The Secret Woman (38 page)

Lady Crediton received me with some respect. She said that in view of what had happened and the shock it may well have been to Edward—he had become very important to her now—she hoped that I would stay with him for a while in my old capacity for it would be somewhat
inconvenient
if I did not. So I stayed on at the Castle.

Monique had remained on the Island. Madame de Laudé, with whom I was in communication about her furniture, wrote to me often; she said that the new doctor—a young man with modern ideas—had charge of Monique and was very hopeful of her case.

I had not seen Redvers; he had reached England before Edward and I arrived and was gone again on another voyage by the time we came. He was the heir to the vast Crediton empire, but he extended to Rex the same generous treatment he had accorded Dick Callum. Rex remained in the same capacity to the firm that he had before it was known that he was not the true heir, and stayed in Australia for the rest of the year and I heard that he had married Helena Derringham.

Madame de Laudé, who was delighted because I had been able to arrange for the sale of some of her furniture, kept me informed. The Flame Men had received their reward for recovering the diamonds, and what was more important, they had convinced themselves that it was an alien goddess who had caused the accident, so that when the injured boy reached manhood, he would lose nothing by bearing the scars of going into battle against an enemy and surviving. They believed that the Fire Goddess had sent their servant in the form of a nurse who now lay buried in the Christian cemetery. The Flame Men laid red flowers on Chantel's grave at the time of Grand Celebration and had vowed to do this forever.

I often thought of Chantel. My life seemed empty without her. Once I went up North and found the vicarage where she used to live. I went into the graveyard and there I found the grave she had told me about. The stone had slumped to one side and it was scarcely possible to read the inscription on it. “
Chantel
Spring
6 6
.” I thought of Chantel's mother coming here and reading the name on that stone and deciding that if the child she carried should be a girl that would be her name. I made inquiries in the neighborhood and called on Chantel's sister Selina. We talked for a while. She did not know all the truth. There had been no need to tell her. Chantel had accidentally taken an overdose of some sleeping tablet, she thought. She spoke of her with pride. The truth but not the whole truth, as Chantel would have said.

“She was beautiful, even as a baby. And she was different from the rest of us. She knew what she wanted and she wanted it passionately. We always said she would get what she wanted. Of course she was so much younger than the rest of us. Our mother died when she was born and I think we were inclined to spoil her, but she was always gay and affectionate. We were so surprised when she took up nursing. She told us she looked on it as a sort of gateway. And as she married that millionaire, I suppose that was what she meant. But it didn't last, did it. Poor Chantel—to have so much and to lose it.”

And I came away sadly and I continued to mourn for her…and Redvers.

I should not stay at the Castle. I had made up my mind that I should be gone by the time Redvers returned. I had to plan a new life for myself.

In making arrangements for Madame de Laudé, I had come into contact with several antique dealers whom I had known in the past. One of these told me I was wasting my time at the Castle. I had an expert knowledge. If I cared to join his company, they would have a place for me. I said I would think this over.

I went and sat on the cliff and looked over the river to the docks where the ships lay at anchor; the barques, the barkentines, and the fast moving clippers now being ousted by the modern steamers, and I thought of the days when I used to come here as a child with Ellen and listen to stories of the grandeur of the Lady Line.

I had come full circle. And now there was a decision to make. Edward would soon be going away to school; there would be nothing for me at the Castle—besides to remain was to cling to the old life, the life that was over.

***

How strange is life. Suddenly when one has almost made up one's mind to a certain action it casually throws an opportunity into one's path. One morning I received a letter from my tenants at the Queen's House, asking me to go and see them.

It was almost summer and when I stepped through the iron gate into the garden and saw the waxy beauty of the magnolia tree I felt that I had come home and that if I could not hold that ecstatic happiness for which I had longed at least I could find a certain peace in this house. I knocked; a neat maid took me into the hall. It was furnished as I would have furnished it with the Tudor refectory table and the pewter ornaments. On the turn of the stairs where I had once stood with Redvers to face an infuriated Aunt Charlotte stood a tall Newport grandfather clock. “Tick tock. Come home!” it seemed to say.

My tenants were apologetic. They had a daughter in America who had just had twins and who had wanted them to go out for a long time; they had now decided. They wished therefore to give up the tenancy. They had done the repairs and they would sell the furniture at a very reasonable price; but they wished to leave.

I knew at once what I was going to do. I was coming back here. I was going to buy and sell antiques. I had had the usual commission on the sale of Madame de Laudé's goods; I had saved from my salary. Was it enough? There was no need for immediate payment, I was told, and I realized that my tenants' one desire was to get away as quickly as possible.

Could I do it? It was a challenge. I walked through the Queen's House—up the staircase straight into the room. How beautiful it looked now! It should never be cluttered again. I would begin in a small way. I should put pieces where they belonged. I could do it. I knew I could.

I went to the Queen's room. There was the precious bed. I turned and looked in the mirror. I remembered how I used to look in that mirror and see myself years hence. “Old Miss Brett. She's a bit odd. There was some story about her. Didn't she murder somebody?”

But I could not see that old Miss Brett now. Everything had changed. There was no mystery. I knew how Aunt Charlotte had died.

I knew too that I had accepted this challenge.

***

Ellen came back to me. Mr. Orfey was not doing so well that she could afford to live a life of idleness. She brought news from the Castle.

“My word, Edith said you could have knocked her down with a feather. So it's Captain Stretton who's the big man now…Captain Crediton I should say. Mr. Rex has come home and Mrs. Rex…she's a bit of a madam. She'll keep him in order, but Edith says she's all right at heart.”

I tried to concern myself completely with my business affairs so that I had no time for brooding. It wasn't possible of course. I had found a new way of life, but I should never forget.

One day Ellen came in with the news. “Mrs. Stretton, I mean Mrs. Crediton, is dead. Out on that island place. They've been expecting it for months. It's what you might call a happy release.”

***

Autumn had come. There were big ships in the docks. I never tired of climbing the cliff and looking down on them—the ships of the Lady Line into which one woman had crept—
The
Secret
Woman
.

I still treasured the figurehead. I looked at it every day and asked myself: Does he still think of me?

Then one evening when the mist was on the river and the dew drops were clinging like tiny diamonds to the spiders' webs draping the bushes in the garden, I heard the gate open and footsteps on the flagged path.

I went to the door and waited there. He was coming towards me.

I thought: He has changed; he has grown older; we have both grown older.

But when he reached me and took my hands in his I saw that he had not changed. There was the same lilt in his voice, the same eager smile in those slightly uptilted eyes. But after all, there was a change. He was free.

And there, in the garden of the Queen's House on that autumn evening, I knew—and he knew—that the future was for us to make.

Eleanor Alice Burford Hibbert, better known to readers as Victoria Holt, Philippa Carr, and Jean Plaidy, is one of the world's most beloved and enduring authors. Her career spanned five decades and she continued to write historical fiction and romantic suspense until her death in 1993. She has sold more than 100 million books and has twenty-one international bestsellers.

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Praise for Victoria Holt:

“One of the best romantic-suspense novelists.”—Associated Press

For more Victoria Holt, visit:

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