that they would never do anything to hurt her; whatever they did or said, she was to know that they did so in her best interests. Edith had worried about this comment. Was Petra trying to tell her something she couldn’t voice? But the train had come in, and in the hustle and bustle of getting on it and the heartbreak of saying goodbye to her girls, she had forgotten her concerns.
Marianne had been ecstatic at seeing her and had accepted Edith’s story without question. She’d told Marianne that Albert had abandoned her after she’d had a fall. The fall had knocked her out, and she had supposed Albert thought he could fare better without her. She said that she’d only learned what had happened from the farmers who took her in, because the concussion she had suffered had resulted in her losing her memory.
When her memory came back quite suddenly, she told Marianne, she’d made her way south immediately. What she hadn’t planned on was the news awaiting her at Marianne’s. Feeling strong, she had intended to travel home alone and visit her babies on the way, but what Marianne had to tell her rocked the core of her and sent Edith into a pit of despair she never thought she could climb out of – a despair that still had her in its grip. If only she’d had news of her girls before they had left Nice. That would have been something to hang on to. But now she was in limbo and didn’t know what to do or which way to turn.
The door opened, jolting her out of her dark thoughts. Marianne glided into the room. ‘Darling Edith, Eloise tells me you need help. I don’t know what I can do for you, for your pain will take time to lift. I can only be a shoulder to cry on. But I’ve had an idea that might help a little. I’ve been wondering if you would like to go to Hastleford Hall for a few days? Felicity has suggested that she and I spend some sisterly time together; and I thought, with Hastleford being so close, that she and Eloise could go to Rossworth and you and I could go to Hastleford. What do you think?’
‘Oh, Marianne, I don’t know what I want.’
‘I know you don’t, darling, but one thing I know you do need is to visit your mama’s and Andrina’s graves. You need to say a proper goodbye. We could have a service in the church for them while we are there. I am not used to such things, but Felicity told me it is a tradition over here, and it might help you.’
‘Yes, it would. It all seems so unreal. It is as if Mama and Andrina are there, in Leicestershire, and I only have to go there and all of this will have been a dream. This perception will leave me, if I visit Leicestershire. I will see the truth for myself. But how I am going to face it all, I just don’t know. There will also be the ordeal of meeting up with Jay. I just cannot come to terms with it all.’
‘Then you must face it head-on, my dear. As cruel as that sounds, you have to go to where your dear mama and Andrina are. And, yes, you do have to meet up with the new lord. I am quite fascinated by it all. I think it makes a wonderful story. I cannot believe how easily your father and brothers have accepted it all. In France there would have been duels of honour fought, and feuds opened up, with sides being taken and loyalties divided. You English are so calm and gentlemanly about these things. No fun at all. I will write a romance around it, but set it in France – it will be my best novel yet!’
Her laughter sounded alien in the sombre atmosphere of the house. But it was also infectious, and Edith found herself smiling.
‘That’s better, my darling, though I feel there is something troubling you far deeper than the terrible losses we have suffered. Can you not tell me about it?’
This shocked Edith. Marianne had always had second sight. She desperately wanted to tell her the truth, but she couldn’t. Oh yes, Marianne would understand, but she couldn’t burden her with such a secret and force her to deceive all those she loved. God knows it was tearing Edith apart, having to do so. She couldn’t inflict that on this lovely lady; nor could she share the way her guilt was wearing her down. Mama had died because of the stress she was under, and most of that stress had been due to Edith’s disappearance. But then what could she have done? Coming home pregnant would have killed her mother, just as surely as her absence had. Oh God, I want an end to this pain!
‘Darling, tell me. Please tell me what is really troubling you. Let me help you.’
These words undid Edith. Falling to her knees, she felt her body heaving as she sobbed, loud sobs that echoed around the house. Bending with the weight of them, she beat her fists on the edge of the rug. Mama’s rug. As she crawled towards the roses in the centre of it, her fists burned as she pummelled the pattern, which had no right still to be so vibrant when her mother, who had loved it, was gone.
‘Edith, Edith, my dear, stop. Please stop.’ Marianne was on the floor beside her. Her lovely face was wet with tears. ‘Don’t do this to yourself. Whatever it is – no matter how bad – I will love you and help you through it.’
‘I – I can’t . . . I – I have done . . . I mean, no . . . No, don’t make me; please don’t.’
‘All right. Come on, my darling. I don’t have to know what it is. Just knowing there is something, I can be by your side, supporting you in it, even if I’m not here. You will feel my presence, my darling, and I will be your strength. Bind yourself to that, dear. All that I am is there for you.’
These words made Edith feel calmer. The burden of her secret was strangling her. The pain of her loss, and of parting from her little girls, was threatening to break her. But she would hang on to what she still had, and what Marianne was offering her: someone to turn to.
‘I – I . . . Thank you. I feel better now.’ Rising, she went into Marianne’s arms and found a warmth to banish the chill from her, and reassurance in the strength offered to her.
Now she could go forward. She would visit Hastleford Hall and say her goodbyes to her dear mama and the beautiful Andrina. She would meet the new lord with dignity and acceptance, and then she would return and start to organize a plan for Elka and Ania, her darling babies.
And she would write to Laurent Pevensy, who had never been far from her thoughts since their chance encounter. She would write again to Petra and Aleksi. And when all this was done, she would beg a visit to Marianne’s, where she was sure a letter from them would be waiting for her. On the way back she would pick up her children and begin her life again.
With these thoughts, a ne
w determination entered her. She could go forward. She could, and she would!
22
Edith and Eloise
Leicestershire and London, mid-May 1917
Friendship crosses the class divide
‘Ooh, bad luck!’
‘Bad luck? I’m hopeless at croquet, and always have been. It’s all right for you; being a surgeon, you have a steady hand and a good eye!’
Edith laughed at Eloise, but knew it was true. She also knew it had been too long since she’d practised her skill and her calling, and that she should be thinking of putting that right. Of going back to the front even. Today she had received letters from Connie, Nancy, Jennifer and Mark. It was so good to hear from them.
All the letters had come together in one envelope, and all expressed their joy at her return. Each said how much they missed her. Jennifer’s held a surprise and gave a little twinge of regret:
I know you won’t mind, as you were never interested in him, but Mark and I have fallen in love. Oh, Edith, he is just the best and makes all of our lives out here bearable. He has moved to take over your position and is keeping up the good work you began.
For a moment Edith felt sad. It had been good to feel the attraction that she knew Captain Mark Woodster had felt for her. But she was being silly. His attention had stroked her ego, that’s all. She hadn’t felt anything for him like she had for Albert, or Laurent.
This thought had her standing and drawing in her breath as though she’d been thumped in the chest. Eloise’s antics soon settled the feeling as, scoring a hoop point, she did a jig around the lawn calling out, ‘Ha, not so good now, are you? I might even win!’
Laughing at her, Edith said, ‘Oh, poppycock! Anyway, I give in. I need a drink. Darling, be an angel and summon Woodacre. Tell him to bring refreshments to the river’s edge.’