Ivory Innocence (19 page)

"Yes, Janey," she said quietly, speaking from her heart. "I love your daddy very much."

"He does want me, doesn't he?" Janey asked wistfully. "I mean, when he gets mad at me—"

"Well, he gets mad at me, too, sometimes, doesn't he? People do, you know. And you've got quite a temper yourself, young lady. But just because we have arguments, it doesn't mean we don't love each other, now does it?"

"I suppose not," Janey said, her face clearing. "Then everything's all right?"

"Everything's just fine. Now I must go and get dressed, and you'd better have your wash."

As she closed the door she saw her husband leaning in the doorway of the master suite wearing his bathrobe, hair tousled and his blue eyes gleaming with derision.

"You should have been an actress," he sneered as she approached him. "Still, if you can convince Janey to stay happy, I suppose I shouldn't complain."

"You heard?" Ivory said softly, staring at him, her wide, hurt eyes as gray as morning mist.

"Most of it. I was anxious about her, too, but you seemed to be coping admirably. I didn't want to break in on your most important scene."

Stung, she said sharply, "I wasn't acting!"

"No? I would be careful, if I were you. All those Meldrum ancestors turning in their graves. You'll betray them all and they'll come to haunt you."

"I don't care about that anymore! What I said to Janey is true, even if you don't believe me. Someday I'll make you believe me."

One eyebrow rose in a way that infuriated her. "Andrea tried that," he said. "She succeeded, which is why I'm sure it won't happen again. Excuse me."

Turning away, he strode to the bathroom and locked himself in.

The day continued in the same vein, with Matthew incarcerated in the study. He didn't even come out for lunch, but had Mrs. Barnes take a tray in for him. Ivory could only be thankful that Janey had convinced herself the previous night's episode must have been a bad dream.

Since the weather was cool and showery, they had spent the morning doing lessons. Janey's reading was improving slowly, but she refused to concentrate for very long and kept rushing to the window, expecting Becky Garth to arrive. After lunch she grew restless, asking where Becky could be; she had promised to come and bring her pony.

Ivory invented excuses for Becky, though she thought that the girl had probably been told not to come to the Hall again, not after the way Matthew had spoken to Rob. The gap between Ivory and her old friends seemed to widen with every encounter.

There also remained the gulf between Ivory and her husband. Although he was in the house, for all the communication there was between them he might as well have been a hundred miles away. And it was all because of George Kendrake. It seemed to Ivory that the only way to amend matters was for her to find a way to prove that George Kendrake had been less than a paragon. Then she could go to Matthew and say, "Look, it is true. My grandmother was justified in what she said and I did have good reason to be angry. But it doesn't matter to us. It's all in the past. Please can we forget about it? Can we start afresh?"

Eventually, leaving Janey in the playroom, Ivory went down to the kitchen to find Mrs. Barnes, feeling in need of some adult conversation. The housekeeper was busy baking, damp cloths covering bowls of rising bread while she beat eggs into softened butter for a cake.

They talked about cooking, and somehow the conversation turned to those weekend parties George Kendrake had been fond of giving. Mrs. Barnes and her husband had come to work for him only about a year before his death, but she had tales in plenty about the catering problems his visitors had brought.

"I seem to remember Mrs. Mead was housekeeper here before you," Ivory said. "She was a strange old soul. She really kept to herself. She wouldn't talk to the villagers."

"She didn't like their attitude to Sir George," Mrs. Barnes said. "I never did hear the full tale, but he was supposed to have done something awful in his youth. I expect you heard about that, too, with you knowing the Garths. Personally, I don't believe in listening to gossip. I exchange the time of day if I meet people about the village, and I've had one or two chats with Mrs. Garth, but I've come across this queer sort of hostility myself, so I generally keep clear of people. I've got enough to do here. Anyway, I work for the Kendrakes, and they've been good to me."

Ivory was wryly amused by the pronouncement about gossip. It was Mrs. Barnes' own indiscretion that had brought her there in the first place.

"Did Mrs. Mead work here for long?" she asked.

"Donkeys' years," the housekeeper said. "Since she was a girl, I believe. Started out as a housemaid. Before the war, that must have been, when the previous owners lived here. The Meldrums. There was still a Mrs. Meldrum living in the village when we came, but she died in a fire, poor soul."

"I know," Ivory said quietly. "She was my grandmother."

Mrs. Barnes stopped beating and gaped at her. "Your grandmother? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I'm aware of that. It doesn't matter. But since you're almost bound to hear it sooner or later, I thought I'd tell you myself. Is Mrs. Mead still alive, do you know? Does she live nearby?"

"Why, yes." She still looked dazed and took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Sir George pensioned her off. She lives in the cottage in Holly Wood. It's a queer old place, and she's practically a recluse, living with her cats. I go over there occasionally to buy a jar of honey; the old girl keeps bees, you see. But I like to make sure she's all right, too. Why do you ask?"

Ivory shrugged casually. "Just curious. Besides, if she's a pensioner on the estate, I ought to take an interest. Do we need any honey at the moment? Perhaps I could go and visit her and introduce myself."

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact I could do with a couple more jars. Young Janey loves toast and honey for her tea. If you're sure it's no trouble."

Ivory changed into sturdy shoes, slipped on a raincoat and set out to walk to Holly Wood. It lay behind the church, reached via a pathway edged with tall weeds that dripped as she brushed past.

The cottage was set in a clearing, a low, thatched building with its roof coming down like shaggy brows over leaded windows. Its garden was bright with summer flowers, alive with the hum of dozens of bees. As Ivory clicked the gate shut behind her, a dumpy figure wearing a wide-brimmed hat shrouded with netting appeared round the corner of the cottage with a smoke-gun in one hand drifting white trailers.

"What do you want?" the figure demanded gruffly.

"I've come to buy some honey," Ivory said. "And to introduce myself. I'm Mrs. Matthew Kendrake, from the Hall. Are you Mrs. Mead?"

The sound of the name Kendrake worked magic. The old lady threw back the veil of her hat and surveyed Ivory with twinkling eyes in a kindly, rosy face. "Well, I never! I heard there'd been a wedding. How kind of you to come. Come in, Mrs. Kendrake. Come in."

The cottage was tiny and seemed to be full of cats.

They padded, stretched and slept on every available surface. Mrs. Mead shooed one off an overstuffed armchair and invited Ivory to sit down while she made a pot of tea.

"I don't often get visitors," she said. "I don't much care to associate with the folk of Hedley Magna. Most of them avoid me, anyway. They think I'm a witch." Her false teeth clicked as she grinned broadly. "Maybe I am."

Looking around the cottage, which was hung with drying herbs and decorated with copper pots, Ivory could understand the feeling. She accepted a cup of herb tea and exchanged small talk for a while, trying to bring the conversation round to George Kendrake. Mrs. Mead probably knew something of what had happened forty years before, since she had been at Hedley Hall when the transfer from Meldrums to Kendrakes took place.

But when she eventually mentioned the name of George Kendrake, the old lady peered at her narrowly from her chair by the table.

"I've seen you before somewhere. From the village, aren't you?"

"I was brought up in Hedley Magna," Ivory confessed.

"I thought so. Why—aren't you Anna Meldrum's granddaughter? Of course, that's it! I knew your face was familiar. Well, isn't that strange. A Meldrum come back to the Hall after all these years."

"Yes," Ivory said, deciding that the best course was total honesty. "And it's causing trouble between me and my husband. He swears his uncle George was the finest man who ever walked the earth, but I know he was a cheat and deceiver."

Instantly, the old lady's mouth pinched. "That he was not!"

"But he was! My grandmother told me—"

"She told you what she thought was the truth. I can't blame her for that. And she was loyal to her husband. But I saw it happen. I know what went on. I wasn't averse to a bit of eavesdropping in my younger days, and I heard more than most."

"But it is a fact that George Kendrake took the estate from my grandfather," Ivory said obstinately.

Mrs. Mead sighed, folding her twisted hands in her lap. "It's a fact that he bought it, but he did that to save your grandfather, not to ruin him. John Meldrum—ah, he was a fine young man, handsome as they come. But he was reckless. He had no sense where money was concerned. He used to gamble. I often heard George Kendrake warning him against it, but he wouldn't listen."

"Then there was Anna, your grandmother. They both loved her, but she chose John Meldrum, not knowing what he was like. He was a weak man, always looking for the easy way out, always blaming other people for his faults."

"That's not true!" Ivory exclaimed.

"Ah, my dear," the old lady said sadly, "I've got no call to lie to you. Whatever you've been told, the truth is that George Kendrake stayed around because he could see which way things were heading. He wanted to save Anna from poverty. He never stopped loving her. That's the plain truth. Even though she'd married another man, he went on loving her. And he did all he could to help John Meldrum."

"All the time, your grandfather was getting deeper and deeper into debt, borrowing money here, there and everywhere to keep up appearances, so that Anna wouldn't know what was going on. He kept gambling, hoping to win back his fortune, but of course it only made things worse. Finally he had nothing left. It would have meant bankruptcy and probably prison if George Kendrake hadn't bought the estate, to cover the debts. To save Anna from disgrace, don't you see?"

"But it was his bad advice that made my grandfather penniless!" Ivory protested.

Mrs. Mead shook her head. "That's what your grandfather told your grandmother. He blamed it all on George Kendrake. It was easier than confessing to his own stupidity. I think even Anna had her doubts, but she was loyal to her husband. Over the years, to protect him, she built up the tale of how George Kendrake had robbed them, until I think she believed every word of it herself. But your grandfather knew the truth. He had to live with that lie. That's what made him ill. That's what killed him, in the end. He just couldn't admit that he'd been a wastrel and a failure."

Ivory was silent, looking down into her cup. It was not easy to accept this new version of the story. But Mrs. Mead had been a disinterested observer, and what she said did fit all the facts as Ivory knew them. Her grandmother had always been overprotective of her grandfather, defending him against all comers. If she had sensed the truth, she had refused to believe it. And she had made sure that Ivory herself never suspected. It explained why John Meldrum had led his wife to believe he owned the cottage where they had lived: it let him keep a little of his pride. And all the time George Kendrake had been their savior, not their enemy. How hurt he must have been when he heard what his beloved Anna was saying about him.

She left the cottage carrying two pots of Mrs. Mead's golden honey, sadness clouding her gray eyes. She, too, had believed the tale and had let it spoil her relationship with Matthew. It would be too stupid if they spent their lives, as her grandparents had done, not being honest with one another. But if she went to him and apologized, would he believe her?

Dismally she thought that nothing would make him love her. He must think she was a liar—which was probably what he thought of her grandmother. He probably thought that lying came easily to all Meldrums. Well, hadn't she thought that all Kendrakes were cold and ruthless? It was hopeless. Hopeless!

"Ivory?" Rob's voice made her stop and look up. He stood on the path, a shotgun in one hand. "What are you doing here? Oh, been to see the old witch, have you? Her bees do make marvelous honey."

"So Mrs. Barnes told me. Rob, I can't stop now. I must get home."

"Everything's all right, is it?" he asked. "Becky wanted to come over today, but I told her she'd better stay clear for a while. Was he very angry?"

"Yes, he was—as he had every right to be. I should never have come running to you."

He smiled wryly at her. "As long as it's all over now. Is Janey okay? What made her run away?"

"Oh, a misunderstanding, that's all. She's fine today."

"I'm glad. By the way, do you remember Maggie Randall? She helps her parents run the post office. I'm taking her to a dance on the weekend."

"I hope you have a lovely time," she replied, meaning it. "But I must go. Excuse me."

To pass him, she had to step into the wet grass. Her heel caught on a hidden stick, overbalancing her. Trying to save the honey, she stumbled awkwardly to her knees, her hat flying into the undergrowth.

"Steady!" Rob caught her arm, helping her up. "You all right? Wait, I'll get your hat."

He rescued it, then carefully settled it on her head, giving her a rueful smile. "You look about sixteen in that outfit. Remember how I used to mooch about in the lane hoping you'd come out for a walk?"

"Yes, I remember." She rubbed her bruised knee, clutching the jars of honey to her, the distress clear in her eyes. "Rob, please excuse me. I want to get back to the Hall."

"Back to your husband," he said with a sad little smile, stepping forward to brush his lips across her cheek. "Good-bye, Mrs. Kendrake. I have to get on myself. Be seeing you."