The Tailor's Girl (18 page)

‘I can. We should all be hugely proud of her.’

‘Your father was. He didn’t say much but deep down, he was astonished and pleased by her behaviour.’

‘Anyone in her life?’

‘I think so. Nice fellow by the name of Phelps. Good family. She doesn’t like to talk about it. You know Charlotte: hates to admit to being in any way a normal girl.’

Alex grinned affectionately.

‘By the way, Cousin Penny’s here too.’

‘Really?’

‘Your father always had a terribly soft spot for her.’

‘She always was a sweet little thing.’

‘Not so little now, darling.’

Alex’s thoughts were already running to his favourite sibling. ‘How’s Rupert doing?’

‘You all over again . . . just more reckless. He was wounded.’

He frowned. ‘I heard that he’s got no lasting injuries, though.’

She shook her head. ‘Rupert is a sunny person, as you know, but I sensed he was fooling everyone. Everyone but me, that is. He refuses to share what he experienced.’

‘It’s too painful, Mother. I completely understand. No one else can unless they were there.’

She nodded. ‘He came home battered, wounded, but essentially in one piece. I felt lucky. Now I am surely blessed; all of my sons are returned.’ The lines of age on Cecily’s face suddenly crinkled, like delicate parchment, folding in on themselves around her forehead as she frowned. ‘Perhaps I should feel guilty.’

Alex hugged her gently. ‘I don’t think so. What’s the time?’

Cecily reached for a slim wristwatch on the dressing table, where they still sat, backs to the mirror.

‘Good heavens, darling, we’ve been talking for hours! It’s past midnight.’

‘To bed, then. Big day tomorrow.’

‘Not until I’ve phoned Gerald.’

He looked at her with pain. ‘Leave things as Father had them . . . please.’

‘Lex, I hope your war injuries do not include madness,’ she replied, her brow furrowing again with concern despite the sarcasm.

He sighed.

‘Your father’s last breath was about you. Thomas was not prone to regrets but his one deep regret as he died was that he wasn’t able to pass the reins of his sprawling business to one Alexander Wynter. He’d groomed you for this moment and you had proved to him many years ago that you were the one to take the family towards the next century.’

‘Dougie —’

‘Don’t, Lex. I’m fully aware that this must all seem strange and unsettling right now, but your personal issues aside, you have a duty to your father . . . to the family.’

Lex took a slow audible breath.

‘You don’t forget how to do business, like you don’t forget how to ride a bicycle or kiss a beautiful woman, son.’ She blinked, surprise ghosting across her features. ‘What does that look mean? Did someone walk over your grave?’

He shook his head. ‘Memories being tripped, I suppose.’

‘Who have you been kissing, I wonder?’ she said archly, amused.

Alex thought of the handkerchief with a heart-shaped cut-out missing. Who owned his heart?

_______________

Abe Valentine sat in the draughty corridor of the local Epping Infirmary – as it was known – located on the plains of Essex. Next to him was a poised Frenchwoman whose looks attracted double glances from doctors and nurses alike, but right now Abe was barely aware of the beauty at his side. All he wanted was for normal life to return. If he could just turn back the clock one day . . .

In truth, Abe would turn back the clock to 1919 and choose not to send his beloved daughter to Edmonton Hospital for a fitting on one day and a delivery the next. She would never have met Tom, never have moved away from home, not be going through this trauma. She would be married by now to Benjamin Levi and pregnant with Ben’s child. It would have been enough. Tom had brought complications and anxieties an old man did not need at this stage of his life. He’d always known Tom’s background would catch up with them.

Edie had been a gift from the heavens and this child of hers and Tom’s was to be a new beginning. The family was growing . . . It was active again. Edie had always promised him several grandchildren and she’d wasted no time conceiving her first. And now he had a grandson, born a few hours earlier as his mother’s distress had brought on his premature birth. Would either survive, though?

Abe felt a cool hand touch his. ‘Mr Valentine?’

Madeleine pointed out a doctor and older nurse approaching. Abe struggled to his feet, accepting his companion’s help.

‘Abraham Valentine?’ the doctor asked.

Abe couldn’t speak.

‘This is Mr Valentine, yes,’ Madeleine answered for him. ‘I am a friend of the family. Miss Delacroix.’

Abe noted that the nurse had pulled her hair tightly into a bun so that her hat could sit primly atop it. She wasn’t looking directly at him but at a point just past him. He knew it was bad news . . . felt it in his heart.

‘Mr Valentine, your daughter is sleeping but doing fine.’

His gaze flared back to life as he gave the doctor his full attention. ‘She’s going to be all right?’ he choked out.

The doctor’s sombre expression didn’t change. ‘Yes, I believe she is out of all danger. She is weak now, and is going to need some bed rest and quiet.’

Abe shifted his gaze to Madeleine, who offered a watery smile. She squeezed his hand, sharing her joy at the news.

The doctor cleared his throat. ‘I am afraid it’s not all good news.’

Abe swallowed, not sure he’d heard right. He waited.

‘I’m afraid to say that the child is not very strong. And there’s not much we can do. One of the sisters firmly believes in the new-fangled incubator, but frankly I don’t. It would be giving false hope to suggest that the weakling, barely thirty-six weeks, if I’m correct, can survive without much strength to feed from his mother.’

Abe blinked in shock, but a glance at Madeleine’s suddenly lost expression confirmed that his hearing was still precise.

The doctor hurried on, filling the terrible silence. Abe heard placations. His daughter would be able to have more children, start again. It was all just words and more words – meaningless – while he wrestled with the realisation that yet another precious Valentine was about to be taken from him.

Punishment. Why? He’d been a faithful husband, a loving father. He’d provided for his family and looked after friends. Why, why, why!

‘. . . lots of sunshine, good food to get her health up – she’s a bit thin. Right now rest is what I’m ordering.’

Abe heard it but the words flew around him like dark wasps attacking. He could hear their drone, and the doctor’s voice became one long buzzing sound at the back of his ears. The stinging turned to a fist around his heart, squeezing the life and laughter from him. Shocking pain erupted to take away his breath and he could no longer see the doctor or his prudish nurse.

The last sound he heard was a woman gasping in surprise and then he was falling, holding on to Nina’s hand. His wife was at his side and she was leading him somewhere with urgency. She was smiling, though. ‘Come, Abe,’ he heard and he was happy to follow.

_______________

Madeleine had no family in England, few enough back in France and perhaps an old uncle in Algiers who might still be alive, but over the course of this day she’d found a new family. There was a connection with Eden Valentine – she’d felt it the moment she’d met the young woman with a name to match her beauty.

One glance around Eden’s cottage and she could see the girl had immense style. And after an hour looking through her wardrobe, which belied her circumstances, Madeleine also knew she was in the presence of someone with a gift. Eden’s ability as a seamstress went beyond anything Madeleine had seen . . . even in Paris.

This young woman had vision. Her styling, so sharp and tailored, with moments of shockingly beautiful flamboyance, had taken Madeleine’s breath away. None of the villagers knew that the Frenchwoman in their midst had once been a model for Callot Souers. The four Callot sisters had learned their skills from their mother, a talented lace-maker, and were known for their simple but exotic designs that Madeleine, their favourite model, showed off brilliantly from her angular frame.

And Eden, like Marie Callot, the head designer at Callot Souers, was a jump ahead of most other fashion houses. Madeleine could tell from Eden’s clothes that her new friend had the ability to see the future of fashion, perhaps had the inherent sense to predict what women would like to wear . . . 
should
wear.

Talking with Eden, she’d been impressed to hear the young designer say that women should wear what they want, what they like, rather than what a fashion house dictates. But someone has to provide the designs to trigger their desire.

They’d both laughed at that.

‘And you may be just that woman, Eden,’ she’d said, still not ready to explain her background.

Madeleine’s mother and aunt had cut hair for a living. Growing up around these two women a girl could hardly miss out on absorbing some of the skills. Epping had provided a sleepy hamlet, away from Europe, where she could hide from a violent man. Escape had cost Madeleine her reputation and living as a well-known Parisian couturier’s preferred model, but she had never regretted leaving France. She knew Pierre believed she’d run away to Morocco or Algeria, perhaps even into Switzerland or Belgium. He would never think to look for her in dowdy England.

And so she’d been cutting hair, making ends meet by helping out Delia at the pub and quietly getting on with building a dull but new life for herself that was safe in its boring regularity.

But Eden Valentine changed that. In a few hours she’d not only fallen in love with a new friend but had seen a fresh life opening up, especially with Eden’s plans to open her own salon. Madeleine knew she could help – more than that, she knew she could be Eden’s ace up her sleeve for how to sell to women effortlessly.

And then, in as many hours again, Eden’s life had unravelled.

Abe had reminded Madeleine of her grandfather, his presence solid and dependable, but suddenly he was falling away from her. She still had hold of his hand, squeezing tightly as bad news was delivered, but then she’d gasped as he’d dropped from her grasp, crumpling heavily to the green linoleum floor.

The block of a nursing sister, with thick calves and a pinched expression, moved with surprising speed and efficiency, opening Abe’s tie and collar. The doctor was instantly tearing off the perfectly made striped shirt to reveal a wrinkled, grey-haired chest upon which he placed a stethoscope, while the sister quickly ensured the old man’s airways were clear.

They waited while the doctor listened.

Madeleine held her breath, covering her mouth with her hands.

Finally the doctor sighed and took the listening device from his ears. He looked up at Madeleine and shook his head sombrely. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Delacroix. He’s gone.’

‘Oh, Eden,’ she whispered, shaking her head slowly in disbelief as her thoughts immediately fled to Abe’s daughter and how to tell her she’d potentially lost her entire family in the space of one day.

Douglas Wynter strolled to the ornate credenza and inspected the morning offerings. Breakfast had been laid out under Bramson’s supervision and the butler now flanked the buffet, welcoming the Wynter brood as each family member arrived downstairs. He was not surprised to see Douglas appear first with his social-climbing wife of four years, who seemed to relish every visit to Larksfell more than the last. Perhaps because with each stay Fern Wynter, née Duffield, felt herself inch ever closer to the prize of becoming Lady of Larksfell Hall.
What a rude shock awaited her this morning
, the butler thought wryly.

As Bramson watched, Douglas and Fern Wynter poked at the food with their habitually greedy attitudes. It struck him that if Alex and Dougie Wynter stood side by side, few would pick them as relatives, let alone brothers. They possessed such an entirely different build and colouring that they could have originated from separate families. Douglas had thinning, mousy-brown hair that was receding to reveal a long, shiny forehead. Intense, smallish blue eyes were sentinels to a curiously wide nose, while a pencil-thin moustache of indeterminate colour hovered above thin lips that didn’t help to hide a chin dropping sharply away into a loose fold of his neck. It was a clue to the fact that Dougie Wynter was also slipping away well before his time into a middle-aged paunchy body. He sniffed a hard-boiled egg for no apparent reason and plonked it into a china eggcup that he balanced on his plate.

Bramson smiled to himself at today’s breakfast, which was deliberately simple by Wynter standards: no rich scrambled eggs with butter and chives or eggs Benedict with smoked salmon. Today, Mrs Dear the cook had presented a spare choice of creamed oats followed by boiled or poached eggs with toast and braised spinach. Bacon, onions, mushrooms and tomatoes were noticeably absent, as Douglas lifted various tureen lids, clearly hoping to find more.

‘Thin pickings today, darling,’ his wife said with a twist of blood-red lipstick and mocking eyes of a lacklustre brown that matched her hair, neatly tied in a loose bun. Fern’s clothes were unremarkable in colour but her olive and beige outfit was clearly well made in expensive lightweight fabrics. Her shoes were sensible flat brogues in chocolate brown but again made in the softest of kid leather. She reeked of money but in such a drab way. She reminded Bramson of a female blackbird, always working hard to please her family but so easy to miss amongst the bright, loud peacocks that she now lived amidst.

‘Hmm. Not having sausages isn’t going to bring back my father or make any of us feel any better,’ he muttered.

‘Worse, if anything, darling, eh?’ the lady blackbird snipped alongside. Her husband grabbed some toast and two whorls of butter and drifted away to the main table. Fern dutifully followed.

‘Good morning, Bramson,’ breezed a new voice. It was Charlotte, who looked flushed. ‘Thank you for the lovely bed you had made up for me. I don’t realise how much I miss this big old place until I come back and sleep in my own bed. Ooh, yummy, poached eggs. What a treat.’

‘Coffee, Miss Charlotte?’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Where’s Rupe?’

‘Never far away,’ Rupert said, arriving right on cue with a shining smile. ‘I know we’re all supposed to be sombre today but I’m sure our father would be mortified to see his family so desperately grim. Let’s not be maudlin, eh?’

‘Morning, everyone.’

‘Hello, Pen. Oh, why can’t I do that?’ Charlie bleated.

‘Do what?’ the newcomer said, looking herself up and down self-consciously.

‘Well, it’s not even eight-thirty and yet you look effortlessly gorgeous and breezy with perfect hair and perfect outfit for the occasion.’

‘Perfect Pen, that’s our new nickname for you,’ Rupe said, blowing his cousin a kiss.

Bramson smiled at the newcomer. Like his employer, he was fond of the Wynter cousin, related distantly and called cousin because no one could work out how many times removed she actually was. ‘Coffee, Miss Aubrey-Finch?’

‘Thank you, but I don’t take breakfast these days,’ she said, beaming him a smile.

‘Watching your weight, Pen?’ Rupert quipped as he seated himself.

‘Are you joking, Rupe? She has the most adorable figure. I’m envious,’ Charlotte remarked, sighing as she regarded her full plate of food. ‘Look at me. Eating for two.’

Douglas looked up from his eggs in horror.

‘I’m joking, Doug.’

‘Where is that darling man of yours anyway, Charlotte?’ Fern asked.

As Charlotte made excuses for where Julian was and why she didn’t have a ring on her finger yet, Bramson checked his fob watch. Mr Alex would be down shortly. He’d spoken with the soon-to-be head of the household early this morning and agreed that he should wait for his mother, who liked to take her breakfast daily at 8:45 a.m. sharp. One minute to go.

He smiled inwardly as he heard footsteps approaching. He couldn’t help himself and turned to see Master Lex with the newly radiant Cecily Wynter on his arm on the top landing, about to lead her down the stairs.

Bramson felt his heart swell with happiness. All would feel right again soon with Master Lex back in the house, taking over. He glanced again at Douglas, helplessly relishing the moment of surprise that was coming. He didn’t dislike Master Douglas, but the staff adored Alex Wynter . . . always had. Poor Dougie, Bramson thought.

Fern had turned the morning’s discussion back to the subject of herself. ‘Well, Douglas and I can’t wait to start our family. I want plenty of children. Of course, you will all be most welcome at Larksfell with your families, and it doesn’t matter how many children we have. Your mother will be welcome to —’

‘Welcome to what, Fern, dear?’ Cecily interrupted as she swanned in. ‘Look at what the postman delivered home,’ she beamed, not even waiting for Fern to reply.

Bramson held his breath and watched five pairs of eyes widen with shock. He felt sure even the air around the three Wynter siblings had solidified. Fern had fallen neatly into the trap her mother-in-law had unintentionally laid.

‘Good morning, Cecily. A new guest?’

Cecily chuckled. ‘Close your mouths, my darlings, and welcome back your big brother.’

Although Alex was the tallest of the brothers, Bramson thought he appeared to loom more powerfully than he recalled. His smile beamed a fresh brightness into the room that had been sorely lacking for years. ‘Hello, everyone. Sorry for the dramatic entrance. I only got in very late last night,’ Alex said, his tone disarming.

Suddenly chairs were being pushed back and all the Wynters were on their feet, with Fern looking the most confused, while Penelope’s normally apricot-blushed complexion had blanched.

Charlotte rushed at Alex and threw herself into his arms. She was already weeping her hello.

‘Oh, come on now, Charlie. There, there, I’m safe and sound,’ Alex said, holding her back. ‘Look at you! You are gorgeous.’

‘I can’t believe you’re here, you’re alive!’

‘Lex . . .’ It was Rupert, in a voice devoid of its usual amusement but filled with delighted disbelief. ‘What the hell happened?’

‘Long story, old chap,’ Alex said, pulling his youngest brother to his chest. ‘I’ve missed you, though. Lots to catch up on.’ He turned his focus to Douglas. ‘Dougie. How are you doing?’ Alex said, striding up to Douglas and reaching for his hand, pulling him into a hug. ‘It’s great to see you.’ He stepped back and held out his hand to the bewildered woman at his brother’s side. ‘And you must be Fern. Congratulations, you two. What a handsome couple you make.’

Douglas blanched. ‘From where the hell have you sprung, Lex?’

Everyone made soft noises of admonition while Bramson caught the wink that Cecily Wynter threw at him. ‘I have quite an appetite this morning, Bramson,’ she whispered.

‘I’m pleased to hear it, Lady Wynter.’

‘Alex,’ his mother called. ‘Cousin Penny is here too.’

Alex swung around and although Bramson had always known that the young lady had a soft spot for the eldest, it had not occurred to him that as she had matured, so had her affections. But he could see it now in the way her gaze hungrily drank in the sight of Alexander Wynter like a person parched beneath a hot summer sun being offered a chilled drink.

‘Penny!’ he called, seemingly oblivious to her torture, and walked over to hug her, lifting her so her feet left the ground, and spinning her around. ‘Good heavens, Cousin Penny. You’re all grown-up and delicious to boot!’

He set her down and she self-consciously straightened her clothes. ‘I prefer Penelope now.’

‘Really?’

She shrugged. ‘Actually, Pen’s fine.’

‘Well, well . . . you certainly are a sight for sore eyes, cousin.’ And then he swung back to address the still-shocked room. ‘Again, I’m sorry to return unannounced like this but I’ll explain everything over breakfast. I’m starving, Bramson. Load up a plate, would you?’

The butler smiled. ‘I’d be delighted to, Lord Wynter,’ he said, and couldn’t resist stealing a glance at Douglas, who was hiding his distress reasonably well under the circumstances.

‘Now, now. Enough of that, Bramson. I’m Mr Alex to you and that’s how it shall remain.’

‘So . . .’ Fern began, helplessly thinking aloud and looking at her husband with dismay. ‘So . . . you’re back and that means you are . . .’

‘Yes, Fern dear,’ Cecily joined in. ‘Our darling Alex is back, the line of inheritance is righted and most importantly, I have all of my brood gathered safely. Thomas can rest in peace; his family is intact.’

As Bramson set down a plate of food in front of Cecily, she beamed him her thanks. ‘Now, while I have everyone’s attention, you should know I spoke with Gerald in the early hours of this morning to alert him to the obvious change that Lex’s return brings.’ Fern’s mouth was still slightly open with shock, her food congealing on her plate. ‘Your father took the sensible precaution of having a codicil to his will and I think we have Cousin Penny to thank for that, as she convinced Thomas to never give up hope that his eldest heir might walk through that front door one day, which is exactly what he did last night,’ she said, placing an affectionate hand on Alex’s arm. ‘Anyway, Douglas, my darling, let’s talk quietly after breakfast; there are matters you and I must discuss. This is what your father would have wanted.’ She gave her middle son the briefest of sad smiles. ‘I’ll let Lex tell you his story.’

As Mr Alex began to relate the events of what he could recall since leaving Larksfell, Bramson believed that two people at the Wynter breakfast table were not paying attention. Mr Douglas looked as shellshocked as the men his brother was describing in the trenches of Ypres, while Miss Aubrey-Finch appeared mesmerised by her eldest cousin, as though he were an apparition sent from the heavens.

_______________

Edie startled awake, her eyes opening and not registering anywhere familiar. Harsh sounds echoed of metal on metal, heels clicking on cold floors and distant voices. She was lying in a hard bed, could feel rubber squeaking somewhere beneath her, and now as her thoughts assembled, she remembered passing out at home.

She dug rapidly and could only come up with blurry images of nurses prodding at her, talking overly loudly into the vacuum she felt like she’d slipped into. She’d drifted into and out of a deep sleep that was sometimes painful, sometimes numbed. She couldn’t remember anything else, not even why she’d fainted in the first instance.

Edie blinked and swung her head around to recognise Madeleine.

‘
Bonjour, cherie
,’ she whispered.

Edie gave a wan smile. ‘Am I in hospital?’

Her friend nodded. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Weak,’ she admitted.

A nurse arrived, prim and starched but friendly. ‘Hello, dear. Any pain?’

‘Nothing much,’ she admitted. ‘The baby?’

The two women at her bedside shared a glance.

‘I’ll leave you alone,’ the nurse said. ‘Call if you need anything. She’ll probably be thirsty.’

‘Where’s my child?’ Edie demanded, her voice ringing with sharp anxiety.

‘Your son is weak but he has courage. He made it through the night and today. All good signs. The nurses are holding high hopes. Be calm. Here, drink this,’ Madeleine said, and helped to lift Edie’s shoulders from the bed so she could sip the water, then her friend dropped back onto the pillow with relief at the news.

‘I ache but I want to see him.’ She watched her friend nod before the Frenchwoman took a deep breath, as though she were hurting too. ‘Madeleine?’

‘Eden . . . listen.’

And then Edie remembered. ‘Tom!’

Her friend shook her head. ‘There’s no more news.’

Edie felt her pain intensify.

‘Eden . . .’ Madeleine hesitated and looked so pale and distraught that Edie frowned and understood that Tom’s disappearance clearly wasn’t the only bad news.

‘Just tell me,’ she demanded. Eden watched, almost as if she were an observer, rather than a participant, as Madeleine took her hand.

‘Now, listen to me. I have things to tell you that are painful. But I’m here and I will not leave you.’

Edie swallowed hard.

_______________

The will of Thomas Wynter had been read to the gathered family and with the codicil’s influence it was precisely as was expected, since the four siblings were old enough to understand about inheritances. All were well set up for the future. However, for Douglas, and especially for his wife, it was as neither had expected.

This was obvious to all and Alex especially sympathised. While Fern was sobbing in their suite and hurriedly trying to pack up their things, Alex found his brother sitting in the plum orchard, looking deeply glum.

Douglas bristled at Alex’s quiet approach. ‘Come to gloat?’

‘You don’t believe that for a moment, surely. You know me better than that, Dougie.’

Dougie sighed. ‘That’s what’s so intolerable, old man. Everyone finds you impossible to dislike, including me. You and Rupe always were like that, always will be.’ He tossed away an unripe plum he’d been rolling around his palm. ‘Another month . . . end of August . . . and this place will be dripping with fruit ready to be jammed or jarred,’ he remarked wistfully, staring up into the crowded canopy of fruit trees, laden with bounty for the Wynter kitchen.