A Place of Secrets

by Rachel Hore

“Mum,” she said, trying to broaden out the conversation, “you’ll be amazed but Euan lives in the house where Gran was brought up.”

  “Gamekeeper’s Cottage? Why, we passed that just now, didn’t we, Doug? And I wanted to stop and look because Claire had said it was being done up, but Doug said we ought to get on.”

  “We’d already stopped once, Val.”

  “Where did you stop, Mum?” Jude leaped in to ask.

  Valerie glanced at Claire as she said, “I wanted to see the folly.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew the folly,” Chantal said, coming over with a tray of wine and snacks.

  “Oh I know it all right,” Valerie said. She met Chantal’s eye with raised eyebrows and Chantal looked puzzled.

  “I did tell her we were probably trespassing, didn’t I, old girl?” Doug put in gently, as he passed drinks round.

  “It is not our land you were trespassing on,” Chantal said. “I’m sad to say it belongs to someone else now.”

  Claire chipped in, “Why the change of heart, Mum? You didn’t want to go there last time.”

  “I didn’t have the courage. But ever since, I’ve been thinking about it, and when we came past just now, I got this funny feeling that we had to stop and see where it happened.”

  “Where what happened, Mum?” asked Jude.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Chantal said in a low voice, clutching the empty tray. “You were at the inquest. I didn’t recognize you till now.”

  Valerie looked about the room. Gran was petting Miffy. Euan, Frank, Jon and Robert had gone to stroll around the grounds. She twisted her glass nervously. “I never told Claire and Jude about it,” she said. “It was too awful.” She took a large sip of her wine and gazed distractedly around the room.

  “Mum?” Jude said, seeing tears in her eyes.

  “Sorry, dear, I’m a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “Perhaps we should be going,” Douglas said, looking with concern from Valerie’s anxious face to Chantal’s pale one.

  Claire broke in crossly, “No, Douglas. Mum, you can’t say that something awful happened, then go off without telling us what. Do you think we’re going to get a wink of sleep all night wondering what it is? Well, we’re not. You’re so selfish.”

  Douglas opened his mouth, then closed it again when Valerie said petulantly, “Oh I suppose you’re right. I need to sit down though.”

  It occurred to Jude, as they all settled themselves, faithful Doug next to Valerie, that her mother was on some level enjoying all this attention. But she forgot this uncharitable thought as soon as Valerie began her story because she realized instantly that it was part of the bigger story, the one their family had all become caught up in.

  “When I was very young,” Valerie said, “I was a bit wild, wasn’t I, Mother?”

  “You were certainly that.” Gran had been listening quietly. She knew this story already, Jude guessed, startled.

  “But we had so much fun. It happened when I was twenty. One July it was the birthday of someone in our crowd, a boy called Ian. Hayes, I think his other name was. I haven’t seen him since. He found the most marvelous place for a party. An old deserted folly, he said, and the really good thing was, the owners were away. And he organized it—music and booze and so on—and I came with this lovely boy I was seeing at the time. I’d got very fond of him in fact. His name was Marty.” She paused, a sad, faraway expression in her eyes.

  Marty, Jude remembered. The name on the bench in the village. The boy who died.

  “Mum,” Claire said impatiently, “do go on.”

  “After the pubs closed we all drove up in the darkness and it felt like the middle of nowhere, really quite spooky, and we left the cars down this lane and followed a line of lights Ian had laid through the woods. It was a bit mad, us girls in our silly shoes and short skirts and Marty carrying this crate of beer. Ian had got a big bonfire going, and there was this tower thing—really romantic, but, as I said, very spooky, too. So we did all the usual things you do at parties and, of course, a few naughty things went on—”

  “The doctor at the inquest said most of you had been smoking cannabis,” Chantal interrupted, her tone clipped and icy.

  “Yes, well,” Valerie flicked her wrist dismissively. “What else did you expect?”

  “It was a factor when his family tried to sue us,” Chantal told everyone.

  “That whole business wasn’t anything to do with me.” Valerie tried to pull the hem of her skirt down over her chubby knees but it wouldn’t quite reach.

  “Mum,” pleaded Claire, “do go on.”

  “I forget how much time passed before Marty suggested we go up the tower. Ian said it was locked, but Marty could never be told anything and someone had a tool kit with them in the car and they got the door open. About half a dozen of us went up—I didn’t want to but Marty did, so I went too, and Ian and some others. It was a long way up and we were all a bit squiffy and giggly and the girls kept squealing, then we reached that little room and everyone crowded in. Marty thought it was amazing, but we girls didn’t like it and wanted to go down. All I can say is the place didn’t feel good, as if we’d disturbed it with all our racket. The other girls and one of the boys went down, but Marty shone his flashlight about and saw there was a ladder up to a kind of hatch door in the ceiling. Ian held the ladder and up Marty went. He opened the door and hauled himself through and … that was the last time I saw him alive.” She stopped, her manicured hand covering her mouth.

  Chantal said in a low voice, “He fell, didn’t he? That’s what they said. He shouldn’t have gone up there, especially the state he was in. He went too close to the edge and lost his balance.”

  “He fell,” Valerie said, facing Chantal with a stubborn glare. “But we don’t know why. They wouldn’t listen to what Ian said at the inquest. Ian climbed the ladder, too, he said, just in time to see Marty with a surprised expression on his face. He wasn’t looking at Ian, but at something Ian himself couldn’t see because the trapdoor was up in the way. Marty stepped backward and lost his balance and tipped over the parapet. I heard him scream all the way down. Oh, I’ll never forget that scream. I tried to get up the ladder after them, but Ian was scrambling back down and we could hear a terrible din of people down below so we rushed off down the stairs. Near the bottom I missed my footing and flew through the air. After that I knew nothing till I woke up in the hospital the next day, my head covered in bandages and a terrible ache in my insides.”

  “It was dreadful, simply dreadful,” Gran said. “And we hadn’t even met this boy. We didn’t know about him. Her father was beside himself, but I told him, at least she’s all right. Maybe it’ll be a lesson to her.”

  “But some people said it was our fault,” Chantal said, visibly upset. “That’s what’s difficult. Of course, I can understand the family … so grief-stricken. But demanding we knock down the folly and pay them reparation. That was unreasonable. Fortunately, the judge agreed. My husband was very generous to pay costs.”

  “Are you all right, darling?” Douglas was stroking his wife’s hand.

  Valerie nodded. “All that had nothing to do with me,” she said, then pressed her lips together. “And it wouldn’t bring Marty back.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment. How sharp emotions were still, nearly forty years after this tragedy. Jude wondered why her mother had never mentioned it before, such a significant event in her life.

  “What do you think happened on the top of the tower, Mum?” Claire asked.

  “Marty and Ian had certainly been drinking, I can’t argue with that—and smoking stuff, too. I didn’t like those joint things—they made me feel sick—so I remember everything quite clearly. The room in the tower had an odd atmosphere, I can tell you that. I don’t know what to make of Ian’s version. Marty could have just lost his balance and fallen. Ian couldn’t have pushed him or anything; he hadn’t left the ladder. But as to Mart
y seeing something that surprised or frightened him, I still don’t know that I believe that. I felt sorry for Ian, though—the coroner didn’t seem interested at all.

  “I left home a few months afterward, moved to London and found a job as a secretary. Soon after that I met your father. I kept all that a secret from him, I’m afraid. I suppose I thought he might be put off me. He was so … decent and straight, wasn’t he, your dad? After we were married it became harder to bring it up. Especially since … Well, it’s something I never told anyone except Marty. Your Gran knew, of course, the hospital made sure of that. I was pregnant at the time of the accident. Three months, they said it was. I lost Marty’s baby.”

  There was a shocked silence after this. Finally Jude muttered, “Mum, that’s awful.”

  “Awful,” echoed Claire, then asked their mother in her direct way, “Was Marty pleased that you were pregnant?”

  “He wasn’t,” their mother admitted. “But he was getting used to the idea. I like to think we might have come through it together.”

  Jude glanced at Douglas, but he didn’t seem in the least bit piqued by his wife’s dreams of a long-ago lover. Of course, he’d have his own stories of romance—even Douglas and his tortoises and his golf clubs. Other men wouldn’t be so rational; they would react with automatic jealousy. Lucky Mum. Jude was becoming more and more impressed by her new stepfather.

  “That makes me feel funny,” Claire whispered. Perhaps she and Jude wouldn’t ever have been born if Marty hadn’t died.

  She noticed that Gran was beginning to doze off. Chantal tactfully withdrew, murmuring something about feeding the dogs. Only Douglas still listened quietly to Valerie, Claire and Jude untangle the snare of past misunderstandings.

  “I was very frightened when I found you were on the way,” Valerie told Claire. “It brought back all the memories, you see, and I couldn’t tell your father, it was too late for that. I was scared of wanting you too much—in case it all went wrong again—and then when you were born, and with your poor leg, well, I got this idea it was my punishment for having gone wrong the previous time and I was so upset. There was so much anxiety for me…”

  “… you forgot there was a little baby that needed cuddling and loving,” Claire said, heavily.

  “I suppose that’s it,” Valerie said. “But you were a very irritable little baby. You wouldn’t suck, then you got colic. And the teething was simply dreadful. I never knew a child could have so many teeth.” She picked up her handbag and took out a tissue to wipe her eyes. The prim way she sat with the bag on her lap was like one of those brave women in the 1940s films who, after tragedy and disappointment, permed their hair, put on another layer of lipstick and got on with their lives. Keep up appearances. That was Valerie and she wasn’t going to change now. Jude felt a little rush of love for her. Valerie was brave in her own way. “You have to make the best of things,” she’d always said.

  To everyone’s surprise, Claire started to laugh. It started off as a bitter laugh, but then it gained pace and volume and became a laugh of relief, and then simply uncontrollable giggles. Jude caught it next, then Valerie. Only Douglas sat, a little bemused, but smiling to show willing.

  “Oh dear, I’m sorry,” Claire said, wiping away tears. “It’s not really funny, is it? I’m sure if I hadn’t had Summer and didn’t know what it all felt like, I’d probably have stormed out of the room in a rage by now.”

  “You were always good at storming out,” Valerie said. “I never knew such a cross child. I had simply no idea what to do with you. Your father was so much better at it all so I left it to him. But look at you now—so beautiful and with a wonderful daughter of your own. I’m so proud of you, I really am. But I can’t take any of the credit for it.” And she started laughing again. “I’m sorry, Douglas, you must think we’ve gone mad. Jude, darling, I’m so sorry, I don’t mean you to feel left out.”

  But Jude, who had never doubted her mother’s love, merely said, “I don’t. Honestly. But we’d better smarten ourselves up quickly. I can hear the men coming back!”

  Summer opened the door and ran into the room. Then came Robert and Frank with the twins, Max carrying a football, then Jon and Euan, in a deep discussion about something that broke off when they saw the women all pink-faced and flustered. Gran woke up with a start.

  “Is everything all right?” Euan asked.

  “Oh yes,” said Claire, and she started giggling again.

  “We’ll blame the wine,” Jude said, trying not to follow suit.

  Douglas rose to his feet and said, “You’ve had a good turn about the grounds, I hope?”

  “Oh yes, we’ve been discussing estate management,” said Robert. “And playing penalties, of course. No, not in here, Max.” He rescued the football and stowed it in an empty coal scuttle.

  “It’s getting dark already,” Euan said.

  Robert moved to switch on the lamps, but Summer broke in, “No, Euan promised.”

  He looked quizzically at Euan.

  “Oh, yes, I did,” said Euan. “Robert, I wonder if you have a lantern. One with a candle, maybe.”

  “Alexia might know,” he said. “Or my mother.”

  He left the room and returned shortly with both women, Alexia carrying a covered candle holder and a box of matches. “We used this for that wonderful carol singing, remember?” she asked her husband.

  Chantal drew the curtains so the room lay in semidarkness. Euan lit the candle and took it over to the orrery, where he placed it in the center of the sphere.

  “Gather round, everyone,” he said in a melodramatic voice, and they all arranged themselves where they could see. Only Gran stayed in her chair, insisting she could see well enough from where she was.

  “This candle is the sun. Stand here, Georgie, you’ll see better. Now you can imagine the six planets—this is the orbit for Mercury here, this is Mars, Earth, Venus and Jupiter, Saturn.” He touched each wooden band of the orrery as he spoke. “All going around the sun. You can see where the light falls on each one, and which part would be in darkness.”

  Jude glanced around at everyone’s faces, half lit by the flickering candle, all intent on what Euan was showing them. It was wonderful to see this group of people together—her family, gradually sorting themselves out after the revelation of so many secrets.

  In a flash she’d been made to see her mother in an entirely different light. Not just as the selfish, rather worldly woman who found mothering a nerve-racking, puzzling business and abrogated responsibility first to one husband and now to another, but a rather more vulnerable figure who had never properly found herself after an early tragedy. Jude remembered how Valerie was brought low after Dad’s death, when she and Claire had been forced to mother their own mother. The unexpected bereavement must have split open again the wound made by Marty’s death. And the loss of the child, too, would have had long-term effects.

  She watched Jon and Frank, who, if Jon’s solicitousness of Summer and Claire was anything to go by, were quickly becoming family, too. Then there were her new friends at Starbrough Hall. It was profoundly sad to her that this orrery and the other instruments and all the books would soon be packed up in boxes and dispatched to her office in London—sad, and yet the Wickhams were pleased with her. She’d done a professional job. She should be pleased with herself: this would be a successful sale for Beecham’s—she felt it in her bones. It was no good being sentimental.

  And now she peeped up at Euan, his face shadowed and gypsylike in the candlelight, his eyes glittering midnight blue, with all the charisma of a magician, showing them the wonders of the universe with a flourish as of an invisible cape. She could hardly take her eyes off him, and then he looked back at her and his eyes crinkled in a smile that was like a secret between them. She narrowed her eyes in return and felt a prickle of energy pass through her whole body. Mark’s face drifted into her mind, but it was mistier than before; she could hardly remember his features and she let the image float away.
But the realization bothered her slightly. She didn’t want to make the same mistake with Euan that she had with Caspar. Euan was very special. It wouldn’t do to hurt him any more than he’d been hurt already. She was hardly listening to the lecture now, but instead quietly peeled away from the group and went to sit by Gran.

  “It’s been a very wonderful day,” Jessie told her, patting her hand. “That boy, Frank’s son, he’s a good boy, I can see that. Do you think it’s wrong to hope … for Claire, I mean?”

  “Not wrong at all, Gran. But no one has ever been able to tell Claire what to do. Let’s hope he can lure her.” Like a moth to a light, or tickling a trout, she thought, thinking they were the sort of metaphors Euan might use.

  “And what made your mother come out with all that just now, I don’t know. I always thought these things were best forgotten. You should get on with your life. Though … well, this business with Tamsin. I feel better about it now, you know. The thought of it was always like a hard knot here, inside me, but now it’s easier. Perhaps Valerie will feel the same in time.”

  Jude squeezed Gran’s hand in agreement. Then she remembered something and said, “Gran, did you ever have strange dreams when you were little? I mean about running through a forest?”

  Gran shook her head. “No.”

  “Has anyone else in our family? I mean, going back in time. Your mother, for instance.”

  “She never said anything that I can remember.”

  “So I was the first.” Why? Why did Esther’s story come out now, two centuries after her death, whenever that had been exactly?

  * * *

  It came to her later that night, as she lay in her bed upstairs, thinking about everything that had happened that momentous day. Tamsin’s death. She’d died when Jude must have been five or six, and that’s when the dreams had started. It seemed a ridiculous coincidence, but it was an hypothesis to work on. Running through the forest crying for her mother. Tamsin and Jessie had had to run from the soldiers. Summer had been lost, though not, she thought, unduly upset by the fact. Someone, a girl, had been there to protect her, to stop her from being frightened. Everyone assumed it was a real girl, but maybe it wasn’t? Esther, Rowan, Tamsin, and other unknown little girls who’d run through the forest, all shadows. She’d probably never know.