Chapter 3
As the car drew up before the colonnaded entrance portico to Wellmore House, Alice gasped. Helen hid a smile behind her gloved hand. Had she been Alice’s age, she would have gasped too, but she had to pretend that taking tea at such an impressive house was as natural to her as taking tea and scones in her mother’s country kitchen.
A footman ushered them into the marbled entrance hall, from which parallel stairs curved upwards to a muraled dome. He took their outer garments and solemnly informed them, “Lady Hartfield is expecting you.”
Alice slipped her hand into Helen’s as they followed the footman’s rigid back through formal rooms rich in gilt mirrors and fine tapestries, to be shown into a spacious drawing room with long, French windows facing out on to a terrace.
Lady Hartfield rose to meet them, kissing Evelyn Morrow on both cheeks before turning her attention to Helen. She held out her hand in such a way Helen was unsure whether she was supposed to shake it or kiss it.
She duly introduced Alice and Lady Hartfield scrutinized the small girl over the top of a pince nez.
“I can see a lot of Morrow in the child,” she said and indicated they should sit on the overstuffed, gilded, baroque settees. Alice’s feet did not touch the ground and she swung them until Helen laid a gentle warning hand on her knee.
“So, Mrs. Morrow,” Lady Hartfield began, as she poured tea from a silver teapot. “What do you think of Holdston?”
“It’s just as Charlie described it,” Helen said with a smile, recalling Charlie’s description of his home as, “cold, draughty and damnably inconvenient.”
“Dear Charlie always loved Holdston.” Lady Hartfield expanded on her theme. “He would have made a fine baronet.” She picked up her cup. “And what is the news of Paul?”
“Paul is home,” Evelyn said.
Lady Hartfield raised a heavily plucked eyebrow and took a delicate sip of tea before she spoke. “And where was he this time?”
“Egypt...no, Mesopotamia or somewhere like that. Of course, he’s shut himself up in his room with his papers and I’ve not seen hide nor hair of him since he returned.” Evelyn cast a glance at Helen and Alice. “He has yet to meet poor Helen.”
Helen had never heard herself referred to as “poor Helen” before. She looked Lady Hartfield to Lady Morrow. Was that really what they thought of her? An object of pity?
“That’s just so like Paul. No thought for anyone but himself.” Lady Hartfield clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“Did someone mention Paul?” A man’s voice came from the doorway.
Helen turned her head to see a young man dressed in neat country tweeds advancing toward them.
Evelyn rose to her feet. “Tony, darling, how lovely to see you.”
He kissed her proffered cheek and turned to Helen.
“You must be Helen.” He held out his hand. “Tony Scarvell.”
Helen took his hand with genuine pleasure. “I’m so pleased to meet you at last. Charlie talked so much about you.”
“Did he?” Tony’s smile transformed his broad, plain face. “None of it good, I presume. And this must be Miss Alice Evelyn Morrow? It’s about time your godfather made your acquaintance. How do you do, Miss Morrow?”
Alice flushed as he shook her hand with great solemnity.
“Tea, dear?” his mother enquired proffering the silver teapot.
“Gasping for a cup,” Tony responded. “Just driven up from London,” he added, taking the cup his mother held out for him and sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs.
“This is an unexpected pleasure, Tony. What brings you home?” Evelyn asked.
Tony looked across at his mother. “Ma’s organized a house party for the weekend,” he replied. “I’m expected to charm the ladies.”
“Nothing fancy. An informal supper party on Friday night. Tennis on Saturday... you know the sort of thing,” Lady Hartfield said. “Mrs. Morrow, you would be most welcome to join us.”
“Excellent idea,” Tony said.
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Helen glanced at her mother-in-law. “If that’s all right?”
“And of course Evelyn, you will come to the party on Friday night?” Lady Hartfield managed to make it sound like an order rather an invitation.
“I would be delighted, Maude, ” Evelyn said.
Lady Hartfield set her teacup down and folded her hands in her lap. “Evelyn was just saying Paul is home, Tony. Perhaps you can prevail on him to come and be sociable?”
“I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow. I’m simply dying to hear about his adventures in Mesopotamia. Pity he wasn’t in Egypt. Did you read about the tomb they discovered there, Mrs. Morrow? Tutankhamen or something like that, they say.”
“Yes I did,” Helen said. “I saw some of the photos of the tomb in the newspaper before we left and it was all the buzz in Suez. It must be extraordinary.”
Tony set down his cup. “Ma, would you have any objection if I show Mrs. Morrow and young Alice here, about the house?”
“If Mrs. Morrow has no objection,” his mother said.
Tony rose to his feet and cocked an eyebrow at Helen. “Allow me to be your tour guide?”
“Thank you. I’d love to see the house.”
“And you, Miss Morrow?”
Alice beamed at him and slid off the sofa.
Once away from his mother, Tony turned to Helen. “Do you mind if I call you Helen?”
“I would prefer it,” she said.
“And call me Tony, please. Charlie hated all this stuffy formality. We’ll start in the picture gallery and then we’ll go for a stroll in the gardens. They’re particularly fine I’m told.”
After they had been through the house and admired the Rembrandt, the Constables, the Van Dyck and the other artistic masterpieces, Tony led them out on to the terrace, which afforded a wide vista of parklands, lakes and classical statuary.
“It’s a William Kent garden,” he explained. “The family made its fortune in the new world and came back to England in the mid-eighteenth century. The old house was destroyed during the civil war.” He looked down at Alice. “Do you want to see the ruins?”
Alice’s eyes shone as she nodded.
“Kent rather cleverly incorporated them into the garden design,” Tony explained as they rounded a corner of the house to see the ivy covered walls of the old building, rising mysteriously from the woods.
Alice looked up at him with wide eyes. “Are there any ghosts?” she asked.
“None that I’ve ever seen,” Tony said. “Although one of our gardeners claims to have seen spectral figures walking around the outside of the old house. Personally I think the sighting may have had more to do with a penchant for whiskey than a genuine paranormal experience. If you want to know about ghosts you need to ask Sarah Pollard, she’s the local expert.”
“Is she?” Helen said.
“My sister, Angela, once thought she saw civil war soldiers in the garden at Holdston. It was besieged too, you know.”
“No, I didn’t,” Helen said. She sighed and looked around at the beautiful garden. “There is so much to learn about Charlie and this place.”
Alice had skipped on ahead, disappearing among the ruined walls.
“I can see a lot of Charlie in that young sprite,” Tony said.
“Can you?” Helen asked, trying to keep the yearning out of her voice. “It’s so strange to be with people who knew Charlie so much longer than I did. I sometimes wonder if we are talking about the same person.”
“We may have known him longer, Helen. Doesn’t mean we knew him better. Have you met Paul yet?”
Helen shook her head. “Not yet. He only got home yesterday. Lady Morrow left me with the impression that he’s not terribly sociable.”
Tony shrugged. “Paul and Lady Morrow have a particular relationship. I’m sure you already know that Paul has had a pretty rough time of it all round.”
“I knew he’d been badly wounded.”
<
br /> “Oh it’s not just that,” Tony said. “Goes back to before the war. His father was posted somewhere out in the Far East and Paul was sent to Holdston after his mother died. Paul was the poor relation and he felt it. Evelyn and Sir Gerald did their best but his father drank away any money he had before he died so there wasn’t much to spare for education and the like. The only reason Paul went to Winchester with Charlie and I was because he won a scholarship. He excelled at school but there was no question of him going to Oxford. Instead he got packed off to the Army while university was wasted on Charlie and me. I’m betting Paul would have been a professor by now if he’d had the chance.” Tony sighed. “Little wonder he hates being shackled to Holdston now.”
“Charlie talked about him of course but he never told me any of that. They seemed very close.”
“As close as brothers. Charlie worshipped the ground Paul walked on.”
Helen smiled. “Charlie did not consider joining any regiment except Paul’s,” she said. “I think he saw the two of them winning the war together.”
Tony cleared his throat. “They gave it a damn good shot.”
They rounded another corner of the house and walked toward a grand building with a high arched entrance surmounted by an elegant clock tower.
“Who lives here?” Helen asked.
Tony laughed. “These are the stables. Do you ride?”
Helen felt her face color at her stupid mistake. “Of course I do. I’ve been riding since I could walk. In fact I’ve Lady Morrow’s permission to take Minter out.”
“He’s a grand horse but getting on in years now. Can’t even remember the last time Evelyn would have ridden him. What about young Alice?” he asked, addressing Alice who had run back to them. “Do you ride, young sprite?”
Alice pulled a face. “There are only the trap ponies at Holdston and Sam says they bite and Hector and Minter are too big for me.”
“We’ll have to see what we can do. I’ve been a dashed poor godfather up to now.” He furrowed his brow and then smiled. “Just the answer,” he exclaimed. “Turnip.”
He summoned a groom who fetched a fat little piebald pony with bright, gentle eyes out of the stable.
“He’s yours for as long as you’re at Holdston, sprite.”
Alice gaped at him. “Really?”
Tony cocked an eye at the groom. “I think we can spare him, can’t we?”
The groom grinned. “I think we can manage, sir.”
“Good. We’ll have him sent around to Holdston tomorrow.”
“What do you say?” Helen nudged her daughter.
Alice looked up at Tony. “Thank you, Uncle Tony.”
“Uncle Tony, is it? I rather like that.”
They stopped to admire the beagle pack, Alice exclaiming in delight over a litter of small, round puppies.
“What about hunting, Helen?” Tony asked.
Helen shook her head. “It’s an English preoccupation,” she said. “Some damn fool decided to introduce foxes to Australia to hunt and they’ve become vermin. We shoot them. We don’t hunt them.”
“The Wellmore hunt is in early December. If you’re still at Holdston I hope you’ll join us.”
Helen smiled. “Oh I doubt I shall still be here by then. I plan to spend some time with Evelyn and then do some touring in Europe over summer.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Hadn’t we better get back to your mother? It’s getting late and she will think I’m terribly rude.”
“Of course she will. My mother is a dreadful snob. The fact you are an Australian is sin enough and even though I have detained you overlong it will, of course, be your fault.”
He laughed when he saw her stricken face. “I’m jesting. Mother will have been quite happy to spend the time moaning about her unsatisfactory children to Evelyn.”
“Are you unsatisfactory?” Helen asked as they walked back along the well tended paths to the house.
“Lord, yes.” Tony said. “Mother wants me married to some simpering debutante with money and a title and as for Angela...”
“Angela?”
“My sister. No sign of any grandchildren there either. Angela is an independent woman of our time and Mother simply can’t cope with that. We are her eternal despair.”
He had been right. As they walked into the drawing room from the terrace the two women appeared immersed in earnest conversation
Evelyn looked up as Alice, forgetting all manners, ran the length of the room toward her exclaiming, “Grandmama, Uncle Tony is going to lend me a pony. He’s the dearest thing. I can’t wait to ride him.”
Evelyn turned to Tony. “Is that correct?”
“I’ve promised her an indefinite loan of Turnip.”
“That’s very generous of you, Tony,” Evelyn said as she rose to her feet. “I hope you thanked your godfather, Alice.”
“Of course she did,” Tony said.
Evelyn pulled on her gloves. “Thank you, Maude. It was delightful to catch up with you. We will look forward to joining you on Friday night.”
Lady Hartfield turned to Helen. “There will be a number of young people coming.”
“Young ladies?” Evelyn suggested, with a meaningful glance at Tony.
Lady Hartfield smiled. “Of course. I am determined to have at least one of my children married by next spring.”
Chapter 4
“Good ride, sir?” Sam Pollard enquired, stepping forward to hold Hector’s head while Paul dismounted.
“Thank you, Pollard,” Paul said, wincing as he took the weight on his bad leg.
The doctors had said he’d never ride again. In fact, the doctors had said a great many things and he’d proved them wrong but his stubborn perseverance came at a price.
“Want me to see to ‘im?” Pollard asked.
Paul shook his head, taking the horse’s reins from the man. “No, leave him to me. It’s the least I can do for him after making him work.”
Hector snorted, as if in agreement and Paul smiled, turning to rub the horse’s ears. “You’ve got lazy while I’ve been away. That’s your problem.”
Paul settled the horse in his stall with a well earned feed, and picking up the grooming brush, fell into the customary, almost hypnotic pattern of the brush strokes, the horse warm and familiar beneath his hand. Hector grunted his appreciation.
A change in the light as someone passed through the door and the sound of light footsteps on the cobbled floor alerted him to another presence in the stable. Without turning around, Paul knew who stood at the door to the stall watching him,
“Good morning, Mrs. Morrow,” he said without missing a stroke of the brush.
“Good morning, Sir Paul,” Helen Morrow replied, stumbling a little on the words.
His mouth quirked with bitter amusement. The title had never sounded right, not like Sir Charles Morrow would have done. Most people got around it by referring to him by his military rank, the Major.
“If you’re going to address me as anything it may as well be Paul,” he said.
“I didn’t wish to appear rude. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Have you been for a ride already?”
She had an interesting accent. He’d met Australians in the war and generally found their almost cockney accent strident and grating. She had a softer inflection, the vowels were more rounded, but not, definitely not, an English accent.
He straightened and Hector gave a snort and turned to him his ears pricked in enquiry.
“I always get up at seven just to groom my horse,” he said, conscious of the heavy sarcasm in his voice.
“Oh,” she sounded crushed and he instantly regretted his words. “I thought perhaps, if you hadn’t been out yet, you may have been able to show me around the estate?”
Paul ducked under Hector’s head, putting the horse between himself and Charlie’s widow. For the first time he looked at her. A pair of startling light grey eyes met his gaze without flinching. Helen Morrow, Charlie’s beloved Helen, stood leaning on the
stall gate, resting her chin on her folded arms.
“You seem quite capable of finding your own way around without my assistance,” he said. He applied himself to Hector’s grooming again, breaking the eye contact with the woman.
“It’s not the same as going with someone who knows the country.”
“I’ve seen you riding Minter. You ride well, although I’m not sure Evelyn approves of young ladies riding astride.”
Helen smiled. “We did have that discussion,” she said. “It’s good of her to allow me the use of Minter.” Helen turned her head to indicate Hector’s stable companion.
“Evelyn hasn’t ridden for years,” Paul said. “However, the fact she’s never been able to bring herself to sell Minter betrays something of her sentimental side.”
Helen smiled. “Just as you can’t part with Hector?”
Paul stopped in his task and straightened. He could have said that the unconditional affection of this animal gave him a greater reason to return to Holdston than his other responsibilities, but he held his tongue.
“We went to Wellmore House yesterday,” Helen said.
“I know,” Paul said brusquely. “Evelyn suggested I should accompany you. I had work to do.”
“Tony Scarvell sends his regards.”
At the mention of Tony’s name, Paul looked up. “Tony’s at Wellmore?”
She nodded. “He’s lending Alice a pony. She’s terribly excited.”
Paul felt a stab of guilt. It should be his responsibility to provide a suitable mount for the child but he could offer her nothing except two ill-tempered trap ponies.
He opened the door to the stall and Hector turned his attention back to the oats. Only a few feet of floor now stood between him and Helen. His eyes rested on her oval face. She had the fresh healthy glow to her skin that came from a life lived in the high country of Victoria, which Charlie had loved so much, and even through the horsey odors of the stable, she smelled clean and fresh.
“Charlie talked about you so much...” she began.
“Then you must have had some dull conversations,” he cut her off, pushing past her to restore the brushes to a shelf outside the stall. “Good morning, Mrs. Morrow. I hope you have a pleasant ride.” He strode off down the line of empty stalls without a backward glance.
Gather the Bones Page 4