The Emerald Comb

And so it was that on Saturday I found myself standing outside Kingsley House again, grinning from ear to ear, with a slightly grizzly Thomas who’d just woken up holding my hand. Simon had dropped us off and was busy parking the car further up the lane. The older children and the estate agent were with him. I tugged on the bell-rope and heard a distant jangling inside.

Vera opened the door and broke into a wide smile when she saw me on the doorstep. ‘Katie, how lovely to see you! But, I’m afraid we’re expecting visitors in a moment. The house is up for sale, you see.’

‘I know – it’s us who’ve come to see it,’ I said, shaking her hand.

‘You? Oh, how lovely! When the estate agent said a Mr and Mrs Smith wanted to see the house I didn’t think for a moment it’d be you!’

‘I know, it’s such a common name, not like St Clair. Listen.’ I spoke hurriedly, seeing Simon, Lewis, Lauren and the estate agent walking up the lane ‘My husband doesn’t know I was here before. I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention it. He’s not…well…he doesn’t get the whole ancestry thing, you know? I think it would put him off the house.’

Vera raised her eyebrows, but nodded. ‘All right. Mum’s the word. And who’s this?’ She crouched down to Thomas’s level, but he became suddenly shy and buried his face against my leg. She stood up again as Simon and the others crunched across the gravel driveway. ‘Come in, everyone. Would you like to take the little one into the study? I’m sure I can find something to amuse him while the rest of you look around the house.’

The estate agent, Martin, a skinny youth in a shiny suit, introduced everyone as Vera ushered us all inside. Martin set off on a tour with Simon, Lewis and Lauren, while I followed Vera into the study with Thomas.

Harold was dozing beside the fire, in much the same place I’d left him on my last visit. ‘He’s not been so good,’ Vera whispered to me. ‘That’s why we’re having to move. We’re going into one of those little retirement flats, in a new development near our son in Bournemouth.’ She sighed. ‘It’ll break our hearts to leave this place, but the time has come.’

She gently shook Harold’s arm to wake him up. ‘Harold, look who’s here to view the house.’

He blinked twice at me, then smiled. ‘Katie St Clair! So are you going to buy our house, then?’

I laughed. ‘Well, I’ll have to see what my husband Simon thinks. He’s having a look around now, with the kids.’

‘And you’d better go to join him, or it’ll look odd,’ said Vera. ‘Now, Thomas, shall I fetch you something to play with? I’ve got a box of old Matchbox cars somewhere. I used to keep them for our grandchildren. But they’re all grown up now.’ She opened a low cupboard in the old shelving unit and pulled out a Tupperware container. Thomas trotted over and started rummaging through it happily, pulling out diggers and police cars, tractors and racing cars. Harold pulled out one and showed him how the doors opened.

‘Look, Thomas. It’s an old Ford Anglia. Like the first car I ever owned!’

Thomas inspected the battered toy. ‘Daddy’s got a Galaxy. We came in it today. It’s red.’

‘Oh, I like Galaxies,’ said Harold. ‘Lovely big cars.’

Behind him, Vera gestured to me to follow her out to the hallway, leaving the ‘boys’ to discuss cars.

‘It’s lovely to see him playing with a child,’ said Vera. ‘Does him good.’

‘Thomas loves cars. Your Tupperware box is the perfect thing to keep him happy.’

‘You’d better go and join the tour. I believe they’re upstairs now. I’ll make us some tea, and squash for the children?’

‘Perfect,’ I said, and trotted upstairs to find Simon and the kids who’d reached the two attic bedrooms.

‘Mum, I want to have this room,’ said Lauren. ‘I love the slopey ceilings. But I don’t want Lewis in the other room up here. I want this floor all to myself. Can I?’

‘Sweetheart, we haven’t even decided whether to buy this house or not. It’s a bit over our price range.’ I looked at Simon as I said this. He was chewing his lip, a sign that he was deep in thought. ‘What do you think, Simon?’

‘Got loads of potential. And I’ve always quite fancied a project house. Do you like it?’

‘I love it. Absolutely love it,’ I said. Martin grinned, no doubt seeing pound signs spinning in front of his eyes.

‘You can’t have seen much of it yet,’ said Simon. ‘But it is the kind of place which grabs you, isn’t it?’

He had no idea just how much it had grabbed me. I nodded, as we went back down the narrow stairs to the first floor.

A few minutes later, our tour was over. Lewis and Lauren went out to explore the garden, while Martin watched them nervously from the kitchen. Simon and I returned to the study where Thomas was parking cars along the edge of the hearth rug. Harold looked up as we entered.

‘Mrs Smith, do please sit down.’ He gestured to the chair opposite him, beside the fire. ‘We’ve been thinking. Are you serious about wanting to buy this house?’

I sat, and glanced at Simon standing beside me, wondering how we should reply. I loved the house and could think of nowhere I’d rather live, but it was out of our price range. How could we say we were serious about it when we knew we couldn’t possibly afford it? Simon looked lost for words too. Before either of us had chance to frame an answer, Harold continued.

‘Because if you are, I think we would be very happy to sell the house to you. Vera and I always hoped another family would buy the house, rather than a developer. We’d hate it to be mucked about with and turned into flats. We’ve had plenty of offers from developers, but have turned them all down, hoping a family would come and look at it. And we decided,’ here he looked at Vera who nodded encouragingly, ‘that if a family we liked came to see the house, we would reduce the price for them.’

I stared at him, and then at Simon. Was I hearing this right? They’d reduce the price if we wanted to buy? I blinked, and opened my mouth to speak, but again, Harold got in there first.

‘I think four hundred thousand would be plenty for us. The retirement flat we want to buy is much less than that. No sense in us being greedy. Would you like to discuss it?’

I nodded, dumbly. Simon looked stunned.

Harold smiled and reached across to pat my hand. ‘You mustn’t feel you’re cheating us, you know. We don’t need the full asking price. You’d be doing us a favour by keeping it out of the developers’ hands. Isn’t that right, Vera?’

Her eyes were bright as she answered. ‘Oh, yes. We’d love you to buy this house. Especially as –’ She stopped herself in time, and put a hand to her mouth.

‘Can we have a minute to talk about this?’ said Simon. He went out to the hallway and nodded at me to follow him.

Vera called to the estate agent. ‘Martin, could you come in here a moment, please, Harold would like a word. Leave Mr and Mrs Smith to have another poke around by themselves, perhaps.’

Simon pulled me into the kitchen and stared at me. ‘Four hundred? Wow! I was working out whether we could stretch to four twenty as a cheeky offer but if they’ll come down that much – we’d be stupid not to go for it! We could sell it straight on and make a profit if nothing else.’

I felt my heart sink. Is that all he was thinking about – making a quick buck? ‘We couldn’t sell it on – they want a family to live here. Anyway I want to live here, don’t you?’

‘It needs a lot of work…’

‘We could do it! I could project-manage it – Thomas will be starting reception class in school after Easter and I’ll have time. I know I was going to go back to work part time, but I could do up the house first… Oh, Simon, I adore this house, and would absolutely love to live here and do it up! The kids seem to like it too…’ Lewis and Lauren were investigating the beech tree. As we watched, Lauren gave her brother a leg up to the first branch.

Simon turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders. ‘Calm down, Katie! I love the house too. And we could add value to it by doing it up. Look at this kitchen – hasn’t been touched in thirty years! But we’d be living in a building site for ages bringing this place up to scratch. Have you any idea how stressful that would be?’

‘We can do it bit by bit. I don’t mind the mess. Anyway the house is big enough that we could live in some rooms while we do up others. There are six bedrooms, Simon! Oh, let’s go and tell them yes, please!’

He gazed into my eyes, then pulled me into a crushing hug. ‘All right, let’s do it. But remember, we still have to find a buyer for our place.’

I kissed him. At some stage I supposed I would have to tell him about the history of this house, but that could wait. If he’d known about my ancestors living here, he’d never even have come to see it. I’d come clean later. When it was too late to back out.

We called to the kids to come inside. Their cheeks were flushed from the crisp winter air, and Lewis had grass stains on both knees.

‘Awesome garden, Mum! I love that tree. Are we going to buy this house?’ He glanced at his filthy hands and wiped them on the back of his jeans.

‘When we move in, I want both of the rooms at the top. One for a bedroom and one for a playing room, Mum, can I?’ Lauren clung onto my arm, jumping up and down.

‘Steady on! There’s a lot of water to go under the bridge before we move in. But, yes, I would think you can have one room at the top if that’s what you want. And share the other as a playroom.’

‘Yes!’ Lauren punched the air, as we all crowded into the little sitting room cum study.

Harold looked at me expectantly. ‘Well?’

‘We love it. We all love it.’ Thomas looked up from the hearth rug as I said this, and nodded his little blond head seriously.

‘Four hundred?’ asked Harold, raising his eyebrows.

‘Deal,’ said Simon, stepping across the room and shaking the old man’s hand. Vera smiled broadly at me, her eyes shining. Whether with excitement or unshed tears I wasn’t sure.

Martin coughed. ‘Um, by rights the offers should go through me, and may I say it’s a little on the low side…’

‘It’s all right,’ said Harold. ‘Remember we said we’d reduce for the right people? Mr and Mrs Smith, and young Thomas here and his brother and sister – they are the right people. And that’s all there is to it.’ He looked up at Simon. ‘How soon can you move?’

‘Two roast beef, one salmon and one roast chicken. And for the kids, two burger and chips, and one pasta bolognese. Have I got that right?’ Simon ticked off the orders on his fingers as he recited them.

‘Yes, that’s the lot,’ I said, watching him go to the bar to place the food order. Dad had already bought a round of drinks – insisting on paying, despite it being his birthday. I sipped my wine, and opened up the freebie bag of colouring pens and puzzles the barman had handed over for Thomas. Lauren and Lewis were on their Nintendos. I guessed they were on some kind of multi-player game, as every now and again one would cheer and the other look sulky.

Mum settled herself back into her chair. ‘Now then. What’s all this about you buying a new house? I know you could do with more space but it seems so sudden. You didn’t even tell us you were house-hunting!’

‘We’d only just started,’ I said. ‘But when the right house comes up straight away, well, you just have to go for it. We saw it yesterday, and have already agreed to buy it.’

‘Goodness, that was quick!’

‘They offered it to us at an amazing price,’ I said, grinning.

‘Well, that’s very exciting!’ said Mum. ‘Tell us about it, then, love. How many rooms does it have?’

‘Six bedrooms, two reception rooms, three if you count the study. And a large kitchen with separate utility room and pantry.’

‘Pantry!’

‘Well, a walk-in food cupboard, really.’

‘And what will you do with all those bedrooms?’

‘Convert one to an en-suite,’ said Simon, returning with a wooden spoon, painted with the number seventeen. ‘There’s only one bathroom and I think it definitely needs another.’

‘Nan, I’m having a room on the top floor,’ said Lauren, looking up from her game.

‘Lovely, dear!’

‘We’ll be able to have a proper guest room, Mum,’ I said. ‘So you can come to stay without being stuck on the living room floor.’

‘Christmas at yours next year, then?’ asked Mum.

That was a nice idea. ‘Why not?’

‘As it’s an old house, I guess there are proper fireplaces so Santa can come down the chimney instead of through the back door?’ Dad winked at me over Thomas’s head.

‘I saw Santa,’ said Thomas. ‘On a bicycle.’

‘That was just someone dressed up,’ said Lewis. ‘Not the real one.’

Thomas’s lip quivered and I frowned at Lewis to shut him up. Mum put her arm around Thomas. ‘I’ll take you to see the real Santa,’ she said. ‘He’s going to be at the shopping centre next week. He might give you a present, if you’re good.’ She looked at me. ‘I can’t wait to see the house. When will you move in?’

‘When we’ve sold our place,’ Simon said. ‘We’ve not even put it on the market yet. With the way the market is at the moment it might take ages to sell.’

Trust Simon to put a dampener on things. I hadn’t really given much thought to selling our current house. But of course he was right. I shouldn’t get too excited about moving to North Kingsley. What if we couldn’t sell our place, and meanwhile the Delameres got fed up of waiting and sold to someone else?

I must have looked worried, because Dad reached over and patted my hand. Simon picked up his pint.

‘Don’t fret, Katie,’ he said. ‘Since the Delameres have agreed such a good price for their house, we can price ours to sell quickly. They’re moving into an empty retirement flat. We could be in by Easter, with a following wind. As long as the survey’s OK. We’ll have to think hard if it turns out to be riddled with dry rot or rising damp.’

I didn’t listen to that last bit about surveys. Simon wasn’t going to spoil it for me. I was too busy considering the totally gorgeous idea of moving in spring. Simon, Mum and Dad began a discussion on house prices while I allowed my mind to wander, imagining the fields around North Kingsley bright with the fresh green growth of a new season, the hedgerows laden with elderflower and hawthorn blossom, cute rabbits hopping along the verges, swallows dipping and diving overhead. The kids would be out in the woods, exploring the countryside, learning the names of wild flowers and birds. We’d get a dog – with such wonderful country walks all around it’d be a crime not to. I’d plant up the garden with hollyhocks and lupins, and Simon would make the kids a tree house in the branches of the beech. And of course, I’d be living in the very rooms where Georgia and Bartholomew once lived.

It would all be so perfect.

‘Katie, how’s the old family tree research coming on?’ Dad’s voice broke into my thoughts. He’s the one person in my family who is truly interested in my genealogical research. I guess because he’s a St Clair too. But now wasn’t a great time to discuss it.

‘Um, I haven’t spent too much time on it lately…’

‘Like hell you haven’t,’ said Simon. ‘You’ve barely done anything else. Didn’t you go taking photos of some old house to do with your ancestors a few weeks ago?’

‘Oh, really?’ said Dad. ‘Fascinating! You must show me them. Where was the house?’

Trust Simon to remember that now. I felt myself blush. I hated keeping secrets from him but I wouldn’t put it past him to pull out of the house purchase if he thought I was only interested in it because of its connection to my family. I had to wait until the deal was secure before telling him.

‘Oh, er, it’s not far. Twenty, thirty miles away, something like that. I’m still researching other St Clair facts, too. Like where they’re all buried. I want to find their gravestones, and get some photos of those, too.’

‘So have you drawn up the family tree yet? I’d love to see it,’ said Dad.

‘It’s all on Ancestry.’ For once, I was desperate to steer the conversation away from genealogy.

‘Email me the link, will you? I’ll have a look at it this week, see if I can find any more details for you. I wouldn’t mind getting involved in all this research now I’m retired.’

I smiled and nodded. I’d have to forget to send him it. Otherwise he might follow up links and find Kingsley House, and recognise it from the estate agent details Simon had shown him. That would be awkward, to say the least.

Chapter Five: Brighton, April 1838

For the thousandth time, Bartholomew patted the pocket in which he’d stowed the trinket, to make sure it was safely tucked away. It wasn’t the first gift he’d given Georgia, but it was by far the most expensive. A silver hair comb, set with emeralds along its spine. He’d had it made in London by a Bond Street jeweller, and hoped she would love it. As the stagecoach rumbled southwards along the bumpy Brighton road, Bartholomew was glad he would be able to deliver this gift in person, rather than send it as he’d done with the last few presents.

It had been a few weeks since he’d last been in Brighton. Trouble with his investments had called him to his Mayfair townhouse, and it had taken him longer than expected to get everything back on track. His agent, Collins, should be able to take care of business from here on, freeing Bartholomew to live the idle life of a gentleman, as was his right. More than ever, he needed capital, and that could only come from marrying someone with money. Like Georgia Holland. There were rumours of a substantial inheritance, currently in trust for her but which would pass to her husband on the occasion of her marriage. She was pretty and charming, if a little immature, and could be a good choice of wife. He had not renewed the lease on his Brighton lodgings – Charles Holland had invited him to stay in the Brunswick Terrace house.

Well, he’d see the pretty little Georgia soon enough, and would ask for her hand at the earliest opportunity. If he played his cards right, he could be out of debt within a few months. And, of course, there was the added attraction of Georgia’s alluring lady’s maid. He felt a twinge of excitement at the thought of seeing her again.

The countryside passed by in a rush of bright new foliage, sweet white blossom, rich earthy scents of newly ploughed and planted fields. The spring sunshine cast a glow of hope for the future over everything. Bartholomew smiled. There was a world of possibilities ahead of him.

When he arrived at Brunswick Terrace, the door was opened by the footman, Peters. ‘Welcome, sir. The master is awaiting you in the drawing room. I shall take your luggage up to your room.’

‘Thank you.’ As he gave his hat and travelling cloak to Peters, Bartholomew noticed the maid, Agnes, on the turn of the stairs. He caught her eye, and raised one eyebrow. In return, she gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head, sending a thrill rushing through him. What did she mean by that nod? Could it be – an invitation?

‘Miss Georgia said to inform you she is indisposed,’ said Peters. ‘I believe her maid is attending to her now.’ He held the drawing room door open.

Bartholomew was still gazing after Agnes. That woman had the most regal bearing of any woman, high- or low-born, he’d ever seen. She was slight but carried herself tall, graceful as a swan. She looked back at him once, a half-smile on her face, as though she was as pleased to see him as he was to see her.

He entered the drawing room, where a log fire was blazing in the grate, even though the day was warm and sunny. Charles Holland was sitting in an armchair near the fire, his back to the window. He had a brandy glass in his hand, and as Bartholomew approached he gulped it back and motioned for Peters to pour another.

‘Welcome, welcome, St Clair,’ he said, waving at Bartholomew to sit opposite him.

Pulling the chair a little away from the fire, Bartholomew sat down, but declined the brandy offered to him by Peters. He’d have welcomed its warming glow, but one brandy often led to another, and another. It was early yet, and he wanted to keep his wits about him during this interview with Georgia’s uncle.

‘I thank you for your hospitality, sir,’ he said. ‘It is most kind of you to offer me room in your house.’

Holland snorted. ‘You’re here because I assume you are going to propose to my niece, sooner or later. I thought if you were here under her nose for a few weeks it might hurry things along. She’s got money, you know. Plenty of it. In trust now, but goes to whichever poor blighter marries her.’

Bartholomew blinked. ‘Sir, I am not after her money, please don’t think that…’

‘Hmph. Most of ’em are. Granted, she’s a pretty enough little thing but there’s too little flesh on her for some men’s liking, and she can be far too spirited. You’ll need to tame her, somewhat. You ready for that, man?’

‘I like her spirit,’ Bartholomew said, remembering the night they’d met, when she’d walked in the snow in dancing slippers, and made him carry her.

‘So did a young chap she met last week,’ said Holland. ‘Son of a wine merchant, I believe, name of Perry. He’s called here every day. She’s having her portrait painted, and the poor sop waited mutely for hours while she sat for the artist. If you want my niece – and Lord knows you’re welcome to her, I make no secret of the fact I want her off my hands – you’ll need to act quickly. I’ll give my blessing. Frankly I think an older, settled chap like yourself will be better for her than a love-struck pup like Perry.’ He gulped back his brandy and reached for the decanter to pour another. ‘Sure you won’t join me?’

‘Perhaps just a small one.’

Holland poured a generous measure into a large brandy glass and handed it to him. ‘So, St Clair, as Georgia’s official guardian I should ask you about your property and income and such like. Don’t give a damn, myself, but it’s the done thing as I understand it, and sooner or later some busybody’s bound to ask about my niece’s fiancé. So I’d best have the detail, man.’

Bartholomew cleared his throat. He’d been expecting this question, but not quite in this form. ‘Well, sir, I am comfortably off. I have a townhouse in Mayfair which is my usual residence when in town, and two other properties near the Regent’s Park, which are let out. I expect to inherit a small country estate in Hampshire from my father in time, but I may not keep that for long.’ Best not to mention that all the London properties were mortgaged to the hilt, and he was barely able to keep up the repayments.

‘Hampshire? Nice county. Know it well, from my youth. Where’s your father’s place, exactly?’

‘North Kingsley, on the London road out of Winchester. The house is called Kingsley House.’

Holland snorted. ‘Never heard of it.’

The captain’s dismissal made Bartholomew feel defensive about his childhood home. ‘It’s not large, but is comfortable, and very pleasantly situated. Any woman would be happy living there.’ He swallowed his brandy, and set the glass on a small table beside his chair.

Holland immediately reached for it and poured him another. ‘How long till you inherit?’

Bartholomew blinked. The directness of the man! ‘Sir, my father is old and frail. Only the Lord above knows how much longer he will live, but I would not expect it to be more than a couple of years.’

‘Until then, what’s your income?’

‘I have upwards of £800 a year from my investments. Your niece, should she accept me, will want for nothing.’ At least, he had been generating £800 a year from his investments, up until losing thousands when an East Indiaman had sunk off the Cape. Bartholomew drank again from his brandy glass.

‘Well, that’s settled then. I’ll ring for her to join us.’ Holland heaved himself out of his chair and pulled on a bell-cord which hung beside the fireplace.

Bartholomew frowned. ‘I believe your footman said she was indisposed?’

‘Indisposed, my foot. She was dancing late at the Assembly Rooms last night with young Perry, and gave herself a headache. Fetch my niece,’ he said to Peters, who responded with a small bow. ‘Tell her she has an important visitor and I want her downstairs at once.’