The Colours of Love (38 page)

‘That’s not true, and you know it.’

‘Oh, to hell with it. What was I supposed to do? Clap me hands and dance a jig, because me only son has got himself mixed up with a married woman who already has a bairn?’ Stanley grabbed his cap from its peg on the kitchen wall, stuffing it on his head as he growled, ‘Don’t wait up,’ and then marched out of the kitchen, banging the back door behind him.

Eliza watched him walk across the yard and then out into the back lane, indignation in every line of his body, and after a moment the silence of the house settled on her. She glanced at the two plates of food the men had left – one hardly touched and one half-eaten. And then she burst into tears.

Miles away, in Chester-le-Street, Esther would have welcomed the relief of being able to cry. The solid, cold lump that had lodged permanently in her chest over the last few days stopped any tears from falling, her desolation too great. She had written four letters to Caleb over the last two weeks, the first one just after she had arrived at the Wynford estate, but he had not replied to any of them. Not even a postcard or a few lines. He was angry with her and she couldn’t blame him, but the thought that he might have washed his hands of her for good was more than she could bear.

Her despair over Caleb wasn’t helped, either, by the feeling that she was being held fast in a kind of sinking sand, in the present circumstances. She felt she was slowly but inexorably being drawn into a bog of guilt and confusion, plus a hotchpotch of poignant memories from the past, of happier times. Every time she visited Theobald in his rooms, he seemed to bring up Harriet and how devoted she had been to them both. He had been utterly devastated by her untimely death, he murmured; he still was, he supposed, but Esther mustn’t blame herself in any way. And then he would ramble on about Christmases they’d all shared when she was a little girl; the birthday parties, picnics in the grounds and trips out, the way she had been the light of his world and Harriet’s. Lots of times she had wanted to get up and run out of the room, but she had felt duty-bound to stay. And Theobald made a great fuss of Joy, saying she was the most enchanting little girl he had ever seen, and a credit to Esther. It would make his last days the happiest he had ever known if his daughter and granddaughter – and here he always added that she must forgive him, but he couldn’t think of them in any other way – were close to him. And, he gently purred, dear Monty adored them both. She knew that, didn’t she?

Esther sighed. She was standing gazing out of her bedroom window, and the familiar scent of the climbing roses that covered the wall of the house was both comforting and disturbing. Comforting because she had smelt the same heady perfume every summer while she was growing up, and disturbing for the same reason. She didn’t want to feel she belonged here, that she was home. She had mentally said her goodbyes to this house, and her childhood and youth here, in the pain-searing days after Joy was born.

The gardens, which had been neglected during the war when Theobald’s gardener and his lads had been called up, were back to their former glory, and everywhere the essence of summer was evident. June had arrived on the crest of a warm spell, and gone was the freshness of a northern spring. Now clusters of creamy-white blooms were displayed upon dogwood and elder, and the spring-sown crops that Neil Harley’s labourers had sown were pushing upwards: ears of barley and corn were appearing and thrusting their various shades on the landscape.

The house and its grounds, and the farm, were a lovely place to live, Esther acknowledged, but without Caleb even the finest house and the most perfect views were a barren desert. She and Joy had walked down the previous day to the crystal-clear little stream that ran through part of the gardens, and Joy had spent a happy hour or two gathering forget-me-nots and other wild flowers, presenting her little bouquet to her mother with great pride. Esther glanced at the flowers Joy had picked, which were sitting in a small vase on her dressing table. They were already wilting, their small heads downcast and drooping, which was exactly how she felt about staying here, she thought. It might be a wonderful place to bring up a child, as both Monty and Theobald constantly dropped into any conversation that she had with either of them, but to her it felt like a beautifully gilded cage.

She sighed again, shutting her eyes as she let the soft summer breeze ruffle her hair. She had to admit Theobald hadn’t said one word out of place since she had been here, and he seemed to genuinely dote on Joy. From the first time she had brought Joy to see him, she had made it clear that Theobald was not to tell Joy he was her grandfather, or they’d both leave immediately; and although he had greeted this warning with a trembling mouth and moist eyes, rather than the harsh words she had expected, he had adhered to her demand. She couldn’t prevent him showering little presents on the child, though, which she knew full well Monty obtained for him, and of course Joy thought this was perfectly wonderful. The sweet ration, which had been twelve ounces a month during the war, had recently been halved, but this didn’t seem to prevent Theobald and Monty acquiring whatever they liked. Chocolates in fancy boxes, little lollipops and crystallized fruits all made their appearance, much to Joy’s delight; along with a child’s tiny silver bracelet with exquisite little charms, a beautifully dressed doll very much like the one Monty had destroyed at Yew Tree Farm, a nursery-rhyme book and various other little gifts, all designed to appeal to a small child.

She had told Monty more than once that she wanted it to stop, but each time he had made her feel crass and insensitive. ‘You won’t allow him to call her his granddaughter,’ he had said reproachfully the last time she had brought the matter up, ‘so surely you can allow him this small pleasure? And Joy adores him – you must see that?’

She had replied that Joy adored the presents, which was a different matter, and the lure of a new surprise would entice any small child to its giver. And thereby a new problem had reared its head. Twice now, she had caught her daughter on the landing outside Theobald’s room; once when she had thought Joy was having her afternoon nap, and another time when the little girl was supposed to be helping Cook make pastry in the kitchen – something Joy loved doing. Now Esther found herself watching Joy like a hawk, and the more she told her daughter she was only to visit ‘the poorly man’ with her or Monty, the more Esther wondered why she had the strangest feeling every time she watched the child with Theobald. He was every bit the doting grandparent, and yet there was something not quite right.

She frowned to herself, turning back into the room and smoothing her frock in preparation to go down to breakfast. She didn’t want Joy to form an attachment to Theobald, or Monty for that matter; but in the former’s case, it was because of more than just the difficulty this would cause in the matter of the divorce.

Glancing round the spacious room with its beautiful furnishings, the thought came that if someone had told her a few weeks ago that she would be longing for her little garret in Sunderland, she wouldn’t have believed them. She’d probably have to look for another job when she got back; she’d told Mr Dimple she would only be gone for a couple of days initially, and he had agreed to that, but as time had gone on she had felt it only fair to say that if he couldn’t keep her job open for her, she quite understood. She had left this message with one of the staff when the manager was out, and had heard nothing, although she’d given Theobald’s telephone number, so she assumed Mr Dimple had taken her at her word and hired a replacement receptionist. But that didn’t matter. She would find something.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped onto the landing. Theobald had requested that she visit him alone after breakfast, although she didn’t know why. She did know he had called his solicitor to the house the day before, and that the man had stayed for more than two hours, but she doubted that had anything to do with herself. Theobald was probably going to ask her to stay for another week, but she had already made up her mind she would refuse. He was getting stronger, anyone could see that, although he still insisted he couldn’t leave his bed; and his recovery could go on for some time, according to Dr Martin. She couldn’t – she
wouldn’t
– stay here indefinitely. Monty was putting pressure on her to withdraw divorce proceedings, despite her telling him over and over again there was no future for them, and the whole thing was getting ridiculous. She bit down hard on her bottom lip as every fibre of her being called out for Caleb. If she could just see him – even hear from him, and see his handwriting – she would be all right.

When Mrs Norton had brought Esther her morning cup of tea and biscuit at eight o’clock that morning, Joy had been wide awake and clamouring to go downstairs. Esther had insisted that her daughter sleep with her while they were at the house, even though a separate room in the nursery had been prepared for the little girl. The housekeeper had smiled as Joy had bounced on the bed, her golden-brown curls dancing and her jade-green eyes shining with the delight of a new day. ‘I’ll take her with me, if you want, ma’am,’ she’d offered. ‘Cook is making a batch of singin’ hinnies, and you like helping her with those, don’t you, Miss Joy?’ she added to the child. ‘And she likes eating them fresh from the girdle with a dollop of butter too. It’ll give you a chance to drink your tea in peace and get dressed, ma’am.’

After quickly dressing the little girl, Esther had watched her go off hand-in-hand with the housekeeper and then had drunk her tea. Joy seemed perfectly happy here, she had thought to herself, which had set off a whole train of thought that had resulted in her present state of mind. She didn’t want Joy to get used to this house and its occupants, she thought now as she walked along the sunny landing, looking towards the end of it, where the master suite was. And two weeks was a long time in a little girl’s life.

She didn’t know what made her pause at the top of the wide, winding staircase. No noise had disturbed her. There was a discreet murmur of voices and the sound of rattling crockery downstairs, and she presumed breakfast was ready in the dining room, but somewhere deep in her psyche an alarm bell had rung. She stood for a moment more and then quietly walked on towards the door of the master suite. When she reached it, she pressed her ear to the heavy wooden door, but she could still hear nothing – not until she cautiously opened it the merest crack. Then she heard her daughter’s voice, shrill and slightly alarmed, saying, ‘No, I don’t want to. I want to go and see my mummy.’

‘You can in a minute, my sweet.’ Theobald’s voice was odd; thick somehow, excited. ‘And you like your new present, don’t you? I told you I had got you something nice, didn’t I? Our secret. Like me being your grandfather is our secret. You like having a grandfather, don’t you? One who buys you nice things.’

‘I want to get down now. No more bouncing. Let me go.’

Esther flung open the door and stepped into the room, the blood rushing into her ears. Joy was sitting on Theobald’s lap and his thin, bare legs were dangling over the side of the bed, his nightshirt up to his thighs. The shock of her entrance caused him to let Joy slip out of his grasp, and for a second Esther saw the gross erection that his bobbing the child up and down on his lap had caused, before he grabbed at the bedspread to cover himself. Joy had been holding a teddy bear, but now she dropped this as she ran to her mother saying, ‘I don’t want to play the bouncy game any more, Mummy. I don’t like it. Tell Grandfather I don’t like it.’

‘He is not your grandfather, darling.’ Somehow she stopped herself from screaming, aware that if she reacted in the wrong way, this incident could imprint itself on Joy’s young mind for a long time. With a calm that she was amazed at afterwards, she took Joy by the hand, saying, ‘I came to find you for breakfast, so come along now. I thought you were helping Cook?’

‘I was.’ They were out of the room now and on the landing, and as Joy skipped along beside her, Esther tried to control her own shaking. ‘But I remembered Grandfather—’

‘No, not Grandfather, darling. Remember?’

‘I remembered the poorly man had said he’d got an extra-special present for me, but it was a secret, and I had to go and get it by myself.’ Joy stopped abruptly. ‘I’ve left it, Mummy. My teddy bear.’

‘I’ll get it later, after breakfast.’

How she didn’t fall headlong down the stairs she didn’t know, her legs were trembling so much, but somehow she got Joy downstairs and into the dining room, where they found Monty already sitting at the table, a newspaper propped against the milk jug and a half-eaten plateful of bacon, sausages, steak and eggs in front of him. He looked up, smiling, and then his face changed as he took in Esther’s deathly pallor. ‘What is it? Are you feeling unwell?’

As he stood to his feet she shook her head, motioning at Joy, and then addressed the new housemaid who was standing ready to serve them. ‘Teresa, could I leave my daughter with you for a little while? I need to talk to Mr Grant. And, Teresa, you keep her with you until I get back, do you understand? You don’t let her out of your sight, no matter what.’

Teresa was what Mrs Norton scathingly called ‘a modern young thing’, and she tried the housekeeper’s patience daily, but as it was becoming increasingly difficult to obtain the services of staff for below stairs, Mrs Norton had to bite her tongue most of the time. Teresa now displayed what Mrs Norton called her ‘forwardness’ when she said, ‘Are you all right, ma’am? You look like death warmed up, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

‘I’m fine, Teresa. Just take care of Miss Joy, and keep her in here until I return.’ As Teresa sat the little girl down at the table, Esther turned to Monty. ‘I need to talk to you
now
.’

Once in the hall, she shut the door to the dining room and took hold of Monty’s arm, marching him along towards the door that opened onto a corridor leading to the kitchens. ‘What are you doing?’ He tried to swing her round to face him, but she resisted. ‘Esther, what is it?’

‘Wait.’ She knew Mrs Norton, Osborne and Cook would be having their breakfast, and when she said what she had to say she wanted them all together, where she could see their faces – especially Monty’s. Theobald was a pervert, a pervert of the worst kind, one who preyed on little ones; and the older staff had worked for him for practically a lifetime. She needed to know if they knew and, if they did, whether they had mentioned it to Monty. She couldn’t believe he would allow Joy to be in the house if he had known, but she needed to be sure, and the only way to prevent half-truths and lies was to confront them all together and watch their reaction.