by Erica James
Evelyn shuddered. ‘Don’t! I can’t bear to think of that right now. Not on top of all this.’
‘I’m sorry. But there’s something you should know, and which won’t please you. Max has told Isabella about you and him.’
Evelyn reeled back in shock. ‘He did what?’
‘Shh! He did it because he didn’t want there to be any secrets between them.’ At once Romily heard her words as an echo of Red’s. She thought of her own secret which had lain dormant for so long. What would it take for her to share that with Red?
‘Rubbish!’ retorted Evelyn. ‘Max’s ego would have got the better of him and made him boast that I had been yet another conquest of his.’
It was hard for Romily to see her old friend who was normally the epitome of calm level-headedness so intractable. ‘I don’t think that’s the case,’ she said. ‘He had too much to lose by sharing what he did with Isabella. She might have been appalled by his confession and ended things with him there and then.’
‘And what if Isabella starts telling people? What if Kit gets wind of it?’
‘He won’t.’
At the sound of somebody clearing their throat, they both turned to see Red standing in the doorway with a tray of hot drinks. Kit was a few feet behind him.
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chelstead Cottage Hospital, Chelstead
December 1962
Hope
In all the years she had known Edmund, Hope had never seen him cry. But then for that matter, nor had she ever cried in front of him. They were two of a kind in that respect; it was one of the reasons she had married him, knowing that they shared the same stoic instinct.
Yet here he was unashamedly weeping and telling her how much he loved her, that these past weeks had been the worst of his life. ‘I’m so very sorry I shouted at you that afternoon,’ he had said over and over, while Hope wept in his arms and apologised for being so vile to him.
Now, both of them calmer and with Hope feeling drained and her head throbbing with the effort of keeping her eyes open, Edmund explained that she was not the only one to be sent a poison pen letter, Evelyn had too, as had Florence.
‘I know,’ she told him, ‘I’ve heard you all discussing it. Except sometimes I wasn’t sure whether what I heard was real or something I was dreaming.’
‘If only I had known that it was receiving one of those letters that was the cause of your unhappiness,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Her throat so constricted with emotion, Hope could hardly get the words out. ‘My pride,’ she murmured. ‘My wretched stubborn pride. Oh, Edmund, I’m sorry I doubted you.’
‘It’s I who should apologise. I should have done more to find out what was troubling you. I let you down and I’ll never forgive myself for that.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she said, ‘it’s Arthur’s.’
He looked at her with a frown. ‘Your brother?’
She hesitated. With her head still a chaotic tangle of thoughts, she struggled to understand if what she’d said was based on fact, or something her brain had conjured up while she had been unconscious. But with the tornado of strange thoughts spinning around inside her head, she felt that Arthur was definitely at the epicentre of the maelstrom.
‘He wrote the anonymous letters,’ she said. ‘I’m sure of it. Or I think I’m sure. Everything’s all so blurry and mixed up. But I can’t stop thinking that he’s the reason I’m here.’
‘Speaking now both as your husband and a doctor, you mustn’t tax yourself,’ Edmund said. ‘Your mind and body are going to need time to recover.’
‘You know I hate it when you mollycoddle me,’ she said with a small smile.
‘I’m afraid in this instance you have no choice in the matter.’
She sighed and turned to look out of the window. It was snowing heavily. Then as if mesmerised by the falling snowflakes, it was as though two wires suddenly connected deep within her brain and gave her a jolt of clarity. ‘It was Arthur who drove into me!’ she exclaimed.
She turned back to Edmund and saw the alarm on his face. ‘You saw him driving that day?’ he said. ‘It was definitely his Rolls?’
She wanted to say yes, but all she could remember of the accident was the darkness and a pair of dazzlingly bright headlamps. ‘I didn’t actually see him,’ she said, ‘it was dark, but I know it was him. I just do.’
Alarm had now changed to doubt in Edmund’s expression. ‘He wouldn’t leave you in the road though, would he? He’s a rogue through and through, but to knock his own sister down and drive off, well it beggars belief.’
‘My brother is capable of anything,’ she said. ‘And anyway, Julia told me what he’d done.’ She caught her breath, realising what she’d just said. ‘Julia! She knows the truth. She came here and told me that he did it, and that he refused to stop.’
When Edmund didn’t say anything, just stared at her, as though assessing her mental state, she said, ‘I know what you’re thinking, that I have a screw loose, but I swear Julia was here. I didn’t dream it. It was real!’ Her voice sounded loud and shrill, almost hysterical. But she needed Edmund to believe her. ‘Go and ask her if you think I’ve lost my mind.’
‘I don’t think anything of the sort,’ he said soothingly.
With a rush of impatience, she waved her arm in the plaster cast at him. ‘Please don’t use your doctor’s bedside manner voice on me. I’ve had quite enough of that from everyone else while lying here all these weeks.’
His expression softened. ‘That’s the Hope I know and love.’
‘But you don’t believe me, do you?’
‘I don’t know what to think for the simple reason I can’t believe Arthur could be that callous. And why would Julia come here and betray her husband? Why not tell me? Or the police?’
Hope felt the strength of Edmund’s gaze intensify as he studied her face. She in turn took in the face of the man she had been so sure she had lost. Lines that had not been there before her accident were etched around his bloodshot eyes and either side of his mouth. He looked exhausted.
‘It’s a medical fact,’ he said evenly, ‘and quite common, for the brain to play tricks on a person when unconscious. In this instance you might want to believe it’s Arthur who did this to you because he’s always been such a disagreeable brother.’
Her certainty wavered. Could Edmund be right? After all, it did seem extraordinary that timid Julia would have the courage to say anything remotely negative about her husband, never mind accuse him of running Hope over.
‘What about the letters?’ she tried. ‘Don’t you think that might be something Arthur would do? Just to cause trouble. It’s what he did when we were children. He enjoyed taunting us and inflicting cruelty on anyone, or anything, that was defenceless.’
‘I promise you, Hope, that if it is him, he’ll pay for it. I’ll make sure of that.’
To her dismay, his reassurance brought on another bout of uncontrollable weeping and he took her in his arms. She had been warned that her emotional state would be up and down in the days and weeks ahead.
‘When can I go home?’ she asked, when her sobbing subsided.
‘Unfortunately, it’s not for me to decide.’
‘But you could persuade the doctors here that I’m well enough to leave, couldn’t you?’
He kissed her, first one soft kiss on her left cheek, then her right. ‘Only if I’m convinced you’re well enough to be at home. And there’ll be no work for you for the foreseeable future. You need a proper rest. Doctor’s orders!’
‘But I’ll go mad if I have to lie here much longer, or if I don’t have anything to do.’
‘No debate, Hope. Your typewriter is out of bounds until I say so.’
‘What about the letters I heard you and Annelise talking about, the ones the children from rou
nd the world have sent me? That wouldn’t be too arduous replying to those, would it?’
‘Hope, you have no idea how many there are. There must be at least ten large sacks of mail stored at the post office, as well as the ones already at the house.’
Even as Hope balked at being told what to do, the exhaustion she felt made her doubt she would cope with responding to one child’s letter, never mind a sack of them.
‘I’ve just realised something,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’
‘That I didn’t dream about the bags of fan mail, they’re real. Which means maybe I didn’t dream that Julia was here, she really was.’
‘If it puts your mind at rest, I’ll check with the nurses to see if they know whether she visited or not. Would you like to see Annelise now?’ He stopped abruptly. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s Annelise,’ Hope said slowly, ‘something she told me . . . something . . . ’ Her words ground to a halt as she tried to catch hold of a thought that was as insubstantial as a dust mote.
‘What about Annelise?’ he asked.
The thought danced away from her, and Hope shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t force it, darling. Everything will slip into place in its own time.’
‘You speak as though I’m suffering from amnesia.’
‘Not at all. It’s just a matter of giving yourself time to sift through the mixed-up contents of your head.’
‘That sounds very patronising, you know.’
‘Yes,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s a comment I’m sure I’ll live to regret.’
I’m sure I’ll live to regret . . .
The dust mote danced back towards her and Hope tried again to snatch hold of it. Annelise. It was Annelise who had used those words, or words very similar to them, about living to regret something she had done. What was it?
Oh, it was so annoying! Why wouldn’t her brain work properly? Normally she had a mind like a filing cabinet and could instantly locate any fact or date she needed, but now she felt as if the cabinet had been ransacked and all the information she had stored away so carefully was thrown on the floor.
She watched Edmund leave the room and ignoring his advice not to force things, she cudgelled her brain to think straight. And then it came to her. But surely she was wrong. That had to be something she dreamt. Annelise wouldn’t ever be so careless as to get herself into a mess like that, would she?
But the moment the door opened, and Hope saw Annelise she feared the worst. There were dark shadows beneath the girl’s eyes, her skin was ashen, and she had lost weight. She also looked sick with worry. Instinct told Hope that the change in Annelise wasn’t purely due to fretting about her. She surmised also that Edmund, despite being a doctor, had not put two and two together. Or had he been keeping this from her?
Hope summoned what little energy she had and smiled weakly at Annelise. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said. ‘You look almost as bad as I feel.’
Annelise smiled too. But it wasn’t her usual smile; it was too brittle and brimming with sadness. ‘It’s so good to have you back with us, Mums,’ she said when she was seated by the side of the bed.
‘Then why do you look so terrified?’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes you do. Would it be because I didn’t dream that you told me you were pregnant, that you are?’
Annelise nodded and chewed on her lower lip. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know how very disappointed in me you must be. But you need to know, whatever disappointment you feel, it’s nothing compared to what I feel for myself. And I’m sorry I told you about the mess I’ve made of my life when you were unconscious.’
‘I’m curious, why did you do that?’
‘Part of me hoped it would shock you out of the coma. But it was also the coward’s way of confessing my folly to you.’
‘When I couldn’t react?’
‘Yes.’ Annelise’s lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve let you down. You and Edmund. And after everything you’ve done for me.’
Hope could feel her emotions unravelling again and fought hard not to give in to another loss of control. ‘Please don’t cry or you’ll set me off too,’ she said. ‘Does Edmund know?’
‘It didn’t feel right to burden him while he was so worried about you. But Romily knows; she guessed.’
‘In my experience it’s never been possible to hide anything from Romily.’
‘And I told Stanley.’
Hope looked up sharply. ‘Is he the father?’
‘No. It’s a married man in Oxford.’
‘Oh, Annelise, how could you?’
‘I stupidly believed him when he told me his marriage was all but over. Which I know is the oldest trick in the book.’
‘He must have been very convincing to fool you. You’re by no means stupid.’
‘He was. And I’m afraid I’m as stupid as the next naïve girl. You can be angry with me if you want to be. It’s what I deserve.’
Hope’s heart contracted at the sight of Annelise’s anguish and she saw all too clearly that she had to do all she could to help. There was no point in being angry or disappointed. What Annelise needed was her help, not her condemnation.
‘Edmund might accuse me of not being capable of thinking straight right now,’ Hope said, ‘but I have a suggestion. I think you should request a year-long sabbatical from St Gertrude’s and just as soon as I’m deemed well enough to go abroad to convalesce, the three of us should go away together. Given my situation, the Dean is hardly likely to refuse your request, and not if I make a sizeable donation to the college.’
Her eyes wide, Annelise stared at her. ‘But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘But then what do we do? Or rather, what do I do?’
‘Goodness, you can’t expect me to have all the answers after being in a coma for so long! But first things first; you must tell Edmund.’
‘I can’t bear the thought of disappointing him. Can I tell him in a few days, when he’s recovered some of his old self? He’s been so worried about you. As have we all.’
Thinking how she had wanted to give up on life, for it simply to be over, Hope succumbed to a shameful wave of guilt. It had been selfish of her to wish for her death. She had convinced herself that Edmund, and everybody else, would be better off without her. Now, knowing the torment that Annelise had been suffering and how scared she had to be of the future, Hope felt an overwhelming sense of love and responsibility to help the girl. She may have let Annelise down in the past by not always being as supportive as she could have been, but she would not fail her now.
‘You’re not to worry, Annelise,’ she said, ‘Edmund won’t be disappointed in you. He loves you very much. Just as I do.’
With another wave of guilt, and her eyes beginning to close with exhaustion, Hope acknowledged that these were words she hadn’t said often enough to Annelise. That would have to change.
Chapter Eighty-Three
Melstead Hall, Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Julia
Ralph had told Julia to wait for him in her parlour but the longer she waited, the more Julia’s nerve went.
Could she really leave Arthur and the life she had here at Melstead Hall? And for what? To scrimp and save just as she had before Arthur came along? Maybe she could bear that for herself, but not for Charles. Wouldn’t it be better to stay and try harder to please Arthur? Wouldn’t that be a sacrifice worth making?
He had cared for her in the beginning, she was convinced of it. But at some point, that must have changed. She must have failed him in some way. Failed to do her duty . . .
That must be why he had sought his pleasure elsewhere, and with Miss Casey of all people. Had it been Miss Casey who had encouraged him t
o lie about the accident with Hope and then to threaten Julia by saying he would tell the police it was her behind the wheel of the car? With what she now knew, Julia wouldn’t put anything past that woman.
What if she found a way to get rid of Miss Casey and then apologised to Arthur for all the upset she had caused him; would life then go back to how it once was? When it was bearable. When all she had to do was her duty.
No, no, NO! What was she thinking? She had done nothing wrong. Arthur was a brute! A brute from whom she had to escape. She had to do it for Charles’s sake, just as Ralph had told her.
But was escape really possible? Could she do it right this time?
When she was a child she had tried running away from home. She had filled a shopping bag with an apple from the garden, a clean nightdress, her toothbrush and hairbrush and a change of ribbon for her hair. Lastly, she had added her most treasured possession, a small doll called Polly. Her mother had given it to her a few months before she died.
The bag hooked over her shoulder, Julia had quietly opened the front door while her father was in his shed in the garden. She ran to the park and hid behind the pavilion. From her hiding place she watched the park keeper locking the gate. After tucking the key into his jacket pocket, he fastened on his cycle clips, climbed onto his bicycle and disappeared off down the road.
She made herself comfortable in the pavilion and hugging her doll close, she nibbled on the apple from her bag. It wasn’t long before it was dark and cold and she regretted that she hadn’t thought to pack a blanket or even another cardigan, but her decision to run away had been on the spur of the moment. She missed her mother so very much and her father always seemed cross with her.
To this day she couldn’t remember how her father had found her in the park and got her out, but it was that night, at home, after he’d put her in the bath and dressed her ready for bed, that it started.
‘I know you miss your mother,’ he said. ‘Just as I do. But you see, running away won’t help. It makes thing worse. And it was a very naughty and selfish thing for you to do. You were only thinking of yourself, weren’t you? What about me? Don’t you care about my happiness?’