House of Echoes

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘Joss?’ It was later. Luke put his head round the door and then came in.

  Joss was sitting by the window, the baby at her breast, listening to the tape of Chopin nocturnes which had been her favourite listening for the last week. ‘How is he?’

  ‘OK.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘Lunch is nearly ready. I hear the Gowers were here.’

  She nodded. ‘I suppose Lyn has told you.’

  ‘She’s very upset. You know, Joss, you’re not handling her very tactfully.’ He sat down opposite her, watching fondly the cameo before him of mother and child. ‘I’ve warned you. We have to be careful. We don’t want to lose her. Don’t forget, you have a job to do. That publisher was serious about his contract. You’re not just playing at the hobby of writing now. It’s for real. With real money. You can’t risk losing Lyn.’

  Joss nodded. ‘I know. And I didn’t mean to upset her. Or you. It was Edgar who thought it so important that Ned be baptised.’

  ‘And he will be. Just as soon as we’ve got a date organised when Alice and Joe can get here. And my parents too, Joss. Don’t forget them. They haven’t even seen the house yet.’

  ‘She’s going to neglect Tom, you know.’ Lyn turned from the range where she was stirring a saucepan of soup as Luke came in.

  ‘Nonsense.’ Luke sat down at the table with a four pack of Fosters he had taken from the fridge. ‘Here, like one?’

  ‘No thanks. She is.’ She turned back to her soup. ‘Poor little Tom Tom really was the Davies’s grandson. Ned – you’re not really going to call him that, are you? – is the Belheddon child.’ Her voice stressed the last two words with heavy sarcasm. ‘Believe me, Luke, I know her.’

  ‘No, Lyn, you’re wrong.’ Luke shook his head adamantly. ‘Terribly wrong.’

  ‘Am I?’ She flung down her spoon and turned to face him. ‘I hope so. But I want you to know I love little Tom as if he were my own. While I’m here he will never be second best.’

  ‘He will never be second best with Joss or me either, Lyn.’ Luke kept his voice steady with difficulty. ‘Where is Joss now?’

  ‘With the baby, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘That goes without saying, Lyn.’ Luke took a deep swig from his can. ‘The baby is two days old, for God’s sake!’ Unable to contain his irritation with her any longer he turned and walked out of the kitchen. In the courtyard he stood still for a minute staring up at the sky, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Silly bitch. Stirring it. The rivalry and antagonism which had always been so close to the surface between the sisters was beginning to get to him. He took several more gulps of lager as a thin brown face, creased with anxiety appeared round the coach house door. ‘Luke, that you? Can you come a minute?’

  ‘Sure, Jimbo. On my way.’ Putting his thoughts about Lyn firmly out of his head Luke tucked the empty can into the dustbin as he passed and disappeared into the oil-smelling interior of his domain.

  Lying awake, staring towards the window, Joss could feel every muscle in her body tense. There was no sound from either of the children; the house was silent. Her eyes were gritty with sleep. She moved uncomfortably, trying not to disturb Luke, totally alert suddenly. Something was wrong. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she padded across to the crib to look down at little Ned. She had been feeding him every couple of hours during the day, but now he was fast asleep at last, his little eyes tight shut in the shaded light of the lamp.

  On bare feet she passed through to Tom’s room and gently pushed open the door. Holding her breath she tiptoed in and stood for a moment looking down at him. He was sleeping peacefully, his cheeks pink, his hair tousled, his covers for once pulled up around him. Smiling she gently touched his cheek with her finger. Her love was so intense it was like a pain squeezing round her heart. She could not bear it if anything happened to either of them.

  She glanced towards the window. There was no wind tonight. No draught touched the curtains. There were no shadows in the dark.

  Silently she pulled the door half closed behind her and went back to her bedroom. Luke had moved in his sleep, sprawled across the bed, his arm outflung on the pillow. Beside his hand she could see something lying in the dip where her head had been. Her stomach lurched with fear. For a moment she was too scared to move. Her throat clamped shut and she felt the cold trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades. Then Luke moved. With a mutter he turned over, humping the duvet over him and she saw the mark on the pillowcase flatten and stretch and vanish. It had been no more than a crease in the cool pink cotton.

  The christening was fixed for ten days later – a Saturday – which gave the Davieses and the Grants, the godparents and other guests time to assemble at Belheddon. It was a thundery day, reminiscent of the night of Ned’s birth, and the humid air was heavy with the scents of the wet garden. The night before Janet had helped Joss with the flowers in the church.

  ‘You look tired, love.’ Deftly Janet slit the stem of a rose bud and inserted it into her vase. ‘Look, aren’t these lovely? I thought we’d put them round the base of the font.’ She had produced a basket of white roses from her garden, their tightly furled buds still glistening with rain drops, the tips of their petals blushing slightly to a gentle pink.

  ‘Roses. Bring her roses. Cover her with roses.’

  He could not stop his tears. Slowly, gently, he brought his lips to the cold forehead. He knelt beside her while they brought the flowers. White roses in heaps, their fragrant petals covering her like soft snow.

  Joss stared down at the basket. ‘Oh, Janet.’ She felt a sudden churning of fear in her stomach.

  ‘Whatever is it?’ Janet dropped the basket at her feet and reached out a concerned hand. ‘Joss. Aren’t you feeling well?’ Joss had gone as white as the flowers.

  Shaking her head, Joss moved away and sat down at the end of the back pew. ‘No. No, I’m fine.’ She shook her head. ‘Just a bit tired. I’ve been trying to make some headway with my writing and I’m feeding Ned about every two hours, even at night.’ She forced herself to smile, but her eyes were drawn back again and again to the roses. ‘Janet, do you mind. Can we put them somewhere else. Perhaps over there, by the choir stalls. I know they’re lovely. It’s just – ’

  ‘Just what?’ Janet frowned. She came and sat beside Joss, putting her hand firmly over Joss’s as they clutched the back of the pew in front. ‘Come on. Tell. What is it? They’re only roses, for goodness’ sake. The best I could find in the rose garden for my new little godson.’ With Lyn already Tom’s godmother it had been an easy and unanimous choice for Joss and Luke to pick Janet as one of Ned’s three godparents.

  ‘I know. I’m being silly.’

  ‘So. Explain.’

  Joss shook her head. ‘Just a silly phobia. Thorns. You know. Round the font. Everyone will catch their dresses. And Edgar will rip his surplice.’ She laughed unsteadily. ‘Please, Janet. Don’t be hurt. They’re beautiful. Exquisite. Just put it down to post-partum neurosis or something like that.’

  Janet stared at her for a moment, then she shrugged. She stood up. ‘OK. Roses on the window sill up there. And what round the font? How about these?’ She gestured at a bucket full of lupins and delphiniums and marguerites.

  Joss took a deep breath. ‘Lovely. Perfect. Just what the doctor ordered. Here, let me help.’

  It was late by the time they had finished, locked the church, hidden the key and gone back inside the house for a quick drink before Janet made her way home. Lyn had long since put Tom to bed and pushed supper onto the back of the stove. ‘Luke and I have eaten,’ she said from the sink as Joss walked in. ‘If you want yours it’s there, keeping warm.’

  Joss sighed. ‘Thanks. Any sign of David?’ Against strenuous disapproval from Luke she had asked David to be one of Ned’s godfathers. The other was to be Luke’s brother, Matthew.

  Lyn shook her head. ‘He rang to say he’d be late leaving London and not to wait supper. He probably won’t be here till ten or eleven.’r />
  ‘And Mum and Dad?’

  ‘They should be here any minute. They rang too. They stopped for tea with the Sharps and they were coming on after that. Their rooms are all ready.’ Lyn had been dusting and sweeping and polishing in the attics, making beds and arranging flowers for the last two days. ‘No one else is coming tonight. Luke’s family are going to be here for lunch tomorrow, which is for family and godparents only, then everyone else will arrive for the christening itself and stay on to tea afterwards.’ She was obviously still ticking off items mentally as she stared round the kitchen.

  ‘You’ve been a brick Lyn. You’ve done everything.’ Joss opened the cupboard and rummaged for the bottle of Scotch. She found two glasses and poured herself and Janet a small drink.

  Lyn stared at her. ‘You’re not going to drink that?’

  ‘Why not?’ Sitting down at the table, Joss picked up the glass.

  ‘Because of your milk of course.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then Joss took a sip of the whisky. ‘I’m sure Ned wouldn’t begrudge me this,’ she said firmly. ‘And he may as well start as I’m sure he will go on. If he gets hiccoughs in church it’s too bad.’

  ‘Right. Well, I can see it’s none of my business.’ Lyn, tight lipped, made for the door. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Janet raised her glass at Joss and smiled. ‘Are you behaving badly, my dear?’

  Joss nodded. She took another sip from the glass. ‘It’s not as though she’s had any kids of her own!’ she burst out suddenly. ‘She acts as though she knows the lot.’

  ‘She is their nanny, isn’t she?’ Janet leaned back in her chair, her eyes on Joss’s face. ‘She probably feels it’s part of her brief. Besides, she’s had training for it, hasn’t she?’

  ‘She’s had training for absolutely nothing except cooking.’ Joss stood up restlessly and walked round the table to the stove. She pulled the saucepan forward and peered into it. ‘She’s done a bit of temping, and she’s the kind of person who can clean and organise a house naturally.’

  ‘That doesn’t make her less intelligent or less sensitive, Joss,’ Janet put in gently.

  ‘Oh, I know.’ Joss came back to the table and sat down. ‘Oh Janet, that sounded so awful of me. It’s not as though I’m not grateful. We couldn’t survive without Lyn. It’s just that she makes me feel –’ she spread her hands helplessly, ‘so inadequate. In my own house. I take ages to sort something out and polish it. She comes in and does it in thirty seconds. But she does it in such a cold, efficient way. She doesn’t feel anything –’ she shrugged. ‘It’s hard to explain.’

  Janet smiled. ‘No it’s not. You are just two very different personalities. And that has nothing to do with being adopted sisters. My sisters and I can’t get on either and one of them is my twin. Accept that you’re different, Joss. Martha and Mary, if you like. You should complement each other. But you are both, I think, feeling threatened by each other at the moment and that’s silly. Forgive a comparative outsider commenting, but perhaps I can see it. You’re too close. Lyn is feeling very insecure. After all, you hold all the trump cards. It’s your house, your children, your family, and you are the one who has a burgeoning career as a writer. All that.’ She reached for the bottle and poured herself another Scotch. ‘I won’t give you one, in deference to Ned’s hiccoughs. As his godmother I’m probably the one he’ll be sick over in church.’ She laughed loudly, one of her great guffaws. ‘Come on, love. Too much stress and not enough fun makes everyone miserable. Probably you and Lyn should leave Luke in charge one day and take yourselves out on a day off. That would sort it.’

  Joss smiled wearily. ‘Would it? I wonder.’ She sighed. ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’

  When Alice and Joe arrived Joss flung herself into her mother’s arms. ‘I was so worried! All those tests! Half the time Lyn didn’t tell me until it was too late, what was happening.’

  Alice held her at arm’s length and studied her face. ‘I don’t need to see you every day to know you care, you silly child.’ She pulled Joss back into her arms and gave her a hug. ‘You’re a clever, clever girl. Another beautiful grandson is the best medicine I could possibly have! And a christening party is the best celebration. I’m going to enjoy myself here, Joss. And I want to see you doing the same.’

  Lunch was a great success. Lyn had laid the table in the dining room, loading the sideboard with cold meats and salads, whole grain bread, cheeses and fruit and white wine from the bottles remaining in the Belheddon cellar. Tea was already prepared and ready in the great hall, the refectory table with its huge bowl of gladioli groaning under plates and cups and a vast array of cling film-covered sandwiches and cakes and biscuits. The pièce de resistance, the christening cake, made and iced by Lyn was standing by itself on a table near the window and beside it stood a dozen bottles of champagne, a contribution from Geoffrey and Elizabeth Grant, who had driven over from Oxford.

  It was Joss who had taken them on a quick tour of the house before lunch. ‘My dear, it’s more beautiful than I ever dreamed!’ Geoffrey put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘You and my son have the luck of the devil.’

  He did not notice the look she gave him as she led the way through into the great hall. ‘Nothing here is to be touched until later or Lyn will kill us,’ she said, staring round at the feast already spread before them.

  ‘That girl must have worked so hard.’ Elizabeth went over and examined the cake. ‘What a treasure. Why on earth hasn’t some man snapped her up?’

  Joss shrugged. ‘I just hope they don’t. At least not for a while. I can’t live without her at the moment.’ She glanced round the room, frowning. It felt fine. Happy. There was no atmosphere; there were no shadows, no echoes in her head. She was beginning to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing.

  Smiling she turned to Geoffrey. ‘You can stay a few days, can’t you? I’m afraid our facilities are a bit primitive, whatever it may look like on the surface, but we’d like it so much if you can. And Matthew. Luke misses him so much, you know, now he’s got the job in Scotland.’

  Geoffrey nodded. ‘They were always close those two. Never mind. Life goes on. It makes occasions like this even more special, my dear. And this is the most special we’ve had for a long time.’

  22

  In spite of the distant rumbles of thunder and the darkness outside the stained-glass windows of the church, the christening service was full of charm. Cuddling Ned to her Joss looked round at the twenty or so guests clustered around the font and felt a tremendous elation, which increased as she passed the baby to Edgar Gower.

  She glanced from Edgar to James Wood, who stood beside him. Lucky baby to have two vicars at his christening. A double blessing. A double safety net. She glanced at David and found him watching her with a slightly absent frown on his face. Was he thinking the same thing, she wondered? Was this belt and braces christening enough to ward off the horror which had sent John Bennet fleeing forever from his home? She looked up in spite of herself at the window where Janet had placed the huge foaming bowl of white roses and she shuddered.

  There was a touch on her shoulder. Luke. He was looking down at her with an expression of such tenderness that she felt a lump in her throat. She reached for his hand and together they heard their son named Edward Philip Joseph before the world.

  David managed to manoeuvre Joss into a corner half way through tea. Around them guests were devouring cake and drinking champagne or tea with equal enthusiasm. Tom, covered in cake and icing and melted chocolate, worn out with the excitement had curled up on one of the sofas and was fast asleep, whilst the star of the show, sleeping equally peacefully, was in his pram in the study where it was quieter.

  The great hall rang with shouts and laughter. Wine flowed and the boards groaned beneath their load of food.

  Katherine and Richard, hand in hand, led the dancing and their faces glowed in the candlelight.

  The king’s gi
ft of heavy silver filled with white roses stood in the place of honour on the high table.

  With it came his love.

  ‘So. It’s going well.’ David raised his glass. ‘Well done. A wonderful spread.’

  ‘Thanks to Lyn.’ Joss, clutching a tea cup was longing to sit down; she was wobbly with exhaustion.

  ‘You read the photocopies I sent you?’ David reached over to the table and helped himself to a couple of egg sandwiches.

  She nodded. ‘Let’s not talk about it now, David.’ Even the thought of the contents of those few sheets of flimsy paper sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Edgar thinks this – all this –’ she waved her hand behind her as the crescendo of conversation steadily increased, ‘will help to make the house a happy place again. No more shadows.’

  David shrugged. ‘Good. There’s more to discover, though, you know. Going right back into the past, there is something or someone at the root of all this and I want to find out what or who it is.’

  Joss looked up at him, half amused, half irritated. ‘What if I don’t want you to? What if I tell you I want to stop the research.’

  He looked shocked. ‘Joss, you can’t mean that. You can’t not want to know!’

  She shook her head, and shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think. I’m confused. If it were somebody else’s house, David. Someone else’s problem. But I live here.’ She gazed round the room as though looking for some clue which would tell her what to do. ‘Supposing the truth is too awful, David? Supposing it is insupportable?’ She held his gaze for several seconds, then slowly she turned away.

  It was very late before everyone went to bed that night, Luke’s parents and Matthew in the two attic rooms which had been made hospitable, David in the spare room where he usually stayed. It was an airless muggy night, the occasional flicker on the horizon and the almost inaudible grumbles of thunder betraying the fact that storms were still prowling around.