THE TRYSTING TREE (22 page)

‘Happy Birthday, Mum. May you have many more.’

We watched as the liquid trickled down over the Green Woman’s brow, into her eyes and out again, as if she wept, but wept for joy.

Phoebe sniffed noisily and said, ‘Well, I think we all need another drink. Several, in fact. Let’s go back now and eat Ann’s lovely dinner.’ She reached for Connor’s arm again and leaned on him, more heavily this time. He raised the flashlight to light the way.

I hung back to take a last look at the Green Woman. It was difficult to see much detail now. She was just a pale face looming out of the darkness, but this was no unfriendly spirit to be feared. This was just my mother, laughing in the moonlight, delighted with her new incarnation.

~

A good deal of food and wine was consumed, after which we subsided happily on to the sofa and armchairs. I put Phoebe’s favourite Cole Porter CD on and we sat in companionable silence. I thought she was too exhausted to talk, but Phoebe surfaced to say, ‘I’ve had
such
a lovely time… Lovely food, lovely wine, lovely company – and as for my presents! So very thoughtful, both of you. Thank you so much. And when I think I said I didn’t want to celebrate… You know what? I’d like to do it all over again! I wouldn’t even mind braving that idiot hairdresser again. And I could certainly drink all the champagne again. One birthday is not enough,’ she announced. ‘Not when they’re this much fun. Wouldn’t it be nice to have
two
birthdays, like the Queen.’

‘Ivy had two birthdays,’ Connor said. ‘But she only celebrated one.’

‘Your Ivy?’

‘Yes. Her official birthday – the one she celebrated – was February 9
th
. But if you look in the Hatherwick family Bible, you’ll see it’s recorded as October 6
th
the previous year.’

‘How very odd.’

‘Do you know how the confusion arose?’ I asked.

‘Not really. Ivy said the Bible was wrong, but no one liked to correct it. Hester told her it was Violet’s mistake. She was the one who recorded the Hatherwick “hatched, matched and despatched”, but for some reason she was way out with Ivy’s birth.’

‘That’s very odd,’ I said, considering. ‘How do we know it was Violet who was wrong?’

‘Hester showed Ivy the entry in her own journal recording the birth.’

Phoebe frowned and shook her head. ‘How could Violet have made a mistake like that?’

‘Maybe she was ill. Puerperal fever or something. Women had a rough time of it in those days, didn’t they?’

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, struggling to make sense of the latest piece of the puzzle. ‘Was October 6
th
someone else’s birthday? William’s? Or Hester’s?’

‘No, not as far as I recall.’

‘So why on earth did Violet get it wrong?’

‘Search me.’

‘Well, much as I like Hester,’ Phoebe said, ‘I think that was out of order, insisting she was right and Violet was wrong. I should think a mother would know when her own child was born!’

I opened my eyes and sat bolt upright. It was as if Phoebe’s last words had flipped a switch in my brain, turning on a light. ‘She
would
, wouldn’t she?... I think Ivy’s mother
was
right.’

‘So why did Hester get it wrong?’

‘She didn’t.’

Connor and Phoebe looked at each other, then stared at me, their faces blank.

‘You’ve lost me,’ Connor said. ‘Why did
Violet
get it wrong then?’

‘She didn’t.’

‘Oh, don’t be maddening, Ann!’ Phoebe said, losing patience. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘There were two babies.’

‘
What?
’ Connor and Phoebe spoke in unison.

‘There must have been
two
. Violet and Hester both gave birth, one in October and one the following February.’

After a stunned silence, Connor was the first to catch on. ‘And one of the babies must have
died
,’ he whispered, his eyes shining. ‘Hester’s, I suppose. Then for some reason she adopted Violet’s baby… then gave her the birthday of her own child.’

I shook my head. ‘No, that wouldn’t have worked. There’s a discrepancy of four months in the dates. I think
Violet’s
baby died in October and I presume she didn’t tell anyone. Perhaps it was a late miscarriage or more probably a stillbirth. It must have been for her to record it in the Bible.’

‘So you’re saying Violet lost her baby and recorded the day of its birth – and death – in the family Bible?’ Phoebe said. ‘Meanwhile
Hester
was still pregnant – pregnant with a child she would later adopt!’

‘Perhaps that was the real reason Hester shut up Beechgrave,’ Connor said. ‘She was pregnant and needed to go into seclusion.’

‘Of course! And her mad mother wouldn’t have noticed what was going on!’ Phoebe announced. ‘The two young women must have hatched a plot to pass off Ivy as Violet’s child. Extraordinary!’

‘So Violet would have had to fake pregnancy until Ivy was born. That would be easy enough, I suppose,’ Connor said. ‘But why did she agree to it?’

‘Money? Or gratitude perhaps. Hester didn’t turn her out when she discovered she was pregnant. Violet was working up at the big house by then, looking after Mrs Mordaunt. And who else could she have turned to but Hester? Her father was dead, William was away fighting. Maybe the father of her baby was also away at the Front. Is a father named on Ivy’s birth certificate?’ I asked, looking at Connor.

‘No.’

‘Very likely killed, then.’

‘So, let me get this straight,’ Phoebe said carefully. ‘You think Violet was so grateful for Hester’s support, she was prepared to pose as Ivy’s mother in order to save Hester from disgrace.’

‘Well, that’s my theory, but I think there could have been another, more personal reason.’ Phoebe and Connor looked at me expectantly. ‘Hester’s baby was Violet’s niece.’

‘William’s child!’ Phoebe exclaimed.

‘Who else? No man features in Hester’s diary after Walter’s death. But it’s full of William. She promoted him in his absence. She fetched him home from hospital. And don’t forget the love letters we found in the biscuit tin. Written on
seed packets.
Addressed to
My dear H
and
signed
W
.’

‘You know, there’s probably a way to prove all this,’ Connor said, getting up from the sofa and going to the corner of the sitting room where we kept the box of archive material. ‘If you’re right, Ann, William must have been home on leave about nine months before Ivy’s birth date, the one Hester gave her.’ He took out a volume of Hester’s journal and started leafing through the pages. ‘Got a calendar?’

I jumped up from my chair and almost ran to the kitchen where I grabbed the calendar. As I returned, Phoebe beckoned me to come and sit beside her on the sofa. ‘Quick, quick, quick! I can’t stand the suspense! Count back forty weeks from – what was it, Connor? February 9
th
?’

‘No, Mum, it’s thirty-eight weeks from conception. Trust me, I know about these things.’

Phoebe threw an arm round my shoulders and squeezed. Flipping over calendar pages, we counted back the weeks, then had to refer to the small printed box of last year’s calendar.

I looked up at Connor whose tall, waiting form loomed over us, his face eager. ‘If Hester’s baby went to term and William was the father, he must have been home on leave around the end of May or the first week of June, 1916.’

‘He arrived home on May 24
th
,’ Connor said, his eyes shining. ‘And on May 27
th
Hester wrote,
Something has happened that never should have happened. Something terrible. I am lost, quite lost.
’

Phoebe let out a jubilant cry and hugged me. ‘Oh you clever, clever girl! Isn’t she marvellous, Connor?’

‘Yes… Yes, she is.’ He shut the journal and lifted a large hand to watery eyes. Wiping them, he said, ‘I don’t suppose you have another bottle, do you, Ann? I think I’d like to raise a glass to my great-grandmother. My
real
great-grandmother. To Hester Mordaunt… God bless her.’

HESTER

July 13
th
, 1917

I have been much occupied with plans for the new Beechgrave Convalescent Hospital and the task of engaging suitable staff has left me little leisure to write my journal. However, I have made some important decisions which affect the lives of several souls at Beechgrave and I wish to record the circumstances that led to them.

Violet has for some time pleaded with me to be allowed to return to live at Garden Lodge so she can care for her brother. William is in good physical health, apart from being a little hard of hearing. However he is very troubled mentally. His attacks of melancholia, though intermittent, are severe. According to Violet, the worst problem is his nightmares in which he appears to re-live his terrible experiences on the Somme battlefield.

Matters came to a head when William handed her their father’s shotgun and asked her to keep it here at Beechgrave. He gave no reason for this request and Violet says none was needed. She believes he is in danger of taking his own life.

William’s sense of isolation must be acute. He lives alone and still remembers nothing at all about his life before he was wounded in France. He is not mentally fit to return to the Front, yet feels he should be “doing his bit”, even though he is in charge of food production here at Beechgrave – vital employment now.

Violet is very concerned. She suspects William is not eating properly and thinks she should be present in the house at night, when his attacks are most likely to occur. I suspect she wishes to make sure he is locked in overnight. We know he walks around the grounds when he cannot sleep – I have seen him from my bedroom window when I too am similarly afflicted – and Violet thinks he shows an unhealthy interest in the lake for a man who cannot swim.

I can spare Violet, but I should miss little Ivy a great deal. I also question the wisdom of removing an infant from her home to take her to live with someone prone to nocturnal fits of screaming and sobbing. I cannot think Ivy will thrive under such conditions and Violet does not disagree. It would surely be better for Ivy to continue to live at Beechgrave with daily visits from Violet. I have no reservations about this arrangement since Violet and I have shared Ivy’s care since she was a baby.

I wish to do all I can to support the Hatherwicks and keep the family together. It has been a source of consolation to Violet – and to me – that Ivy has a loving uncle determined to be as good as a father to her. To see William, himself so weak and vulnerable, cradle that little child has been one of my chief joys. I will never deprive them of each other’s company, but I believe the best thing for Ivy would be for me to become her legal guardian. I shall never marry now and have no relative likely to outlive me. I should therefore like to make Ivy my heir by formally adopting her and giving her my name. In the event of my dying before Ivy reaches her majority, the Hatherwicks would become joint guardians. I shall make financial provision for all of them.

I intend to stipulate these conditions in my will and I do not expect Violet to raise any objection. She knows how much I love Ivy and I am sure she will be relieved to know that the child will be provided for, for life. I have therefore made an appointment to discuss these matters with the family solicitor. I anticipate surprise, disapproval and idle assurances that I might yet marry, even though the few able-bodied men who survive the war will have their pick of young, healthy, even wealthy women. I am twenty-five and under no such illusions, nor do I care to marry. The Hatherwicks are the only family I have now apart from Mother, who on her worst days has no idea who I am and addresses me as if I were one of the servants we dismissed in 1916.

Mother is living in the past and so, for much of the time, is William, but Violet and I must look to the future. Ivy’s future.

CONNOR

‘Should we wake her?’ Connor said, looking down at the dark curly head resting on his shoulder.

‘No, she looks perfectly comfortable. Let her sleep,’ Phoebe said. ‘The poor girl’s shattered. She’s been cooking and cleaning all day and she hardly sleeps at night.’ Connor looked up. ‘Chronic insomnia, she says. And sometimes she sleepwalks.’

‘Really?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Is there something on her mind?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Do you know what’s bothering her?’

‘No idea. Is that bottle really empty?’ she asked abruptly.

Connor smiled. ‘It was the last time you asked me. I’ll say this for you, Phoebe, you can certainly hold your liquor.’

‘Oh, pain keeps me sober,’ she grumbled. ‘The amount I’ve put away tonight would fell the average woman, but the first bottle just takes the edge off for me. After a few more drinks, I’m ready to party!’

Ann stirred and Connor looked down at her again. ‘She should be in bed.’

‘No, don’t disturb her. Let her sleep on the sofa. Come and sit over here,’ Phoebe said, tossing him a rug. ‘And cover her with that. The fire’s dying down now. She might wake if she gets chilly.’

Connor struggled out from under the dead weight of Ann’s sleeping body and lowered her gently onto the sofa. He removed her shoes, lifted her feet up, then covered her with the rug, tucking it in around her.

Settling into an armchair, Connor said, ‘Do you know the present I would really have liked to give you, Phoebe?’

‘No, what? What could possibly top that brilliant carving? I can’t wait to get out there in daylight to have another look at it.’

‘What I really wanted you to have was one pain-free day. One day when you could throw your stick away and stand and paint all day.’

‘Well, that’s jolly decent of you, but do you know, given the choice of one pain-free day and the Green Woman, I’d take the Green Woman – no question! That will last and give me pleasure for years. As for painting… Well, I
can
still do it. I’m an old hand and I know how to cut corners. Cheat honourably. But there’s little joy in it now.’ She sighed. ‘Painting was never easy for me – it’s damned hard work! – but the struggle used to be worth it. I had faith in the enterprise, it wasn’t just about
endurance
… But today,’ she said, brightening, ‘has been about lots of other things. And all so exciting! That news about Hester—’ Phoebe whistled. ‘It knocked you sideways, didn’t it?’

‘It did. When I began this research, I didn’t think there’d be any big revelations for
me
. I’m still struggling to take it all in. We’ve got no proof of course, but it all adds up.’

‘Do you think finding out Hester was her mother was what tipped Ivy over the edge?’

‘I don’t think so. How could she have found out after all that time? There’s no clue in the archive. Hester even lied in her diary, so I think she would have covered her tracks pretty thoroughly.’

‘Maybe there
was
something, but it got destroyed in the fire.’

‘Well, even if there was, why would Ivy start a bonfire? She
loved
Hester. She owed her comfortable upbringing and her career to Hester, who paid for her training.’

Phoebe narrowed her eyes. ‘Clutching at straws here… Maybe she was angry that the blood relationship was never acknowledged?’

‘That’s possible, but Ivy must have realised she hadn’t missed out in any real way. After all, Hester made Ivy her heir. If she did discover the truth at the eleventh hour, I don’t see why she’d have wanted to destroy the evidence, not to mention the rest of the archive.’

‘So the mystery remains unsolved.’

‘Afraid so. In fact it just got more complicated.’ Ann stirred again on the sofa and a little moan escaped her lips. ‘I think we’re disturbing her,’ Connor whispered. ‘Perhaps I’d better get back to the servants’ quarters.’

‘Oh, no, must you? This is such fun! Stay and have some cocoa.’

Connor raised an eyebrow. ‘Late night cocoa, eh? I’ve heard about women like you.’

Phoebe snorted with laughter, then clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s adjourn to the kitchen and leave Ann to sleep in peace. Cocoa calls.’

~

Seated at the kitchen table, nursing her mug, Phoebe said, ‘Why are you so obsessed with the past, Connor?’

‘I’m not really, I’m obsessed with family.
My
family. But my family are all dead, so I don’t actually have a family any more. And I’m unlikely ever to have another.’

‘Why do you say that? You’re young. You might be
head
of the family now—’

‘More like last man standing,’ he said with a wry smile.

‘Indeed. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t found a new dynasty of Grenvilles.’

Connor shifted in his chair. ‘Actually, there
is
.’

‘Oh dear…’ Phoebe set down her mug. ‘Have I put my great big foot in it?’

‘No, I don’t mind talking about it. Especially with someone who might understand what I’m talking about.’

‘Are you sure? It won’t have escaped your notice that I’m not the most tactful of people.’

He laughed. ‘Yes, I had noticed! It’s one of the things I like about you, Phoebe. You take no prisoners.’

‘That’s because bloody cancer took me prisoner years ago,’ she growled. ‘What people don’t realise is that even if you’re cured, it’s still a life sentence. A life sentence of fear and in some cases, a life sentence of after effects.’

‘Yes, I know.’ There was something about the way he said the words that made Phoebe look up and search his face. Connor met her eyes and said, ‘I
do
know, Phoebe. You remember when you talked about the children who kept you going? Kids having chemo? Well, that was me. They saved my life when I was seven, but I’ll never have children of my own and I’ve always known that. It’s never really bothered me, but when my brother was killed, Dad was doubly heartbroken. We lost Kieran – who was engaged to a lovely girl, very keen to start a family – and Dad lost his future grandchildren. He was left with me – the runt of the litter and a waste of space as far as he was concerned. I didn’t even want to be a soldier.’

‘Oh, Connor, I’m so sorry… I’m kicking myself now for going on and on about my problems. Me and my big mouth!’

‘Don’t apologise. You have every right to talk about what happened to you. You’re still suffering the after effects.’

‘So are you. No children… That can be a very big thing in a man’s life, as I know to my cost.’

‘Sylvester?’

‘He wanted a big family. He was Madeiran. Family was sacred to him. I lived with the pain of a man who desperately wanted children and eventually I gave in.’ Phoebe reached across the table and laid a hand on Connor’s arm. ‘Don’t underestimate what you’ve been through. Children unborn, unthought of… they can still have a powerful effect on the mind.’

‘I’m not going to argue with you, Phoebe.’

‘But, you never know, you might marry a woman with children. You might
acquire
a family.’

‘I might, but it’s not something I want. Not consciously anyway. I’ve known the score since I was a teenager, so I’ve never even thought about being a father. I found it tough enough just being a son.’ He stared gloomily into his mug, then set it down. ‘A family is something I know I can’t have and probably couldn’t afford. But as I got older, I thought a lot about my own family. My roots.’

‘Perhaps it was because you went into horticulture,’ Phoebe said, smiling at her own pun.

‘Yes. The
other
family business, apart from war. Did I tell you, Ivy trained at one of the first horticultural schools to admit women? She was very proud of that. We had a lot in common: a love of gardens and a consuming curiosity about the past, who we were, where we’d come from. When she died, there was unfinished business and I want to get to the bottom of it if I can – not just for Ivy, for me. I want to get to grips with the past.’

‘Can one ever really do that?’ Phoebe asked softly. ‘Can’t say I’ve had much success in that department.’

‘Well, the past is
past
. It’s known. I mean, it can’t
change
, can it? But the present and future… Well, who knows? I’m not anxious about my future. I’ll take what comes. When you’ve been that sick as a child, you grow up quickly and learn to count your blessings. But I suppose it’s my tidy nature. I like to clear things up. Gardens. Family trees. Disorder bugs me. Meaninglessness bothers me. I know why my brother died, but what did he die
for
? Did his death make a difference to anyone apart from his family and his mates in the army? I don’t know. Don’t suppose I’ll ever know. So I look for meaning, for cause and effect. And I continue in my valiant and probably doomed efforts to subjugate Nature,’ he said with a cheerful grin, ‘because I need order. I need to feel as if I have some control, even though I learned when I was very young that we don’t, we really don’t. Control is just an illusion. Your own body can turn on you and your big brother can be blown to bits, just doing his job. So I like to create something out of nothing. A garden from a wilderness. I also like answers. Solutions to mysteries. Stories that have a beginning, a middle and an end.’ He leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. ‘Did that make any sense at
all
?’

‘Perfect sense,’ Phoebe said, nodding vigorously. ‘Have you talked to Ann about all this.’

‘No.’

‘You should.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s her issue too. She’s not childless by choice, you know. She and Jack tried for years. Tried everything. She was prepared to adopt, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Wanted his own flesh and blood. And now that’s what he’s got – which must make Ann feel even worse, I should imagine.’

‘She doesn’t talk about it?’

‘Not to me. But then I’ve never been the kind of mother a daughter could confide in. Too wound up in my own selfish concerns. Ann’s a
much
nicer person than me. Takes after her father. She accepted the limitations life imposed on her. I didn’t. I was greedy. I wanted it
all
.’

‘And did you have it all, Phoebe?’

‘Most of it! But other people sometimes paid the price for my fun and games. And for my career. I was no good as a wife or mother, no good at all. But I think I was quite a good artist. For a single parent, anyway.’

‘Was? You still are, surely? Don’t talk about yourself as a has-been. Who knows, maybe the best is yet to come.’

‘Which reminds me… Are you still drunk enough to agree to sit for a portrait? I want to paint you. Be warned though – it’s hard physical work being a model and I’m a tyrant. I go on and on until I get what I want.’

‘How can I refuse? Sounds like it will be a laugh a minute.’

‘Thank you! But don’t think I’ll have forgotten by the morning. Your fate is sealed, I’m afraid.’

‘I won’t have to take my clothes off, will I?’

‘You can if you wish, but I shall only be painting your face.’

‘You’re on.’

‘Excellent! Now, I’m off to bed. I need my beauty sleep. You can let yourself out, can’t you?’

‘Of course. Will Ann be all right on the sofa?’

‘Oh, yes, I should think so. Best not to disturb her.’ As Phoebe struggled to her feet, Connor stood up to assist her. She laid a hand on his arm and said, ‘Do me a favour, will you, Connor? Keep an eye on Ann. She’s… unsettled. Unhappy, I think. Not sure why… It could be something to do with this divorce business, I suppose. But I’d like to think there’s someone else looking out for her.’

‘Of course. You can count on me.’

She patted his hand. ‘I know I can. Thank you for a wonderful birthday.’

‘It’s been my pleasure, Phoebe.’ He bent and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sleep well.’

‘Oh, I shall, don’t worry. I shall take one of my magic pills. I just hope Ann sleeps too. She really needs it.’

‘I’ll leave a lamp on in the sitting room, so she knows where she is if she wakes, then I’ll let myself out. ’Night, Phoebe.’

‘Good night, Connor.’ She turned away and began the slow and painful climb up the stairs.

~

When, some time later, Connor woke, he had the distinct impression there was someone in the studio with him. His heart juddered, then common sense re-asserted itself. Sitting up, he called out, ‘Phoebe? Is that you? Is something wrong?’ When no one answered, he tried – more in hope than expectation – ‘Ann?’

As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he noticed a pale face at the window, looking in. Startled, he clutched at the duvet before he realised it was Ann, solemn-faced, hollow-eyed, regarding him. Wrapping the duvet round him for warmth and decency, Connor got out of bed and approached the window. Ann didn’t react, didn’t appear even to see him. Turning away, she set off across the courtyard in the direction of the beech wood.