by Erica James
‘I don’t know why I did it,’ she said, ashamed of herself. ‘I just wanted to stop feeling the way I do.’
He’d stroked her hair. ‘I understand. But what you have to understand is that you’re old enough now to do what your mother did to make me happy.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘It’s your duty to replace your mother,’ he explained, his large rough hand now stroking her shoulder. She could smell the tobacco from his pipe on his fingers, combined with the earthy smell from what he’d been doing in the potting shed. ‘Your mother wouldn’t want me to be lonely,’ he went on, ‘so now that you’re a big girl, it’s your duty to make me happy. It’s what your mother would have wanted. Do you think you can do that?’
‘How?’ she asked.
‘I’ll show you. It might hurt to begin with, but it won’t always be that way.’
‘Mummy, why are you crying?’
Her son’s question, as he burst into the room out of breath, took her by surprise. Wiping away her tears, she forced her lips to smile. ‘I was remembering something from a long time ago,’ she said.
Closing the door behind him, he came towards her. ‘Was it a horrid Christmas like the one we’re having today?’
‘No,’ she said sadly. She held out her arms and he came into her embrace. Just as he always did. Her precious child. ‘I’m sorry you’re not having a good time,’ she murmured into his baby-soft hair.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said, leaning back to look up at her. ‘It’s father. Why does he have to be so mean and nasty?’
‘He’s not always mean. I just think he’s unhappy. People who are unhappy behave strangely.’
‘Do you know what he’s doing right now, this very minute?’
‘He’s not having another row with Ralph, is he?’
‘No. He’s drunk and smashing up the presents under the Christmas tree, including the one I put there for you. I call that pretty mean, don’t you? He said I had to watch him do it, but I refused and ran off.’
‘Oh darling, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t keep apologising for something that isn’t your fault. It’s him. It’s always him. I hate him. I hate him so much I never want to see him again. Not ever!’
‘But he’s your father.’
‘I don’t care. He’s a fat pig of a man who I hate!’
Behind him the door opened again and fearing it was Arthur, Julia jumped up from where she was sitting, ready to shield Charles from his father’s drunken fury. But it was Ralph.
‘What have you been doing all this time?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been waiting here for ages.’
‘Sorry about that, it took me longer than I thought to organise things properly. Now, are you both ready?’
Her nerve going again and frightened of the consequences of what Ralph wanted her to do, Julia looked at him anxiously. ‘Are you sure running away is the answer? Won’t he just come after us?’
Standing in front of her, Ralph looked at her sternly. ‘Julia, listen to me. The man has been hitting the whisky decanter and right now he’s downstairs going berserk with a hammer.’
‘See, Mummy, I told you he was drunk and smashing the Christmas presents.’
‘But—’
‘No buts,’ said Ralph. ‘The mood he’s in, there’s no knowing what he might do next. And do you think for one minute he’ll get more than a few yards on foot?’
‘What about the car? He’ll use that, won’t he?’
Ralph smiled. ‘No he won’t. I have the keys.’
‘Oh, Ralph, I’m not sure we’re doing the right thing. If only you hadn’t made him so angry, he wouldn’t be in the state he is. Why don’t we just apologise to him and—’
He interrupted her once more. ‘That man was born angry. Now fetch your coat and come with me. Charlie-Boy, do you have your bag ready as I asked?’
‘Yes. It’s in my room.’
‘Go and get it now and meet us on the landing. We’re then going to use the servants’ staircase and go down to the boot room.’
‘What about Miss Casey?’ asked Charles.
‘I’ve locked her in her room.’
Julia stared at him open-mouthed. ‘You’ve done what?’
‘That’s what took me so long, I had to wait for her to stop trying to calm my father down and go up to her room. Now come on, let’s get out of here.’
Chapter Eighty-Four
Melstead St Mary
December 1962
Romily
At Edmund’s insistence, nobody else was allowed to see Hope. She needed to rest, he had explained. He and Annelise were going to stay the night with her, even if it meant sleeping in chairs either side of the bed.
After clearing the snow from the windscreen of the Land Rover, and sharing round the food and drink they had brought with them, Romily embarked on the slow drive home. Kit and Evelyn had volunteered to go in the back again, leaving Red to have the more comfortable seat next to Romily. She was glad of his company. ‘I doubt you anticipated spending Christmas Day quite like this,’ she said to him.
‘No, but then as I’m fast discovering, life with you is never boring, it’s one surprise after another.’
‘That’s not a bad summation. Although I have to say, you’re the biggest surprise to come my way in a long while.’
‘A good one?’
‘You’re fishing again, Mr St Clair.’
‘God loves a trier, Mrs Devereux-Temple. And so do you, if I’m not mistaken.’
She smiled, but kept her gaze straight ahead on the road, which was hardly visible beneath drifting banks of snow whipped up by the wind. The half-light of the afternoon was fast seeping from the leaden sky, and they were now reliant on the Land Rover’s headlamps to guide them.
‘What was that I heard you and Edmund talking about before we left the hospital? It sounded like something to do with Hope’s brother being responsible for running her over.’
She told him in more detail what Edmund had shared with her. ‘To anybody who doesn’t know Arthur,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t seem possible, but Kit and Hope could tell you many a tale of his sadistic and bullying nature when they were growing up.’
‘Nice guy. I look forward to meeting him.’
‘Careful what you wish for. I suspect he treats his poor wife, Julia, abominably.’
‘Physically?’
‘I sincerely hope not. I think he prefers mental cruelty as a means to control her. He makes all the decisions for her, such as what she should wear and with whom she can socialise. She effectively lives in a gilded cage at Melstead Hall.’
‘It might sound like a crazy question, but does she love him?’
‘Perhaps. She comes from a very different background, so I would imagine it’s the type of love that’s based on gratitude.’
‘You mean she’s from what you Brits consider an inferior class, so that gives him carte blanche to treat her like a dog, and she should be thankful?’
‘I for one have never considered Julia my social inferior.’
‘Have you never tried to intervene?’
‘I’ve tried numerous times to talk to her, but she’s so firmly under Arthur’s thumb, she wouldn’t ever be disloyal to him. Which is why it makes no sense that she would visit Hope and tell her that Arthur had run her over.’
‘Unless the worm has turned, and she’s had enough?’
‘There is that,’ said Romily thoughtfully.
She drove on in silence, and then when a strong gust of wind buffeted the Land Rover, she saw something moving in the falling snow ahead of them. At first she couldn’t make out what it was, then as she slowed her speed to a crawling pace, Red, said, ‘Hey, is that somebody in the road?’
‘More than one person,’ she said, as the light from the headla
mps revealed three figures, one of which was a lot smaller than the other two.
‘They’re waving to us,’ Red said. ‘Must mean they’re in trouble. That’s a kid with them, isn’t it?’
It was only when Romily drew the Land Rover to a stop, the tyres biting into the snow and ice with a series of shuddering jerks, that Romily recognised who it was. ‘You stay here,’ she said to Red, pressing her shoulder to the door and shoving it open.
‘The hell I will!’ he replied, doing the same on his side.
The cold, stinging wind slapped her in the face when Romily stepped down from the Land Rover. ‘If you’re trying to get to Melstead Hall,’ she told the group, ‘you’re going in the wrong direction.’ She pointed back the way she had just driven. ‘Hop in and I’ll give you a lift.’
‘No!’ shouted Charles. He was clinging to his mother and even as the wind roared and sent the snow swirling around them, Romily caught the defiance in his young voice. ‘We’re running away,’ he said, and not without a degree of pride.
‘You’ve chosen a hell of a day for it, kiddo,’ quipped Red.
‘What’s going on?’ It was Kit and Evelyn, peering out from the back of the Land Rover.
‘We’ve found some waifs and strays,’ Romily shouted to them.
Ralph spoke next. ‘Romily, I know this is an imposition, but we were hoping you might take us in for the night.’
‘There’s no reason why you should say yes,’ said Julia. ‘No reason at all.’ She made a pitiful sight, shivering with cold and close to tears.
‘Please don’t say no,’ implored Charles, ‘we don’t have anywhere else to go. And it is Christmas.’
‘I don’t know who this boy is,’ Red said with a smile, ‘but he pleads a damned good case.’
Romily had no intention of leaving anyone stranded in the snow. ‘Of course you can come to Island House,’ she said. ‘Now for heaven’s sake, get into the Land Rover before we all die of hypothermia. Ralph, you sit in the front with Red and me, and Charles, you help your mother into the back and sit with your Uncle Kit and Auntie Evelyn.’
‘You promise you won’t take us back to father?’ he asked with a heart-breakingly earnest expression on his young face.
‘I promise,’ she said firmly. ‘And I never break a promise.’
Once everyone was seated and they were on their way again, and Romily had introduced Red, she asked Ralph to explain what was going on.
‘It’s Dad,’ he said, wiping the melting snow from his flushed face. ‘He’s been treating Julia atrociously. I couldn’t let him carry on the way he was. Not when he might then start on Charles. Romily, I know you and the rest of the family have never thought much of me, that I was too much of a chip off the old block, but . . . well, let’s just say I’ve changed. For once in my life I wanted to do the right thing.’
‘Does Arthur know what you’ve done?’
‘He was drunk and raving like a lunatic when we slipped out. At some point he’s going to realise Julia and Charles have gone.’
‘Why escape on foot?’ asked Red. ‘A car would have got you away faster and that much further.’
‘We set off in my Roadster with the intention of driving to Island House, but we ended up having to abandon it after we skidded off the road. But never mind that, there’s something really important you need to know. About Hope.’
‘I’ve a feeling I know what you’re going to say,’ responded Romily. ‘You see, we’ve just come from the hospital. Hope is now fully conscious and says that Julia visited and told her that it was Arthur who ran her over.’
‘It’s true,’ Ralph said. ‘Julia’s told me exactly what happened.’
‘So that’s how the worm turned,’ Red said quietly when Ralph had shared with them what he knew.
‘And that’s not all,’ Ralph said. ‘We found evidence in Miss Casey’s room that she’s been sending Julia poison pen letters.’
‘Miss Casey!’ exclaimed Romily. ‘You mean she’s the one who’s been behind these vile letters?’
‘You knew that Julia had received them?’ asked Ralph.
‘No,’ she said, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the road while shifting down a gear to negotiate a bend. ‘But both of your aunts have had letters, as has Florence. And heaven only knows who else.’
Of all the people she had thought might be responsible, not once had Romily considered Miss Casey. The woman had been as good as invisible to her. Was that the problem? Had she taken offence at people not treating her better? But wasn’t that of her own devising?
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if my father is involved,’ said Ralph. ‘I caught him and Miss Casey in flagrante delicto last night.’
‘Dear God, poor Julia. Does she know what she wants to do next?’
‘No. The only plan we had, and at my instigation, was to get away as soon as possible.’
Romily risked taking her eyes off the road to smile at him. ‘I remember you being impulsive as a boy; you haven’t changed then?’
‘In that respect, no. What will you do if Arthur contacts you to ask if Julia and Charles are with you?’
‘That rather depends on how long they stay. I can’t keep him from seeing his son indefinitely.’
‘You won’t have to. With the right help and encouragement, Julia will be able to find somewhere of her own to live. I’ve extracted some money from Dad which he assumes I’ve asked for myself, but it’s actually for Julia and Charles.’
‘What if she decides to return to her husband?’ asked Red. ‘It’s not uncommon for a woman who has been ill-treated by a husband to want to return to him.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ replied Ralph. ‘But she’d be mad to do it. Do you know, my father even brought in a so-called nerve specialist from London who drugged her to keep her from leaving the house. That’s how dangerously warped he is.’
Red let out a long exhalation of breath. ‘What kind of a monster is this man? And how has he been allowed to get away with acting this way?’
Neither Romily nor Ralph had an answer.
Forty-five minutes later, and when Romily carefully turned in at the driveway, never had Island House been a more welcome sight. What an extraordinary Christmas Day it had been, she thought.
And what on earth would tomorrow bring?
Chapter Eighty-Five
Fairview, Melstead St Mary
January 1963
Annelise
In the days and weeks that followed Hope’s recovery on Christmas Day, life had taken on a surreal quality. Fresh snow blew in almost daily, carried on an icy Siberian wind, and the temperature plummeted well below freezing.
Every morning when Annelise drew back the bedroom curtains at Fairview, she was greeted by an endlessly white landscape with hedges buried deep beneath snowdrifts and tree branches drooping with the weight of so much snow. Today, as she stood at the sink in the kitchen washing up the breakfast things and gazing out at the garden, she was entranced by the snow glistening in the bright sunlight. The sky was the purest of blues and the snow, so dazzlingly white, made her squint to look at it.
The weather had caused chaos up and down the country, particularly when it came to travelling anywhere. Thanks to the local farmers in the area, the main roads were passable, but it was a relentless and Herculean task to keep them clear. In some places, where the snow had been repeatedly pushed back and piled on either side of the road, it was akin to driving through a narrow gorge cut into cliffs of ice. Comparisons were continually being made to the winter of 1946 and 1947.
When Hope had been allowed home on New Year’s Eve, the journey to Fairview had been only marginally less precarious than the one they had made on Christmas Day with Romily at the wheel of the borrowed Land Rover. Three weeks on from that most memorable of days, Hope was still fragile from both her injuries and th
e effect of being in a coma. She suffered terrible headaches and her emotions went from high to low in a heartbeat. She tired easily and that made her crochety and impatient to resume her life as it was before. Privately Annelise and Edmund were of the same opinion, that Hope would need to accept that the pace at which she had pushed herself for so many years put too much pressure on her.
The washing-up now dried and put away, Annelise turned her attention to the coffee percolator. It was nearly eleven o’clock and Hope liked a cup of coffee and a piece of shortbread at this time of the morning. She had always liked routine and even more so now when she was banned from doing any work and had so little to do.
Under normal circumstances, Heather, their housemaid, would have washed up and made the coffee, but the poor girl had slipped on the ice walking home one day and twisted her ankle badly. There had been numerous such casualties in the village and Edmund had been inundated at the surgery. Their cook, Mrs Foster, had gone down with flu, so Annelise was holding the fort as best she could. She didn’t object.
Being busy kept her mind off the baby. Term didn’t commence in Oxford until next week and while normally she would have gone back well ahead of the start of it, she was in no hurry to return. If in fact she did.
Edmund’s reaction to the news that she was pregnant had been far from the horror and disappointment she had dreaded. He had immediately declared himself a fool for not spotting the signs. ‘Some doctor I am!’ he’d said. He really couldn’t have been sweeter. Which was not how he felt about the man who had been party to putting her into this situation.
With everything that had happened since Annelise had left Oxford to return home, Harry had barely registered in her thoughts. He had surprised her by telephoning Island House on New Year’s Day to speak to her. It was the only contact number he had for her. Romily had taken the call and said that she would pass on any message he had for Annelise. Romily had known that Annelise had no desire whatsoever to speak to him and had informed him of the fact.
Annelise didn’t care if it was unfair of her to keep Harry from knowing he was the father of the child she was expecting; she had to do what was best for her, not him. Had he really loved her, things might be different, but as it was, she had hardened her heart to him. Unlike her feelings for the baby. Every day that passed she grew more attached to the tiny life she was carrying. On the one hand it seemed irrational that she could feel anything for something she couldn’t see or touch, but sometimes as she lay in bed at night, she found herself resting her hands on her abdomen and assuring the baby that he or she would be loved and cherished.