The Penny Heart (17 page)

I found Nan down on the ground floor, in a kitchen bristling with spits and roasting irons. She had made her own tiny quarters there: a few modest feet around a time-polished armchair. I stretched my hands before the flames, and then looked quickly away from the still-surprising band of gold on my finger.

‘You hear her, then?’
Nan asked, setting out a breakfast of oatcakes and potted hare. ‘Old Dorcas? Some say she paces the house in her bare feet.’

‘You mean Lady Blair? I thought she was dead.’ I helped myself to spoonfuls of velvety red rosehip jelly.

‘Aye, she may be dead, but she cannot settle, that one.’

‘Have you heard her, Nan?’

‘Not me mistress. But then me lugholes in’t the best. It’s the young ’uns as allus say they hear her, pacing back and for’ard on them creaking boards.’

I had an unpleasant memory of what I had thought were Michael’s footsteps in the night, but dismissed it as nonsense.

‘I think they must be teasing you, Nan.’

‘P’raps so. Owt to take a rest from their labours.’

She took my plate but I felt disinclined to leave the cheery fire.

‘So was she an unhappy woman?’

‘She was that. Toward the end she’d wander in her shift, her white hair hanging to her waist, searching high and low for Mr Ashe.’

‘The lieutenant in the painting? I saw that extraordinary room.’

‘Aye, well. She sent him packing, and next thing she hears, he’s gone and got himself killed in some foreign battle.’

‘A tragedy.’

‘It were that, mistress. She never rightly recovered her senses.’

‘And what about you, Nan? Why were you left alone here?’

‘Well, when her ladyship went and died and they all gone away, I got no place to go to but here, see. So I shifted for meself, took what Mother Nature provides: mushrooms and berries and simples, and what eggs the chickens lay. Come Christmas and Harvest some church folk brings me a bag of oats or sugar, and I stumbles on the odd creature what goes in the pot. Only been me and the spiders here, all these years. Watching and waiting and shifting for ourselves.’

‘But surely someone else has been living here? One of the back bedchambers has signs of occupation.’

‘Oh, that were Mrs Harper.’

‘In a family room? Are there not housekeeper’s quarters?’

An indignant expression twisted the old woman’s mouth. ‘I’m not telling tales if I tell you she were always complaining, that one. Said the housekeeper’s room didn’t suit, so she just up and shifted herself to the best chamber. Then that were no good neither: said she heard noises in the night. And I’ll tell you now, I smelled spirits on her. Then she took her guinea piece and off she scarpered.’

‘Well, I’m glad she has gone. But now I need to replace her. I’ll find help for you, Nan, be assured of it.’

‘Thank ’ee, mistress.’ She did not look entirely persuaded as she nodded her grubby cap, the twin lappets dangling past her chin. ‘And the master, will he be wanting his breakfast?’

I brushed the crumbs from my gown into the fire. ‘There is no need to concern yourself about the master,’ I said shortly. ‘He wants nothing yet. Now does this door lead outside?’

I continued my explorations in a cobbled yard overlooked by broken doors and cracked windows. Pushing open a swollen door into a storeroom, I found a stream running across paving stones and a carpet of slippery green moss. My explorations took me beneath a gateway surmounted by a clock face, standing with hands fixed permanently at eleven o’clock. Beyond stood derelict stables; then the park opened up in an undulating vista, reaching all the way to a swathe of deep forest on the horizon. In the distance was the twinkle of the river that I realised must border my own land at Whitelow. The grass was knee-high and speckled with late buttercups, but I was transported by that first sight of the Delafosse estate. In its situation alone, the Croxons had chosen our new home well. I dreamed for a moment of myself and Michael making a great fortune, and no longer renting Delafosse Hall but owning every inch of it, my inheritance spinning gold from cotton. Turning back to view the Hall I took a sharp breath; it was as massive and ancient as a child’s dream of a castle, the bulk of its walls carpeted in greenery, the diamond-leaded windows sparkling in picturesque stone mullions. True, the barley-twist chimneys leaned askew, and the roofs sagged beneath the weight of years, but the shell of it was magnificent. It cast a strange possessive mood upon me. I remembered Michael’s irritation at the house the previous night, and his eagerness to leave. Somehow I had to entice Michael into this shared dream of a happy life here, beside me.

Determined to explore the park, I followed the nearest path. After walking through a deep wood for a good while I emerged into the sunlight by a round hill surmounted by a two-storey tower. A hunting lodge, Mrs Croxon had called it, but I thought it more a folly. It had a fantastical quality, with four miniature turrets, each topped with a verdigris-tarnished dome. Above the doorway stood a sundial drawn upon a disc representing a blazing sun. It was embellished with a script I thought might be Latin:
FERREA VIRGA EST, UMBRATILIS MOTUS
. I wondered whether Michael might know the meaning, or Anne’s husband perhaps. As for the sundial’s accuracy, the morning light was too weak to cast a line of shadow.

The tower door swung open at my touch. Inside, it was as neglected as the other outbuildings, the cobwebs studded with flies like beaded veils. There was little to inspect on the ground floor, so I climbed the narrow corkscrew stair. It was an unsettling experience, like entering the spiral chamber of a shell, and it took longer than I anticipated to reach the light above. The upper storey was better lit by four broad oriel windows. A grotesque chandelier, made of branching deer antlers, hung from the ceiling, and a few scabrous fox and deer heads decorated the walls. Here was some decayed furniture: a few chairs, a couch, a broken card table. Disliking hunting and its celebration of slaughter, I determined to look at the rooftop and then leave. A second spiral plunged me into darkness as I groped my way upward with hands outstretched. Finally, I emerged outdoors. The wind had started to bluster, and when I peered over the low balustrade I was surprised at how high I stood above the ground, and how low the balustrade lay at my feet.

A metallic jingling alerted me to movement below. Crossing silently to the far side of the roof, I spied a horse tethered to a tree, but no rider. I listened hard, and heard someone moving noisily below me. I cannot say why, but I felt a powerful instinct to keep myself hidden. Standing at the low doorway where the stairs emerged, I listened.

Suddenly the top of a head with bronze curls appeared in the doorway and the strain of my long night’s waiting overcame me.

‘Michael! How could you leave me like that?’ I ran towards him and buried my face in his shirtfront. I cannot recollect what else I mumbled, some of it furious, but no doubt some of it weak and shameful. Firm hands reached out, pushing me gently away.

‘Grace, it is I – Peter.’

Peter’s boyish features were flushed with embarrassment. Instantly I jerked away and turned my back to him. My face was hot with shame. ‘What in heaven’s name are you doing here? Is it any surprise I thought you were Michael?’ I was so mortified I wished I could run away.

‘I am sorry—’ he began.

‘Sorry?’ Fury overwhelmed my disappointment. ‘Did you call Michael away? It was you, wasn’t it? Have you seen him?’

He took a step backwards, lost for a reply. Then reluctantly, he nodded. ‘I did see him.’

‘Is he home yet?’

Looking at the ground, he said in a low tone, ‘I left him at the inn.’

‘Why? Why is he still at the inn?’

‘He was rather foxed.’ He met my eye, then slid his gaze back to the ground. ‘But I’m sure he will be home soon. I can understand your being alarmed.’ An attempt at sympathy was written on his boyish features. ‘Listen, Grace. Michael does not make it easy—’

I shook my head. ‘I will not listen to excuses. What are you doing here in any case?’

‘I called at the house, but there was no one in to receive me. I decided to look about before riding home. Truly, I did not intend to alarm you.’

I could not look at him, but said to the floor, ‘I must go back now.’ I was suddenly desperate to be at home when Michael returned. ‘And you should leave,’ I added unpleasantly.

Peter returned obediently to his horse, but picked up the reins to lead it, insisting on walking beside me. All the way back I didn’t speak. Slowly the house came into view, and I looked for signs of Michael’s return.

‘What on earth were my parents thinking, sending you to this tumbledown pile?’ Peter said, with annoying amiability.

‘I find it enchanting.’

‘Grace, it is ridiculous. It is too big, too far, too—’ He stopped and touched my arm. ‘Listen to me,’ he said with sudden seriousness. ‘You should find another place. Don’t settle here. You must overrule Michael and move away.’

I looked up at him sharply. ‘But I don’t wish to.’

Again he was lost for words, then sighed. ‘If I can be of service, in any way, Grace, I will. I’ll walk back with you. You have had an unpleasant surprise.’

I stared at him, a sickening reflux of anger rising within me again. ‘An unpleasant surprise?’ Was that what he called keeping Michael away from me on our wedding night?

He bit his lower lip – a gesture of uncertainty I recognised from Michael. ‘I see we have not begun on the best of terms, Grace, but I would like very much to be your friend.’

I stopped stone still; feeling as if I might burst. I narrowed my eyes, and said with a deal of directness, ‘That is a peculiar thing to say.’

We were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the gravel.

‘There you both are.’ It was Michael, his hair rumpled, his angel’s face even more bruised about the eyes. ‘Grace, would you kindly step inside. Peter, a word before you leave.’

I opened my mouth to protest, but at a gesture from Michael, Peter turned away smartly and they both disappeared down a path into the woods.

Inside the Great Hall the fire had been rebuilt. Tea was set out on a table, and I drank it greedily. Gradually, my fury abated, replaced by pathetic relief. All I could think was, at least Michael is back so we might still mend our future.

It was a long time before Michael came indoors, and by then I felt too weak to remonstrate, as if I had already lived ten lives that day. Cowardly though it was, I did not reproach him. Nevertheless, when he sat down beside me, my spirits quailed.

‘I have not behaved well,’ he said gruffly. ‘As I told you beforehand – I suffer from a breed of melancholia. Yesterday, being an object to be stared at, quite undid me.’

I nodded, looking away.

‘I can only account for it by blaming the insupportable strain of the day.’

That was true. With hindsight the day had been an ordeal for both of us.

‘Peter has gone now, and we must start again. It was a bad beginning, but we will proceed from this hour onward. Are you agreeable?’

I gave a slight nod. Compared to my fears of complete abandonment in the night, these were welcome words indeed.

‘And we must live more comfortably. Look at this place, it is almost a ruin. You are sensible, Grace. Tell me, what do you need?’

Here, at last was a straw to grasp. ‘We must employ servants, Michael. I must have staff to bring this house back to life. I believe Mrs Harper was not suitable, so at least we are saved the trouble of dismissing her.’

‘Good.’ He reached out to my hand and squeezed it. I nodded, overjoyed that at last we were in harmony. He mused a moment, then pressed his lips tightly together. ‘I did see something in the village – a bill stuck on a wall.’

‘Tell me.’

‘A hiring fair in the town square tomorrow. It will no doubt be a rough sort of proceedings. But, if you can bear it, you may find a new housekeeper.’

I was aware of his fingers caressing me, moving his thumb along the top of my hand, provoking an unfamiliar excitement. ‘I will go. I will make our home comfortable.’

His smile was celestial. Then it wavered, and a frown creased his brow. His thumb ceased its delicious reassurance.

‘There is a small difficulty, Grace. A business matter I have overlooked. Forgive me, for I do not like to ask.’