Secrets and Lies (32 page)

‘Why didn’t you have it out with her then? She knew Major Henry was her grandfather.’

‘Yes . . . she did. But I told her that she mustn’t visit him. She’d been seeing him for some time behind my back, I think.’

‘Perhaps you kept Meggie on too tight a rein, Livia. She was bound to be curious, and was seeing her grandfather so bad?’

‘You know how unstable he was. He tried to kill himself.’

‘That was after Rosemary Mortimer left him, and Richard kicked him out. If you thought he would do any harm to her, why did you allow him to live in the cottage?’

‘It was Denton’s idea. The major was a friend of old Dr Elliot, as well as being Richard’s father. They both felt some responsibility towards him. So they asked me if I’d let him live in the cottage. The alternative was a home for the mentally ill. I couldn’t really say no, after all he was my former father-in-law, and people would have talked.’

‘People have always talked. You worry too much about what other people think. What was the real reason you didn’t want Meggie to get to know him?’

‘I don’t know what you mean?’

‘Yes you do. Not once did you go to see the old man, and you nearly had hysterics every time he was mentioned. What did he do to you, Livia? Why did Richard send him packing?’

‘Do to me . . . I don’t know what you mean.’

The door creaked open and Meggie stood there, her face pale and determined, as if having Esmé involved had given her courage. ‘Tell her, mother. Tell her what the major did to you.’

‘Meggie . . . this is none of your business.’

‘Of course it’s my business. After all, the major is my father. He told me so.’

Her sister dragged in a breath so painful that it reached out to Esmé, who was almost floundering with her own amazement at hearing such a statement coming from Meggie.

‘He lied to you.’

‘Did he? I’ve always known there was something about me that wasn’t quite right. You didn’t treat me the same as you did the boys, and you used to gaze at me, as though I was a stranger.’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘Did the saintly Richard Sangster know you were having a relationship with his father as well as him?’

When Livia’s hand connected with Meggie’s face the girl cried out and her eyes widened with the shock of it. So did Livia’s.

‘Livia, that’s enough,’ Esmé spluttered, moving between them.

Mother and daughter stared at each other, bristling like cats, then Livia said, ‘That’s what comes of listening at keyholes.’

Meggie placed her hand against the reddening patch on her face, and between sobs, choked out, ‘I think I hate you.’

Ashen-faced now, Livia whispered. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. Meggie. I’m sorry . . . so sorry.’

The girl turned and walked away. The front door slammed shut.

Livia lowered herself into the nearest chair and buried her face in her arms.

Pouring a measure of brandy into a glass, Esmé handed it to her sister and waited until the colour returned to her cheeks before saying, ‘I’ll go after her.’

‘No . . . she’ll come back when she’s cooled down. I’ll tell her then.’

‘Tell her what?’

‘Something that only Richard, Denton and myself have ever been aware of . . . that the major raped me when he was drunk, when I worked at Foxglove House. I’ve never been there since. Neither have I been to Nutting Cottage. I hated allowing him to live there. We were happy living there, and now, it’s as though everything the major touched was soiled. I was scared he’d do the same to Meggie – harm her in some way. And he did; only, he got to her through her mind.’

‘You’ve been carrying this with you for all this time. I wish you’d told me. What will you tell Meggie when she calms down?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure which of them fathered her. Richard married me to provide her with a name. He wanted to be her father so much, and despite his medical report, he did manage to be a husband to me on occasion. I closed my mind to the other possibility, and convinced myself that Meggie is Richard’s daughter. She looks so much like him at times that my heart aches. That can’t just be my imagination, can it?’

Esmé didn’t want to wreck Livia’s conviction. ‘She does look like Richard, except for her eye colour, and she looks like you, as well. She’s a good mix. Oh my God! I never suspected all that had taken place there without me noticing.’

‘You were only young.’

‘You can’t tell her that her parentage is in doubt . . . that will just help to confirm in her mind what the major told her. Meggie’s only sixteen. It will ruin her life.’

‘What else can I do? Not content with encouraging her behind my back, that horrid old man decided to ruin her life as well as mine, by laying claim to her. If he wasn’t dead already, I think I could kill him myself. I’m not sure what to do.’

‘You can invent a lie. You’ve got to, Livia. And it’s got to be convincing enough for her to believe it. I can’t bear seeing you estranged from her like you are. With Meggie so angry and upset, and you so remote from her, things can only get worse unless a solution is found.’

‘I don’t know how to close the gap.’

‘Remember when she was a baby? Meggie was such a sensitive and curious child. We all loved her so much. You can’t ruin her by leaving such an uncertainty on her shoulders . . . you mustn’t. She needs to be reassured, and made to feel as though she’s loved.’ She placed a hand over Livia’s. ‘Would you like me to talk to her first. It might be easier for both of you.’

Livia drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and a wry smile twisted her mouth. ‘We had an argument the last time you advised me on how to raise my daughter.’

‘I’m willing to risk another one to bring together two people I love so much.’

Livia kissed her cheek. ‘This time I’m listening, but no, Es. This I must do for myself and for my daughter. I just have to run her to ground.’

‘Try Foxglove House . . . you’ll need a torch.’

She received a reproachful look. ‘How long have you known?’

‘Since before I left for Australia. Sorry, Livia. Meggie needed me and I couldn’t break her trust. Besides, I’d already been told to keep my nose out of your affairs . . . remember?’

Livia nodded. ‘Keep an eye on the boys if you would. They’ll be down for something to eat before too long. There should be some bacon and egg tart left in the larder, if the rest of the wolf pack hasn’t discovered it first. I hid it behind the bread bin.’

‘Good luck, Livia.’

‘Thanks, I think I might need it,’ she said, and was gone.

Meggie left the back door of Foxglove House unlocked. The air inside the house was cold and clammy.

She made her way up to the room that was her hideaway, the one her
father
. . . Richard Sangster, had used, and huddled under a blanket for warmth.

The house made all sorts of creeping noises around her.

She had never felt so miserable, or so mixed up before. She shouldn’t have said that to her mother. Her mother would hate her now, and Aunt Es would hate her, as well.

She shivered, and wondered if she should light a fire in the grate. The fireplace in here was of black cast iron and had a curly pattern that looked as though it wore a moustache. Blue and white tiles formed a surround, and there was a brass fender, one that needed cleaning. Everything was stale, grubby and used up – even the ghosts.

Along the mantelpiece was a row of photographs of the Sangster family. Her family! Her grandmother smiled at her from a silver frame. Her name had been Margaret Sinclair.

Meggie had inherited her grandmother’s name as well as her house. Foxglove House was hers. Nobody would mind if she lit a fire. She could do what she liked here, and nobody could tell her what she could do or what she couldn’t.

Yet she felt lonely here, like a small, tender crab in a very large carapace. It was as though she hadn’t yet grown into her armoured shell. The rooms were empty of sound, and of souls. The house could not be owned. Major Henry had told her it was tied to the will of the dead Sinclair who’d built it. The house was her master, and she a minion manacled to its will, as all the Sinclair heirs had been.

It would have her playing the bagpipes and dancing on crossed swords before too long. A thought entered her mind, one so astounding that she smiled at both the simplicity and the enormity of it.

‘I don’t want to be owned by a house,’ she shouted out, and her voice was absorbed by the thickness of the walls. It was not listening. A draught made a little moaning sound as it forced its way under the door. One of the stairs creaked.

She shivered, and the hair of her arms stood on end as she remembered her recurring dream. But that spirit wasn’t in this house, it was in her mind. And because she managed to ignore it during the day, it came to her at night, so sometimes she was forced to stay awake.

She found some kindling, and some coal in a scuttle in the other room, and soon had a blaze going. Dragging a wing chair in front of it she curled up on the seat with her head on the arm and gazed into the leaping flames. Gradually, she fell asleep, but not quite, for it was a shallow one, more like a daydream – an escape from the remorseful thoughts crowding in on her. She saw the old man coming, his face terrible – and he’d come for her.

The spirit dragged her in deeper. She tried to avoid his eyes but she couldn’t. They were red-rimmed. His face was purple and his mouth hung open. She wanted to get up and run, but she couldn’t move. ‘Get away from me,’ she screamed out.

Somebody shook her. ‘Meggie, my love . . . stop it, you’re frightening me.’

‘Mummy?’ Half-awake and half-asleep, she mumbled. ‘Don’t let him take me.’

‘It’s a dream. Open your eyes, Meggie.’

The nightmare faded, and she found herself looking into the worried eyes of her mother. ‘Tell me about it, Meggie. I want to know everything.’

‘I was there . . . in the cottage when he died. He told me I was his daughter, not his granddaughter. I was shocked, and scared. I wanted to run away, but my legs wouldn’t take me. I went to make him some tea, I was going to make some excuse and leave after that. When I came back he was dead. His face was all blue and his mouth was open. I knew Dr Elliot was going to visit him, so I ran away. Now I keep thinking, what if he was still alive, and if I’d told someone, his life might have been saved.’

‘Oh, my dearest girl. It wouldn’t have made any difference. His heart was worn out and he was living on borrowed time. I wish you’d come to me with this.’

‘Was he my father? I must know.’

‘Of course he wasn’t your father.’ Her mother was stroking her hair, and it was soothing.

‘Why would he say such an awful thing?’

‘Remember that I’d been employed here. When Richard and I decided to marry, the major thought I was beneath his son. One day, when he’d had too much to drink, he assaulted me. Do you know anything about the relationship between men and women?’

‘Only what I’ve read in Daddy’s medical books.’

‘Then this is a secret between you and me, since you are growing up. Men often react physically to women. That’s what happened to the major with me. But he was too old and too drunk to . . . well, he passed out. Chad was there and he fetched Richard’s servant. Beamish helped me up and sorted the major out. When Richard learned of what had happened, he asked his father to leave the house.

‘After that the major’s wife left him. He tried to kill himself. I was so worried that he’d attempt to hurt you. He tried to take you once. He escaped from the mental hospital and came to the cottage. I’d just finished hanging out the washing, and found him holding you in his arms. He was confused, and thought you were Richard. I was scared stiff until Denton came and rescued you.’

So that was why her mother hadn’t wanted her to know her grandfather. ‘So, Richard Sangster really is my father.’

‘He really is. I loved Richard dearly, you know. And he was so proud that he’d fathered a child. I wish he’d lived long enough to know you. I can tell you that he loved you as much as I do. Sometimes I look at you and it’s like looking at him.’

‘How could he have loved me, when he never met me.’

‘He just did. He left you a letter, but you’re not supposed to have it until you turn eighteen. It’s in his journal.’

Curiosity filled her. ‘Have you read it?’

‘No . . . it’s sealed, and it’s for you. I didn’t know it was there until after he’d gone. He wrote me a poem, too. I’d like you to have that. It will tell you exactly how he felt. I was so privileged to have read it.’

‘Do I have to wait until I’m eighteen?’

Her mother smiled. ‘Not if you’ll accept my apology and we can forget all this nonsense going on between us. I love you so very much, Meggie. I wish I’d been able to show it better.’

‘I love you too, and I’ve been such a brat over the past few years.’

‘I guess we both were. It’s time you started being the graceful young lady that you are. Resenting the past won’t make it change. Now, if we’re going to kiss and make up, let’s get it over with. The men will be home soon, and I’ve got dinner to prepare. I’ve never seen men eat so much. They’re like a herd of bulls munching their way though a field of clover.’

Meggie giggled. ‘I’ll give you and Aunt Esmé a hand with it.’

They stood for a few minutes and Meggie enjoyed the closeness of an intimate few moments of such love and warmth that it shut out the rest of the world. Then they moved apart. Her mother went to the writing bureau. She slid a couple of panels aside and opened a compartment. Pulling out a bulky, leather-bound journal that filled the secret space, she kissed the cover and placed it in Meggie’s hands. ‘You can keep the journal as well. This is very precious, so look after it. It will give you an insight into your father’s mind, and he can tell you his story much more eloquently than I can.’

Her look of enquiry was met with a tremulous smile. ‘It’s Richard Sangster’s journal. I think you’re old enough to read it. He made a monthly entry all through the war, and up until his death. It will help you to understand him. Are you ready to come home now, my love? The fire has gone out and it’s cold here.’