Seasons of Love (24 page)

Susan lost her awe of her new mistress within an hour, and began to think that she had fallen lucky, from what her friend at the Manor told her. And to think she'd been hoping for a summons to go there as a maid! She'd be nothing there, and the old lady was driving everyone mad, by all accounts. But here she'd be the head maid, because she'd got here first, thanks to her Great-Aunt Becky. Yes, this was going to be much more to her taste, she was sure.

As dusk cloaked the landscape in shadows, there came the sound of a rider cantering up the drive. Briggs set down the chair he was carrying, took off his sacking apron and wiped his hands. ‘I reckon I'd better answer the door, ma’am.’

‘Thank you, yes. I'm not at home to anyone, except Mr Napperby.’

Briggs was back a couple of minutes later, with a letter. ‘It was a groom with a letter from Mr Daniel Carnforth, ma’am.’

She took the letter and turned it round in her hands, reluctant to face more unpleasantness. ‘I wonder what he wants?’ The handwriting was large and angular, the ink very black. Inside, she read:

Sir Daniel Carnforth presents his compliments to Mrs Carnforth, and regrets that he
was not at home to receive her. He further regrets that, due to a misunderstanding, her
husband’s body was not taken straight to the library, which had been prepared to
receive it, as is the custom. A carriage will be sent tomorrow morning to fetch the
coffin, or this evening, if that is more convenient.

The funeral has been arranged for three days hence, and all necessary
arrangements have been made to receive mourners at the Manor afterwards.

Gentlemen only to attend the ceremony.

D. Carnforth

Helen went white with suppressed fury when she read this curt epistle. She couldn’t even speak for a minute or two.

‘You all right, ma’am?’ asked the watchful Briggs, who had never seen quite such a look on her face, because he'd never seen anyone try to attack or ill-treat a person she loved.

‘Yes, I'm fine.’ She realised she had crumpled the note in her hands, so smoothed it open to read again, because she couldn’t quite believe what it had said. But the words were still the same, cold and hurtful.

She wished she hadn’t sent Mr Napperby away or he could have responded for her. How could this man, who had never even met her, offer her such gratuitous insults, not to mention trying to exclude her from her own husband's funeral?

When she did not speak, Alfred coughed. ‘The groom has been told to wait for a reply, ma’am.’

‘Tell him there will be no reply,’ she said at last. ‘My lawyer will be waiting on Mr Daniel Carnforth in the morning, and nothing can be done until then.’

Alfred didn’t like the sound of this.

Without commenting, she passed him the note to read.

He hissed in shock at what it said. But still, there ought to be an answer, he felt. ‘Don't you want to write him a note, ma’am? Just a word. To refuse his offer, like.’

‘Thank you, no.’

She didn't trust herself to do it with dignity. She was still too angry. Not attend her own husband’s funeral, indeed! Who did that man think he was to tell her that?

Helen was no angrier than Daniel. His mother had informed him that the Dowager Lady Carnforth had called and driven away again almost immediately.

Celia didn’t quite like to admit that she’d refused to see the widow and her son, so she glossed over this point. She also glossed over the fact that the Dowager hadn’t been invited to stay at Ashdown, or even offered refreshments, emphasising only the woman's refusal to leave the coffin behind.

When asked what the Dowager was like, she said that she’d been unable to tell, as the woman had been heavily veiled. (She had taken a quick peep out of her bedroom window and been disappointed to see so little.) But the boy was quite young, not more than ten, from the looks of him. (She had also questioned Jane, but found the housekeeper’s answers very unsatisfactory.)

‘The lad will need a guardian for a good few years yet,’ Celia added slyly, knowing the thought of this imposition still annoyed her son.

Mr Napperby's curt note to Sir Daniel, being unfortunately worded, had only served to back up Celia's allegations. It stated baldly:

Proceeding to Dower House. All contact with Mrs Carnforth to be conducted
through the writer, who has the honour to be handling her affairs. Will call on
you tomorrow at eleven.

S. Napperby

Daniel could draw no other conclusion than that the woman was deliberately offering him the grossest of insults by spurning his hospitality and refusing to follow custom as regards the funeral.

If this was a sample of her manners and breeding, he would have as little to do with her as possible.

Only the need to bury his kinsman decently and to keep quiet the disagreements that had already occurred had made him send the groom with a note. As far as he was concerned, the widow could settle into the Dower House and rot there.

Helen's refusal even to reply, passed on bluntly by the groom who had carried the message, made Celia smile in satisfaction and Daniel grow even angrier. Both took to their beds early, Celia to sleep soundly and Daniel to toss and turn.

What next? he wondered as a damned loud clock somewhere in the house struck the hour yet again.

Chapter 15

The next morning Helen got up filled with determination to manage the funeral herself. She refused to be obligated to people who did not even have the decency to treat her politely, whoever they were. She therefore sent Harry, who was his old self again, to look for Briggs and fetch him to her.

‘Will you go into the village and take this note to the parson, Alfred. I've asked him to call on me here at his earliest convenience. We shall need to make arrangements with him for Charles’s funeral.’

Briggs bowed his head. He was both indignant and disgusted at how his mistress had been treated, but he didn’t know how best to help her. The gentry didn’t like servants interfering in their doings.

Mr Napperby would be the best person to see to matters, and fortunately was coming back this morning, but Briggs intended to keep his eyes open. Let any of the villagers or the servants from the big house say anything disparaging about her ladyship in his presence and he would make sure they never did so again.

Helen sighed. She felt both weary and a little nauseous after the long journey. ‘After that, would you please ask around and see if you can find us any more help? We need a cook-housekeeper, another maid and a lad to help inside and out. ‘And Alfred . . . ’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘I would like to thank you for all you’ve done recently. I don't know how I'd have managed without you since Charles died!’

‘It's been my privilege, ma’am - and what the Captain would have wanted, as I well knew.’

‘You will - stay on with me and Harry?’

‘Of course I will, ma’am! I have instructions from the master to look after the boy, teach him to ride and later on, to shoot. He made his wishes very plain about that.’

‘Thank you. I can't think of a better person to look after him than you.’ Helen blinked rapidly to dispel the tears that threatened. Silly, how emotional she'd been lately. She didn't know what had come over her.

The parson was at the Dower House within the hour, all agog to meet the wicked woman who had captivated Charles Carnforth. She must be a very artful creature indeed to have trapped an experienced man like him into marriage, but not, Mr Morpeth hoped, really wicked. He didn’t think he’d know how to deal with someone like that in his peaceful little parish.

Helen, afraid of further rebuffs, received him formally in the best parlour, clad in the black her husband had hated so much, but not wearing her veils. She looked young, defenceless and very tired, and when she spoke, it was in a pleasant, low voice.

This is no designing female!
thought Mr Morpeth almost immediately, feeling indignant that she should have been so misrepresented.

Only the other day Mrs Celia Carnforth had taken him on one side and said confidentially, ‘Of course, people will not receive a creature like that into their homes! One must maintain standards.’

Sheer spite, that's all it could have been, and he, a man of God, had believed it, to his everlasting shame! He felt so indignant at his own gullibility that he decided to preach a rousing sermon the following Sunday on the evils of listening to slanderers and ill-wishers.

‘How may I help you, ma’am?’ he asked gently, touched by the sadness in her eyes. ‘Your man said it was urgent.’

‘I wish to arrange about my husband's funeral, of course.’ She would feel much better when Charles was laid to rest.

He could only goggle at that. ‘But - Mrs Carnforth - Mrs
Celia
Carnforth, that is - has already dealt with that!’

‘Then Mrs Celia Carnforth has been wasting her time!’

‘But - it’s customary for the funeral of a Carnforth to take place from Ashdown Park, ma’am!’

‘And is it also customary for a widow to be forbidden to attend her own husband's funeral? Or for the new owners of Ashdown to refuse to receive her.’ Her voice broke and tears threatened again for a moment.

As she fought to control herself, he suppressed his shock and wondered what had happened the previous day? Had they really refused to receive Charles Carnforth’s widow at Ashdown? He couldn’t believe it of Daniel, who seemed a man of good sense. Surely, surely there must have been some mistake?

‘My dear Mrs Carnforth, I don't understand this at all! Of course they will receive you. And -

and how can anyone forbid you to attend? Who would do such a thing?’ He spoke gently, realising how upset she was, seeing the damp rag of a handkerchief being alternately twisted and crushed by the slender fingers.

‘I was informed that only gentlemen mourners were to attend.’

He relaxed a little. Here was one misunderstanding he could lay to rest at once. ‘Well - only the gentlemen usually follow the hearse and attend the interment - but the ladies of the family wait for them at the house.’

‘I haven’t been invited to the house. When I called there yesterday, Mrs Celia Carnforth was indisposed, Mr Daniel Carnforth was out and we weren’t even offered refreshments, just directed to the Dower House.’ Her eyes flashed at the memory and when he would have spoken, she raised her hand to stop him. ‘I tell you this not to seek sympathy, or to make you act in any way disloyal to the new owner of Ashdown, but to show you why I am
obliged
to hold the funeral myself from this house!’

‘I am,’ he fumbled for a tactful word, ‘shocked - yes, shocked! - by what you say. But I cannot think Mr Daniel Carnforth is aware of what has happened. I have found him to be a most reasonable gentleman. Quiet, but very just in his dealings.’ It could only be his fool of a mother who had made these arrangements, but Mr Morpeth did not say that.

‘Mr Carnforth was not at home when we called yesterday, but it was he who sent me the letter specifying that only gentlemen were to attend the funeral.’ Helen’s voice grew fierce. ‘I loved my husband, Mr Morpeth, as did my son. We have no intention of being excluded from his funeral!

We wish to be there when he is l-laid to rest. So - may we discuss the arrangements now?’

He ran a hand through his thin fringe of grey hair, then realised this would have left it standing on end round the edges of his bald pate, something his wife had warned him about several times.

He smoothed it hastily now again, searching for words which would neither upset this poor lady afresh nor imply that he disbelieved her. ‘I shall be happy to help you in any way I can, Mrs Carnforth, believe me, but may I - would you allow
me
to speak to Mr Daniel Carnforth first?

Before we do anything irrevocable?’

Her voice was bitter. ‘To what purpose?’

‘To see if - I am not doubting your word, pray do not think that! But Mrs Celia Carnforth, Daniel's mother, can be very difficult - yes, difficult is the word, there is no getting round that - a
very
difficult lady, in fact. I am pretty certain that Daniel himself is not aware of - of how you feel -

or perhaps, even, the true state of affairs.’

‘He was the one who wrote the letter!’ she said indignantly.

‘Yes, but - well, I do not like to malign a lady, but - what did
she
tell him first?’ Mr Morpeth shook his head.

‘Well . . . ’ Helen hesitated. She had taken a liking to Mr Morpeth and he did, after all, know the new owner better than she did.

He decided to be brutally frank. ‘Ma’am, it would cause a great scandal if you held the funeral from this house! It would put you - and your son - in a very awkward position. May I not, at least, attempt to reconcile the two parties before this misunderstanding goes any further?’

She bowed her head for a moment, but not before he had seen the sparkle of tears on her cheeks.

‘Well,’ she conceded, ‘perhaps you could see him and just find out if there really is a misunderstanding. I have no desire to cause scandals, I assure you. My son and I have to live here, after all. But I must and will attend my husband’s funeral!’

Mr Morpeth sighed with relief. ‘Thank you, ma’am. A very wise decision. Very generous, too. I shall ride over to Ashdown at once. This matter must be settled as quickly as possible. But - before I go - may I say a brief prayer over the coffin? I knew him too, and liked him.’

Now the tears were falling fast. ‘Yes. It's in the dining-room. Please excuse me. This is all so -

so distressing!’ Her voice broke on the last word and she left the room hurriedly.

As Mr Morpeth was leaving the house, he met Harry in the hall.

‘Good day, sir. Are you looking for my mother?’

‘No, young man, I've already seen her. I've been saying a prayer for your stepfather.’

‘Oh. Are you
il padre
- I mean, the priest?’

‘Clergyman, we call it in England. You must be Mrs Carnforth's son. My name is Morpeth. I'm the parson of this village.’