Emeralds & Ashes

by Leila Rasheed

  “Mr. Kearney, what a relief—I mean, what a pleasure,” she said when they were introduced. She did not fail to notice Ada’s heightened color when she introduced him, or the way he looked at her sister.

  “I am honored to make your acquaintance,” he said to Georgiana. Looking around at the assembled people, he said, “Shall we get straight to business? I expect you have guessed that I come with news.”

  “You have found the new earl?” Georgiana said. He held a leather folder; she could see parchment inside it.

  “Exactly right.” He opened the folder, and passed it first to the countess, who examined the document, then passed it to Ada. When it reached Georgiana, she recognized the parchment in a second. It was the Averley family tree. A name was highlighted: Francis Wyndham.

  Mr. Kearney was speaking. “You will remember that the title passes back to the descendants of the previous earl—your grandfather, Lady Ada. William was the only male heir of that line, and on his death and the end of his line in Augustus, it passes back once more, to descendants of your great-grandfather.”

  Georgiana shivered suddenly; she had never really thought of this title, like a living, immortal thing, swimming up and down bloodlines until it found its host. Perhaps it is more alive than we are, she thought. Longer-lived, certainly.

  Kearney was still talking, his finger tracing the soft parchment, as he described the way the title had met dead ends and then new branches. “…and so Mr. Francis Wyndham is the new Earl of Westlake.”

  “But who is he?” said the countess. She was sitting forward, suddenly attentive. Mr. Kearney turned to her. “What kind of man is he?”

  “Certainly a gentleman, your ladyship, and seemingly one of means. He has a large estate, Sandbourne, near Southampton. He has a staff officer post that keeps him in London.”

  “Married?”

  “No, he is a young man.”

  “And his character?” asked Ada. “I hope he is not another William.”

  “I have heard nothing against him—although you must understand a week is not a long time in which to find out all a man’s secrets.”

  “We must have him here,” said the countess with sudden strength. “We must welcome him to Somerton and accept him as us. As the earl, he will no doubt want to be acquainted with the family and people of his estate.”

  “But it is not his estate,” said Ada sharply. “It is to go to the firstborn grandson, we know that.”

  “Yes, of course. But nonetheless.” She raised herself from her chair. “I shall write to Charlotte.” She swept from the room.

  Georgiana exchanged a glance of amused, embarrassed horror with Ada; for an instant it was as if there were no gulf between them. Mr. Kearney looked puzzled. Michael came to the rescue—Georgiana had begun to expect it of him—and quickly engaged him in talk about hunting.

  “I want to thank you so much for your help, Mr. Kearney,” Ada said. She had come down to say good-bye to him. Now she found herself inexplicably tongue-tied.

  “It has been a pleasure to help a friend.” He smiled, and she saw that he looked tired. “And a welcome distraction.”

  “I hope that things are not too difficult for you at the moment.”

  “They are not pleasant, certainly. I had a very difficult meeting with the dean and I expect to have more. They would like to have me pushed out of my post, but I won’t let that happen. They are acting on suspicion and prejudice. I never allow those to win.”

  His chin jutted as he spoke. Ada sensed a powerful determination in him.

  “But let us change the subject to something more pleasant. Yours is a beautiful estate,” Connor said, turning to look out at the view. “What a charming view; one really feels at peace here.”

  “Of course, you have never visited Somerton before!” Ada exclaimed. “It seems hardly possible.”

  “Quite possible, I’m afraid. Your father would not have approved of me, I fear.”

  “Oh, I am sure—”

  “I don’t doubt he’d have made me welcome, but we would never have seen eye to eye on anything.” He laughed.

  Ada smiled. She knew that he would have been able to stand up to her father—more than that, to meet him on his own level. Connor, she had come to realize, did not think of himself as anyone’s inferior, social or otherwise. Nor did he feel the need to justify himself, or to earn anyone’s respect. It was an attractive trait.

  “Well, good-bye.” She held out her hand. He touched the tip of her fingers, then hesitated. He said, with an obvious attempt at being casual, “By the way, as I said previously, Captain Wyndham is not married.”

  “You did mention it.” Ada was not sure what comment she was supposed to make to this.

  “If I were to give you advice—not legal advice, but solid, worldly-wise advice—I might suggest it would be a good idea to marry him.”

  Ada’s eyes opened wide and she looked at him. He went on, bluntly. “I know the title means a lot to you, and you would be a logical match.” He hesitated. “And of course, having given up your fortune to Sir William, you must make provision for yourself. I would be, er, concerned if you were to find yourself without protection.…”

  Ada looked away, pressing back a smile. My goodness, he is in love with me, she thought. She was shocked to realize it—and equally shocked to realize that she did not mind a bit. In fact, she found herself rather thrilled by the idea. The man she had looked up to for his intellect, his courage, his skill in debate, was blundering in his speech, all because he desired her, and it confused him. It was both surprising and exhilarating to find that she had such power.

  “I don’t intend to marry anyone,” she said quietly, stepping toward him so that there was no chance of Thomas overhearing at all. “Marriage is not for me, not now, at least. It closes more doors than it opens, loads women with golden chains. But”—she smiled, aware for the first time of how he looked at her, and lowered her voice so that it was clearly for his ears only—“there are plenty of possibilities in life apart from marriage.”

  He stared at her in amazement and then smiled.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Lady Ada,” he said quietly.

  France

  The light was the first thing he became aware of. The light, and the pain.

  It was a dull, sore ache, deep in his eyes. His eyes were closed.…no, they were not closed, because when he tried to open them, the light—pale, creamy, and pink-tinged as sunlight through a magnolia petal—did not change to images.

  He was so deeply tired that it did not seem to matter, at first, that he could not see. He could hear birdsong, a blackbird, perhaps, trilling up and down with almost unbearable sweetness. There was a gentle breeze, warm sun. Distantly, he heard a regular squeak, like a gate that needed oiling. Shadows moving against the light were like boughs of a tree. As all this became clear, he found himself anxious to see where he was.

  He lifted his hands to his eyes and felt bandages. His throat was dry, so dry that when he tried to speak he could not. After trying for what felt like a long time, he managed a croak.

  The light changed. A shadow leaned over him. A soft female voice said, “Are you awake? I will bring you some water.”

  A moment later, he felt strong, gentle hands helping him sit up. Water touched his lips and ran down into his throat. It was like an explosion, more painful than delicious. He could only manage a few sips.

  “Don’t rush; take it slowly,” the woman said. She had the kind of voice he had not heard for a long time: well-bred, delicate, charming. She reminded him of days before the war.

  Perhaps this is heaven, he thought. What else could heaven be, really, but the past? At least it was not hell. That was the trenches.

  But surely it could not be heaven, or he would not feel such eagerness to know where he was. Heaven was an end of everything—no more striving. Just contentment. It had never appealed.

  He reached out, using all his strength, until he found her arm. The soft flesh, t
he downy hair—all this told him he was alive.

  “Where am I?” he managed.

  “This is the CCS at Remy Farm—the casualty clearing station.”

  “Remy Farm!” He hadn’t hoped for luck like this. “The others—Joe—”

  “I’m afraid your battalion was pretty badly hit.”

  He read the unspoken, understated message. He remembered his last sight of Joe—stretched, choking, on the ground. His eyes involuntarily closed as if to physically shut out the memory. The light fluttered, darkened, lightened.

  “Please take the bandages off now,” he said, remembering them. “I want to see where I am.”

  The nurse did not reply. Sebastian was still holding her wrist. He felt her pulse, fluttering like a trapped butterfly. He could hear her breathing, soft and gentle. He felt something—some unspoken message, in the catch of her breath, in her trembling pulse. The silence seemed to last forever, but really he was pushing away the knowledge, trying to fend off the future that swam toward him like an ocean flooding in, a knowledge he had had, deep inside him, buried until the wave of knowing washed it clean and clear from the sand. He had known, he thought, from the moment he awoke.

  “I am sorry,” she said, and from her voice he could hear how young she was, how frightened, how sorry. “Mr. Moore, I am sorry to tell you like this, but I am afraid…taking the bandages off would not be of any use to you. You are blind.”

  Somerton, April 1915

  Georgiana walked up the grassy slope of Selcut Rise, a hill in the grounds of the estate. The countryside was spread out, in warm morning sleepiness: patchwork fields, the dark line of the river and the railway curving alongside each other, the three spires of Palesbury, and the distant haziness of the smoke of Birmingham. That smoke was the only thing, thought Georgiana, that reminded her they were at war.

  Ada was just behind her. Georgiana was aware of the distance between them and felt it painfully. Once they would have walked arm in arm, and there would have been no secrets. Now there seemed to be so much unsaid. She had been touched that Ada had visited Somerton on hearing of the sinking of the Europa, and it was good to see her again once more, even though she could only stay a day. But there was a long way to go before she could feel really at ease with her sister.

  Ahead of them Michael walked, pushing the countess in her bath chair. Georgiana was not sure how ill she still really was, but she certainly seemed to enjoy the attention. Her eyes didn’t linger long even on Michael, though—the one figure upon whom everyone’s attention was focused was a man she had not seen until yesterday, but whose arrival she had been awaiting with a mixture of hope and fear: the tall, slim, dark-haired man in officer’s khaki. Francis Wyndham.

  She could hear Michael talking to him, telling him the history of the hill. “We think it may have been a Celtic barrow. Some local historians were once interested in excavating it, but my stepfather—the late earl—would not allow it. He didn’t hold with disturbing the dead.”

  “A very considerate man,” said Captain Wyndham, nodding his head.

  Georgiana smiled. Yes, Captain Francis Wyndham was turning out quite well. She hadn’t known what to expect, really—but so far he had been very pleasant. He had charmed the countess by telling her that his father had been an old dancing partner of hers and had often spoken of her beauty, he had pleased Michael by turning out to be a good cricketer, and his behavior to the servants had been as polite as she could have wished. That was the real mark of a gentleman, she thought. Only Ada was still treating him with a certain frigid reserve. Georgiana was sure she had chosen to walk behind so that she could observe him. The thought annoyed her. He had done nothing to deserve her distrust. She sped up to walk with the others.

  “Do you know, for the first day this year I can really believe that summer is here,” she said as she reached them. “I do wish we could have spared Roderick to bring the chairs and then we could have picnicked.”

  Michael gave her a laughing glance. “Good old Georgie, you are so optimistic. I don’t believe you’ve even seen that gray cloud in the west. Thomas may be needed sooner rather than later.” He glanced behind them, where the butler followed at a discreet distance with the umbrellas.

  “Oh dear! You are right.” Georgiana sighed, then added in an apologetic tone to Francis, “Besides, it really was not possible. You understand, I am sure. The staff shortages…economies…A year ago things would have been very different.”

  “A year ago, things were different for everyone,” he said with a slight bow.

  She stopped to catch her breath, and for a moment everyone was still in the windy silence, the song of the lark the only thing to disturb the peace up here. Georgiana looked around, and she could see—perhaps better than anyone—how the grounds had been neglected. Nearly all the groundsmen had signed up, and though the remaining staff had kept the fields and the kitchen garden going, the topiary was sadly neglected, the maze was more of a forest, and the summerhouse on the lake, she knew, was inaccessible for the weeds—even if all the boats had not been hauled up waiting for repairs that never seemed to happen.

  “What a magnificent view,” Francis said. He looked out over the hills. “I can see why you love your home so much, Lady Georgiana.”

  Georgiana smiled. “I hope you will consider it your home too,” she said impetuously.

  Ada, who had strolled behind Francis while Georgiana was speaking, raised an eyebrow at Georgiana over his shoulder. Georgiana felt herself blushing; she knew that Ada was advising her not to wear her heart on her sleeve. But Ada had quite the wrong idea if she thought she was attracted to Francis—handsome though he was. She merely wanted to make him welcome, and put behind her all the bad memories William had created.

  “You are very kind to praise it,” the countess said to Francis. “But I suppose Sandbourne, your estate, is much larger than this?”

  Ada coughed, and Georgiana did blush this time—her stepmother’s questions were so pointed. She had been trying to find out the size of Francis’s fortune all the way up the hill.

  “Oh, no—hardly.” Francis’s self-deprecating laugh left it unclear whether he was simply being modest. He looked embarrassed. “Now that we are away from the servants, and all together, there is something I must say to you. I…I am so grateful for the kind hospitality you have shown me, and I really hardly know how to tell you this…”

  Georgiana turned to him in surprise, wondering what he was about to say. He was almost blushing, as he went on, blundering through his words: “Really, you must understand that I have no intention of acting on this information, no intention whatsoever of taking any advantage, not until the natural course of events is run through, and I have no doubt that will be a very, very long way in the future…”

  “I don’t follow,” said the countess, her voice clear and sharp as cold water.

  “It is quite embarrassing,” Francis went on, and now he was really red in the face. “The only thing that allows me any comfort is the certainty that both Lady Ada and Lady Georgiana are certain to find marital bliss in a very short time—one can hardly doubt it with such charm and beauty—”

  “My dear chap,” said Michael, looking at him in astonishment, “do get to the point. Whatever it is can’t be so bad, can it?”

  Francis cleared his throat and looked around at the attentive faces. “The fact of the matter is this. My lawyer, upon hearing from Mr. Bradford, took it upon himself to investigate the matter further. He was startled—I may say shocked—to discover a single copy of a very old document, witnessed in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, which without reserve places an entail on the estate of the earls of Westlake.”

  There was silence. Georgiana stared at him, not fully understanding. “But no, there is no entail; that is how my father was able to separate the title from the lands and house—”

  “I am afraid this document has gone unnoticed, hidden in the archives of a cadet branch of the family—my own, in fact—for centuries. You
will remember that the Civil War was a chaotic period in history, and in this time it seems that the document was lost, or misplaced, and the truth was simply not understood.”

  “Do you mean to tell me,” said Ada, so calmly and politely that Georgiana knew that she was angry, “that you have accepted our hospitality only to assert that the very house you are staying in, and the land surrounding it, are your own property?”

  Francis went even redder. Georgiana wanted to feel sorry for him, but she was too shocked. The news was extraordinary—but not impossible. Certainly not impossible. A sick feeling began to form at the pit of her stomach.

  “I am certain there must be some mistake,” Ada said.

  “I am afraid there is none.” Francis’s voice was icy cold, and Georgiana knew he had taken offense at Ada’s tone. “I am sorry to have surprised you like this; perhaps I should have written formally, but I felt that as we were family—”

  “Oh, of course!” Georgiana exclaimed quickly. “We are simply so very surprised, you see, so…we…” She knew she had to say something, despite the shock, something polite. But for once, words simply failed her. Michael was equally dumbstruck, and the countess, though her bright eyes were watching everything, was silent.

  Francis spoke instead. “Believe me,” he said, “I have no intention of pursuing any course whatsoever, as I say, until the appropriate time comes to pass, which as I say, I am sure will be many, many, many years from now.” He glanced at the countess in the bath chair. Georgiana was surprised to see that, far from being upset at her death being discussed so openly, the countess looked more alert and satisfied than she had for months. She sat up straighter in her chair and addressed Francis directly.

  “But do you mean to say that you get everything? Excuse my bluntness. I want to be quite sure I understand this.”

  Francis spread his hands apologetically.

  “That is exactly what he means,” said Ada, “that is, if he can produce this document.”