Silver (41 page)

“
I don’t… I don’t know what you mean..” Avery stammered at the same time that Kate spoke up. “Avery?”

“
What are you playing at?” he asked Elizabeth. “Kate, I’m so sorry. Miss Greenwood is bedeviled. She finds amusement in such lies.”

       
Kate looked at Elizabeth who had cast her book down on the side table.

“
Oh for God’s sake. I cannot bear this anymore! Avery, look at her. The girl is madly in love with you and you cannot spend a night without uttering her name whilst you sleep.” She stood and, in doing so too quickly, she swayed on the spot as the heat hit her. She threatened to collapse back in to the chair and, worried for the baby, Kate and Avery leapt forwards at the same time to assist.

“
Leave me alone. If anyone needs help in this room, it is the two of you.” Elizabeth mopped her brow with the back of her hand and left.

       
Both Avery and Kate watched her retreating back in silence until they were stood alone, side by side in awkward silence. After a few moments, Kate shrugged her shoulders.

“
I expect you will want me to return to England,” she offered into the silence between them.

       
He almost laughed but instead he turned to face her and no longer fought the urge to take her in his arms.

~o~

              Heston barely raised an eyebrow when he saw Avery leaving Kate’s room early next morning and over the next few days it became obvious even to the young Italian serving maid that Avery and Kate were doing more than just talking when they were alone together. Avery noticed that the housekeeper spent more time fussing over Elizabeth in a pitying way and cast furious looks at Kate and himself. Though he felt he should probably put the woman straight, at least to keep Kate’s character free from blemish, he rather enjoyed the idea that she thought him such a scoundrel. For Kate’s part she didn’t seem to care any less about what the domestic staff thought of her. She acted no differently around anyone, she chided Avery in the same way and kept picking up after Elizabeth or offering her assistance to the cook. The only difference was the way she looked at Avery when he watched her, she turned a smile on him full of such open delight that he was sure he was still dreaming.

       
They spent most mornings together, either walking to the lake or in to the groves and chatting. They held hands and found secret spots to steal a kiss or for him to press her to him. Avery was the happiest he could imagine himself but still he found something which worried him. One afternoon, they had meandered locally to a place they had found where there was a shady sweep of Swiss pines beneath which a selection of broad flat rocks afforded a comfortable place to sit. The view out towards Lake Garda was arresting and Kate’s face was in profile as he listened to her talk. He loved the sound of her voice, the way some words sounded foreign in her thick accent and the way her sentences seemed to roll on and on without her even taking breath. She had been talking about all of the places she had seen so far on their trip. Though he had been alongside her all the time, the way she spoke of it made it sound like more of an adventure.

“
You never speak about your family,” he asked suddenly.

       
She fell silent and turned an apologetic smile on him.

“
I have no family, Avery. Don’t look at me like that and don’t ask me again.” She closed her eyes and he knew from the way she screwed her eyes up that she would not relent. “They weren’t there when I needed them, that’s all I will say. When I have my baby I won’t let her down,” she added sadly.

       
He watched her sitting there and he felt her words like a cold slap. It was something he had never thought about in his own future and yet she obviously had. It was a future he could not give her. By the time she had opened her eyes, Avery had stood up and was pulling his lip.

“
Come on,” he said without looking at her. “Let’s go.”

       
His tone was short and there was a tangible atmosphere that she did not fail to pick up upon.

“
What’s the matter? What did I say?”

             
“It’s nothing. It’s grown late, that’s all.’ He stepped down off the rock and brushed his seat of his trousers glancing towards the dusty path they must take to rejoin the main road.

“
Avery?” she continued to press. “What have I said?”

“
Just leave it.”

       
Kate stared at him, open mouthed and frowning.

“
I can’t just leave it. Is it because I won’t talk about them? That I was disowned? Are you ashamed of me? Are you angry?”

“
Damn it, no! I am not angry or ashamed of you. I am angry and ashamed at myself.”

       
She looked at him blankly.

“
Kate. I am utterly in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“
And I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” she interrupted.

       
Avery shook his head and turned away.

“
I cannot condemn you to a life with me. This…” he indicated himself, “..is my choosing but it is not yours.”

       
She stepped off the rock and walked to his side. “Avery, you are my choice. I know what you are and I choose every part of it.”

“
But you will never be a mother,” he said finally. “We would never have a family.”

       
She looked at him sadly, realizing at last what he meant. Her shoulders dropped with the realization and he felt an ache at losing her. After a few moments, she reached out for his fingertips.

“Avery, I have something to tell you,
’ she said, staring hard as if to reassure him. “Promise me, you won’t be angry with me.”

       
Avery felt his stomach lurch as his mind wrestled with all the possibilities Kate might declare but at that moment, they heard a shout from the road. It was Heston.

“
Mr. Silver, Miss Ward. It’s Miss Greenwood.” he shouted. “Her labour has started.”

       
Heston looked panicked, he was pleased to have found Kate and when she began to run towards the road, a great look of relief washed over the man.

When I finally arrived home that evening, I felt almost hollow with all of the emotion that had drained away from me over the last several days. From shock to anger, disappointment to grief I felt that the evening with Heston had left me empty.
In the space of a week, I had lost my father, not once but twice. His death had pitched me into grief but finding out he was not my father to begin with, took him even further away than death could. And now, I was losing my mother all over again. So, she had not been my mother. I had been Mrs. Evesham’s reject. The house seemed darker than ever as I crossed over the threshold and I thanked Maud as she relieved me of my coat and hat.

“
Is Mr. Bancroft at home?” I asked.

             
“No, Ma’am.”

“
He has gone to collect Master Thomas and Sebastian from the train, Ma’am.”

             
“Very good, Maud. I think I shall change before dinner. I will call for you if I need any help.” I wanted to have a moment to collect myself before the boys arrived home and with that I ascended to my room and sat before my dressing table, looking at myself in the mirror. As I regarded my familiar reflection, I looked hard like I had never done before. I am not a vain woman but I find nothing much that displeases me when I regard myself. This however was not an appraisal of my beauty but a study of my features. As I sat before the glass I could see my father’s eyes dancing in mine as I smiled, the way my eyes crinkled as I did so were the spitting image of my mother’s. How could it be that they were a part of me? I looked again and tried to discern the fine features of Mrs. Evesham. As I studied myself I saw, from the corner of my eye, the envelope that Heston had given to me. The sight of it made my heart miss a beat. I didn’t know what it contained within it but I was in two minds about destroying it. The ink of my name was dark and I imagined that it had only been written in the last few years. After a few moments staring hard at the familiar hand of my father’s writing, I decided that whatever was written within could not change what I had come to find out. There could surely be nothing left to know.       

        I
nside, there was a short letter in my father’s hand and a sheath of papers written in my mother’s untidy hand. They were dated 1870.

Dearest Midge,

There is much truth in the world that is denied and there are lies which are accepted by all as indisputable. That I should have told you face to face is undeniable and for that I apologise with all my heart. I suppose that I had always hoped you and your mother would have had the conversation and that it would be something you just came to understand the way you just learned to talk, the way your sense of humour grew more enchanting each day or the way you inherited your mothers understanding of how to make people feel comfortable. If you are reading this letter then it means that I ran out of time or courage. My lovely Imogen, this does not change a thing. There is nothing that can take away from the past. You must only look forward and take care of your own family now. The boys are your future just as you are mine.

Always your father, Avery

             
Avery was shocked when I told him about Imogen. I could tell. He is like an open book though he tries to pretend otherwise. I think we had been interrupted at the right moment because I am not sure I was ready. Poor old Heston was all of a muddle and it was just as well he had found me because the women of the village were not doing a good job at keeping Elizabeth calm. When we arrived back at the house, her room was full of people we didn’t know, all calmly drawing water and preparing clean rags. I could hear Elizabeth before I reached her room, she was on all fours, in the middle of her bed, racked with the familiar throws of labour. As soon as she saw me, she screamed with relief and reached out to me.

             
“Oh, Kate. Help me. Please, make it stop,” she sobbed through gritted teeth.

             
“I’m here now, Elizabeth. It’s okay. How close are your pains?” I asked, remembering the questions my own midwife had asked me.

             
“They haven’t stopped,” she cried. “Oh, please.”

       
She arched her back as a fresh wave overtook her and she began to wail. As she did so, I stepped over to the bed and took her hand just as Avery came in. One of the women chased after him, ushering him away.

             
“No, señor. Usted no puede estar aquí.”

             
“What’s happening? What can I do?” he said, ignoring the women.

             
“Avery, help me,” Elizabeth screamed. “Do something,” she said.

       
He looked helplessly at me.

             
“Come, sit here and keep hold of her hand,” I said, standing up and rolling up my sleeves. Elizabeth had begun to pant hard, her face glowing red and I recognized the signs of an imminent delivery. Two of the women had thrown up their hands and begun muttering to themselves, no doubt about Avery’s continued presence but I think they put this down to English eccentricity. Although I spoke no Italian and the women attending Elizabeth spoke no Englis,h they accepted my help and I was quickly absorbed into the smooth and ordered chaos of the delivery. Unlike my own labour, it wasn’t long before I could see the glistening crown of hair and a rush of emotions flooded through me; regret, pain and joy.

             
“I can see the baby’s head,” I said.

             
“Get it out,” she cried, panting hard.

       
One of the women gathered up some cloth and between us we took delivery of Elizabeth’s baby as she struggled to draw breath in between the pain.

             
“Es un niño,” the woman beside me cried as she lifted the baby clear of the bed. “Es un niño!”

             
“What did she say?” Elizabeth croaked as she collapsed onto the bed.

             
“It’s a boy,” I said, my voice breaking like the flood of memories that washed inside me.

~o~

              “How did you know what to do?” Avery asked that evening.

       
He had watched the whole thing from beside Elizabeth without a single word, pale-faced and lost, like a small boy.

             
“It was…,” he searched for a word, “terrifying.”

       
I smiled grimly, remembering my own fear as I had lain upon a strange bed not two years ago, giving birth to a baby I could not keep and knowing I had been cast out by my family in disgrace and after what had happened, there was no way I could keep my job. Yes, terrifying was an apt word and I felt the same pang of regret as I had when the midwife had asked me what to call my daughter. I have a daughter, I thought and her name is Imogen.

             
“Kate? Are you okay,” he asked.

       
I kept my eyes down and took a deep breath before I told him everything.

             
“I have a daughter,” I said, “and her name is Imogen.”

       
I watched carefully and, though he said nothing, his eyes grew panicked and his body rose with a tension he need not have felt.

             
“You asked me why I don’t talk about my family. Well, they disowned me,” I whispered. Though I had long accepted that that was the truth, admitting it was like going through the pain all over again.

             
“I officially went into service when I was nine years old though in truth, it had been so all my life. I followed my mamma into the kitchens of the Darfould Estate. We all did. It was a big estate and most of our village depended on it for their livelihood. My brother was a groom and my two older sisters were employed in the house. My father was, probably still is, head gardener. He spent so much time outside in the grounds that his face was like the saddle of the master’s horse. He was a tall man but his back was always bent like he was crouched over a herb bed.

“The Estate was vast and
employed so many people yet the Broadwater family were only five in number. I remember how odd I found this thought when I had first found out. The master and mistress were always to remain a distant presence to me and my mother had coached me well; to stay out of their way and to fear them before I could respect them for their power over us all was second only to Gods. They had three boys, two of whom were away for lengths of a time at school but the youngest, Charles, was almost exactly my age and it was inevitable that we found each others company.

“I spent
much of my girlhood running errands around the kitchens and for my father and I became as much a part of the place as the skirting boards or fountains in the garden. When he wasn’t being tutored or occupied by his nanny, Charles would seek me out and we would play together. No-one seemed to mind. He was well-liked by all the staff and his mischievous nature was tolerated by his family. Mine were less pleased when our forays ended in tears. I remember one summer when we had got lost. I had followed Charles around the estate to an area of woodland, we must have been no more than eight and it had begun to grow dark. He had grown frightened and begun to cry. When we were found by one of the garden hands, he was miserable and cold. I had taken the full brunt of the misadventure. I didn’t see Charles for several weeks as he had been kept to his bed; his parents fearing he had caught some dreadful chill. The cook kept needling me about it for weeks; Charles was her own favoured child and I fancy she reduced my portions as a way to punish me for my actions. It felt very unfair of course but that became the way of it. As Charles was the golden boy of his family, I became the black sheep of my own.

“Over many summers, we found each other out and talked about what we would become. You’ll laugh but my ambition then was to own my own shop where I would sell wraps of sweets and sticks o
f licorice. He said he wanted to be a gardener like my father so he could always play in the garden. It was a foolish notion but his life was already as set for him as mine was for me though we would not see this for many years

“T
he only recognition of my official cross-over into service was my uniform, which I hated, and a wage which my mother took for my keep. At first, Charles found the uniform hysterical and would search me out more frequently just to mock me. It was after several afternoons of him sitting around the back of the kitchen where I was cleaning out one of the kitchen grates, black smut clogging up my fingernails, that he annoyed me too much. He had been circling me for at least half an hour, repeating over and over:

‘
“Cinderella, you can smell her. Cinderella, you can smell her.”

“It was childish but I was cross at him and I was cross at my life. It wasn’t fair that I had to be cleaning that rotten grate and endure his taunts. I snapped and, dropping the grate, I chased him. It wasn’t hard to catch him and when I did, I let fly with a shower of blows across his shoulders and head until I was pulled off by the furious face of my father. Charles’s face was black where my smutty hands had made contact and he looked shocked.

“Needless to say, I wasn’t popular with anyone in the house for a long time after that and, looking back, I was lucky to keep my job. Charles’s visits below stairs stopped altogether and I only saw him from a distance for the rest of the year. When he was ten, he was sent to boarding school and he only came home at the end of term. The first time he came back, he came to find me, to apologise for teasing me. I was taken aback. I had not been expecting it. He confided in me that he had found school hard and I suspect that he had been the subject of some bullying. He seemed more timorous but I was grateful for the apology. Though no-one else knew, I felt some of the guilt leave me.

       
Avery watched me whilst I spoke and I knew from his face that he was jealous. No doubt, he already guessed the ending to my story but I felt I had to finish. It was important to me to explain.

“Each time he returned, he found some time to come and find me but we were careful not to let anyone find us together. I would sneak away on an errand to the orchard or the kitchen garden and Charles would meet me in one of the outbuildings; the summer hours, the orangery, the lake house. I knew mamma would be furious.

“Charles spoke about his future, about his father’s plans for him, about school, about his plans to travel and I felt that these were the only times he talked about the things that troubled him.  My life became a routine and each year I looked forward to seeing Charles, to hear about his term and to see how much he had changed. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t spend the whole year pining after him but you have to understand that he was a friend and my life was extraordinarily dull. By the time he came home at the age of seventeen, we were very different people and our summer chats grew shorter and less frequent. I had noticed how each year he had come home taller, broader and his voice deeper. By comparison, I don’t think I changed a bit; perhaps only grew more tired and less interesting!

“But that summer, he came to find me on his first day back. He was pink faced with excitement and he asked me to meet him in the
summerhouse. He was so excited; he didn’t even bother to make sure we were alone. My older sister, Eve and one of the scullery maids, Greta were in the yard when he came to see us. You should have seen the look on Greta’s face when the tall young master strode round the side of the kitchen and asked to meet me. She looked as though one of the garden ornaments had broken free of its stony pose and begun talking to her. That alone was enough to make me bold enough to walk straight after him without a further thought. It was reckless but I was carried away with his excitement and wasn’t he a friend?

“He wanted to tell me that his father had agreed for him to study botany at university alongside his classical studies. I was pleased for him but when he presented me with a basket of twisted licorice sticks I was so thrilled. I forgot myself and I ran to hug him. Please don’t look like that, Avery. It was a hundred moons ago and I didn’t feel anything but gratitude to him, honestly. It must have taken him by surprise too because the next thing I knew he had pulled me to him and begun to kiss me.

       
I stopped as Avery interrupted me.

             
‘“Please, you don’t need to tell me anymore. So you had a baby with your childhood sweetheart? Do you love him still?”

             
“Avery. Please. Let me finish,” I paused and the next time I spoke I kept my eyes closed so Avery couldn’t interrupt me. “I was shocked. No-one had ever kissed me before and, if I’m honest, I had never thought about anyone in that way before. I was dazed and I responded. I was flattered and confused but I don’t regret what I did.”

             
“The kiss lasted a few minutes and when we pulled away I still felt just as confused. He asked me to meet him again that same evening and I agreed. The attention was nice and I half thought we would fall back into our usual talks like we always did but we didn’t. I don’t need to tell you details about that evening but I need you to understand that he didn’t force me.

             
“Within a week, he was off on a tour of the country to join his school friends and within a few months I knew I was pregnant. I was terrified and so I wrote to him. He had returned to school and the weeks I waited for a reply were the longest ever. I never got the reply, my mother and I were summoned to the mistresses presence and I was dismissed and effectively disowned in the same moment.

       
I didn’t know what else to say nor whether Avery would still feel the same about me. A few moments passed in silence and I felt relieved to have finally told him my own secret but afraid he would no longer need me or want me.

             
‘“What happened to Imogen?” he asked eventually.

             
“I couldn’t keep her,” I said. “I couldn’t keep her.”

       
I began to cry and in one swift movement he had sat beside me and taken me in his arms, smoothing my hair and quieting me with his calming breath.

             
‘“We will find her,” he said, and I believed him.