by Kirsty Ferry
Jacob was shaking his head. ‘The cliff path is all but destroyed. We will have to hope they took shelter in the town. We will have to return tomorrow and try to locate them if they do not turn up tonight.’
‘They will turn up. Won’t they?’ she asked.
Jacob shook his head. ‘I hope so,’ he said.
‘Oh, dear Jacob, you’re shivering,’ said Lydia. She rubbed his shoulder ineffectually. ‘Go upstairs and change into something dry. I will have someone send some hot water up for you.’
‘I am going out one last time,’ he replied. ‘I will not go far – I just want to satisfy myself that they definitely are not out on the moors.’
‘Jacob!’ cried Lydia. She was torn; she wanted Jacob to stay inside, but she desperately wanted Adam and Ella to be found. She made a funny little gesture with her hands, more reminiscent of Ella than she realised. ‘I do not know,’ she said, echoing the sign.
‘I need to go, Lydia,’ said Jacob. ‘Please. I will return as soon as possible.’
‘Then let me send someone with you,’ she said desperately. ‘I cannot have you lost as well.’
‘Dearest Lydia. Do not worry.’ Jacob then did something entirely unexpected. He leaned down and, gently taking hold of her chin, he tilted her face towards him and kissed her. ‘I will not be long, darling, I promise.’ He held her startled gaze then let her go. ‘Sweet Lydia.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I never realised how I felt about you until tonight. It was only the thought of seeing you that kept me going on that journey back.’
Lydia felt her heart twist oddly. It was the first time he had ever given such an indication to her; and she had to admit that the thought, here and now, with the storm raging outside and the relief of seeing him safely returned to the Park, was not exactly unpleasant.
She replied in a voice that was uncharacteristically shaky. ‘Just bring them back safely, darling. One thing at a time.’
Jacob looked at her, his eyes dark and troubled. ‘One thing at a time, my love,’ he repeated. He traced the curve of her jawbone with his fingertip. There was a promise of something else in those eyes that Lydia had never seen before, in any man; apart from the look in Adam’s warm, brown eyes, every time he saw Ella. Jacob nodded and turned. He strode across the hallway and threw the door open. He disappeared into the night, slamming the door shut behind him and Lydia was left alone, staring at the closed door, wondering what exactly was going on in her heart.
Another hour passed and Jacob still had not returned. The morning room looked out over the driveway and Lydia had thrown open the drapes. She sat there, staring blankly into the darkness, hugging herself and listening to the thunder. The lightning ripped the skies open, and every time the brightness slashed through them, Lydia hoped to see three figures straggling towards the house on horseback.
She didn’t know how much longer she sat like that, but the memories of what happened next were burnt into her heart permanently. It all seemed to happen at once. First of all, the door flung open and Jacob appeared, striding across the room. In his hand was a riding crop covered in mud. Lydia stood up and ran across the room to him.
‘I found this where the path collapsed,’ he said.
Lydia stopped dead. She was not the sort of woman given to fainting, but at that moment she felt the ground shift beneath her.
Jacob’s arm was around her within seconds, steadying her. ‘I do not know if it is one of theirs or not,’ he continued. ‘It might not be.’
‘They all look the same,’ said Lydia. Her voice seemed to come from very far away. ‘It could be anyone’s …’
‘Miss Lydia, Johnson wishes to speak with you.’ That was the butler coming into the room.
Lydia swung around to face him. ‘Then send him in!’ she cried.
The butler nodded and gestured for Johnson, the head stable hand, to move forward and enter the room.
The man was dripping wet, clutching something in his hands. He was unused to being in the house; he was far more content in the stables. His eyes were terrified and he stared at Lydia as if frightened to speak.
‘Miss Lydia, one of the horses has returned,’ he said. ‘But there be no personage with it. Only this, caught in the bridle, like.’ With a trembling hand, he held out a scrap of cloth.
At that point, it felt as if the walls closed in on Lydia. Johnson’s face melted and blackened like a piece of paper burning in the grate as Lydia crumpled elegantly onto the floor into blessed unconsciousness. Johnson had shown her a torn piece of green, muddied velvet – the same green velvet that Ella’s riding habit was made from.
The next few days passed in a blur for Lydia. There was a sense of hustle around the Park, people coming and going, people asking for statements and details of what had happened. And Jacob – always Jacob – dealing with the visitors and dealing with her as well.
One day, he brought her a tiny bunch of dried lavender to try and cheer her up. It was such a thoughtful, kind gesture it drove her to guilty tears, making her angry at herself for what she was putting him through. Shamefully, she hid in her room, refusing to see or speak to anyone but him. She didn’t want to believe that this was happening; she wanted to wake up one morning and have Ella and Adam back. But that morning never seemed to come.
Even more shamefully, she took comfort of quite a different sort from Jacob. She had never believed herself capable of that: ever. She was lively, well-brought-up and sensible. So why did she give herself up to him so easily? It was a question she was to ask herself regularly over the next few months, with, it had to be said, varying degrees of self-flagellation and blame.
Then of course, they needed to arrange a wedding: a very speedy wedding. And then she couldn’t think exclusively about Ella and Adam any more, she had other worries. Sometimes, as she lay next to Jacob and stared into the night she wondered how life could have changed so suddenly over the course of one day. Then the tears would slide silently down her cheeks as she blamed herself for the whole thing.
She imagined doors opening and shutting, pianos playing, Adam’s laughter, floating along the corridors. Yet there was never anybody else there, and it wasn’t even something she could share with Jacob, for fear that he would think her an utter, utter lunatic.
JACOB
May 1866
There was no need for them to know what had happened that night, and so long as he had breath in his body, he was never going to tell. And besides that, he had other problems to deal with. The night that he returned from the coast, the night of the storm, he had seen Lydia come out of the drawing room and look at him, full of fear. In the lamplight, her hair was almost the same honey-gold shade that Ella’s was; her height, her figure, it all reminded him of Ella. It was when she made that funny little sign that he could almost swear it was Ella standing there.
The next few days had been the strangest he had ever encountered. He had lived in a dreamlike state, talking to people about events he wasn’t supposed to have witnessed, lying about the things he did know and praying that Lydia would never find out. One of the nights, he had lost control completely. Again, it was because she looked so much like Ella that it had happened. Lydia had been more than willing; she had lost her brother and best friend all in one evening. Her parents were dead. She had nobody except Jacob to confide in or to seek comfort from.
The whole time he had imagined that this is what it would have been like with Ella. And then when cold, hard reason and daylight crept into the room, he realised it wasn’t Ella. It would never be Ella. Of course, it was too late by then – but at least he could take control of the Park if he was forced to settle for Lydia. Every cloud, they said, had a silver lining.
So they had both carried the charade through to its logical and embarrassing conclusion, and now – now he was staring at a letter from Helena Warner, which had been posted from an address in Switzerl
and.
Jacob.
It is only right that you should know you have become a father. Yes, I do believe you are looking forward to a similar event with your wife – I can hardly bring myself to write that word – but your son and heir arrived Tuesday of last week. In case you are interested, which I doubt, he resembles you more than me, apart from the fact that he inherited my eye colour. I trust you will make suitable arrangements. You can contact me through my agents. I also pray that we never have to meet face to face ever again. I want nothing from you, apart from this child to be supported.
Sincerely
Helena Warner
Jacob crumpled up the paper and put his head in his hands. He cursed that night in July. Again, someone had been there when Ella was not. That time it was Helena. And now this; this was yet another secret he could never tell Lydia. And Adam – he had known, hadn’t he? He hadn’t believed her story about hearing news from home. Rather, it had been the humiliation which sent her running away that day, and Adam had guessed.
It was, perhaps, a blessing that Adam was dead. Jacob knew that Adam was dead without a doubt. And he was sure that Lydia knew without a doubt as well. And there he was; back at the beginning again – because he could never tell her how he knew that. It was enough to drive a man mad.
Jacob looked up and stared at the fireplace. After a moment, he straightened out the letter and copied the address down. Then he tore the paper into tiny pieces and scattered it into the flames.
LYDIA
July 1866
Lydia rummaged through the desk in the study. She needed an envelope desperately and Jacob was bound to have one in here. She dragged a sheaf of papers out and saw an envelope hidden among the pile. She liberated it and was trying to neaten up the remainder of the papers, when she caught sight of the corner of a cream card sticking up from the back of the drawer, just as if it had been pushed there and not quite dropped through into the next one down. She poked her fingers in and pulled it out. She read it quickly and saw it was an invitation to a dinner party. Her heart lurched as she realised which party it had been. This room had been Adam’s, and now it was Jacob’s. She could understand why Adam had kept the invitation, even appreciate the fact that it had slipped between the drawers and that was why Jacob had never discovered it. There was no other reason for it to be there.
From what she understood, anything to do with Ella was borderline acceptable. Anything to do with Adam was not. Therefore, something that would have united the pair of them was tantamount to sacrilege. She would never forget the day she discovered that Jacob had called in men to raze Ella’s angel fountain to the ground; only on the basis, she thought, that Adam had restored it and gifted it to his bride. She felt the old anger boil up within her. Not for the first time, she wondered if she, Lydia, was simply second – or even third – best? She hadn’t forgotten Helena. And this apparent obsession he had with Ella – it made her worry; it made her worry for the child. Next month, she would have a baby. It was a terrifying thought, thinking that its father might love a ghost instead – thinking that they had wed for the wrong reasons. She flushed. She couldn’t say that. They had needed to marry, there was no question about it.
She took hold of the invitation and made to tear it up, the memories still painful; but as she stood by the desk, she became aware of a faint noise from the next room. Someone was in there playing the piano. She frowned. She was alone in the house, Jacob was out on estate business and they had no guests. It had to be a servant. She walked out of the study and headed towards the drawing room. Honestly, she wouldn’t object if they only asked her first. They had a piano down in the servants’ hall, but she would be willing to bet they would try to play a better instrument when they thought nobody was around.
Lydia threw the door open, ready to reprimand whoever was in there. To her surprise, the room was empty. And what made it even more strange was that the lid of the piano was down. She looked at the invitation in her hand and felt something like a breath of air on her neck. And then there was a brief thought; perhaps it would be foolish to destroy it after all? She shivered, and, before she could change her mind, quickly stuffed the invitation into the nearest receptacle – her old writing slope. Besides that, there was something telling her that she wasn’t entirely alone in that room, either.
‘Ella?’ she tried. Then she felt extremely silly. Ella would never even hear her, would she? So why would she, Lydia, even expect an answer? She didn’t wait to test her theory, but instead turned and hurried from the room as fast as she could. She refused to believe that the noise she heard as she slammed the door shut behind her was the lid of the piano being crashed down. It was simply an echo: it had to be.
It was a few hours later, when Lydia was lying on a day-bed trying to rest, that there was a knock on the door. She half-opened her eyes and turned her face to the door.
‘Come in,’ she called. It had been pointless trying to sleep anyway. She was hot, she was uncomfortable and it was broad daylight outside. She might as well see who or what the company consisted of. She welcomed anything that would keep her from thinking about that mad little scenario with the haunted piano, anyway.
One of the young maids slipped through the door and stood before Lydia, looking terrified. Lydia knew the girl had adored Ella and therefore she, in her turn, had quite a soft spot for the maid. Jacob disliked her being so fond of her, which made Lydia, perversely, treat the girl even more familiarly than she would have ordinarily done.
‘Good afternoon, Elizabeth,’ said Lydia, smiling at her.
‘Good afternoon, miss,’ said the girl, curtseying. ‘Miss, I was told I could tell you this, if you don’t mind me disturbing you, like. They said I could do it, means as it was such a special thing, like.’
‘Of course you can disturb me,’ said Lydia with a smile. ‘I am not doing anything important and it is nice to see a friendly face.’ She pushed herself up into a sitting position and the girl scurried forward, plumping the cushions up behind her.
‘Is that better, miss?’
‘Wonderful, thank you. Now what is it?’
‘Miss Ella’s picture has been delivered, miss!’ said the girl. Her cheeks shone with pride and she stood a little straighter.
‘Ella’s picture? Oh, how marvellous!’ Lydia clapped her hands together. ‘I need to see it immediately. I shall come down.’
‘Oh, miss, don’t exert yourself!’ said the maid. ‘It ain’t – I mean, it’s not – going to run away. I hope your idea worked, Miss Lydia. It was ever such a good idea, wasn’t it?’
‘Exert myself be damned,’ said Lydia. ‘I am not ill. And yes, let us hope it worked. Come on, help me up and I shall come downstairs.’ She held her hand out and the girl dashed forward, holding her hand as Lydia hauled herself to her feet. The girl’s hands were so rough, Lydia thought with a pang. She was such a sweetheart. She would, she determined, make a post for her to help with the baby when it arrived. In fact, Elizabeth was a rather sweet name as well, if the child was a girl – then she could be called Eliza, or Lizzy, or even Ella. She smiled to herself as Elizabeth helped her into a robe. That was another thing she would suggest to Jacob. In fact, she thought with a hint of bitterness, he would probably like the name Ella.
Lydia sat in front of the mirror and Elizabeth came up behind her with some combs. Lydia knew that her hair was a mess and her face looked red and puffy. She certainly didn’t feel as if she had blossomed throughout this pregnancy. She just felt rather fat and awkward. She smiled a little, wishing Ella had been around to listen to her complaints. Yet, ironically, had Ella not disappeared, she would never have been in this situation. Perhaps she would have had to listen to Ella’s list of complaints instead.
‘I miss her,’ said Elizabeth quietly as she fastened a comb into Lydia’s hair.
‘Were you reading my mind?’ asked Lydia, smiling at he
r in the glass.
The girl shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Maybe. I can always tell when you think of her from your face, if you don’t mind me saying so, miss. But I don’t want to speak out of turn, like.’
Lydia sighed and shifted position slightly. She rested her hand lightly on her stomach. ‘You are not speaking out of turn. You are speaking the truth.’ She moved her hand and began to fiddle with the ribbons on her robe instead. She dropped her head, and stared at her hands. ‘I miss her dreadfully.’
‘She ain’t coming back, is she miss?’ asked the girl.
Lydia looked up. Elizabeth looked close to tears.
‘I do not think so, darling,’ she replied.
‘Is she dead, miss? Her and the master?’ The girl’s bottom lip trembled and Lydia got the sense that it was the first time she had voiced her concerns. ‘Only sometimes I imagine I see her, you know. I imagine she’s in the courtyard and I see her talking to the master. Then I goes out and she’s gone. And sometimes I hear the music, miss. Like the posh stuff she used to play all the time? But the room’s empty, see, and she’s not there.’
Lydia closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as if to block out the thoughts. ‘I am the same,’ she said eventually. ‘I see her and I hear her everywhere. I thought I was going mad.’ She laughed cynically. ‘Maybe I am. Maybe we both are. Maybe one day she is going to walk back in and laugh at us and say, “that was a wonderfully spontaneous trip. Adam and I are so pleased to be home. Did you miss us?” But somehow, I doubt it. I just wish I knew what had happened to them.’
‘Don’t suppose we’ll ever know, miss,’ said Elizabeth. There was a waver in her voice and then she couldn’t hold back the tears any more. ‘I miss her so bad,’ she sobbed, ‘and when that picture is there, I know we can see her again but it’ll make things worse, I just know it. She was going to teach me stuff as well, we were going to spend some time together, she said.’