The Secret of Haversham House

by Julie Matern

  “I must apologize for the interruption …”

  “It is of no consequence,” said her father a little too quickly, crossing the room to embrace his daughter. “We were just discussing some business.” He threw his father a warning look. Curious.

  “But I can come back if this is not a convenient time.” The very air was thick with discomfort.

  “Of course not, child,” he said gently. “What is it you want?”

  “I actually wanted to ask Grandfather a question,” she said. “Grandfather, I was coming to inquire after Mr. Ashbourne. He was so polite and gentlemanly last evening, and I find I know very little of him. And then he left in such a mysterious fashion. I understand he is the grandson of friends of yours?” She raised her delicate brows in a query that was so touching that it melted her father’s heart. Her grandfather’s smile was less innocent.

  “That is correct. His grandfather was a close friend of mine, though he died many years ago, and your grandmother is a friend of his grandmother. He is of marriageable age, and so we did propose that he attend your coming out ball. His father was not opposed to the idea. His family goes back to the time of Henry the VIII, and they own most of Shropshire, I believe. They are fine stock, my dear. And he will inherit his father’s title. Eminently suitable.”

  Francesca could not account for why her grandfather’s answer left her feeling unsatisfied, but there was no doubt that it did. Her father’s forehead clouded, his lips set in a firm line.

  Lord Haversham was a man of few emotions. Therefore, she wisely decided that since he had given her all the information he was likely to, she would take her leave. Perhaps Grandmama would know more. She kissed them both and left the room, wondering what could have led to such an intense discussion between father and son.

  T

  After tea, one of the maids announced the arrival of Phillip Waverley. Bella clapped her hands together in delight but Francesca experienced a sense of irritation. She tried to push the feeling away and arrange her features into a welcoming smile as he approached them both and kissed their outstretched hands.

  “Wasn’t it a wonderful ball, Phillip?” gushed Bella.

  “Why yes, yes it was!” he agreed enthusiastically and looked eagerly into Francesca’s face to see a confirmation.

  “I never had such a wonderful time!” she replied truthfully.

  “You seemed to dance with most every young man in the room,” he laughed, “I expect you are frightfully tired today after all that exertion!”

  “Yes, I am rather,” she replied. “Though it was such a delightful evening that I wasn’t at all sleepy until the last guests had left and Mary was helping me to get ready for bed. As soon as my head touched the pillow I was asleep and I didn’t wake up until, well, until Bella woke me up.” And she gave her cousin a dramatically petulant look.

  “Phillip, did you meet anyone that you particularly liked?” asked Annabelle.

  Phillip ducked his head quickly and coughed before answering.

  “The room was full of pleasant girls bursting with youthful beauty. For a young man, it was a veritable paradise. And what about the two of you?”

  “Bella dear is in love already!” exclaimed Francesca, and Annabelle opened her eyes wide and clasped her hands to her chest.

  “It is true!” she admitted. “I met a Mr. Doyle who was utterly charming and made me feel as if I were the most beautiful girl in the room, which, of course, is poppycock, but it was so nice to hear it! Do you know him, Phillip?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I was up at Oxford with him, and he invited me to spend time at his family’s home in Surrey one year. He is an excellent chap and quite brilliant. Made me feel a bit of a dunce. He is the second son and has taken up the law. He was a year ahead of me and is gaining quite a good reputation for one who is still quite young.”

  “But what is he like? Do you think he is a flatterer in general, or was he sincere?”

  Phillip leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. “He is the genuine article, Annabelle. He was never anything but kind to everyone and was a favorite with the masters at Oxford. He was even courteous to the servants and the porters, truth be told, and I have never heard him be cross at all, now that I think about it. We spent quite a bit of time together in his last year at college and though he complimented everyone, I think you can be certain that he is not a flatterer and that he must, therefore, genuinely have a very high regard for you. In fact, I must disclose that we spent some time together last evening in conversation and he mentioned you to me as a very interesting and beautiful woman.”

  “Oh, he did not!”

  “Annabelle, have you ever known me to tell a lie?” asked Phillip.

  “Well no … oh, it is too exciting! I am going directly to have my father ask him to our picnic. Might you be able to join us, Phillip? Then there will be someone he is already acquainted with in attendance. Oh, say you will!”

  “I can think of nothing I would rather do!”

  He turned slightly in the chair to face Francesca and pet her dog. “What about you? Did you meet anyone who put a light in your step?”

  “I did have the most marvelous evening, and I danced with so many charming young men. But there was one young man who did stand out above the others, I believe.”

  She paused and Phillip moved to the edge of the chair and gave her such a look, part encouragement, part desperation.

  “He arrived late and left early and is an acquaintance of my grandparents. His name is Mr. Langley Ashbourne. Do you know of him, Phillip?”

  Phillip tried to hide the disappointment he felt and replied in an even tone that he did not know the gentleman in question.

  “Grandfather … well, you know how he is. He gave little evidence of his character, and Grandmama only knew his grandmother. Katherine keeps insisting that she does not know him well, though they met in Bath last year. I am quite at a loss.”

  “Did you not say that he mentioned my cousin William as an acquaintance?” Annabelle reminded her. “Can you not write to him?”

  “It does not seem quite proper, though I would dearly love to.”

  “Then let me take on the task,” said Phillip, impulsively. “I know your cousin William, and perhaps I can find others who are more acquainted with him and bring you back a report.”

  Francesca looked up and pierced him with her chocolate eyes. His heart skittered.

  “Oh, would you?” she said passionately. “Phillip, I would be ever so grateful.”

  At that moment, her mother and grandmother entered the room, and the subject, not being considered quite appropriate, was changed quickly to talk of the weather and the food at the ball.

  After the mandatory fifteen minutes of polite conversation, Phillip excused himself with a heavy heart and cursed himself for offering to help the opposition.

  T

  The following day, Francesca and Annabelle walked into the village of Riverton St. Mary in search of ribbon for their summer hats. Bella was still twittering about Mr. Doyle and the fact that she had been able to persuade her father to send him an invitation to the picnic. Francesca was more taciturn, but Bella’s exuberance meant that she did not notice.

  Having found the perfect ribbons, they wandered along the streets in the pleasant, warming sunshine and came upon the very inn where Mr. Ashbourne had been said to be staying.

  Francesca slapped her gloved hand to her mouth and looked pointedly at the inn’s hanging sign. Bella, who had not been paying attention to anything other than her speculations on Mr. Doyle, stopped with a quizzical look on her face, then following her cousin’s gaze, looked up. The connection dawned upon her, and she looked back at Francesca.

  “Dearest, I do not think it would be quite proper for us to go into such an establishment unaccompanied. It is rather more of an ale house than a tea house.”

  “Of course, you are right. It was just such a happy coincidence and I entertained the idea that we might bump into h
im as he exited, if he is still here, of course.”

  They lingered on the road for as long as they dared and, disappointed, continued on their walk. Francesca could not resist a glance back over her shoulder before they crossed the bridge to go home and was just in time to see her cousin Katherine exiting the inn. She gasped which caused Annabelle to turn around but there was no one there by that time and indeed, Francesca wondered if her mind was not playing tricks on her. Why would a young woman of high birth risk being seen alone in an inn? She would surely lose her character. She must have been mistaken.

  Upon their arrival home, they greeted Francesca’s mother, Emily, and Annabelle’s mother, who were working on their needlepoint. They showed their mothers the pretty ribbons they had bought in the village and discussed the weather and the people they had seen, as well-bred English people are wont to do.

  As they were leaving Mrs. Haversham’s sitting room, they heard the front door open and, looking over the banister, witnessed the entrance of Katherine. Francesca was seized with a sudden longing to know the truth of the matter and bounced down the stairs at a precipitous pace, leaving Annabelle at the top staring down in astonishment.

  “Katherine,” gasped Francesca. “Have you been out for a walk to the village? We have just returned. You should have told us and we could have gone together.”

  Her sudden presence had startled Katherine, who put her hand to her chest and looked up to see Annabelle looking down. She paused just long enough to gather her thoughts and look Francesca square in the eye. “No, I have just been walking in the meadows of the estate. It is such a fine day.” She turned her shoulder to indicate that she wanted to pass by Francesca to go up the stairs to her room. However, Francesca was not done with her probing yet.

  “In truth, then you must have a twin, for I could swear that we just saw you in the village!” Francesca clapped her hands together and kept her eyes on her cousin’s face.

  “I must, indeed, have a twin then,” Katherine said cautiously. “For I have not been into the village today. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and lay down as I rather feel a headache coming on.”

  Francesca watched her ascend the stairs with ever more questions whirling in her head. Katherine’s manner had seemed defensive, and if she were innocent, why would that be necessary? On the other hand, it was so unlikely that Katherine would have compromised herself that Francesca decided to let the matter rest for the moment.

  Five

  UV

  ITALY

  The estate manager, Mario, squinted in concentration. “Eighteen years ago, you say? Signore, you know I was a mere laborer back then.”

  Giorgio plucked at the corner of his waistcoat, wretched in anticipation. “Yes, yes I know. But do you remember anything from that time? My daughter may have taken a voyage of some sort …”

  “Would that have been the summer of the hundred-year drought, Signore?”

  Giorgio frowned, thinking, then said, “Yes! Yes, it was!”

  “I remember very well that you were anxious that the crop not perish. You hired every man in the surrounding villages to bring water from the river to moisten the vines. We worked tirelessly to keep the vines from dying, and in the evenings the village laborers celebrated their good fortune. Oh yes, I remember it now.”

  “But Isabella, do you recall if she left at that time?”

  “I do not, Signore, but Maria the cook was here then. Let us bring her here and ask.”

  With a flick of his head, Giorgio agreed, and Mario hurried down to the kitchens.

  A rotund, hunched old woman entered the room, anxious about being hauled upstairs.

  “Maria, you need have no fear,” began Giorgio. “Do you remember my daughter as a young woman?”

  The old cook’s shoulders relaxed, and she looked up into the face of her employer. “Oh, to be sure, Signore. Such a beautiful girl, the beauty of all of Florence!”

  “Yes, yes!” He sensed that his tone was impatient and mustered all his energy into rendering his voice as gentle and calm as possible. “I need to know if you remember the year my daughter returned from school. Do you recall whether she left on a journey that same year?”

  The old woman lifted her eyes to the ceiling and pursed her lips in concentration.

  “It was the year of the hundred-year drought,” added the estate manager, helpfully.

  “Was it? Let me think,” she croaked. Giorgio held onto his fists tightly so that he would not drum his fingers on the desk. Waiting was an agony.

  “I believe that was the year that a stable boy left without notice and the milking cow ran a fever and we could not get good milk to make cream. The whole kitchen was in an uproar as there was an important dinner to be held. We had to get our cream from afar that year and—”

  “Yes, but did my daughter go away?”

  He was failing this test of patience, and the look of distress reappeared in the lines of the old woman’s face.

  “I am sorry, forgive my impatience,” he said softly. “But it is of vital importance that I know where my daughter made a journey to that year.”

  The look of concentration reappeared, but then her brow smoothed and her eyes lit up and Giorgio knew hope.

  “Yes, yes!” she exclaimed. “You were so busy with the vines, and she told me that since she was not needed she was going to visit southern France with her maid. She said she was old enough to travel and had always wanted to see that part of the world. She told me because it meant that I did not have to provide her meals for a few months, and what with the problem with the dairy cow, it was a relief. Do you not remember it, Signore?”

  France. Giorgio cast back in his mind, grasping at whispers of memories. He remembered the drought and the manpower he had hired in an effort to save his crops. They had worked night after night, day after day to water the vines and keep the grapes fleshy. His daughter had returned from finishing school, and though he had been happy to have her home, he had been consumed with the vines and the drought that had pushed him to the brink of financial ruin. He shook his head slowly. He had ignored his own daughter, neglected her, and it had forced her to find attention in another quarter. His regret was bitter indeed.

  “What was the name of her maid, Maria?” he said gently. “Do you remember her? Does she still live?”

  “She does! She lives with her sister in Sandicci. But she is very old, Signore, and I have heard that her mind has gone.”

  T

  The door of the tiny villa opened, and a white-haired woman wrapped in a shawl appeared. On seeing a gentleman, she dropped a curtsy. “What can a humble old milkmaid do for you, Signore?”

  “I believe that your sister lives here with you? Luciana?”

  “Yes, but what business can you have with her?” She closed the door and stood in front of it with arms crossed and leveled her gaze directly into Giorgio’s eyes.

  “She was my daughter Isabella’s maid for many years, and my daughter has recently died. There is information your sister may have that is of the greatest import to me. Do you think she will give me an audience?”

  The woman unfolded her arms and softened her gaze, her defensive demeanor relaxing.

  “I am sorry that your daughter has died. She must have been young. Such a shame when the young are taken. It is true that my sister was a lady’s maid, but I must warn you, Signore, her memory fails her. Sometimes she is here with us, and other times …” She flicked her hand toward the sky. “I will see if she is with us today. Please come inside my humble home and out of the blazing sun.”

  Giorgio told his driver to wait and entered the tiny dwelling. His nose was assaulted by the smell of urine and damp dog. As his eyes adjusted from the brightness outside, a tiny woman sitting in a rocking chair materialized. He looked hard to see if he recognized her at all, but she was silver haired, bent, and fragile and bore little resemblance to the woman who had lived under his roof almost two decades before. He now recalled that she had left their em
ploy to take care of her ailing mother when Isabella had married.

  “Luciana, here is someone to see you.” The woman in the chair looked up at her sister, but her eyes were unfocused.

  “Luciana, this is Isabella’s father. He has come to ask you some questions, dear.”

  At the name Isabella, the dim eyes wandered back from the distance and locked onto her sister’s. The sister turned to Giorgio and Luciana’s eyes followed. There was no recognition in them, but in a faint, strained voice, she wheezed, “Ah, you knew Isabella? She was a beauty and no mistaking. She used to have such a temper as a teenager. I would try and dress her hair and she would give me a difficult time! But then she could be so sweet and gentle. Oh, how I miss her …” The voice faltered and stopped.

  “I wonder, do you remember the summer you and Isabella went to France?” Giorgio encouraged her.

  The woman slowly turned her head and looked directly into Giorgio’s eyes. Hers were shadowed by cataracts and any color had long since faded away. She blinked and slowly put her finger to her lips.

  “France … it is a secret.”

  Giorgio’s heart rate quickened. “What is the secret?” he asked.

  “It is a secret. Shh! We must not tell Papa.”

  Giorgio shot a look at the sister pleading for her help.

  “Sister dear, it is no longer a secret. Come, tell us what happened. This man is a friend, and he needs to hear the story. Can you tell it?” The invalid shook her head and rocked the chair back and forth, slowly. “No. I made a promise. She made me promise. I cannot disappoint her. She was so lovely …”

  Fearing that her vulnerable mind was wandering, Giorgio pressed on. “Isabella told me to tell you that you have fulfilled your promise and that she has given permission for you to speak of it.”

  “Ah, dearest Isabella. She was such a beauty …”

  “Yes, we know that, dear. Now tell the gentleman about the journey.”

  “No, it is a secret.” The elderly woman closed her eyes and began to hum, a smile creeping onto her lips as she rocked in the chair.