Secrets of Nanreath Hall (35 page)

“I'll tell you upstairs,” Tilly replied. They crept back to their room, holding their breath at every squeak of the floor. Safe, Tilly sank onto her bed with a sigh.

“Well? You'd better have a good excuse for disappearing all day. Sister Murphy's preparing the thumb screws.”

Tilly flashed the ring finger of her left hand. “Does marriage
count?” Anna must have been staring because Tilly laughed. “Close your mouth before you swallow a fly, and I'll explain everything.”

“I'd say you will.”

“Remember when I told you about Jamie?”

“Your flyer chap with the horrid grandmother.”

“That's him.” Tilly undressed, tossing her clothes on a chair as she scrambled into a pair of worn flannel pajamas. “I'd given up ever hearing from him again. Chalked it up to experience and moved on a sadder but wiser me. Then you'll never guess what happened.”

“You heard from him again.”

“He turned up here out of the blue this morning. Apparently, he'd been involved in some cloak-and-dagger hush-hush business and wasn't able to communicate with anyone. When he returned to London, he knew I'd be worried so he skipped out on meetings and traveled down here to see me.” Cold cream, curlers, hand cream. The nightly routine, all as if this were a typical evening chat before bed.

“He went AWL?”

“Not exactly, just a bit . . . missing. He's being transferred in a week. He can't say where, but he wanted to make sure we were properly wed before he left. We hitched a ride to Launceston and were married in the registry office this afternoon. Unfortunately, we couldn't find a ride back. Barely a car between here and there. Had to hoof it most of the way. We were almost here when Jamie got picked up by the military police. There was a big kerfuffle, which we finally got sorted, then I borrowed a bicycle and rode the rest of the way here.”

“What about his grandmother? Did he ever get her blessing?”

“Not even close. They had a huge row over it and Jamie told her he'd never darken her door again until we could darken it together as man and wife.”

“Oh dear.”

Tilly crawled into bed and settled back against the pillow with a satisfied sigh straight from her toes. “I know. Could anything be more romantic? I mean it's not exactly comfortable knowing his grandmother detests me, and I have a feeling my parents won't be much happier. They had their hearts set on me marrying one of the lads from the steelyard. Good future, you know? But I don't care. Jamie loves me and I love him, and that will have to be enough.” She grew fierce. “It will be enough.”

“And what happens if . . . you know . . . it doesn't work out?”

“Do you mean we start throwing pots at each other like two old curmudgeons or something more permanent like a downed plane or a bullet to the head?” Tilly rolled over and lit a cigarette, exhaling a thin stream of smoke as she stared at the ceiling. “I suppose there's not much I can do if Jamie and I start throwing punches, but if the worst happens and he's killed—”

“Don't even say it.”

“I can't bury my head in the sand, Anna, and I won't wait until the war is over to start my life. I want my happiness now. If Jamie dies then I'll have had a short, glorious marriage and wonderful memories.”

“Can it make up for the pain of losing him?”

Tilly smashed out her cigarette. “I don't intend on losing him.”

December 1916

C
ynthia departed, but not before making it very clear that I was no longer welcome at Nanreath Hall. Father wished no further taint to fall on his already shaky ministerial aspirations. Though there were moments I'd longed for the support and comfort of my family, I couldn't claim to have missed them overmuch in the time I'd been away. It was really only William's company I desired; his brotherly advice, his unflagging good humor, that sense of connection we had shared since we were children. To be denied a visit with the one person remaining to me that I loved above myself hurt like a knife to the chest. Worse, that it might be my last chance to see his face or touch his hand made it all the worse.

I went so far as to allude to the secrets I harbored that she might not want revealed. She laughed at my crude attempt at blackmail. She knew I'd never hurt William, no matter how much I wished to make her squirm. Still, I could no longer remain in the house. I
paced the rooms like a caged tiger until I could take it no more and drew on my coat.

“I think I'll take a walk. The lane north of the old tin mine is quiet.”

“Are you sure you should be walking out on your own?” Mrs. Vinter stood at the door, her bright red and blue dress a tropical vision among the cottage's gray winter landscape. “There's no telling what could happen. You're plump as a medicine ball.”

“You forget. I grew up out here. I know every inch of ground between here and the north cliffs. I'll be fine. Besides, I need to be alone to think.”

I let myself out the gate and set off, not through the village to the hill leading gently toward the lodge and its heavy iron gates, but across the meadows and over the stile by the empty farm cottage that led into Nanreath's park.

The rain showers had passed, leaving a second horizon between the heavy dark clouds and the orange and pink afternoon sky behind it. Away below me, I saw the chuff of the train as it made its way east to meet the main line, and behind me, the soft echo of the church choir could be heard belting out “Eternal Father, Strong to Save” as they rehearsed for Sunday's service.

The way was rough but familiar. I forded a rocky stream slithering between high, muddy banks, surprising otters and sending a great heron winging between the trees. Passed through the leafless belt of ash and sycamore and beech known as Tandy Wood, and finally emerged on the high open promontory, the ruined tower of tumbled stones before me. Gulls hovered above the ruins, and the sea shone like brass in the afternoon sun.

I had expected to be alone for my communion with the ghosts of my childhood. Instead, a man stood facing the sea, a hand upon the line of carven rocks leading toward the ancient stair. My heart
leaped and my insides took flight. Then he turned, and I couldn't help the catch of my breath or the slight recoil.

The skin of William's face was hideously stretched and scarred from the left corner of his mouth back toward his ear, one eye hidden behind a patch. The arm I thought tucked against his side was in fact, gone completely. No more than a stump ending above his elbow, the sleeve pinned to his lapel. What injuries lay masked beneath his clothing, I shuddered to imagine.

Just as I thought to step out of the spinney's cover, a child's laugh broke the stillness and a small boy ran on unsteady legs toward William, who knelt as the boy slammed into him with unbridled enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around William's neck, showering his scarred face with kisses.

“You win, monkey,” William laughed.

“I hided, Papa. I hided 'n' you couldn't find me.”

So this must be Hugh. His wispy blond hair clung sweaty to his head, his face and limbs only now losing their chubby baby fat.

“You must have dug yourself into a hole like a badger. Look at you. You're a mess.”

It was true. Hugh's rompers were sadly muddied, a button torn loose and one shoe gone. But his expression held only excitement and triumph. “I a good hider, Papa. Stones.” He pointed back toward the ruins.

“You're an expert hider, but Nanny and your mother both are going to have a fit when they see you.”

Hugh's face screwed up in a delightful scowl. “Don't care.”

“You may not, but I do.”

“Papa's brave. Grandfa says so.”

William scooped the boy up with his one good arm. Hugh giggled and, placing both small hands softly upon his father's scarred cheeks, he kissed him on the nose. “Brave Papa.”

Before I could be caught spying, I stepped out of the spinney's shadow.

William stiffened. His face wiped clean of his earlier happiness.

“Welcome home,” I said, uncertain of my reception.

Hugh wriggled to be let down, but he stayed close to his father, glancing up at him now and again for reassurance.

“I suppose I could say the same to you.” William's smile was a tortured mockery of his once handsome grin, but the voice remained the same, warm and welcoming.

Despite myself, tears tracked my cheeks. “I wouldn't have come, I know I'm not welcome anymore, but I had to see you. To see for myself that you were all right.”

“Papa?” Hugh mumbled around a finger, his other arm hooked round William's leg.

“Is that your son?” I asked.

Barely a pause and then he nodded. “It is. We've both escaped the clutches of our nurses for the afternoon.”

“Not for long. If they know you at all, this is the first place they'll look.”

“Perhaps.” He glanced around the ruins, as if remembering all our childhood adventures.

I cocked my head and smiled at Hugh. “Hello there. I'm your aunt Kitty. Your papa's little sister.”

He shook his head as I grappled to see something of William in the boy's white-blond hair or slate-gray eyes.

“Go on, sprite,” William cajoled. “Go see your auntie Kitty. Give her a kiss.”

Hugh's face grew red, his scowl deepening. “No. No kisses.”

I continued to smile in my most friendly fashion while rummaging in my bag for a toffee. “I've a sweet.”

That did the trick. His face cleared. He toddled toward me with
arms outstretched. I unwrapped the toffee and handed it to him. He immediately stuffed it in his mouth with a cherubic smile before turning tail and racing off toward the ruins as fast as his unsteady legs could take him.

“He's a bright little sprog. Not afraid of anything.” William's proud smile faded. “Not even me.”

“And why would he be? You're his father.”

Our eyes locked. I could see through his pleasure to the shadows that lay just beneath the surface, the demons he wrestled daily in order to remain sane. Did he suspect the child's paternity? Cynthia was right. There was no way I would ever hurt William with such horrible accusations.

“So much for my motherly instinct,” I said, laughing past my uncertainty and the awkward moment. “Hugh seems singularly unimpressed with me.”

William's gaze slid to my stomach and away again. A common reaction these days. I barely noticed it anymore. “I'm sure you'll do fine when the time comes. It's like riding a bicycle.”

“I was never very good at bicycles if you'll recall.”

Hugh fell, his cries startling us apart. William hurried to catch him up, but he faltered, staggering with the same drunken steps as his toddler son. He fought to breathe, his coughing harsh. It blanched his face and shook his thin shoulders until he could barely stand. Hugh's cries grew louder until they were almost shrieks of defiance.

William waved me on in desperation. I found Hugh on his backside in a muddy spot, his face smeared, romper torn and ruined with sticky glop. His shyness vanished. He reached for me, his face screwed in anger, snot and tears mingling on his chin. As I bent to pick him up, he stopped crying and even smiled, patting my cheeks with his small, fat hands. I brought him back to William, who sat
upon the mossy wall, his face recovering some of its color, his hand shaking.

“Papa!” Hugh nearly threw himself from my arms to reach his father.

“He certainly loves you.”

“He's not stupid. He knows which side his bread is buttered on.” He joggled Hugh on his lap. I could see the effort it took not to cough. “Strange though, is how much I love him.”

The wind moved over the grass and through the stones. I looked to the skies where the clouds thinned and broke above.

“I didn't want to, Kitty,” William said quietly, “but he's the only one who sees me as anything but a monster. How can I hate him when he's all I have left to carry on after I'm gone even if he . . . ?” He ruffled Hugh's hair. “All we can hope now is that the future's better for those we leave behind. That we've learned something from this catastrophe. That our children live the lives we dreamed, but couldn't realize.”

My stomach fluttered, and I cradled my belly. I thought my love for Simon had been boundless, but it was a mere drop against the all-consuming wave of feeling that washed over me as I felt my unborn child stir and move beneath my heart.

“What was it all for, Kitty? I did what I was supposed to. I sacrificed everything.” William gave a dry bark of ugly laughter. “Look what that got me. I'll be dead in a year. They try to tell me different, but it's just words. I know the truth.” He rubbed his face, his cheeks lacking any color, his lips nearly blue. This time when his gaze flicked to my stomach, it settled there. He didn't pretend he didn't notice. If anything, he drank the sight of me in, as if memorizing me. “And you . . . you ran off the rails in spectacular fashion. Poor Mother and Father still haven't recovered from one of their
offspring turning on them like a rabid dog, but you risked everything to follow your dreams, Kitty.”

“And mucked it up, but good.”

He gave a sad shake of his head. “You did what I was too scared to do. They call me brave, even gave me a medal for it, but I've always thought you were the bravest of all of us.” He smiled. “Guess you'll have to be doubly so now, won't you?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering his strength. Hugh sat at his feet, his scrapes forgotten as he played with a pile of pebbles. Stacking them up and knocking them down.

“Were you happy, Kitty? Did he . . . in the end, was it worth the pain?”

I stared off toward the sea, the tumbled ruins where Simon and I had sat and sketched and talked about our dreams and the lives we had hoped to live. He was dead, and all I had to prove he existed was the child growing inside me—our child. I felt a sudden longing to hold it in my arms, stroke its tiny soft head and see its scrunched-up face, pink and white and beautiful. Would he be a handsome charmer like his father? Would she be a scatterbrained dreamer like her mother? “Yes, William. It was worth every moment's heartache.”

“I wish I could help, Kitty. I know you must be in a muddle, and I'm useless to you in this state. They don't even trust me alone at night. Have a nurse to sleep in. She watches me like a hawk.”

“I didn't come looking for charity, William.”

“No, I didn't think so. You're far too proud to beg, but I wish I could help just the same.”

We heard the crack and snap of approaching footsteps and turned at the same instant to see Cynthia and a tall manly-looking woman severely dressed in plain frock and white apron step from
the spinney behind us. “There you are. I told Nurse Baynton we'd find you here. Nanny's beside herself and your father is nearly apoplectic with worry.”

A shadow of despair passed over William's face. “I think I can manage a walk without calling out the beaters to hunt me down.”

Her steps slowed as she spotted me, the question in her eyes quickly masked with a brittle smile. “I should have known you'd not heed my warning, Kitty dear. You'd think by now you'd realize your willfulness is what landed you in this mess.”

“Damn it, Cynthia. Leave her alone.” William stepped forward, his one good eye blazing in a face drained of color. He made it two paces at most before he began to wheeze and then cough. Hugh stood up from his pebbles, gripping his father's leg, his tears starting again.

The nurse swooped in, pulling a medicine bottle from her apron. William swallowed between spells where every breath was a struggle. Cynthia picked up Hugh, who by now was screaming at the top of his lungs. He locked his arms around his mother's neck, his shrieks dulling to whimpers.

“Baynton and I will take over now, Kitty. It's best if you leave, don't you think?”

With the efficiency of a sheepdog, Cynthia had effectively cut me out of the scene. Still recovering his breath, William and the nurse slowly shuffled back toward the path while Cynthia confiscated Hugh. By the satisfied smile he shot me over his mother's shoulder, he seemed more than happy to be carried. My last sight of father and son, though I didn't realize it at the time.

I remained behind, the ruins throwing long afternoon shadows over the grass. I touched the stones of the stair, the sun's warmth clinging to the weathered rocks, the moss soft under my palm. The sea stretched away to the west like gray satin capped with froth.
How many times had William and I dreamed among these ancient stones, searching the horizon for a glimpse of our futures?

William had chosen family duty, his fear chaining him to an unhappy path not of his making. Would I have done the same if not for Simon?

He had burst into my well-ordered life like a cyclone and shown me what could be mine if only I had the courage to reach for it. I had leaped at the opportunity and reveled in my freedom. I had been the wanton in word and deed.

And yet for all that he'd inspired my own bid for independence, Simon had been unable to take that final irrevocable step. He had spoken of following his dreams, but his family . . . his wife . . . they held a part of him that I could never touch.

A flock of birds rose from the trees behind me, the breeze carrying the late-autumn scents of burning leaves and cooling earth. They turned and wheeled as one, a cloud of black against the sky. One broke from the flock and darted out over the water, its wings churning madly.