The Land of Summer (29 page)

For Emmaline that reflection was almost enough to deter her from doing anything more about getting her poems published. It seemed to her that the very action of engaging a lawyer could easily be misconstrued by the town gossips, and she could come to be seen as a woman whose marriage, already rumoured to be unsuccessful thanks to that disastrous birthday party, was now exposed as being quite pitiably unhappy.

But then the excitement of the thought that she might see her verses in print overcame her, and pushing aside any feelings of modesty she determined that she would visit Bray Ashcombe and take him into her confidence.

She knew she must not write to him on the matter because, as her father had always advised her, if you wanted to keep life simple it was best not to commit anything to paper. So, summoning up all her strength, she determined to fix appointments to see Mr Ashcombe and Mr Tully as soon as she was physically able, and to initiate the negotiations by confessing to the authorship of the poetry. With that in mind she wrote a brief note to Mr Ashcombe to the effect that she would like to arrange a meeting with him and Mr Tully to discuss the matter of her friend’s poetry as soon as it was possible. She despatched Agnes into town to deliver the note in person, and then sat happily in front of the fire sewing a new purse intended as a present for Mrs Graham.

* * *

While Agnes was away on her mission the telephone bell rang. It was a most unusual sound, since they currently received more communications via the Post Office and callers to the house than they did by telephone.

Since Emmaline was passing the telephone room at the time she went to answer it, even though normally this was something she preferred to leave to Wilkinson who greatly enjoyed this privilege, answering the few calls they had had since her arrival at Park House with military precision. But this time there was no sign of her butler, so Emmaline closeted herself in the small room dedicated to the making and taking of telephone calls, lifted the receiver, and held it to her ear.

‘Yes?’ she said.

An American voice answered, somewhat startling Emmaline.

‘How do you do? I wish to speak to a Mr Aubrey, if you please. A Mr Julius Aubrey?’

‘Yes,’ Emmaline replied, feeling awkward as she always did when using the telephone. ‘This is Mr Aubrey’s residence, but I am afraid he is not present at this time.’

‘When might I speak with him, please?’ the caller asked. ‘I am not going to be in this country long and I need to speak with him most urgently.’

‘Mr Aubrey is in France at the moment, sir,’ Emmaline said. ‘We’re not altogether sure when he means to return because he likes to leave such
matters
open, but he did mention something about the day after tomorrow.’

‘I see.’ The American paused, then, after clearing his throat, continued, ‘Am I speaking with Mrs Aubrey?’

‘Yes, sir, you are. And whom might I be addressing?’

‘My name is Dwight Freeman, Mrs Aubrey. I am a business associate of Mr Aubrey.’

‘I see. Would it not be more advantageous for you to telephone Mr Aubrey’s office? Not only is it a better place to catch him, Mr Freeman, but someone there might have a more precise idea than I when to expect him.’

‘Very kind of you, ma’am, but this is a confidential matter. A personal one, really, and I thought it more prudent to telephone his home. Perhaps you would be kind enough to convey a message to your husband from me, in case I fail to make contact with him or he returns earlier than expected? I am on my way to stay at the Grand Hotel, Cheltenham – and I would like to meet with him there on a matter of some urgency before I have to leave the country once more. Perhaps he would be good enough to telephone me at the hotel when he returns? Thanking you kindly, ma’am.’

‘I shall do exactly as you request, Mr Freeman,’ Emmaline replied. ‘And I must say it’s very nice to hear a fellow American. What part are you from, sir?’

‘Me? I’m a New Yorker, ma’am, born and bred.’

‘Really?’ Emmaline said, in some surprise. ‘It must be the telephone line, but I would have said you were from somewhere much further south.’

‘Is that so, Mrs Aubrey?’ the man replied after a slight pause. ‘And where might you be from? No – let me guess. I would put you down as a Bostonian.’

‘You are absolutely right, Mr Freeman.’ Emmaline laughed. ‘Completely so.’

‘Then forgive me for saying, ma’am, that perhaps my ear for an accent is even better than yours.’

With that he hung up, as did Emmaline, still convinced, as she wrote a note for Julius, that what she had heard was most certainly not a New York accent.

She was sitting at her desk in her room checking her household lists after lunch when Wilkinson knocked and informed her that Agnes wished to see her.

‘Can it not wait, I wonder, Wilkinson?’ Emmaline replied, looking up from her notebook. ‘I am rather busy.’

‘She said it was urgent, madam,’ Wilkinson replied, standing in front of the closed door. ‘She seems more than a little upset.’

‘Very well, Wilkinson,’ Emmaline told him, not having the sort of heart that could exclude someone as nervous and sensitive as her young maid. ‘Show her in, please.’

Agnes entered with a frown so deep that
Emmaline
was alarmed. The girl was chewing her lower lip with anxiety and twisting her hands.

‘Yes, Aggie? Has something upset you?’

‘Yes, madam,’ Agnes replied, all but under her breath. ‘But I don’t know as how I should tell you.’

‘Forgive me, Aggie. Do you mean you don’t know how to tell me, or whether you should or not?’

‘Yes, madam,’ Agnes muttered, frowning even more deeply and staring down at the carpet. ‘Both really.’

‘Only tell me if you wish to, Aggie. You must never feel obliged.’

‘It’s not that, ma’am. I never as feel obliged to you, ’cos you’re always so kind, like. To me. To everyone really.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Aggie – yet here am I and we haven’t even started on your reading yet.’

‘You been ill, ma’am. Not the sort of thing you wants to do when you’re ill, like.’ The girl fell to silence, continuing to chew her lower lip and frown at the carpet.

‘So what is it then, Aggie?’ Emmaline asked gently. ‘It’s obvious something is troubling you deeply.’

‘P’rhaps I should have told Mrs Graham first. And asked her if I should tell you, madam.’

‘You can go and do so now if you wish, Aggie.’

‘I seen Mr Aubrey, madam,’ Agnes blurted out instead. ‘Least I’m as sure it were him.’

‘You saw my husband, Agnes?’ Emmaline suddenly straightened her back, as if she knew this presaged bad tidings. ‘And when would that be, may I ask?’

‘Please don’t be cross, ma’am,’ Agnes begged, her eyes suddenly full of tears. ‘It’s not my fault.’

‘I’m not cross with you, Agnes,’ Emmaline assured her. ‘It’s just – you must understand this comes as a bit of a shock. Seeing that my husband is in France.’

‘No, ma’am. I mean I know, madam, but I’m sure I saw him, honest. Cross my heart and hope to die. I swear it were him.’

‘Perhaps you saw him on his way home. If you saw him – I take it it was when you were out?’ As Agnes nodded, without looking up, she went on, ‘Then the possibility is that he is back in England and either on his way to his offices before coming home, or even now on his way back here.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Agnes muttered.

‘That would be very typical of my husband, Aggie. I don’t think even he knows where he is going to be from one minute to the next.’

‘It wasn’t like that, madam,’ Agnes said, now looking her mistress in the eye as if she had just determined that the truth must and should be known. ‘It was really peculiar, see. I was walking back to the trap, up the High Street, see, ’cos Alan had parked it where we usually does, and this carriage was coming through the town, like. Then this dog runs out and the driver swerves the horses to avoid it and runs on to the pavement,
see
. Right where I’m standing. I mean it near as anything crashes into me and I don’t know what, I was as close as that to getting hit. And the carriage has tipped over a bit, see – the driver falls off his seat and as the carriage tips over the gentleman inside gets thrown off his seat as well. He falls against the window, sort of on his knees – and as he tries to recover hisself he looks up at me and – and I’m pinned up aginst this wall, see – and he looks at me and he’s only this far away, madam – and honest I swear, madam, honest I swear it was Mr Aubrey.’

‘Yes, Aggie.’ Emmaline smiled. ‘And as I said, the probability is that he was on his way either to the office or—’

‘There was someone else with him, ma’am,’ Agnes blurted. ‘Beggin’ your pardon.’

‘Someone else?’

‘There was this other person in the carriage, see. There was this – this woman, like. With Mr Aubrey.’

Emmaline said nothing. She just looked as steadily as she could at her maid, because she could not think of anything suitable to say, and also because she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, a thrumping sound. She took a deep breath, held it, then nodded at Agnes to indicate that she should proceed.

‘She had this red silk coat on and an ’at with a big yellow feather,’ Agnes continued. ‘She in’t seen me as yet, like, but as I can’t get past to get to the trap because I’m stuck up against the wall
I’m
standing there staring at Mr Aubrey and she says – ’cos she’s fallen off her seat too, like – she says something or other then I hears her say, “
You all right, my darling?
” She’s leaning up against him, holding her hat, and she’s saying—’

‘Yes, yes,’ Emmaline said quickly. ‘Yes, I heard what you think you heard her say. This woman.’

There was a silence now as they both considered what had been said. Finally Emmaline, having taken another deep breath, nodded and clasped her hands tightly on her lap.

‘They are probably friends in business, Aggie,’ she said. ‘I don’t think we need to – to – er – read too much into this.’ She tried to smile. ‘After all, my husband lives and works here, and I really don’t know very many of the people he knows, so I don’t think we need to think there is anything untoward in this situation.’

‘Well, it weren’t just that, madam,’ Agnes continued, swallowing hard and wiping the back of her mouth quickly with her hand. ‘The thing is, obviously, with me this close, the thing is Mr Aubrey sees me, see. He’s looking out of the window and straight at me.’

‘Mr Aubrey saw you,’ Emmaline said slowly.

‘He couldn’t as help it, ma’am. He was that close to me, see. But when he sees me he just stares. That’s all. He gives me this look, just as though he’s never seen me before. I’m doing me best not to stare at him ’cos I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it, madam, ’cos of the way he’s staring at me. He just looks at me. He looks at me as though I
wasn’t
there. Then as the carriage tips back upright he gets back on his seat and he leans over – and he pulls the blind down at the window.’

‘Thank you, Aggie,’ Emmaline said after a moment. ‘But I think you were probably mistaken, don’t you? I think you thought you saw Mr Aubrey, but if he didn’t recognise you, then it cannot have been him, can it?’

‘No, madam,’ Agnes said, colouring deeply. ‘But I mean it was, madam. What I mean is, I’m sure it was, madam.’

‘But it can’t have been, Aggie. Not if he didn’t recognise you. And before you tell me that when he saw who it was looking at him he then pretended not to know you, I think you would have seen that, would you not? You would have seen some glimmer of recognition or even surprise on his face when he saw you – if it was my husband, which I now doubt that it was.’

‘Yes, madam,’ Agnes muttered. ‘I shouldn’t have as told you, should I? Least not till he come home. Your husband – Mr Aubrey, I means. ’Cos then if he was home now I’d have known it was him, wouldn’t I?’

‘No, Aggie,’ Emmaline said. ‘You did right to come and tell me. You were upset because like me you thought Mr Aubrey wasn’t due home for some days yet. And you thought he might have been hurt – in the accident – and then when he seemed not to recognise you – it’s perfectly natural for you both to be upset, and to come and tell me. Thank you.’

‘You’re not cross then, madam?’

‘No, Aggie. Just a little puzzled, like you. Rather, I was a little puzzled, until it became obvious from what you said that you were mistaken, and that it wasn’t my husband.’

But when Agnes left, she was still convinced that the gentleman she had seen at such close quarters was indeed her employer, since Mr Aubrey was a man of such distinctive looks that he would not be easily mistaken. Emmaline was equally certain that the man in the carriage with the woman in red could not possibly have been her husband because to her way of thinking it would have been impossible for him not to have recognised someone as familiar and in her own way as distinctive as Agnes. None the less, she asked Wilkinson to telephone her husband’s offices to see when they might be expecting him to return.

‘Not for two or three days, madam,’ Wilkinson reported back to her. ‘Apparently Mr Aubrey told his secretary quite specifically he was not to be expected back in the office before Friday at the very earliest, and due to some considerable setbacks, some difficulties the other side of the Channel, it was more likely that he would not be back at his business until the beginning of next week.’

‘Which is not going to give us a great deal of time to prepare for Christmas, Wilkinson.’ Emmaline sighed. ‘Not that there seems to be a great deal to prepare for.’

‘Things are a little inclined to be left until the last moment sometimes, madam, I do agree,’ Wilkinson said. ‘But never fear. When the orders come it will be all hands to the pumps, I assure you.’

Although initially more shaken by Agnes’s supposed revelation than she liked to admit, Emmaline, who was at last beginning to feel better and a little stronger, resolved that she would follow up her note to Mr Ashcombe by arranging the meeting with him and Mr Tully for the following morning, and so she slipped discreetly into the telephone room in order to leave a message with the secretary in Mr Hunt’s bookshop that she would be calling in to see Mr Ashcombe at eleven o’clock. She spent the rest of the afternoon in the bedroom, working on her longer poem, before dining alone and retiring early to bed with a book.