Her gaze was curious, and Juliana had the odd feeling that she had trespassed on forbidden property. This did not seem to be Juliana’s home, but that of the other woman, and the feeling of unease spread. Unsure of what else to do, she stepped forward and held out her hand.
“How do you do, Fancy,” she said.
Fancy’s thin eyebrows rose at the gesture, and Juliana faltered, flushing. Eventually Fancy stepped forward and gave her hand a half-hearted shake. Adrien reappeared, having divested himself of his coat and scarf.
“Tea ready?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.
“I’ll have Ada bring it in,” replied Fancy.
She paused, as Juliana stayed where she was.
“In the library, Juliana,” she murmured, as if Juliana should have known. Juliana wondered if she had imagined the mocking tone in Fancy’s voice, but had no time to think on it further, as Adrien took her elbow and drew her through the double doors on the left of the hall. They passed into a large, delightfully fresh room, panelled in off-white. Two of the walls were shelved from floor to ceiling in the same white-painted wood as the panels, and they were crammed full of books, as were the low cases that filled most other available wall space.
Juliana took a seat next to Adrien on a deep red sofa, plentifully supplied with cushions and most comfortable after the long day in the car. Without a word, Fancy poured tea for them all, handing round the cups with another of her cold smiles. Juliana was pleased to have something to do with her hands, and was grateful for the tea. It was hot and fragrant and just what she needed.
“We just popped in to see Margaret,” said Adrien, helping Juliana to sandwiches before taking some himself. “They are going to come up for dinner tomorrow. Damaris is trying to get the weekend off too, and Jamie will be here on his usual train. Andrew is coming for lunch on Sunday too. He wants a chat with Juliana about various things.”
Fancy pursed her mouth as she nibbled at a piece of bread and butter.
“I wasn’t expecting such a rush,” she said. “I don’t know if I can get organised so quickly.”
Adrien waved away her concerns.
“It’s already arranged. You don’t have to organise a thing. Everyone is longing to see you, Jules.”
He broke off and drank some tea. Juliana had noticed the abbreviation he had used. It was the first time he had done so, and it felt warming to her, which was good, given the froideur that was emanating from Fancy.
“I spoke to Mrs Fennell yesterday, when you were out, Fancy, she already knows what to expect,” he continued. “Plenty of time to get things smoothed out.”
Fancy said nothing more, finishing her bread and butter and leaving most of her sponge cake. She got to her feet, casting an expressive glance as Juliana accepted another slice of cake from Adrien, who had already wolfed down a huge chunk, and a couple of scones too.
“This is so delicious,” said Juliana. “I can’t believe I’m hungry after that enormous lunch.”
“Fresh air,” Adrien teased. “Everything tastes better down here. Just wait until we take a picnic down to the cove and see what your appetite is like after swimming for hours!”
Fancy raised her brows slightly, and smoothed her dress down over her slim hips.
“I shall go and make sure everything is underway.”
She turned to Juliana and gave her a smile that held no warmth or pleasure. Juliana realised that, despite what Adrien had said, here was one person who was not at all pleased to welcome her home.
“Dinner is at seven-thirty, Juliana. We do dress. Let me know if you do not have anything suitable.”
With that she turned to leave, but Adrien put down his cup and got to his feet.
“Juliana is exhausted. She’s had a hectic time of it lately, and a very long drive today,” he said firmly. “She is going to rest this evening and have supper upstairs in peace. Tell Cook to prepare a tray, please, Fancy.”
Fancy turned, and Juliana suspected that whatever waspish reply was on the tip of her tongue had been swallowed only with difficulty. She bestowed another of those polite but chilly smiles and nodded regally.
“Of course. Much the best idea. Juliana, I shall look forward to renewing our acquaintance when you feel up to it.”
That sounded more like a threat than a treat to be looked forward to, with the added inference that she was putting up a poor show so early in her return. Fancy turned without another word and swept through the door. Her heels echoed across the hall and the baize door opened softly, closing with a little more force. Having finished her cake and drunk the last of her tea, Juliana allowed herself to be shown upstairs. As they started up the magnificent oak staircase, the grandfather clock started to chime six o’clock.
She realised abruptly just how fatigued she was, and turned to Adrien.
“Thank you. I hadn’t realised just how tired I was. It won’t be too much trouble, I hope?”
Adrien paused, shaking his head, then led her upstairs.
“Nothing of the sort. Best thing for you, I think, judging by those shadows under your eyes. I suggest that you have a bath, and then I will bring your tray myself later. You look all in, Jules. You need a good night’s sleep, and then we can talk more tomorrow, and I will show you all around.”
They had reached the landing and turned to the right, walking past the gallery along a wide hallway, past several doors and another set of stairs leading upwards. She could see sunlight shining down from the second floor, and the wide window at the far end of the hall was filled with light too. Adrien opened a door and ushered her through to a large, airy room, with an enormous bay window that faced out over a series of walled gardens and then up to what had to be cliffs, given the steady sound of the sea that came through the open window.
“Is this mine?”
He nodded, walking across to push open another door.
“This is your room. It was… ours, but I thought you would prefer to be on your own. Here is the bathroom. I’m through here, just on the other side. All the doors bolt on both sides. You can be quite private, don’t worry.”
He came back and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Make yourself at home, Jules. I’ll be back with your tray in an hour or so. If you need anything before then, ring. Someone will be straight up.”
He pointed to the bell-pull beside her bed, then left her alone. She explored the room, finding that her cases had been unpacked already, and everything hung up in the enormous wardrobe, or folded neatly in the drawers of the chest. The wood was all dark, matching the huge ebonised bed that sat along one wall. The coverlet was blue silk, matching the curtains and the rug, and the cushions on the chaise longue.
The adjoining bathroom was large and plain, but the tub was huge and the water in the sink ran scalding hot almost immediately. She washed her hands with the square of new soap, scented with rose, and dried them on a fine linen towel that fairly crackled with starch. Suddenly the thought of a proper bath sounded like heaven. Setting the taps on, she flopped onto the seat set into the bay window and rested her chin on her hands, looking out over the darkening gardens and listening to the sound of the waves as they beat a slow and steady tattoo through the dusk.
She knew she was homesick, and however much she fought it, it rolled through her. Despite the space here, and the peace, she wanted nothing more than to be back in London, fighting for a spot around the kitchen table, ready to do the washing up with Vanna after dinner. To queue for the one bathroom in order to wash and brush her teeth. The thought of having this bathroom, and this huge room, to herself was unnerving. Not that the bed did not look inviting. She felt exhausted, but then she was used to being tired. She expected it after a long day. It was a natural result of hard work. Sitting alone in this room, with nothing to do but think, was more upsetting to her than she had imagined possible.
She thought about what was happening elsewhere in the house. Normally there was someone else within arm’s length. Here she
had no idea where the closest person was. To be honest, if the closest person was Fancy, then Juliana was pleased not to know. Fancy’s welcome to the returnee had been as cold as possible without tipping into rudeness. The cool smiles that did not reach her eyes; the air of subtle derision about her, as if she was tolerating Juliana’s behaviour, but saw right through her. Adrien did not seem to sense it, though. Juliana wondered if she was imagining it. Perhaps she was reading too much into the other woman’s behaviour.
She wondered how long Fancy had lived here. If it had been for a while, perhaps it was natural that Fancy was wary of her return. Just as Juliana herself was wary of returning. This was not home. Not yet.
Chapter 4
Juliana awoke early, surprised to find that she had slept soundly since the moment she had laid her head on the pillow last night. She stretched out across the enormous bed, revelling in the space and the fine linen sheets enveloping her. The blanket over her was thick and warm, the silk binding slippery soft against her cheek. Yawning, she heard the tall case clock downstairs begin to chime; just seven o’clock, on what looked like was set to be a fine morning. She had opened her curtains before going to bed, a luxury not permitted in Soho, where the streetlight outside the window she and Vanna had shared had shone directly in and kept them awake.
Her dressing gown was at the foot of her bed, and she pulled it on as she walked to the bay window, kneeling on the cushioned seat there as she looked out. It was still dark under the trees, but dawn had come and already departed and the day was speeding on apace. There were clouds in the lambent sky, but they were small and high in the air, moving with speed at the front of a brisk breeze. The gardens she had viewed through the falling night twelve hours before were spread out in front of her; through the smaller window to her right, she could look down upon a wide stretch of grass that ran straight towards the cliffs, the dark green terminating abruptly against the pale sky.
From her perch, she could see below her a wide stone staircase that led down to a brick wall, with a metal gate that led to the garden on the other side. There was a dovecote, clearly occupied as a white bird appeared from the direction of the sea, landed gracefully and then waddled inside. There were trees, and beyond the trees she could see a fountain, surrounded by smooth green grass, with a wooden bench alongside. Quite suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be outside. She tiptoed through the bathroom and listened for a moment at the door to Adrien’s room. Recognising by the steady breathing that he was still asleep, she decided to go out on her own. It had been a long drive for him the day before, and she was loath to wake him up.
She dressed quickly, lacing up her shoes and then stepping softly downstairs in search of her coat. After a false foray into what turned out to be a study, she found a side passage and then a large alcove, hung all around with outdoor raiment. Her coat was hanging neatly over a pair of rubber boots, her tam just above, from a curled metal hook that was just the right height for her to reach up to.
The sound of whistling caught her ear, and as she buttoned her coat, she followed the tune, along the corridor and through a plain painted door into a small room dominated by a couple of enormous sinks, and so many shelves that the array of china and glass glinting in the early light was dazzling. A skinny girl in a pink frock and enormous apron was scrubbing the long wooden drainer. She looked up as Juliana peered in, her eyes widening with fright under the white cotton of her cap and a thin fringe of brown hair, and dropped her brush with a clatter.
“I’m sorry,” said Juliana, edging a little further inside. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I shouldn’t be making so much noise,” replied the girl nervously, twitching her pigtails over her shoulders out of the way of the suds.
“I don’t mind,” said Juliana with a smile. “It sounded cheerful.”
The girl beamed, revealing overlarge teeth in her small face.
“I’m not much of a whistler. Mrs Evans don’t like whistling. She says it gets on her nerves.”
“Well, I like it,” reassured Juliana.
“Can I help you, Mrs Creed?” the girl asked, suddenly realising to whom she was talking. “Sorry I didn’t have tea ready for you. Mr Creed said I was to let you sleep as long as you wanted and he’d ring down.”
“I don’t need tea, thank you,” replied Juliana. “Not at the moment, anyway. I’m looking for a way out. It looks like such a nice day I thought I’d get some fresh air.”
The girl nodded her head and pointed back out the door through which Juliana had entered.
“It’s a beautiful morning, Mrs Creed. Side door is along to the left, you can get out into the garden from there. Just go down the passage a bit more. It’s unlocked. That’ll take you onto the side path and you’ll see the gate in front of you. Tell you what, I’ll put the kettle on and make some more tea anyway, then you can have a cup when you get back. Breakfast isn’t until a quarter past eight.”
She flushed suddenly.
“Sorry, madam, I didn’t mean to be fresh.”
Juliana smiled at her again.
“Please don’t worry,” she said. “I should love some tea in a little while. In the meantime, I shall go for a walk. See you later… sorry, I don’t know your name?”
If Adrien had told her, she had forgotten, but the girl did not seem put out.
“Florence, Mrs Creed. Ada is doing the fires at the moment. We both live in. The others come up from town mornings. You’ll recognise Ada—she’s got red hair. Curls.”
There was a touch of very girlish jealousy in Florence’s eyes at the mention of Ada’s curls. It was a reassuringly human touch, and made Juliana feel at home. She was used to the give and take of a large family, the triumphs and squabbles and petty behaviours of people living closely together, and this house was going to feel very big and empty without any of that going on.
“Thank you, Florence,” Juliana said with a grin. “See you shortly for that tea.”
Turning left from the scullery, she found the door, exactly where it should be. Another heavy oak slab, it opened with a loud click, and pushing it out with both hands, she stepped out onto a paved walk. The early sun lit up the white walls behind her, and she touched the cold facade, the pits and troughs in the local brick, smoothed out and over by a thick lime wash, trailing her fingertips along to the wide black shutters that she noticed were in place by every set of windows. Reaching up, she placed her palms flat up against the wood. The shutters were thick and heavy, like the doors, hewed at the time of the original building, the wood smoothed over the years to a silken finish.
Down the wide steps, she found the metal gate, as heavy as the shutters, but hung so precisely that it swung open with the slightest touch once unlatched. She walked through, feeling like Mary Lennox as the first thing she saw was the tangle of climbing roses that hung over her head. There were no buds yet, but the new growth was fresh green and pink, already looking like it required more tying in. She found herself standing in the garden she had seen from her window, and looked around with interest.
The separate gardens were all walled off from each other and the outside. One was an orchard, another a kitchen garden, the beds either containing the remains of winter vegetables, or freshly dug with the recent addition of a liberal helping of manure, the smell of which was still thick in the air around them. She took a cursory look around, then walked back to the main garden and started to circle, just within the high wall. Herbaceous beds ran deep along the stone, and apart from one, which was in the process of being dug over from end to end, each bed was a careful mix of plants, most showing signs of coming out of hibernation. The paths were composed of well-raked gravel, small pebbles of grey and amber and white that were still wet with dew. Inset at intervals were fat squares of camomile, the scent sharp when she trod upon it. At one corner was the dovecote she had seen, a high octagonal tower with a steep tiled roof and a soft cooing from within.
Everywhere was the prospect of growth, about t
o embrace the spring and the chance to grow again. When she found the fountain, in its sea of green, she saw that the grass was sprinkled with crocus, tiny spots of yellow and purple. There were thick clumps of narcissus everywhere in the borders around it, and touches of dark purple in the undergrowth spoke of wild violets. Stepping cautiously between the crocus buds, she made her way to the fountain and dipped her fingers into the icy water. As she did so, she noticed another door, a wooden one this time. When she pushed it open, she found herself on a wide swathe of coarse turf, at the bottom of a swell of a hill she could not resist climbing.
At the top, Juliana stopped in sheer delight as the coast spread out before her. The sea was speckled with white caps, and her unpinned hair blew straight back from her face as the wind hit her with cool fingers. To the left was a narrow path, worn over the years to a hard-packed trail. It wound along the cliff edge, bounded by boulders and great clumps of thrift. Directly below her was the beginning of a staircase, the plain wooden structure clinging to the cliffside in a twisting zig-zag. Halfway down, a spring bubbled out, wetting the surrounding greenery to a darker green, sending a rainbow sparkle into the air. She walked out onto the top stair and looked down. At the base of the staircase, the pale gold of the sand stretched towards the water, hemmed in by seemingly unscalable rock. The waves were gentler here than further out, and she realised that those same rock walls gave some protection. This must be the cove Adrien had talked of, where they swam in the summer.
Above the trees to her right, she could make out what looked like the roof of a house, but before she could explore any further, the breeze brought the sound of a bell chiming the three-quarter hour; given the direction, she supposed it to be the bell of the church in the village. She remembered passing it yesterday, a handsome stone building of enviable simplicity, the lychgate guarded on either side by immense yews. As the chimes finished, she turned and made her way back through the gardens to the house. She looked up at the windows as she did so; Adrien was there, looking down at her. At least he had been, for he turned away almost as she saw him, without returning the wave of her hand that she directed upwards. He had been frowning, but she did not know why; she wondered how long he had been watching her.
The Dead Woman Who Lived Page 5