I slipped my shoe back on and continued to the house, wishing I had not allowed my mind to stray onto such unhappy recollections. I did not like to dwell on the night of the fire; doing so evoked upsetting memories and raised disturbing questions that I had spent the last ten years doing my best to ignore.
I entered by the door that led into the rear hallway and began stripping the gloves from my hands. I could hear muffled voices as I approached the drawing room and realised Mother must be entertaining. I had no wish to be embroiled in one of her tedious meetings, so I kept my head down and picked up my pace as I passed the open doorway, but all to no avail.
‘Oh, there she is. Stella!’
I made no attempt to stifle my exasperated sigh. I spun on my heel and headed towards the door. I stopped in the opening.
A tall man in uniform stood with his back to me, his brown hair neatly clipped to his nape, while Mother stood facing me.
‘Look who has come to see us!’
For a split foolish second, I felt a burst of unimagined joy: Gerald – it had all been a terrible mistake! A rapturous smile pulled my lips and my heart leapt, but as the officer turned to face me, the smile dissipated, and my effervescent joy stilled, as reality reasserted itself.
‘Hector. How lovely to see you.’
My brother-in-law, Hector Brightwell, smiled broadly and manoeuvred himself from behind the sofa to greet me. He held the tops of my arms as he kissed my cheeks. ‘Hello, Stella.’
‘I was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t be back in time to say hello,’ Mother said.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were expected.’ My absurd disappointment began to fade.
‘Oh, I called by on the off-chance. Work brought me this way and I thought I should pop in and see you all.’
Hector had by some good fortune – I suspect linked to his family’s considerable fortune and influence – secured a safe uniformed position in Whitehall for the duration. I tried not to resent him for this, something I found especially difficult after Gerald was killed. I did not dislike him – he was intelligent and affable, though a little stiff at times – and I could not fault his devotion to my sister.
‘Well, it’s very nice to see you, Hector. How is Madeleine?’
My sister had telephoned a few weeks previously to give us the most welcome news: she was expecting a baby. It had been the first time since Gerald’s death that I felt actual happiness. Madeleine was cautiously buoyant, tempering her excitement with the acknowledgement it was still early days, but ever the pragmatist, at three months along she knew she would soon be showing so felt we ought to know.
‘She is well, thank you, very well.’ Hector retook his seat whilst I settled myself down and Mother poured out some more tea. ‘She may have told you, she’s gone to stay with my mother at our country estate, Greyswick.’
‘Oh yes, she mentioned that in her last letter. The Zeppelin attacks on London must be terrifying.’
‘I know they can be a bit hit and miss, but quite frankly I would rather Madeleine wasn’t anywhere near them, especially given the circumstances. And in all honesty, I’m unable to spend much time with her, what with things the way they are.’
‘Of course. Well, I’m glad to know that she will be safe. It is all such a worry.’ My mother paused. ‘And she is well, Hector?’
‘Quite, quite well,’ he assured her with a gentle smile. ‘She’s doing wonderfully.’
He and my mother talked on, but for me Hector’s presence had brought back memories that were bittersweet. The last time we had been at Haverton Hall together was the wedding. By some miracle Gerald and I had both managed to wangle leave, enabling us to attend together. In a way I wish it had been the last time I had seen him. Perhaps it would all be easier if I could remember him like that – handsome in his dress uniform, laughing, a glass of champagne in his hand, carefree in the sunshine. But we were to meet once more, in tragically different circumstances.
Hector’s apologies as he rose to depart brought me back to the present.
‘I’ll have your driver bring the car round,’ Mother said, tugging the thick bell-pull that hung by the fireplace. Hector crossed to her and bade her a fond farewell, but as he came towards me, running his cap through his fingers, he stopped.
‘Would you walk me out, Stella?’
‘Of course.’ I set down my teacup, taken aback by the unexpected request.
We walked through the hallway together, Hector opening the large front door to allow me out onto the steps first. The sky had clouded over to an impenetrable white layer. Looking up, I could see the gauzy glow of the sun trapped behind it. A stiff wind cut through my clothing, and I hoped he wasn’t going to keep me outside for long.
‘I didn’t just happen by today. I very much wanted to speak to you,’ he admitted.
‘Oh?’
He pulled the peak of his cap down low over his brow. ‘It’ll take my driver a while – shall we walk?’
We crossed the gravel driveway and ambled over the lawn at the front. In the distance the lake stretched across the horizon, the wind rippling its surface. I noticed that Hector drew to a stop before we got too near, perhaps fearing its appeal might prove irresistible to me.
‘I’ve actually come to ask you a favour.’
‘A favour?’ I failed to mask my surprise. He might be my brother-in-law, but Hector was almost a stranger to me. I was already stationed in France when he met Madeleine at a fund-raising event in town. He was someone I read about in letters – a one-dimensional creation, a list of descriptive words. I met him for the first time at the wedding, when, selfishly perhaps, I was more intent on spending precious time with Gerald than with my new brother-in-law and the pompous entourage he brought with him. Since my return I had only seen him a handful of times, all brief encounters, where pleasantries were exchanged but little familiarity gained. But now he had come for the sole purpose of exacting a favour from me.
‘I was wondering whether you might consider visiting with Madeleine for a while – at Greyswick.’
It was hardly an onerous request. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to visit my sister, and no doubt we would have come to the arrangement ourselves in a few weeks. I hadn’t seen her now for a couple of months and I missed her company and support, but I was alerted by the undercurrent I detected in the question.
‘Hector, of course I will. Is everything all right?’
His eyes pinched as he focused on the skyline. I realised I was holding my breath, waiting for him to break the silence.
‘I’m worried about her.’
‘Why?’
He seemed loath to answer. He pulled his cap from his head and raked his fingers through his neatly combed hair. I could tell he was biding his time, contemplating his response. I felt a spike of unease.
‘She doesn’t seem to be at all herself.’ The words spilled from him. He stopped. I was impatient to hear more, my concern acute now; my fingers flexed as I resisted the urge to shake him. Sensing my rising agitation, he stumbled on. ‘She’s so quiet and withdrawn. Mother’s constantly complaining about how jittery she seems, scared of her own reflection.’ He let out a sharp breath. ‘I think she’s terrified something’s going to happen – to the baby.’
I relaxed at once on hearing this, rather relieved. It was perfectly natural of course that Madeleine should be unsettled. She had always been the more sensitive of us two, the one more prone to worry, to fear the worst – ironic really, given the way things had turned out.
‘Well, I’m sure that’s to be expected. It’s an anxious time for her – for any new mother – but I’m sure it’ll all be fine.’
‘Well, that’s just it, it might not be.’
The reassuring smile I had mustered wilted under his grim countenance. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘We’ve been here before, you see.’ But it was clear to him that I didn’t see at all. He sighed. ‘Madeleine lost a baby, Stella.’
My stomach plummeted. ‘When?’
‘Just before you came back.’
We stood silent, the air heavy with the solemnity of this awful revelation. ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ I asked at last.
‘You were – you were so unwell. It was early on … She didn’t want to burden you – after all, nothing could be done.’
I brought my hand to my mouth. Dear, darling Madeleine! When I had arrived back, eviscerated by Gerald’s loss, Madeleine had flown to my side like the golden angel she was – compassionate, non-judgemental. She became my rock, my constant, unflinching companion. She had stoically weathered my rages and vicious words, stroked my head as I broke down and sobbed, and read quietly beside my bed as I lay motionless with grief. At a time when I had little inclination to carry on, she never gave up on me; even as others began to lose their patience, she alone defended me. And yet through it all she must have been nursing a terrible anguish. She had prioritised my recovery over her own devastating loss.
‘Oh, Hector, I’m so sorry.’
‘These things happen.’ He couldn’t prevent the tell-tale break in his voice. He took a moment. ‘It’s just, now – she’s not herself at all. I think she’s terrified of it happening again. She dealt with it so bravely last time, but she was devastated, Stella, absolutely devastated. To be honest, I think looking after you is what got her through. It was a welcome distraction from her own pain.’
His words stung me. He flushed, realising how they could be misconstrued. To cover his embarrassment he fussed about, setting his cap straight on his head, before thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets and rocking on his heels, waiting for the clouded moment to pass.
‘Madeleine never wanted to go to Greyswick.’ He broke the silence, an apologetic glint in his dark eyes. ‘I had to plead with her to go. Now she’s there, I think she has little else to do but obsess on the worst. She keeps asking to come back to town, but I would never forgive myself if she got caught up in a raid. She’s safe at Greyswick, but I think she would benefit enormously from some company.’
‘She has your mother.’ The words slipped out before I could stop them. Hector picked up on my sardonic tone and winced.
‘As you are well aware, my mother is not the easiest woman to get on with.’
I had only met Lady Brightwell once, at the wedding, and once was quite enough. She was a dour, self-important woman who revelled in the glory of her husband’s honorary knighthood. I could see that she would not make an empathetic companion.
‘Look, I would just be ever so grateful if you could go and keep her company for a while, take her mind off things. What do you think?’
‘Hector, nothing would give me greater pleasure than spending time with Madeleine, especially after what you’ve just told me.’ His motorcar drew along the drive behind us.
‘Please don’t say anything about me asking you to go and stay. I don’t think she’d appreciate my interference.’
‘It’ll be our secret. I’ll telephone her this afternoon and chide her for not inviting me to visit. After all, I’ve never seen your country seat.’
He smiled. ‘I think you’ll like it, it’s a wonderful spot.’
We reached the car. His driver leapt from the front and opened the rear door.
‘Oh, one more thing – Mother is a stickler for protocol and she doesn’t see why a little thing like a war should lead to a fall in standards, so she still runs the house as if nothing has changed. Like you, we’ve lost most of the servants. She has conceded to allowing a maid to serve at dinner, but she still insists on full evening dress and so on. If you were able to bring someone with you, to lighten the load of your visit a bit, that would be tremendous.’
I laughed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for upsetting the smooth running of the household.’
He swept off his cap to kiss my cheek. ‘Thank you, Stella. You will look after her for me, won’t you?’
‘After all she’s done for me? It’s the least I can do.’
I watched the car pull away, sensing this unexpected tête-à-tête had bridged a gap in our relationship and I was surprisingly touched that Hector had taken me into his confidence. Madeleine would not lose this baby, I was determined of that, and I would do everything in my power to help her through the pregnancy. I would be her rock, as she had been mine. The prospect of new life invigorated my soul and my heart lifted at the thought of seeing Madeleine again.
As I walked back towards the house I looked up to see Annie watching me from a first-floor window. For an uncomfortable moment I remained trapped in her steady gaze, until she slowly turned away, vanishing from view. My blossoming happiness was marred by a disconcerting thought. Try as I might, I could see no alternative.
There was only one expendable servant at Haverton Hall.
Annie Burrows would be coming with me.
Chapter Five
A few days later, I stood on the platform of a small country station, waiting with ill-masked impatience for Annie Burrows to emerge from the swirling steam with a porter and our luggage in tow.
As the train heaved away, a uniformed chauffeur appeared, and having ascertained my identity, he guided our caravan out to the cobbled front, where a gleaming Rolls Royce awaited us.
It was, the chauffeur informed us, but a short drive to Greyswick. The car purred down narrow country lanes, the high hedges banked with a thick lace ruff of cow parsley, until soon we reached the village of Wick – a sweet little place, boasting an assortment of stone cottages, bronzed with age and weighed down with thatched roofs. There was a blacksmith by the village pond, and beyond stood a square turreted church encircled by a low stone wall, a neat Queen Anne rectory beside it.
We soon glided from the village, the road plunging through a wood before breaking out into open farmland, the cultivated fields either side of us sprouting with green barley shoots, while a ridge of hills shouldered the horizon. Finally, two grey-brick lodges appeared set either side of a great archway, its wrought iron gates already opened for our arrival. A thrill of anticipation stirred in my belly as we skimmed up a long driveway lined with beech trees, last year’s prickly cases still scattered about the bases of their slender trunks.
The parkland about us was pleasant enough, with a few clusters of ancient oaks and a magnificent cedar whose low-slung branches hovered just above the ground. Unlike our park, it was devoid of livestock, but then Brightwell had made his fortune from mining not farming. As the avenue of trees gave way to iron railings, I caught my first glimpse of a large grey edifice in the distance. Gradually its intriguing outline began to take shape until, at last, the driveway billowed out into a gravelled carriage sweep and Greyswick loomed above us.
My first impressions were not favourable. It had been set square on to the drive, designed to impress and perhaps even overawe those who approached, though it was blatantly apparent the house would have enjoyed a far better aspect had it been positioned more with aesthetics, rather than vanity, in mind.
The chauffeur opened my door and I shuffled out, taking a good look at the monstrosity before me. The house was an incoherent fusion of architectural styles. The gabling appeared faux-Jacobean, but the enclosed porch would have suited a Victorian church, while the mullioned windows, Gothic by design, clashed horribly with the ill-advised clock tower, which was itself reminiscent of a Venetian palazzo. The extensive roof line had been trimmed with an open balustrade, underneath which, I was rather startled to observe, leered a menagerie of gruesome gargoyles. The whole extraordinary effect was, I thought, appalling.
I had just concluded my rather devastating assessment when the front door was yanked open, and my name came squealing through the air. Madeleine charged down the steps in a most undignified manner and threw herself into my awaiting arms, knocking my hat quite askew.
We clung to each other, giggling like school girls. I relished being with my younger sister again – she was my superior in every way. Whereas I was argumentative, quick-tempered and cutting, she was charm and grace and kindness personified. She was also beautiful in that classic Grecian goddess way. Her golden tresses could be effortlessly curled and arranged, while my coarse brown muss had to be teased and heated and twisted to destruction – only to resemble an ill-formed bird’s nest when done. And yet, despite her obvious advantages, I had never been jealous of her – I simply adored her. Undoubtedly, the fire had drawn us closer together. We came to depend on one another as never before, comforting each other as we mourned our sister. The tragedy made us appreciate from an early age that the sibling bond was a precious one, to be nurtured and cherished at every opportunity. We had never taken each other for granted from that moment on.
As I broke away, a cold vein of concern tempered my happiness. Studying her properly I was shocked to see the transformation in her. Always the personification of an English rose, the face before me now was deathly pale. Madeleine’s skin was drawn tight over her high cheekbones; her eyes were sunken and shrouded with grey. She hardly resembled a young woman in the bloom of pregnancy, though the swelling about her girth reassured me all was still well.
‘My dear,’ I collected myself at last, ‘you look so pale.’
A hint of colour crept across her hollowed cheeks. ‘I have not been sleeping so well of late,’ she admitted, ‘but I am quite well.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘Oh, Stella, I am so glad you have come.’ She made no attempt to hide the relief in her voice, but neither did she attempt to explain it. ‘Now come in, you must be exhausted!’
Arm in arm we mounted the steps to the front door.
‘I am so pleased to have you here,’ she said again, drawing me still tighter to her side.
‘I thought you might be finding life in the country strange after London.’
Her steps faltered. ‘Yes … yes … it is a little strange here.’
We crossed an unlit vestibule, before passing through stately double doors into a grand hall. It was an impressive room, with dark wood panelling and a chequerboard floor of marble tiles, its ceiling intricately decorated with plaster mouldings. To my left and right broad archways supported by alabaster pillars acted as gateways to dark corridors beyond, while before me, spilling out across the floor, were the sweeping steps of a heavy oak staircase, its massive timbers carved with fruits and flowers. It wrapped itself around the back wall, gently ascending to the floor above, crossing below a magnificent stained-glass window that stretched upwards out of sight. This patchwork of glass was the only avenue for natural light to enter the hall, and the sun’s penetrating rays cast a myriad of coloured shards upon the polished flight of stairs but failed to dispel the gloom that pooled at the edges of the room.
‘Goodness,’ I murmured, gazing about me.
Before Madeleine could comment we were startled by rustling from within the umbra. A woman materialised from the shadows, the full skirts of her stark black dress swishing as she drew near. I was struck by her unusual stature and sturdy build – and by the set of keys strung upon a gaoler’s ring which hung from the belt about her thick waist.
Madeleine stepped closer to me.
‘Mrs Henge.’ There was an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice. ‘This is my sister, Miss Marcham. Mrs Henge is the housekeeper here, Stella.’
‘Welcome to Greyswick, Miss Marcham. I hope you will enjoy your stay.’
It was a low-pitched voice, staid and unobtrusive. Yet there was a perfunctory iciness to her demeanour that I found rather unnerving.
‘Thank you, Mrs Henge. I’m sure I shall.’
‘If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask.’ She marshalled her features into a contrived look of apology. ‘We are, of course, short staffed, but I will endeavour to make sure that you have everything you need in as timely a fashion as possible.’ There was something in her tone that conveyed the impression I was a personal inconvenience. I found myself prickling with indignation.
‘I have brought my own maid with me, Mrs Henge. I trust, therefore, that my presence here will not prove too burdensome.’
She must have detected the underlying resentment in my clipped voice, for she responded with a subtle hike in one of her steely grey brows.
‘Not at all, Miss Marcham.’ Her eyes flickered over my shoulder and narrowed. ‘Do I take it that this is your maid, miss?’
My heart sank with misgiving as I turned to follow her supercilious gaze. Annie Burrows stood silhouetted in the doorway behind us, staring at the imposing staircase rising majestically before her.
Chapter Six
‘Maids don’t usually enter by the front door, Annie,’ I said, exasperated by her faux pas.
I was struck by how pale she looked, and hoped she wasn’t ailing. She would become a burden if she fell ill, but I knew how easy it was to succumb to a chill in these cavernous houses. There was indeed a rather nippy draught blowing down the staircase. It had filtered through the fine weave of my blouse and my skin was bristling against it. For all its splendour, I suspected the intricate framework of the stained-glass window did little to keep invasive breezes at bay.
Stifling my irritation, I turned to the housekeeper. ‘Please understand, Mrs Henge, Annie has never been away before. It seems she’s rather overwhelmed.’
‘Good staff these days are proving difficult to find, Miss Marcham,’ Mrs Henge observed, before issuing Annie brusque instructions to go below stairs via the green baize door located in the far corner of the hall.
The maid dipped a curtsy. I saw her sneak a further glance at the staircase as she scuttled away.
‘I’ll make sure the girl settles in, miss – without delay,’ the housekeeper assured me in a rather forbidding manner.
‘Mrs Henge, might we have some tea brought to the drawing room?’ Madeleine asked, bringing a welcome conclusion to the awkward episode.
‘Of course, Mrs Brightwell. I shall have Maisie bring it directly.’ With a curt dip of her head, the housekeeper melded back into the shadows. We heard the baize door close behind her.
‘Did you have to bring that girl here?’
Madeleine’s quiet question took me by surprise.
‘Annie is one of the few servants we have left,’ I laughed. To my consternation, she looked away, biting her lip. ‘There was no one else, Madeleine. God knows she would not be my first choice, but all the others have gone.’
She mustered a smile. ‘No matter … it’s just …’ She shook her head, mocking her own foolishness. ‘It really doesn’t matter, I’m being silly. She’s such a bit peculiar, that’s all.’
‘Your Mrs Henge seems like an old stalwart – I’m sure she’ll brook no nonsense. You watch, she’ll keep Annie in line.’
She forced a laugh. ‘Mrs Henge has been with the family for so long she’s practically part of the furniture.’
‘I didn’t even see her standing in the shadows there when we came in. She gave me quite a fright.’
‘There are lots of shadows in Greyswick. Mrs Henge seems to occupy most of them.’
To my relief, she shrugged off her odd humour and returned to sorts, taking my hand to lead me under the left arch into the panelled corridor beyond. Doors were set opposite each other along its length, and at the end was a single sash window. There was something bleak and institutional about the design of the house and its failure to incorporate much natural light. I found the enclosed corridor dismal and claustrophobic, and I felt I was navigating the bowels of the building, not the communication passage to its principal rooms.
But it was the tasteless opulence of the salon Madeleine ushered me into that shocked me the most. My jaw gaped in horrified wonder at the gaudy wallpaper and the vast, overstated swags of material draped around the French windows lining the outside wall. Gilt-legged sofas flanked the monstrous marble fireplace, while Chinoiserie cabinets stood like exotic guards either side of the doorway, with even more oriental pieces gamely distributed about the room. It was a far cry from the tired but gentle splendour that reigned at home. At least, I found myself ruefully appreciating, it was light.
