by Kirsty Ferry
‘Shall I admit something to you?’ said Lydia. ‘The photograph we gave to the artist to use was the second one we’d taken that day. My husband took it and Ella looked so beautiful in that picture. It was perfect for the artist to copy from. The first photograph I took was a mistake and I threw it away.’ She laughed humourlessly. ‘Ha! I am so stupid. It was all I had of them and I threw it away. Oh, I teased Ella, I said I would keep it and I did not. And I feel guiltier about that than anything because it was so natural and you could just see that they belonged together. And now I will never see my brother again, either, and I miss him so much as well.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh dear God, I miss them both so much.’
She felt Elizabeth’s arms come hesitantly around her and she was grateful for the comfort.
‘Miss, don’t be cross with me, please,’ whispered Elizabeth after a moment, ‘but I did a bad thing with that photograph.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Lydia, turning to face the girl. ‘I threw it away, what could you possibly do with it?’
‘I took it out of the rubbish, miss, and I put it in a really safe place. It’s under my mattress, miss, and it’s yours whenever you want it. I just wanted to see them safe, miss, and it was just my way of trying to help them. I thought that was what was giving me the sights and sounds and things – because I had hidden it, like, and I shouldn’t have done.’ The girl’s face was pale and frightened. ‘I’m sorry, miss.’
‘Do not be sorry!’ said Lydia. She felt stupidly light-headed and relieved, then she surprised herself by laughing out loud. She hugged Elizabeth awkwardly, twisted as she was at such a peculiar angle. ‘That is actually rather perfect news and the second good thing that has happened to me today. The first was hearing that the portrait had arrived. Elizabeth, I am going to tell you a secret. I want you to put the photograph in a special place for me, can you do that? I do not want my husband to know about it, so you have to be careful. He hates having anything around the house that reminds him of Adam. Thank God he’s never realised I moved that terrible portrait to the west wing corridor. He seems to moderately tolerate anything to do with Ella, but anything to do with Adam – my beloved brother – he will not even entertain it.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I never realised he felt that way about him; all those years of bitterness. He was such a good liar. I feel ashamed to realise I never noticed. You see, that’s because I’m so damn self-absorbed.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘I think, Elizabeth,’ she continued carefully, wiping her tears away, ‘that he blames Adam for whatever happened to them. Now, do you know where my writing slope is?’
The girl nodded, her eyes wide. ‘I do, miss. It’s a beauty, that is. I polish it every week,’ she said proudly.
‘You are very sweet. Well, I shall tell you how to get into the very most secret part of it. And you can put the photograph there. I trust you. And if ever you want to see it, you must come to me and ask, and I will give you permission. Do you understand?’
‘I do, miss,’ breathed the girl. ‘Master Adam was so lovely as well, he was so kind to me.’ Her eyes began to brim with tears and Lydia patted her arm.
‘Good girl,’ said Lydia, feeling quite emotional herself. Damn this pregnancy! She had never been like this before. She sat up straighter and set her shoulders determinedly. ‘Now, Elizabeth, listen carefully – these are the instructions.’
Lydia saw the large canvas standing in the hallway, still wrapped in its protective coverings. Two young men were standing by it, messengers sent by Landseer himself, no doubt, to deliver it and receive payment.
‘I hardly dare breathe!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘Please, would you unveil it for me?’
Her heart was beating fast as one of the men started to slowly unwind the cloth. The size of it meant that Ella – or Lady Eleanor, as she would be known formally on this portrait – would be almost life-size, and, effectively, standing in front of Lydia one last time. She knew where she would mount the portrait; on the staircase as it turned to the left, exactly where Adam had requested it. Frankly, she didn’t care whether Jacob approved or not. He didn’t know she had continued with Adam’s commission and he damn well didn’t know she was planning on hanging it on the landing.
Lydia clasped her hands together to stop them shaking and watched as layer after layer of cloth fell away. She caught glimpses of Ella’s creamy-white wedding dress, and even from that, she could see the skill of the artist bringing Ella to life.
Lydia turned away from the portrait, unsure for a moment if she could actually look at Ella, face to face. She stopped the men with a gesture and caught sight of Elizabeth dotting around the doorway. Lydia met the girl’s eye and smiled at her.
She beckoned her over. ‘Come, Elizabeth. Come and see it with me. I need you here,’ she said. Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.
‘But, miss …’ said Elizabeth, apparently conscious of her position in the household. ‘What will they all think?’
‘Thinking be damned,’ said Lydia. ‘I am the mistress. I decide who does what. I have decided you need to come and stand by me.’
The girl sidled over and hesitantly stood by her mistress.
‘After all,’ Lydia said, leaning down and speaking quietly into the girl’s ear, ‘you were the one who wore the dress for the sketches.’
‘Miss, it was an honour,’ whispered Elizabeth. She blushed scarlet.
‘Well, I would have done it, but circumstances conspired against me,’ said Lydia. ‘I fear that it would not have looked the same. Ella was always very slender. I am not slender at present. All they could take from me was the hair colour. And I do not think I did a particularly good job of describing her eye colour, but I did my best.’
‘Yes, miss,’ whispered Elizabeth.
‘Now,’ said Lydia, turning back to the young men. ‘I am ready.’
‘As you wish,’ said one of the men. They flipped the covering off the portrait and Lydia caught her breath.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘It is her. It is Ella.’ She reached out her hand and touched the portrait lightly with her fingertips. She traced Ella’s hair, her lips, her cheek. She smiled at her and tilted her head to one side. ‘You are perfect, my darling.’ She took in the dress, the soft folds of fabric, which glowed luminously against the background and finally touched the plain gold wedding band which graced Ella’s finger.
Lydia dashed away a tear and stood up straighter. She turned to the messengers, confident again. ‘It is excellent. Please tell Mr Landseer that I am extremely delighted by it. My brother would have been more than delighted. And now, I believe that I must pay my debts.’
‘The worst part, my lady,’ replied the young man. He winked at Elizabeth. ‘It has to be done, though.’ Elizabeth giggled and Lydia found it rather amusing.
‘Elizabeth, my dear, please would you take these gentlemen downstairs for a cup of tea? I am sure cook will be able to find some cakes for them as well. I need to sign the invoice and I feel rather tired and emotional. You can understand, surely?’ She smiled at the messengers. ‘If you return in perhaps an hour, I may have done it?’
Elizabeth and the young man smiled at each other again. ‘Certainly, miss,’ replied Elizabeth. ‘This way, sir.’ She curtseyed rather prettily, Lydia thought, and headed towards the servants’ quarters.
Lydia took another look at the portrait and turned away, heading towards the study. Always the matchmaker. She opened her eyes wide. It was unmistakably Ella’s voice. Lydia swung around and stared at the picture. For a moment she did nothing; then she slowly lifted her hands. Always, she replied. Yet you and Adam were meant to be together. And it would have happened without me, we both know that. Then she dropped her hands. She could have felt foolish, but she didn’t. She walked slowly to the study and passed the drawing room on her way. She paused by the closed door and presse
d her ear against it. The sound of piano music was drifting through the door. Mozart, of course. Lydia ducked her head and half-smiled. She wouldn’t go inside. Ella was welcome to play as much as she wanted to; she wasn’t going to stop her.
But what she was going to do, and damn anyone who tried to stop her, was head off along the cliffs. She couldn’t ride there, of course, which was utterly dreary, but what she could do was ask one of the stable hands in a very pretty fashion to take her up there in the little phaeton; despite the fact Jacob had banned her from travelling anywhere until the child was born. If poor little Blackie pulled the carriage, they wouldn’t go very fast at all and she would be completely safe, and that way she would feel as if she had Ella with her again.
THE CLIFF PATH
It hadn’t taken long to persuade the young stable hand to do as she bid, and Lydia was now safely ensconced in the carriage, rumbling slowly along the cliff path. Blackie was terribly plodding, which was part of his charm – and probably the reason that Lydia didn’t notice the ruts and the holes in the road as much as she might have done. She did feel, however, rather uncomfortable, squashed into the narrow seat and once again silently blamed Jacob for her current hideous condition.
‘Stop here, please!’ she called as the driver rounded a corner and the vast expanse of the ocean opened out before her, sunlight twinkling off the waves and the water reflecting the deep, cornflower blue of the sky. Ella had loved it here. She had always talked about how free she felt at the coast. At that moment, trapped in her heavy, lumbering body Lydia felt inclined to agree.
The driver did as she bid and drew the carriage to a halt. He dismounted and came over to the side of the phaeton, bowing as he offered Lydia his hand so she could climb out.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Will you wait for me here, please? I will not be long.’
The driver nodded and she set off along the cliff path. Her heart was hammering in her chest, playing a terrifying rhythm, and she wondered afresh what she was doing here. She just wanted to erase those memories of the night of the storm, she decided – she wanted to see the coast in all its beauty and just be with Ella for a little while away from the confines of the Park. Carrick Park was no longer a happy place and Lydia determined once again that, as soon as she realistically could, she would get rid of the accursed house.
A warm breeze was blowing off the sea, which in itself was rather pleasant and unusual. Lydia paused, watching a sailing ship skim across the horizon. The North Sea was not the warmest of places, but the beaches here were sandy and friendly. Lydia disliked the southern beaches. They had been to Sussex on several occasions, taking the air at Hastings, and she smiled as she remembered Ella wrinkling her nose and staring out at the vast carpet of pebbles and stones that lay before them.
‘To think those pebbles might stretch all the way to France,’ she had said. ‘One wonders if the French beaches are just the same as these ones.’
‘We will go and find out one day,’ Lydia had replied, tucking her arm into Ella’s. ‘We shall ask Adam to take us, and if he will not, we shall row across in a boat ourselves.’
Ella had smiled at her, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘Now that will be an interesting experience,’ she had said and they had both laughed at the ridiculous idea.
Lydia thought that it was such a shame the beach here hadn’t been so friendly that awful night in November and she felt her heart twist at the idea. She turned away from the view, saddened again, and walked a little further along the path. She hadn’t been here since it had happened.
She walked for a few minutes more, feeling about as elegant as Blackie had been when he was waddling in front of the carriage – and suddenly she was there. It looked as if a giant had taken a huge bite out of the edge of the cliff and she felt herself grow a little faint. She held onto a branch of a stubby, windswept bush and waited until the ground righted itself; then she let go and carefully lowered herself onto the grass, sitting down and never taking her eyes off the gouge in the cliff.
It was here. Here was where her brother and sister-in-law had seemingly fallen to their deaths. She was surprised the air wasn’t any thicker with menace and the emotions that must surely have gone through their minds as it happened. She didn’t dare linger on the images that presented themselves to her – she didn’t want to try and put the pieces together, to try and work out who had gone first. She hoped that neither of them had suffered; the thought of one of them realising the other was dead, even for a short time was unbearable. She raised a hand and wiped her eyes as the tears started to fall.
What a mess. What an absolute, utter mess. How could she have descended to this? She was married to a man who she now disliked intensely, she hated every minute of being pregnant with a child she didn’t want and she had nobody else to turn to. She was twenty-two years old and she was trapped in a life she would never wish upon anyone. The spoiled darling of Carrick Park was exactly that now; just merely spoilt.
As the tormented thoughts went around and around in her head, she realised that, in her desperation, her fingers had clutched onto something next to her on the ground. She looked down, barely registering the silver foliage and the knobbly flowers at first; then she understood it was sea lavender. Lydia pulled a few of the heads off the cushion of greenery and stared at them, shredding the flowers off the stalks as her mind churned. Lavender. This was one of the gifts Jacob had given to her just after it happened. She had put the spray into her writing slope and hadn’t given it much thought since. She hadn’t realised the stuff grew along these cliffs and she looked up, scanning the area for any more clumps of it. There were none.
As she stared around, she saw again the chunk out of the cliff side and shuddered. Jacob must have known it happened here. That must have been where he had found the riding crop and the lavender and brought her some to—
To do what? To make her feel better? To remind her of what had happened? To remind her callously that he knew where Lydia’s life had ended as well as theirs? She scolded herself for being overly dramatic, but the truth of the matter was that Jacob was as cold towards her as she was towards him. She was definitely third best. And perhaps, a little voice asked her, if she didn’t look so much like Ella in the dark, would it even have gotten to this point?
‘Lydia?’ A female voice interrupted her thoughts and Lydia hurriedly dashed some more tears away before awkwardly twisting around to see who had spoken.
‘Rose!’ she said, surprised. The woman was Lady Scarsdale – one of their closest neighbours and the owner of Sea Scarr Hall, not far from Staithes. Another blade seemed to pierce her heart and twist itself a little more. They had all attended a ball at Sea Scarr, just after Adam and Ella had become engaged.
‘Lydia. I’m so surprised to see you out unattended. I’d heard that you were very unwell after the birth and—’
‘Excuse me?’ Lydia stared at the woman. She struggled to her feet and faced her old friend and sparring partner. She did nothing to hide her condition and went so far as to pull the fabric of her gown closer to her body, revealing more than was generally acceptable for a woman of her station. ‘Do I look like I’ve given birth?’ she demanded. ‘Ask me next month, perhaps, when the child is due.’
She had the satisfaction of seeing Rose colour a bright, splodgy red.
‘Oh, dear. Oh, I am sorry. I must have been mistaken.’
‘Mistaken?’ Lydia drew herself to her full height. ‘And who passed on that information to you, may I ask?’
‘I am so sorry. Please, forgive me. It is my mistake. I thought he had said that was the case. I must have misheard.’ Rose turned, trying to cover her embarrassment and hurry away.
Suddenly, there was a roaring in Lydia’s ears and the answer came out of nowhere. She spoke loudly, but her voice seemed to be coming from very far away and sounded as if it did not belong to her. ‘Did my husband tell
you that?’
Rose paused in her flight. ‘I may have interpreted it that way, Lydia. I cannot say for sure. He said you had childbed fever and you had not recovered that well. I truly thought it to be the reason I had not seen you for so many months.’
‘You have not seen me because I have barely been out of the house,’ said Lydia. ‘My husband has prevented me from going anywhere too public and we do not seem to receive visitors any more.’
‘Lydia! I came to the Park just after the tragedy happened. I was turned away and advised you were unwell. I waited for you to recover and contact me but you never did.’ The woman’s face grew concerned. ‘I have clearly misunderstood the situation. It must not have been your child I saw him with. When I think of it, the little one had strangely coloured eyes and I wondered if all was well when I saw it. It seemed a large child for being delivered so early, as well – he said that was part of the reason you had suffered so badly. I am terribly sorry.’
Rose’s eyes were wide. Lady Scarsdale loved gossip, and Lydia briefly wondered how many other people had heard the same story for Rose would not have hesitated to share the news. So, as far as local society was concerned, she had borne the child too early and was languishing in her confinement. Wonderful. Just wonderful. And that was even before they speculated on the date of her marriage. Well, thank God for the fact they had agreed to pretend they had married in good time for this baby. The only person who knew the truth was the vicar – the witnesses had been passing labourers who agreed to the task upon a handsome payment from Jacob. It had all seemed vaguely fun at the time and Lydia had thought how much Ella would have loved all the secrecy. But it wasn’t fun any more.
‘Well, I have not had the child,’ said Lydia forcibly. ‘I do not know who the child is or the identity of the mother, but as you can clearly see it was not me.’