The Lost Ancestor (12 page)

Mary desperately wanted to argue back, to
fight her corner, to tell Caroline just how bad life was at Blackfriars, but
she knew that it was an argument that she could never win.  Instead, she
changed the subject.  ‘Where’s Edie?’

‘Out looking for work.  She’s gone to
stay with Lucy in Eastbourne for a few days to see if there’s anything
there.  Poor girl’s been out each and every day, looking.  She’s even
resorted to doing laundry.’

‘Oh,’ Mary said.  Lucy was an old
childhood friend with whom Edie had fallen out years ago.  Things must
have become desperate for Edie to seek help from her. 

As she watched her elder sister placing
dishes into the sink to be washed, Mary realised her uneasiness at being home:
it wasn’t the temperature, her mother’s or Edie’s absence, or her father’s
melancholia, it was the haunting return of Caroline.  Mary could still
recall, with great clarity, the day that Caroline left home to be married to
William.  The house immediately felt bigger and lighter for the lack of
her oppression.  Their father acted like he ran the Mercer household but
in reality it had always been Caroline’s domineering presence that dictated the
mood of the house.  Mary had a sudden urge to see her ailing mother. 
‘Can I go to the sanatorium and see her?’ she asked Caroline.

‘Absolutely not.  She’s confined to
her bed and needs rest.  If she pulls through, you can see her back home.’

 
Am I really to blame for all
this?
Mary asked herself.  Surely she couldn’t be held responsible for
her mother’s tuberculosis and her father’s melancholia?  ‘I might as well
leave, then,’ Mary said, genuine in her words.

‘Yes, you might as well,’ Caroline said,
keeping her back to Mary.  ‘Make sure you come back on your next half
day’s leave and bring your wages.’

Just like the previous two occasions, Mary
left the Mercer household with tears rolling down her face and a horrible
nauseous feeling writhing in her stomach.  As she hurried down the back
path to Blackfriars, the only thought which could assuage her fatigued mind was
that of Edward.

Mary
read the note over and over again, the wonderful, delicious words becoming
engrained on her memory. 
I love you, Mary Mercer!  There, I said
it.  You’re all I think about, Mary!  I just want to be with you
every minute of every day.  Edward x.
  She had found the note
under her pillow when she had returned to her room.  She lay on her bed,
the note resting on her breasts, rising and falling with each breath.  In
the eerie light of a fading, solitary candle beside her bed, she wordlessly
mouthed the words,
I love you, Mary Mercer,
just in case Clara was not
yet asleep.  Mary was in love and the best thing of all, he loved her in
return.  The love she felt for Edward thwarted the silly, childish
feelings she had held for Cecil.  She knew now, with absolute clarity,
that her feelings towards him were nothing more than an immature crush. 
The note had dried the tears and subdued the pain caused by the afternoon at
home.  Thinking of Caroline made her teeth clench and a bilious feeling
surge through her body.  She wondered what had made Caroline into such a
nasty, bitter person and was grateful for her closeness to Edie growing
up.  Although maybe now it seemed that bond was broken, too.  The
twins had never been separated for so long before and Mary hated it.  She
leant onto her side, pulled open her drawer and removed the silver locket. 
For a few moments, Mary held it above her and watched as it gently swayed from
side to side.  Finally, she undid the clasp and placed it around her
neck. 
Now you’re close to me, Edie,
she thought.  Edie and
Edward were both resting on her heart.  Mary smiled and fell asleep
without tears for the first time since she had started at Blackfriars.

Mary
was elated to hear the breakfast bell sounding.  Having achieved the first
chores of the day, she hurried downstairs, eager to see Edward for the first
time since he had left his love note to her.  She had repeated it so many
times that she knew it off by heart.  When she thought about those few
precious words, they replayed in her mind in Edward’s beautiful voice.

There was an unusual bubbling of
conversation filtering from the servants’ hall as Mary approached.  As she
entered the room to take her seat, she noticed that Mrs Cuff and Mr Risler were
not yet at the table.  She suddenly became aware that the eyes of the
other servants had fallen upon her and the level of conversation had suddenly
dropped.  Her cheeks flushing red, Mary sat opposite Joan, keeping her
eyes firmly on the table in front of her.  In time, as the noise level
rose, she dared to look across to Edward.  His face crimson, he tried to
smile reassuringly, but something in his eyes told Mary that all was not quite
right or usual.

‘Ah, ain’t that sweet,’ Joan said, much
more loudly than she had ever spoken to Mary at the dinner table.

Mary flushed again, sensing that the other
servants had somehow found out about her and Edward. 
Had he told them?
 
She looked again at Edward but his gaze was fixed firmly to the floor.

‘I love you, Mary Mercer!’ Joan roared,
standing from the table.  Mary slumped in her seat as Joan continued her
dramatic performance.  ‘There, I said it.’

‘Joan!’ Eliza called.  ‘Stop it!’

A male servant, whose voice she did not
recognise, joined the agonising display.  ‘You’re all I think about,
Mary!’

‘What is the meaning of all this noise?’
Mr Risler bellowed, suddenly appearing in the room with Mrs Cuff at his
heel.  ‘Joan Leigh, sit down
at
once
.’

Joan sheepishly returned to the table.

Mary glowered at Clara, her Judas
Iscariot, her whole body tensed with anger and betrayal. 

‘I don’t know what’s been going on in
here,’ Mr Risler ranted, ‘but I could hear what can only be described as an
unholy cacophony coming from this room.  I sincerely hope that the
household were spared hearing it.  This will
not
happen
again.  Is that clear?’

A general murmur of agreement rose from
the rebuked servants.

‘Before we begin breakfast,’ Mr Risler
bellowed, ‘I have just been informed that Lord Rothborne’s cousin, Frederick
Mansfield, will soon be paying the family a visit.’

There was a low, almost imperceptible
groan from around the table at the mention of Frederick’s name.  Mary
looked around the room, trying to gauge the reason for the disquiet at his
visit.  ‘We will, therefore, need to ensure that the guest rooms are all
adequately prepared,’ Mr Risler said, picking up a large tray of cold meats and
beginning his usual route around the table. 

‘Sorry about
her
,’ Eliza said, as
she poured Mary a cup of tea.  Joan scowled but remained quiet, more
interested in filling her mouth with as much pork as she could cram in.

Clara turned to Mary.  ‘I’m sorry,
too, Mary.  I didn’t mean for Joan to overhear.  I thought I was
whispering it just to Eliza.’

‘I don't want to talk about it,’ she said
quietly.  Mary was hurt by what had happened; she was not yet ready for
the whole staff to know about Edward and her.  For one thing, the news
would now surely filter through the village and get back to Edie.  For
another, Edward and she would be watched with hawk-eyes to ensure that nothing
untoward ever happened.  It felt to Mary like a giant conspiracy that
nobody wanted them to be together.  She didn’t care a jot about Joan, but
Mary knew she would forgive Clara in time.  Just not right now.  On
top of all that had occurred at home yesterday, Mary was in no mood for more
upset.

It
was a great struggle for Mary not to fall asleep.  Her weary body pleaded
with her to surrender to her tiredness but she fought it.  Taking a fold
of skin from the palm of her left hand in her right forefinger and thumb, Mary
rammed her nails in as hard as she could stand.  She winced and almost
yelped with the pain, but it had done the trick; she was awake again and her
muscles’ pleas for sleep subsided.  The faint clanging of the grandfather
clock on the floor below told Mary that it was half past eleven.  Just
fifteen minutes to go and she would get up.

There was just enough of a glow from the
fire and from the pale moonlight pushing its way in under the curtains for Mary
to see that Clara was in a deep sleep.  A gentle snore came from her
throat as she took in a long inhalation.  Mary smiled and considered what
she was about to do.  After the humiliating breakfast that morning, she
had returned to her work with a sagging despondency inside her.  As usual,
she had engineered the duties so that it was she who cleaned Edward’s
bedroom.  As always, she had paid scant attention to the cleaning of the
room, to the fire grate nor to the bed occupied by Edward’s roommate,
Jack.  Instead, the majority of her time was always spent on Edward’s bed,
allowing her senses to absorb the fragments of his presence.  She would
usually then make his bed, fastidiously ensuring that there was not a single
ripple in the linen sheets, followed by placing a delicate kiss on his
pillow.  This morning, however, her routine had been disrupted at the
discovery of a note under his pillow. 
Meet me at the boathouse at
midnight, Edward x
.  Having read the note, she had quickly concealed
it under her uniform.

Minutes passed where Mary’s mind wandered
through a future life with Edward.  She saw them both standing in the
summery garden of a small cottage, full of bright flowers, watching their
children playing together.  Happily married: that was her future. 
Her stomach leapt with exhilaration for what she knew what was about to happen
tonight.

The clock finally struck eleven
forty-five.  Carefully and slowly, Mary swung her legs from the bed and
placed her bare feet on the cold boards.  At bedtime, she had rushed up to
the room and climbed into bed, pulling the sheets and blankets tightly up to
her neck so that Clara did not notice that she was fully dressed.

With the merest of movements, Mary stepped
away from the bed, picked up her shoes and silently crept towards the
door.  Before she opened it, Mary stood still and listened.  Clara’s
breath rose softly into the still air.  Mary unlatched the door and gently
pulled it open.  Again, she stopped still and listened for the rhythmic
sound of Clara’s breathing.  When she was sure that she had not disturbed
her, Mary moved into the hallway and pulled the door shut.  Clutching her
shoes in one hand, she snuck down the ninety-six steps into the basement. 
The downstairs corridors were eerily quiet and almost pitch-black but for a
solitary wall-mounted candle close to the kitchen door, guiding Mary in the
right direction.  Enough adrenalin pumped around her veins to fight off
the muted feelings of fear and trepidation at being in the depths of the house
in the dead of night.  A sudden thought of bumping into Bastion made her
shudder, a cold sensation tingling down her spine. 
Who knows what a
wretch like that would do to me down here, with nobody within earshot?
Mary
thought.  Her fear abated when she remembered that Edward was somewhere
nearby, also making his descent from the upper floors.  But he would not
likely go out through the kitchens, but rather through the meat larder, which
had an exterior door and was much closer to the male servants’ staircase.

Mary was relieved to find that the
kitchens were mercifully empty; the only sign of life came from the flickering
flames from the open fire, creating strange, unnatural shadows from the array
of pots and culinary implements suspended from the ceiling.  She hurried
to the door and retracted the large metal bolts which held it closed: she had
made it outside.  As she closed the door behind her, she gasped at the
freezing February night.  She thought that she had wrapped up well, but
she hadn’t prepared herself for this level of coldness, already seeping through
her layers of clothing like an insufferable, invasive creature. 
Why
does my courtship with Edward always have to involve being frozen to the bone?
she
wondered, as she made her way across the courtyard towards the path which ran
around the outside of the lake.  The moon was like a squashed orange,
still days away from its full voluptuousness, yet the skies were sufficiently
clear to guide Mary around the lake’s periphery.  On the island the great
folly stood, its majestic beauty incongruent with its apparent uselessness as a
building.

As Mary approached the boathouse, she
slowed her pace, wishing that her eyes would adjust to the light, demanding of
them more clarity from the shadows.  Her steady pace came to a halt just
yards from the boathouse.  The door was open and she was sure that she
could see someone inside.  A nervous tension rose inside her as she
considered that it might not have been Edward who had left her the note. 
Why
wasn’t he turning around or speaking? 
Mary took a step back, a low
panic rising inside, as she tried to bring to mind the note that she had found
under Edward’s pillow. 
Had it definitely been his handwriting?
 
She was sure that it had been, but the image in her mind was blurred and
confused.  The black form inside the boathouse shifted slightly.  It
was definitely a person. 
Maybe he hasn’t seen me
, she
thought.  Mary took a deep breath in and bolstered herself mentally. 
She would say his name once and if he didn’t answer straight away, she would
run.  ‘Edward?’ she said, unable to conceal the quiver in her voice. 
She knew that there was no way the person in the boathouse could have heard her
pathetic mumbling.  ‘Edward!’  She spoke more clearly and more
confidently.

The figure in the boathouse had heard and
moved towards the door.  Mary struggled to see any facial features but she
thought it looked like Edward’s body shape.

‘You made it!’  It was Edward’s
voice.

Mary emitted a much bigger sigh of relief
than she had intended, rushing up and throwing her arms around Edward. 
‘Oh, thank God it’s you!’  In his tight embrace, Mary suddenly felt safe
and warm, her silly fears instantly dissipating.

‘Who did you think it was?’ Edward
asked.  She could tell from his voice that he was smiling.

Mary shrugged.  ‘I just got worried,
that’s all.  I think I got a bit scared by the darkness.’

Edward pulled her in more tightly. 
‘My little Mary,’ he said quietly.

‘You do realise we’ll be given our
marching orders if we are caught out here together?’ Mary asked.  ‘Never
mind that you’ve got the boathouse open.’

‘You’re worth the risk.  Come on,’
Edward said, taking her chilly hand and guiding her inside the boathouse.

‘Where are we going?’ Mary asked.

‘Not far!’  Edward released her hand
and fumbled in his pockets.  A moment later he struck a match and an amber
hue lit up the small enclosure.  Holding the match in one hand, he
carefully stepped inside the Mansfield family rowing boat.  Taking a
moment to get his balance, Edward offered his hand to Mary and she climbed
in.  ‘Where to, me lady?’ Edward asked as he sat in the centre of the boat
and pulled up the oars.

Mary grinned.  ‘I think somewhere in
the Mediterranean would be rather lovely,’ she said.  She’d once read a
book about the coastal towns and islands in that stretch of water.  She
had a fanciful idea of one day exploring the romantic harbours of Spain,
France, Italy and Greece on one side and the exotic ports of Algeria, Morocco
and Egypt on the other.

‘The Mediterranean it is, then, madam.’

Mary sat back and let her mind
relax.  As exciting as a trip to the shores of Europe and North Africa
would undoubtedly be, she actually didn’t want to be anywhere other than
sitting on a cold rowing boat on the Blackfriars lake with Edward.  Deep
down, Mary knew where they were headed and what was about to happen but she stopped
herself from thinking too deeply, wanting to savour each second as it unfolded
before her.  She gently swayed from side to side, making the boat rock in
response.

‘Stop it!’ Edward whispered.

‘Ah, poor Edward,’ Mary teased, rocking
the boat even more.  ‘Are you getting seasick?’

‘Mary!  I’m serious, I can’t swim!’

Mary giggled but stopped rocking. 
‘Peace has returned.’

Edward continued rowing the short
distance.

‘Here we are, Your Ladyship,’ he said as
they reached the wooden landing stage on the island.  ‘We’ve reached one
of the Greek islands.  Hope you enjoy your stay.’  Edward stood, tied
a loop of rope around the jetty, then stepped out.  With one hand he
steadied the boat, the other he offered to Mary to assist her out.

As she had expected, Edward led her
through the tall dewy grass towards the old folly, his hand tightly gripping
hers.  She could feel the damp from the passing undergrowth rising through
the hem of her dress.  She could tell that he was nervous from his clammy
hands and lack of conversation.  She knew from his fixed expression that
he was conceiving of tonight being a special, magical night that she would
never forget: a night which would mark the start of their future
together.  They reached the oak door set at the base of the folly and
Edward tugged it open.

‘Madam,’ he said, holding the door open.

Mary stepped into the gloom of the folly,
squeezing Edward’s hand for comfort.  The faint glimmer of moonlight faded
into black as Edward pulled the door closed behind them.  Mary shuddered
and waited for her eyes to adjust.

‘Don’t worry, I’m here,’ Edward said
softly, sensing her reticence.  ‘This way.’  He took her to the side
of the room where she had just managed to glimpse the spiral staircase before
the light had diminished and placed her hand on a metal rail.  ‘Carefully
does it.  You go first.’

Mary slowly climbed the staircase with
Edward just behind her, their footfall on the metal steps echoing unnervingly
around the cylindrical wall.  Mary took the final step on the staircase
and found herself in a small unfurnished room.  A wicker chest stood close
to the centre of the room.  Opposite them was another door.

‘Open it,’ Edward encouraged, leading Mary
across the oak floor.

Mary gently lifted the latch and pushed
open the door.  She inhaled sharply at the sight before her: she was
standing at the edge of an exterior stone terrace giving views onto the
Blackfriars estate.  At the base of the stone battlements, which enclosed
the terrace, were dozens of chunky candles, burning brightly into the night
sky.  Scattered at her feet was a dusting of white rose petals. 
‘Edward!’ was all that she could bring herself to say.

Edward led her to the edge of the
battlements and placed his arm in the small of her back as she took in the
breathtaking view of the moonlit lake and rose gardens.  She was
overwhelmed with joy and excitement; she knew that the moment was coming. 
The start of their future.  Her heart raced and she began to quiver.

‘You’re cold, Mary,’ Edward exclaimed.

‘No, I’m fine—honestly,’ she protested,
but Edward headed back through the door, returning moments later with a thick
blanket, which he tucked over her shoulders.

As she had hoped that he would, Edward
bent down onto one knee and took her left hand in his.  In the glowing
orange light from the surrounding candles, Edward’s boyish face had never
looked more handsome to Mary.  She thought then of how stupid she had been
with her immature fascination with Lord Rothborne, then instantly castigated
herself for potentially spoiling this wonderful moment thinking about
him.

‘Mary Kate Mercer,’ Edward said in a
trembling voice.  ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Mary smiled and tears welled in her
eyes.  ‘I would be delighted,’ she said, almost unable to vocalise her
acceptance.

Edward leapt up and threw his arms around
her.  ‘I’m so happy you said that, Mary!’

She watched as he withdrew a ring from his
pocket and slid it onto her finger. 

‘It was our great grandmother’s,’ Edward
said. 

Mary held it close to her face.  It
was a solid gold band with a stone set in the centre.  It was simple, but
where it came from made it the most beautiful thing on earth.  She loved
it.  ‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’

‘I’m sure she’d be delighted to see that
you got it from me.  More delighted probably than the rest of our family
will be about the situation.’

Our family. 
 Her euphoria, her belief that her
future had just started crumbled in the instant Edward had mentioned her
family.  She allowed herself to be held by him but her thoughts had
returned home.  Her stifling lifeless home.  She could only imagine
her father’s reaction at the news she was to marry her cousin. 
What
would that do to his bout of melancholia?
  Then she thought of
Edie.  Her twin sister who was also sweet on Edward.  How would she
ever find the words to tell her?
 
Only her mother would understand
and she was miles away, locked up in a sanatorium.