Hidden in the Heart (14 page)

Lydia’s eye wandered to the fireplace, with an enormous mantel, above which was an elaborate carving of a heart surrounded by swirling acanthus leaves and surmounted by a flame out of which rose a crucifix. The family, she supposed, must have been of the Roman Catholic faith.

Even so, she would have expected their coat of arms to have pride of place rather than this odd religious symbol.

‘What do you make of this, Aunt?’ she asked, looking up at it and reading the simple letters and numerals carved immediately beneath in small but deeply incised script: T.S. one-one-nine-one-one.’

‘You know, I had never noticed the writing beneath the heart,’ Camilla said, screwing up her face in an effort to see it better. ‘It reminds me of something, but at the moment I cannot recall what it is.’

‘It is an unusual piece, is it not?’

They both turned around in unison at this. The speaker was a tall - some might say Junoesque - woman in a plain gown and a lace cap. She was not young. Indeed, Lydia imagined that she must have more than forty summers behind her. Yet she was still strikingly attractive. There was a force of personality about her too. She had a presence that was wasted as a housekeeper. She should, Lydia thought, have been on the stage.

‘I could not help admiring it, ma’am,’ Lydia admitted.

‘Good-day, Mrs Chalfont,’ Camilla Denton said.

There was the usual awkward interval of introduction before Mrs Chalfont was able to inform them that their effort today had been wasted.

‘It was kind of you to come so far,’ she said graciously, ‘but I fear it may be some time before poor Sir Hector is able to receive visitors.’

‘Has he no family, ma’am, who comes to see him?’ Lydia asked, trying to glean as much information as possible.

‘There is a distant cousin in America,’ the housekeeper acknowledged, ‘who will inherit the estate when Sir Hector has gone on to his reward.’

‘That is too bad.’ Lydia sighed and cast her gaze around the beautifully furnished room. ‘I suppose it will be sold off to strangers.’

‘I fear you may be right, Miss Bramwell.’ Mrs Chalfont rose from her chair. ‘But since you have come so far, perhaps you would like to see some of the house and grounds?’

‘I would not wish to intrude, ma’am,’ Lydia said so demurely that her aunt cast her a look of considerable surprise.

‘It is no trouble at all, I assure you.’

She immediately began a practiced speech which she had doubtless delivered many times, conducting the two women through what seemed to be miles of corridors covered with imposing portraits and classical busts. She carefully avoided the portion of the house where Sir Hector was laid up in bed, explaining that he was sensitive to the least noise.

‘Only myself and Mr Tweedy, his valet,’ she elaborated, ‘ever enter his bedchamber now. Anyone else brings on a nervous collapse.’

At length their tour led through the kitchens, where Lydia spied Kate and a younger housemaid passing through on their way to another room. From the kitchens, their path led them outside into a walled garden which was oddly unkempt, parts of it appearing to have recently been dug up for planting. Aunt Camilla volunteered to help Mrs Chalfont cut flowers to display on the tables inside. The sun was shining brightly, and Lydia very quickly decided to feign a headache brought on by the heat. The response of her two companions was immediate and most solicitous.

‘Let us return to the house then, my dear. You may lie down upon a sofa until it is time for you to return.’ Mrs Chalfont was all consideration. ‘I shall even have the carriage fetched for you. I know Sir Hector would wish it.’

‘This is most strange.’ Aunt Camilla could not conceal her puzzlement. ‘You are in general so healthy. I have never known you complain of the headache before.’

‘I fear that the exertion of our walk....’

‘But you said that you found it so refreshing.’

This was not the sort of thing which Lydia desired her aunt to remember, and still less did she wish her to point it out to the housekeeper.

‘I have tried to do too much,’ Lydia said faintly. ‘But pray do not fetch the carriage, and do not think of abandoning your cuttings on my account. I shall be quite well if I am left alone for awhile.’

‘But you may become lost, my dear.’ The housekeeper was smiling but insistent. ‘Bellefleur is a large house, after all.’

‘I shall ask one of the servants to direct me,’ Lydia attempted to pacify her. ‘I would only be more anxious if I felt that I had spoilt your own pleasure, and that of my aunt.’

‘Very well, then,’ Mrs Chalfont agreed reluctantly. ‘But I shall at least accompany you to the kitchen and arrange that someone looks in on you to be sure that you are not too ill.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Lydia said, attempting to look wan. ‘You are all kindness.’

* * * *

As it happened, it was Kate whom Mrs Chalfont directed to attend to Miss Bramwell. This was just what Lydia had prayed for.

Lydia found her way back to the drawing-room where their tour began, and arranged herself artistically on one of the sofas in case someone should come in unexpectedly. She was tempted to venture above stairs to Sir Hector’s chamber, but the possibility of being caught held her back. It could be dangerous, and would certainly be embarrassing for herself and her aunt. They might be barred permanently from Bellefleur. In the end, she waited for perhaps ten minutes before Kate peered through the doorway.

‘Are you all right, Miss Bramwell?’ the girl asked her in a loud stage-whisper.

Lydia popped up from the couch so promptly that she startled the poor maid.

‘I am perfectly well,’ she said, beckoning for Kate to come forward. ‘It was merely a ruse to give me time to speak with you.’

‘You’re very clever, miss!’ Kate was lost in admiration at such resourcefulness.

‘Tell me more about Sir Hector and what is going on in this house.’ Lydia was whispering too, her gaze wandering toward the door to ensure that they were not overheard.

‘It’s just like I said before, miss.’ Kate seemed mystified by Lydia’s persistence, and uncertain what she should answer. ‘Nobody but Mrs Chalfont ever goes in to see the master anymore. Although—’

To Lydia’s surprise, a tide of red rose in Kate’s cheeks. She caught her lips between her teeth and it was plain that she was afraid to say more.

‘You may speak freely to me, Kate,’ Lydia said sympathetically. ‘I will not betray you if you have done something you ought not to have done.’

‘If Mrs Chalfont ever knew,’ the girl began, but Lydia was eager to assure her that no one would ever hear it from her lips.

‘It was less than a sennight past, miss,’ Kate whispered nervously. ‘I was passing near Sir Hector’s chamber when I heard a noise.’

‘What kind of noise?’

‘It sounded like something fell down, miss. I didn’t know what to do.’ Her hands were clenched in her lap and she looked down at them with something like shame. ‘I know I shouldn’t have gone in there, but I thought to myself, what if ‘e’s ‘ad a fit or something?’

With no time to think, Kate knocked briefly before entering the room. It was very dark and gloomy, the rich satin curtains drawn to shut out the sun. She could clearly perceive, however, a figure lying in the bed, the arm hanging over the side. There was an empty glass on the floor beside the bed. This must have been what she heard falling upon the rug.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ Kate called out softly.

The next thing she knew, an arm reached across and snuffed out the single taper burning on a small table beside the bed, and a hoarse voice shouted at her, ‘Get out, you stupid little slut! Go away and leave me to die in peace.’

She did as she was told, of course. A good servant always does. But the incident left her puzzled and uneasy. There was something about it, she confessed, that just wasn’t right.

‘Something was not right?’ Lydia repeated, trying to follow the girl’s train of thought.

‘Well,’ Kate considered the matter and attempted to put her thoughts into words, ‘I know the master never spoke to me like that in the three years I’ve been in service here. But it wasn’t that....’

‘Then what?’

But whatever it was proved elusive. Kate shook her head and declared that it was sure to come to her. Maybe if she had a good night’s sleep, the answer would come to her in the morning. With that, Lydia had to be content.

‘Very well,’ she said, leaning back on the sofa. ‘But as soon as you recall what it is that’s troubling you about it, please let me know at once.’

‘I will, Miss. I promise.’ Kate stood up. ‘I’d best be getting back to work now, before I’m taken to task for idleness.’

She walked toward the door and put out her hand to close it behind her. Then, quite suddenly, she stopped and stared at the handle she was holding and turned around to face Lydia. Her face was illuminated like some prophetess who had just received a divine revelation.

‘I remember now!’ she cried with obvious excitement. ‘It wasn’t his hand, miss. Indeed it wasn’t.’

Before Lydia could respond to this, to seek enlightenment, a figure appeared behind the maid and a voice spoke so sharply that Kate started violently and grew as pale as a babe’s christening gown.

‘What are you doing here, Kate?’

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Tweedy,’ the poor child stammered, quite flustered at his unexpected appearance. ‘I was just checking on Miss Bramwell. Mrs Chalfont asked me to.’

‘Well, get back to your duties,’ Mr Tweedy snapped. ‘The young lady looks perfectly well to me.’

‘Indeed, sir,’ Lydia agreed, standing and walking towards them, ‘I am completely recovered and think I will rejoin Mrs Chalfont and my aunt.’

The valet stepped back so that she could pass by him on her way to the garden. A forbidding-looking frown marred his somewhat bland features. He neither spoke nor smiled, but stared down at her with dark, suspicious eyes.

‘Do not dawdle now, Kate,’ he called out to the maid, who was several paces ahead of Lydia.

The two young women reached the kitchen at almost the same moment. Cook was in the midst of preparing for supper, and told Kate to mind her work did not fall behind.

‘Will you be at church on Sunday?’ Lydia asked Kate quickly.

‘Yes, Miss Bramwell. Of course I will.’

‘We will speak more about this then.’

* * * *

Lydia considered that she had done very well for one day. For her part, Aunt Camilla was shocked at her behavior. Being better acquainted with her niece than Mrs Chalfont was, she had come to the belated conclusion that her so-called illness had been no more than a performance put on for the benefit of the housekeeper.

‘I was mortified!’ Camilla cried as they walked back toward town later that afternoon.

‘Oh, pooh!’ was Lydia’s considered response. ‘What do I care what Sir Hector’s housekeeper might think? Not that I suppose she suspected anything. Why should she? I am quite a good actress, I think.’

Camilla could not view the matter in so charitable a light, however. She remonstrated with the young girl for several minutes before she finally conceded the futility of further effort.

Meanwhile, Lydia decided to discover from her aunt whatever could be gleaned about those who were employed at Bellefleur. She was particularly interested in Mr Tweedy, whose menacing presence had so dismayed Kate.

Mr Tweedy, it seemed, was the nephew of Sir Hector’s first valet. He had taken up the position upon his uncle’s demise and had already been with Sir Hector for almost twenty years. Mrs Chalfont had been at Bellefleur for perhaps five or six years - Aunt Camilla could not recollect exactly. She was a widow, originally from London. A fine figure of a woman, although she gave herself such airs that some people (notably Mrs Wardle-Penfield) were not enamored of her. It was said that Mr Tweedy had at first been very much against her, because she quickly came to have such influence over his master. However, it seemed that the housekeeper had managed to charm the valet as well, and it was even rumored - not that Camilla believed a word of it, of course! - that they were rather more than friends.

As for the rest of the servants, the cook had been there for many years, and the young maids all came from respectable families in the village or the surrounding country. The butler, Mattucks, was almost as old as Bellefleur itself, and many of the young people joked that his first position had been as a footman on board Noah’s Ark.

It was all rather commonplace, Lydia supposed. But she could hardly wait to speak with Kate on Sunday. What she said might mean nothing, or it could be of the utmost importance.

Perhaps John could help her to make some sense of it. She longed to talk to him about it, but then remembered that they had quarrelled again. Well, she would not be the one to go crawling to him! The quarrel had been of his own making. Let him come to her, if he cared to do so.

A suspicion entered her mind that she was being very childish and silly about this, but she refused to heed it. She began to wonder if marrying John was really so sensible a plan as it had first appeared.

It did not take very long for John to call upon his betrothed. He did not come alone, however. His father accompanied him, and it was plain that he was not as enthusiastic about his son’s choice of bride as either John or Lydia would have wanted.

‘I wish you both every happiness, my dear child,’ Mr Savidge said to Lydia. He shook her hand, which did not bode well, Lydia thought. Thomas Savidge was the kind of man who would have been more likely to crush her in a hearty embrace if the match had met with his approval.

‘I - I shall try to be a good and - unexceptionable - wife to John,’ Lydia stammered, for once put out of countenance.

‘I am sure you will be, child,’ her future father-in-law smiled somewhat mournfully. ‘Not but what I had higher ambitions for my son.’

‘Miss Milbridge?’ John enquired laconically. ‘You were wasting your time and hers, if you thought I’d ever offer for that platter-faced ninny.’

‘Miss Milbridge,’ the elder Savidge said, ‘is a fine young woman, and her family is very well-connected. Her cousins are related to the Duke of—’