A Dream of her Own (30 page)
‘My home.’
‘Yes. I - I - haven’t met the party concerned; he prefers to deal only through his solicitor, but the offer was generous. You need have no fear of being pursued by creditors.’
‘Only of having nowhere to live.’
‘Ah well, as for your stepson, Robert, his mother’s family are quite happy to provide a loving home for him.’
‘Of course, but not for Robert’s sister or me.’
‘Half-sister. And, to be fair, why—’
‘Why should they? Quite. Let us forget compassion and remember only that they have never forgiven me for marrying Richard so soon after Caroline’s death. They thought we had offended their daughter’s memory. They could never accept that it was because he had loved her so much that he was so in need of solace. I made him happy once more. Was that such a sin?’
‘Mrs Bannerman, what will you do?’
Her mother didn’t answer at once and Constance leaned out further from her hiding place behind the curtain. Agnes was staring at the solicitor as if she wasn’t really seeing him. He repeated his question, ‘You and Constance, what will you do? Where will you go? Have you no relatives of your own who would take you in? No money of your own to provide a place to live?’
‘Don’t worry, we shall be gone soon. I assume you will want to inform the new owner when he can take possession.’
‘Yes, but please don’t think that I don’t care what happens to you and your daughter. I wish you could assure me ...’
Her mother didn’t seem to notice the young man’s distress. She continued as if she hadn’t been listening, ‘I have no family. My parents died young and any money they left me I gave, willingly, to Richard to invest in his business.’
It was said without rancour or regret and when, a moment later, Agnes Bannerman picked up the pen and began to sign the documents on the table in front of her, her hand was quite steady. Adam Hewitt stared at her throughout. Constance thought that she had never seen a grown man look so unhappy.
Eventually her mother laid the pen down and said, ‘I have a little jewellery of my own.’
‘Your own?’
‘I mean the jewellery that I brought with me into the marriage, not that which my husband bought for me. I presume that that is still mine and that I will be able to sell it in order to provide some kind of home for Constance and myself?’
‘Yes, yes, I think - I’m sure that will be quite in order.’
‘Ought you to check with your father?’
‘No, no, I won’t even tell him. I mean, go ahead, sell it, raise whatever you can.’ The solicitor sounded flustered. Constance formed the impression that he wanted to bring the conversation to an end. Hurriedly he gathered up all the documents and placed them in a large folder.
‘Very well, Mr Hewitt,’ her mother said as the solicitor tied the ribbons of the folder. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘It was my duty. Mrs Bannerman, if there’s anything I can do - anything.’
‘I’ll remember. Now can I offer you an umbrella? It’s quite a walk to the High Street and the rain seems to be worse than ever.’
Her mother turned towards the window as she spoke and looked up into the grey skies. Constance tried to shrink back into the corner but she wasn’t quick enough. Her mother gave her a startled look before turning back to speak to Mr Hewitt.
‘Come, we have plenty in the cloakroom. I don’t think any of them are valuable enough to interest my husband’s creditors.’
‘How kind ... I’ll return it, of course.’
‘There’s no need. Come, I’ll see you to the door.’
Constance waited until she heard the front door close behind Mr Hewitt before she emerged from her hiding place. Her mother was coming back into the room; she hurried over and kneeled down, taking Constance in her arms.
‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry you had to hear all that.’
‘It’s all right, Mama. I knew we might be leaving here.’
‘Who told you?’
‘I overheard Robert’s Grandmother Meakin when they were waiting to take Robert away after Papa’s funeral. She told Robert’s grandfather that as long as they could have Caroline’s boy to live with them, you and I could go to the workhouse for all she cared.’
‘Oh, Constance!’
‘Are we going to the workhouse, Mama?’
‘No, no, of course not. We’re not going to the workhouse. You heard me telling Mr Hewitt that I had some jewellery to sell?’ Constance nodded. ‘Well, that will bring enough for you and me to find a cosy little lodging house somewhere, perhaps at the seaside. Would you like to live at the seaside?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then. Now let’s go to the kitchen. I have an idea that Mrs Simmons has left us some raisin cake!’
Constance took her mother’s hand and they hurried through the cold house to the kitchen. The fire in the range was still burning and, her mother had been right, there was a large slab of raisin cake left, as well as a pan of broth, a loaf, some cheese and the remains of a roast leg of lamb.
Those provisions as well as two large tins of biscuits kept them going until Agnes had sold her jewellery and they did find some lodgings by the seaside, although they weren’t exactly cosy. Agnes’ plans to support the two of them by taking pupils for deportment and elocution had kept them going for a while, but it hadn’t been very long before the money had run out and they had ended up in the workhouse after all.
Constance looked up into the sky. Clouds the colour of slate were gathering and she wondered if it was going to rain. Above the noise of the wind in the branches she became aware of a faint creaking sound. A steady rhythmic creaking. When she realized what it was she felt her heart bang painfully against her ribs. There was someone on the swing.
She made her way cautiously along the path that led to the less formal part of the garden where her father had made a swing for her and Robert, slung from the branches of a sturdy old apple tree. The swing had always made a sound like that - it must be the same one - and Constance was consumed with curiosity to see who was sitting there.
‘Be careful, sweetheart. Don’t swing too high.’
She heard the voice before she had rounded the beech hedge and she stopped, tears burning in her throat and at the back of her eyes. It was a man’s voice, and so like her father’s.
Someone laughed and said, ‘Don’t fuss.’ A girl’s voice - a child?
Was she dreaming? Was she imagining things? Perhaps the emotions stirred by coming back here for the first time in ten years had summoned up the ghosts of her father and her former self ...
Constance stumbled forward until she could see the apple tree and the swing gently to-ing and fro-ing beneath its gnarled branches.
It was no child; it was a young woman sitting on the swing. Perhaps she was a little older than Constance, and she might have been pretty except that her fair complexion seemed unnaturally pale and, even from this distance, Constance could see the shadows beneath her eyes. Her light brown hair was caught back from her face with a ribbon, like a child’s, and as she swung, Constance could see the reason for the man’s concern: she was heavily pregnant.
‘Iris, we should go indoors now,’ the man said and, again, puzzlingly, he sounded just like her father.
The man stepped forward and caught at the ropes of the swing, stopping its motion. Almost unwillingly Constance looked at his face and, even although she had not seen him since she was eight years old, she recognized Robert, her half-brother.
She did not realize that she had cried out until she heard her name. ‘Constance! Is that you? It can’t be ...’
The man was coming towards her. She stepped back, caught her skirts in the lower branches of a laurel bush, stumbled and would have fallen if he had not reached out and caught her. Her heart was pounding as she looked up into his face.
‘Constance,’ he repeated, ‘I don’t understand ...’
They looked at each other and, although she was concentrating on the details of his grown-up face, she was aware that, behind him, the young woman, Iris, was moving towards them. Perhaps he heard the rustle of his wife’s skirts on the grass but he smiled self-consciously, dropped his hands from her arms, and stepped back.
Suddenly he smiled. ‘But this is marvellous!’
‘Marvellous, Robert?’
‘Of course. Do you know I never thought I’d see you again, and now - although I don’t understand it - here you are!’
‘Did you care?’
Robert, who had grown up to look so like their father, frowned. ‘Care? What do you mean?’
‘Did you care that you might never see me again?’
‘Of course I did!’
‘And yet you made no attempt to find us - my mother and me.’
Robert pushed a lock of his dark hair back from his brow and Constance remembered with a stab of pain that their father used to make the very same gesture when he was vexed with them. ‘Constance, that’s not fair. I was only a child, eleven years old, when my grandparents came to take me to live with them. They promised me that you would be coming to visit.’
‘They what?’
‘They said that your mother had agreed to let you come and stay with me - for holidays - but you never came. They said your mother would not allow it.’
‘I see.’
But Constance didn’t see. Her mother had never told her about such an arrangement and, if it were true, she would surely have allowed her to go. Agnes Bannerman had loved her stepson; surely she would have made every effort to allow Constance and her half-brother to stay in touch.
‘It’s true, you know.’ Robert was looking at her, reading the doubt in her expression. ‘My grandmother wrote many times to your mother, but she never answered the letters. Eventually she told me that your mother probably didn’t want anything more to do with me.’
And with those words Constance knew that none of it was true. Even though it would cause him pain, Robert’s grandmother had told him a pack of lies. The truth was that the Meakins had wanted nothing more to do with the young woman who had married their son-in-law so soon after their daughter’s death. They must still have hated Agnes Bannerman for taking their daughter’s place even though she had proved a kind and loving mother to their only grandson.
‘We never quarrelled when we were children, Constance.’ Robert looked troubled.
‘Are we quarrelling?’
‘I hope not.’ He reached for her hand. ‘But we have so much to talk about. Will you come in to the house?’
‘I suppose so. But perhaps ...’
Robert sensed her hesitation and clasped her hand more firmly. ‘No, you mustn’t leave, not now. And you must meet my wife, Iris.’ He turned and smiled at the young woman who was now standing at his shoulder, ‘What do you think? This is my little sister, Constance. Isn’t that wonderful?’
Briefly Iris’s lips thinned into an uncertain smile, then she looked up into her husband’s face. Her manner excluded Constance as she spoke. ‘Robert,’ she said, ‘I’m cold ... and tired.’
Immediately he let go of Constance’s hand. His look became one of concern and she knew that, for a moment, she was forgotten. ‘Are you, sweetheart? Then we must go in at once. A cup of tea will revive you.’
Their look was so intimate that Constance dropped her gaze. He is as protective of her as John is of me, she thought, and for the same reason. And yet there is something between them, something more personal than John and I have. It’s not just the child that Robert is anxious for.
Constance was surprised at the insight she had just been granted and, unwilling to think about its significance, she forced a smile to her lips and looked at her brother’s wife. The girl had turned to face her. She wasn’t smiling.
‘Come.’ Robert had slipped an arm round his wife’s shoulder and he gestured with the other one for Constance to join them as they walked towards the house. ‘I want you two to become friends.’
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