The Dream House (52 page)

He took a mouthful of his coffee, cleared his throat again and went on. ‘This piece of the locket was Esther’s.’

Kate sat bolt upright, startled. ‘Why? How?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Patrick said. ‘Jo said her mother kept it in her jewel box. That her own mother had given it to her. Esther had no idea who the photograph was of, just that her mother had said it was special, that she was to look after it.’

Just then, Dan broke in. ‘And I remembered it, when I saw your half of the locket the other night. It’s the decoration round the rim – look.’

Kate put down the photographs and picked up the locket from the sofa beside her, studying the swirling pattern etched into the edges of both halves.

‘I saw Mum’s half once before. Dad had showed it to me years ago, when we were clearing out Mum’s things, weren’t we, Dad? But we weren’t sure what it had been part of. It could almost be a section from one of those old photograph trees.’

Patrick nodded.

‘What else is there in the box? If I’m not being rude, asking.’

‘No, you’re not. Mostly mementoes of Jo. Some bits of jewellery, her birth certificate, some letters.’

Kate looked through the things that Patrick passed her, but there seemed to be no further clues to the mysterious Esther, who was merely mentioned as ‘housewife’ on the birth certificate. She put everything back in the box. Patrick sat back in his chair, and Dan took up the thread.

‘Dad found Mum’s half of the locket on Friday, and over the weekend I did a bit of research,’ he said. ‘I saw the vicar here, asked around in the village. Dad’s right about the Howells. Esther’s brother’s and sister’s families have moved away – we lost touch after Mum died – but her cousins’ children still live here. It turns out that Esther’s parents were Alf and Ethel Howells and that they used to work at Seddington House.’

‘Alf and Ethel. They were the gardener and the parlourmaid. That’s extraordinary. But hang on, they left a couple of years before Agnes even met Harry. So why would they have had Agnes’s half of the locket?’

‘Well, this is where we’re down to conjecture. Let’s look at those photographs again.’ He picked up the box and passed the pictures of Esther over.

Kate pored over them, then she said, ‘If that’s her mother, on the beach, she doesn’t look much like her, does she? Esther doesn’t look much like her brother or sister either, come to that.’

‘We don’t know for definite that that woman’s Ethel, though, do we?’ Dan put in.

‘Why don’t we look through the photos at Seddington House?’ Kate rushed on. ‘There might be pictures of the servants from that period.’

Dan nodded. Then: ‘There is another important thing, though. Dad, tell her.’

‘Yes. Jo said once that her mother had never had a birth certificate. Ethel and Alf had always claimed that it must have got lost, but when her mother needed to get a copy once, for a passport or something, there wasn’t one even in Somerset House.’

‘There’s one thing wrong with all this, isn’t there?’ cried Kate. ‘We are looking for a boy. Agnes had a boy.’

‘Did she ever say she saw the baby?’ asked Dan quietly.

‘No, Miss Selcott took it away before she saw it. But she told Agnes it was a boy.’

‘Suppose she was lying, Kate. Trying to put Agnes off the scent. If there was a hue and cry, everyone would be looking for a baby boy, not a girl. Perhaps it was a girl, and the girl was Esther.’

‘But that would make you Agnes’s great-grandson, Dan. It would have been you we were looking for all along!’

‘Esther Howells,’ said Kate. ‘Esther must have been Agnes’s lost child.’ It was an hour later, and she and Dan were sitting still in their coats against the cold on a sofa in the library of Seddington House, a dozen photograph albums and piles of unmounted photographs on the floor around them. In the end it was Dan who had found what they were looking for. The photo showed the staff of Seddington House standing out on the steps.
1926
was pencilled on the back. Kate had peered at the faces.

‘That is obviously Lister.’ A severe-looking butler stood slightly aloof. ‘The older lady must be Mrs Duncan. That’s the gardener, and that gangly chap must be Alf. And there’s Ethel – she’s awfully pretty isn’t she? She’s definitely the woman holding the baby in your dad’s photo, but she doesn’t look at all like Esther. She’s dark and petite. And Alf’s got dark hair, too. Esther does look a bit like Agnes, don’t you think? You know, Dan,’ Kate’s eyes were shining, ‘I think you’re right. You’ve got to be right! But how did it all happen?’

She picked up the envelope of diaries and, drawing out the first two volumes, searched through for references to Alf and Ethel. ‘This is interesting. It says that Ethel lost her first baby. Maybe she thought she couldn’t have another, maybe she was desperate for a child.’

‘She did have further children of her own, though, didn’t she?’

‘But she and Alf loved Esther – I feel they did. They didn’t even tell her she was adopted. Some of their relations must have known, but I suppose they kept quiet about it for Ethel and Alf’s sake, because her parents wanted her to be the same as their younger children. Oh, at least she was loved.’

‘What do you reckon happened on the night of the birth, then?’

Kate closed her eyes. ‘I think,’ she said slowly, opening them, ‘that Lister took the baby and gave it to them. He knew about their disappointment, you see, and they lived far enough away for no one to make the connection. It would be very difficult for Agnes to find the child.’

‘What about the locket?’

‘I’ll just find the bit about Agnes losing her half of the locket.’ Kate flicked through the pages of the last volume she had read. ‘It doesn’t say when the locket went missing, just that it did. You know,’ she said, shutting the exercise book, ‘suppose Lister or Miss Selcott decided to give it away with the child? It was what mothers would do when they were forced to part with their babies. They would leave little mementoes with the child to identify it.’

‘Or to give the child a part of themselves, I suppose,’ Dan agreed.

‘I wonder what happened to the letter,’ Kate said softly.

‘Which letter?’ said Dan.

‘Agnes’s lover wrote her a letter. She copied some of it out into the diary.’

Dan shrugged. ‘There’s nothing in the shoebox like that.’

‘Lost, then.’

‘I suppose there’s a chance it’s somewhere in this house.’ Dan stood up, his hands in his coat pockets, and began to walk around the chilly room, looking at the shelves. Occasionally he would reach for a volume or draw his finger across the rim of a chair. Kate watched him, her thoughts running in a babbling stream. She hadn’t yet worked out their own relationship to each other in the complex Melton family tree.

Did knowing he had a right to be here in this house give him that new lift to his shoulders, or was that just her interpretation? In his long sweeping overcoat and black boots and with his wavy mane of gold-brown he looked, well, authoritative, like some lord of the manor. He didn’t look at Kate, but seemed caught up in some world of his own as he paced about the room.

After a moment, he wandered over to the door and, opening it, went out into the hall. Kate listened from her seat on the sofa, the photograph of the servants still in her hand, hearing his footsteps on floorboards around the lower part of the house, doors opening and closing as he prowled.

Minutes passed and Kate got up and went in search of him. She found him in the dining room, his hands gripping the back of a chair as he stared at an empty space on the wall, where a fine eighteenth-century portrait of a soldier on horseback had been.

‘Shame that that one had to go,’ he said.

‘Yes. Fourteen are being sold in the end. Farrell’s have been very firm about which ones they can get buyers for right away at good prices.’ She shrugged. ‘Have we done the wrong thing, do you think?’

He turned to where she stood at his elbow and said, ‘No,’ and smiled. His eyes swept her face briefly and she felt the warmth of his breath.

‘You look sad,’ she said.

He curled his lips in a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Releasing the chair, he put his hands in his pockets, walked over to the window and peered out into the garden. Then he turned to face her.

‘I do feel incredibly sad. And angry really.’ She waited for him to go on. ‘I’ve had a few days to get used to this idea – that I’m Agnes’s great-grandson – and now I’m aware of just how much I’ve missed. Of what my mother missed, come to think of it, and most importantly of all,
her
mother before her – Esther. Agnes’s child. I don’t mean,’ he gestured at the contents of the room, ‘money or this house, though I can’t pretend those don’t have a place. No, I mean not to have known Agnes as our own. Not to have known about my great-grandfather, even. Harry. That he was an artist – like me. Everybody always wondered where my ability to draw came from. But it’s all too late now. Too late.’

‘At least you did know Agnes,’ said Kate, faltering.

‘But she didn’t know me as her great-grandson, did she? I was the hired help, the charity case.’

‘She never thought of you like that. She was very fond of you. You were a friend, a good friend.’

‘But it’s not enough for me, don’t you see? And then there’s this place. If she’d known, she would never have left it to you, would she?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Kate looked down, focusing hard on her lap, fighting the tears that threatened. She had never seen Dan angry before, and now he seemed angry at her. When it wasn’t her fault. ‘There’s the money, though. Oh God, we’re going to have to tell Max.’

‘There is the money,’ he said quietly. ‘But no recognition, no name.’ Suddenly the anger seemed to rise in him like milk coming to the boil. ‘Kate, you must excuse me. I have to get out of here.’ And he pushed past her to the door.

After a moment the front door slammed and she heard urgent footsteps on gravel. To her surprise, he walked past the van and marched down the drive.

There seemed a vacuum in the room. Kate slumped into a dining chair and, falling forward onto the table, cried until her coat sleeves were soaked.

She cried for Dan, thrown into such turmoil, she cried for Agnes and everything she had never had, and she cried for herself because she thought she had lost this wonderful man whom she loved.

After a while she looked at her watch. It was past one, but she didn’t feel hungry. Anyway, she realized, she had been reliant on Dan for a lift. She’d have to walk home if he didn’t turn up again.

In the kitchen she found some coffee and a packet of biscuits. Conrad, though he sometimes slept here still, had a daytime job now, stacking shelves in a supermarket. Really, the sooner the place was ready for her and the children to move in, the better from the security point of view.

She took her coffee into the drawing room where she turned on an electric fire and, kicking off her shoes, drew her legs up under her and wrapped herself in a blanket someone had left there. With the hot drink inside her and the room warming up nicely she began to feel better. It was peaceful, in fact, sitting here in a comfortable armchair, the smell of beeswax mixing with old wood and the pungent whiff of burning dust from the fire. The grandfather clock tocked contentedly in a corner. She supposed Conrad had kept it wound – either Conrad or the ghosts.

She sighed. She felt so at home here – and yet not at home. Everything had changed again. Perhaps it should really be Dan’s home. What would Agnes have wanted? She had a strong feeling that Dan was right: if Agnes had realized Dan was the grandchild of her own lost baby, she would have left the house to him, not to her. Could she, Kate, happily live here, now that she knew who Dan was, and that, by rights, the house should be his? She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to imagine it.

The trouble was, this wasn’t just any old house. She felt tied up in its history because, well, in her dreams she had been here. However, she couldn’t live here if she believed that in a moral, if not in a legal sense, she had stolen it from its rightful owner. Maybe she would feel Agnes’s spirit hovering here, accusing her. No, that had to be rubbish. Agnes had been a loving person, would not have wished her harm. But all the same.
Come on, think, Kate, think
.

What was home? Home was more than a house. It was being with the people you loved in a place where you felt secure and happy. She had a home with Joyce. Despite everything that had happened since they had moved to Suffolk, Paradise Cottage had been a wonderful haven and Joyce had sacrificed so much for them and seen to their every physical need.

She had a sort of home with her parents now. Kate remembered what a contrast the recent weekend there with the children had been, compared to previous visits. She knew her parents wanted them to feel that they had their own bedrooms in that house. Her father had talked about Daisy and Sam helping him choose new beds and decoration for the single bedroom and the boxroom. He would send all those old magazines to the recycling, he had said; he didn’t need them taking up the space.

She and the children would make their home here, somewhere around Fernley. She could buy a small house – like Paradise Cottage maybe – because there were only the three of them. And they could get a dog. It would be home because they made it home and because they had so many friends hereabouts.

Kate huddled herself up warm in the blanket, the thoughts turning over and over in her mind. Emotionally exhausted, but with things finally clear in her mind, she dozed off.

There was a banging sound. Kate woke up, instantly alert. The banging came again. Someone at the door. She struggled out of the blanket and padded into the hall in her socks.

When she opened the door, Dan was standing there.

‘Hello. I wasn’t sure you would still be here.’ His anger was gone, but he still didn’t smile. Kate hurried back into the drawing room, where she hastily pulled on her shoes and ran her fingers through her hair, squinting at her creased-up face in the mirror over the fireplace. It was three o’clock. At this rate Joyce would have to cope with the dress rehearsal without her.