Gather the Bones (16 page)

Massey proved to be an elegant and competent player and they had advanced to the quarter-finals that would be played after lunch.

The last ball spun off the court to a smattering of applause, and Lady Hartfield stood and announced luncheon would be served by the lake.

Those who had not joined the tennis party were already gathered by the picnic tables, the women dressed in pretty summer dresses and wide-brimmed hats and the men in flannels and blazers providing contrast to the tennis players in their white uniforms.

“Join me, Helen,” Tony whispered. “If I have to sit next to that giggling Gertie, I will be forced to slay her with my tennis racquet.”

Ignoring Lady Hartfield’s moue of approbation, Helen took her place beside Tony.

“I say, we’ve got visitors,” Tony indicated two horses coming up the drive. “It looks like Angela and Paul Morrow. Room for two more, Ma?”

Helen watched the riders, crouched low over the necks of their beautiful horses, hardly moving in the saddles as they raced each other toward the luncheon party. Angela Lambton drew her mount to a halt just a nose in front of Paul and slipped down from the saddle. Breathless and flushed from the hard ride, they tethered the horses and strolled toward the party.

“How’s the tennis?” Angela enquired.

Tony clapped Helen on the shoulder. “I’m predicting Mrs. Morrow here will take the prize this afternoon. Are you joining us for lunch?”

Paul cast an eye over the assembled party. “Thank you for the invitation but I must be getting back. I just came over for the ride. Good afternoon, all.”

Paul turned and Helen watched him walk back toward Hector, measuring the ground in a long easy pace, his limp barely discernible to those who did not know him.

“You’re an admirable partner, Mrs. Morrow.”

Helen turned to James Massey who took the other chair next to her.

“I’ve played a bit of tennis,” Helen said. “We have our own court at Terrala.”

The man’s mouth quirked. “Terrala? What a peculiar name. Is it a large estate?”

“Twenty thousand acres,” Helen said and watched the man’s face as he comprehended the size of the property. She changed the subject. “Were you a particular friend of my husband’s?” she asked. Leaving the words ‘Strange, he never mentioned you’ unspoken.

“I went to school with both the Morrows and Scarvell of course,” Massey replied. “Good chap your husband, but then we lost a lot of good chaps in the war.”

“Are you local?”

“I have a little place in Hampshire.” Massey named the estate, in such a nonchalant manner that Helen suspected she should be impressed.

They made desultory conversation about the weather and the morning’s tennis and after lunch the party dispersed in groups to ‘allow lunch to settle’ before the tournament recommenced. Helen took advantage of Tony’s momentary distraction and slipped away by herself to find a quiet part of the lake to sit by herself and absorb her surroundings.

If the designer of the garden had envisaged how his design would look in two hundred years, then he had been visionary. Statuary of Greek gods and little temples could be glimpsed through the wooded glades, which edged the lake. A picture of peace and tranquility, far removed from the cares of the working classes.

Helen followed a well-trodden path to a boat shed. The old building appeared abandoned, the green paint faded and peeling from its wooden boards. When she glimpsed inside she saw it still contained a rowing boat and a flat-bottomed punt. She entered the building, carefully picking her way along the staging until she reached the end and stood looking out over the peaceful lake.

From the path behind the boathouse, she heard voices and recognizing James Massey’s voice, drew back inside out of sight. Peeping around the corner, Helen saw Massey and a party of five including a couple of the young women walking along the bank of the lake. She could not leave the boathouse now without being seen and having no particular wish to spend any more time in James Massey’s company, she leaned against the wall to wait until they moved on. The tournament would start again in ten minutes so the wait wouldn’t be long.

“I’ll say one thing for the Morrow woman, she’s a damn good tennis player,” Massey said, his voice carrying clearly into the boathouse. Helen stifled a gasp. Her mother would be appalled. “
Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves,
” was one of her mother’s favorite adages.

“Of course, there’s only one reason Morrow married her,” Massey continued.

“What’s that?” one of the girls asked.

“In the family way,” Massey continued without lowering his voice. “I’ve heard Charlie Morrow couldn’t get out of the country fast enough. Damned cheek on her part to come over here and play at being lady of the manor.”

The others laughed and Helen balled her hands, appalled at the cruel supposition. She felt sick.

“She’s setting her cap for Paul Morrow now, if I’m any judge,” another girl said.

“Paul Morrow? Have you seen how she’s flirting with Tony Scarvell,” the first girl said. “Outrageous.”

“You know there were stories about Morrow,” Massey said and Helen heard a plop as if he had flicked a stone into the lake. Two startled ducks rose into the air with a flutter of water and indignant honks.

“What stories?” the girl asked.

“Just some rumors about how Charlie Morrow really died.” Massey’s voice remained neutral.

“Now steady on, Massey,” the second man said. “It doesn’t do to spread gossip.”

 
“They say,” Massey ignored the last speaker and launched into full flight, “and I’ve had this story from someone who was close to the trenches, that Charlie Morrow didn’t die at the hands of the Germans.”

“Oh, do tell?” the second girl egged him on.

“What better way to secure your inheritance then popping off your cousin under cover of an attack.”

Appalled, Helen pressed her eye to a gap in the rotting boards. Massey’s party sat on the grass by the lake, their tennis racquets lying beside them.

“That’s enough, Massey.” One of the men, Helen had been introduced to as John Albright, jumped to his feet, glaring down at Massey. “Paul Morrow’s a friend of mine. There’s no truth to those stories whatsoever.”

Massey raised his hands. “And how do you know, were you there? I’m just repeating what I heard, Albright.”

“From what I know of the affair,” Albright said in a stiff, cold voice, “which is a damn sight more than a staff
wallah
such as yourself, Massey, Charlie Morrow was done for when Paul pulled him out of the German trench. I’ll not hear any more slurs on his good name. Time we were getting back. Are you coming, Sissy?”

“Now then Albright, no need to take on,” Massey said, rising to his feet in a languid movement. “I was just telling you what I heard. I suppose I’d better find the girl. If she plays as well as she did this morning, the trophy’s in the bag and if I play my cards right she will be too. These Australian girls are easy. Anyone up for a wager I bed her before the weekend’s over?”

Everyone except Albright laughed.

“You’re a damned cad, Massey,” Albright’s tone was heavy with disgust.

Their voices began to fade as they walked away. Helen crouched down on the dusty slats, her hand over her mouth as she attempted to stifle the sob that rose in her throat.

She had been married three months before Alice had been conceived. Did they really think Charlie had married her for that reason? Did they only see her as a jumped up colonial gold digger, hell-bent on obtaining the title Charlie’s death had denied her?

And as for what they had said about Paul. Did that explain why he hated these gatherings? The rumors he could not deny, growing faster than a game of Chinese whispers?

A sudden desperate urge to go home overcame Helen; home to Terrala. Why did she think she could just come over to England and play at being the widow of a man it seemed she had hardly known? Of course, people would talk.

Splashing water from the lake on her face, Helen rose to her feet, took a deep breath, dried her eyes and blew her nose on her handkerchief. She had to go back and face them, knowing what they thought of her.

“I am a Morrow. I’m not a coward.” The words said aloud gave her a measure of courage.

She heard Tony calling her name. Stuffing her handkerchief into her pocket she hurried out of the boathouse and met him on the path.

 
“There you are!” he said, a grin breaking across his face. “I was about to send out a search party. I say, are you all right?”

The look of genuine concern on his face almost sent her off into tears again. “Sorry, Tony. I’ve got the most awful headache. I think I should go home now.”

Tony tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Of course, old thing. I’ll walk you up to the house and have the car sent around. I’ll send Lady M. home later.”

His kindness was more then she could bear. Taking a deep breath she fought back the rising emotion. She wouldn’t give any of the cats the satisfaction of seeing her in tears. Making her apologies first to Lady Hartfield she sought out the odious James Massey. He did not look pleased as his plans for both the tennis trophy and bedding her disappeared. He disgusted her and she hoped their paths would not cross again.

“I hope you had a nice day,” Tony said, handing her into the car.

“It was lovely,” Helen lied. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“My pleasure,” Tony beamed.

Once the car had rounded the bend away from the house, Helen sank back against the leather seats and let the silent tears roll down her face.

* * * *

Paul dismounted and led Hector into the stable courtyard. After leaving Wellmore, he had visited one of the Holdston tenants and spent two long and frustrating hours discussing the work that needed to be done on the farm.

The conversation with the farmer still occupied his thoughts as he settled Hector into his stall and began to unsaddle him. As he hauled the sweaty saddle and cloth off the horse’s back, an unfamiliar sound in the quiet stable made him pause. Four years of pounding shells had dulled his hearing and for a moment, he thought he had imagined it.

Picking up the brush to give the horse a quick rubdown before returning to the house, he paused again as he heard stifled weeping. He set the brush down and walked down the line of stalls, now mostly empty.

A flash of white in Minter’s stall caught his eye and he leaned over the gate.

“Helen?”

The woman sat huddled in a corner of the stall, her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs. She raised her head and he could see the tracks of tears on her cheeks

“I’m all right. Just leave me alone,” she said in a thick voice.

He lifted the latch and walked into the stall and sat down next to her.

“Please, Paul. Leave me.” She dabbed ineffectively at her eyes with a sodden handkerchief.

“No. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” He pulled out his own large, clean handkerchief.

Helen took it and blew her nose. “Nothing,” she mumbled into the handkerchief.

Paul sighed. A woman like Helen did not strike him as the sort to dissolve into tears at the slightest provocation, let alone such obvious misery. Something had happened at the tennis party.

 
“When I saw you at lunchtime you were winning a tennis tournament, happy and smiling,” he said. “What happened at Wellmore? Did the old cats get their claws into you?”

“I don’t belong here, Paul,” she replied with a lopsided smile

“Hmm. Do you mean you don’t belong
here
or you don’t belong at Wellmore?”

She shook her head. “Just a bad case of homesickness.”

He didn’t push her. If she wanted to tell him what had happened at Wellmore she would in her own time.

“Well, for what it’s worth, Helen, I’m glad you came to Holdston.” He pushed himself upright and held out his hand to help her to her feet.

Helen looked down at the once white tennis dress and gave a rueful laugh. “Oh dear, look at what I’ve done to myself. I can’t let Alice see me like this.”

Paul couldn’t help but smile. No woman of his acquaintance ever looked lovely after tears and Helen with her puffy eyes, blotchy face and crumpled, dirty tennis dress was no exception. He had never wanted to kiss a woman so much in his life. The sudden thought caught him by surprise and he took a step back, and made a pretence of reaching for the gate to the stall.

“Sam and Sarah are off duty; Alice is at the vicarage and Evelyn’s still at Wellmore. There’s just us, so how about I make a pot of tea and I’ll be in the library if you feel like some company.”

She nodded. “I think company would be good.”

* * * *

After she had washed and changed, Helen looked at her wan face in the mirror. She was embarrassed that Paul had found her in the stables. Being thought of as weak mortified her. She should not have allowed James Massey’s cruel words to affect her the way they did. Her mother had been right about eavesdroppers, but it hadn’t just been Massey’s spiteful words about her. The allegation against Paul hurt. That sort of gossip could prove to be malicious and dangerous.