The Uninvited Guests (30 page)

The trees around the glade in which she stood reached pale limbs to the duck-egg sky, fluttering their acid-green leaves in the sunlight. There came, upon the breeze, the sound of hooves and wheels approaching.

‘Edward!’ She turned and ran back to the drive.

They all ran from the house in a group as the cart arrived; pulled by Ferryman, driven by Robert, with Stanley in the back of it – and Edward, upright and wholesome, next to Robert on the seat. It rolled to a halt by the front door.

‘Oh, we are glad to see you!’ said Emerald, to all of them, and beamed at the groom and his boy as Robert climbed down to greet them.

Charlotte joined them, nervously patting her hair.

‘There wasn’t any passengers to be seen,’ said Robert.

‘Where on earth
were
you all this time?’ cried Emerald, as her mother ran to her husband and held up her face for kissing, tugging on his sleeve.

‘Well …’ Robert appeared confused. ‘Stanley?’

Stanley was pulling Edward’s cases down from the cart. ‘It was raining,’ he said, pausing. ‘We looked where they told us – then—’ He stopped, uncertain. ‘Da?’

‘We were in the woods for some time,’ said Robert. ‘Mr Edward’s train came in on time,’ he finished, as if that was an end to it. And both seemed to trail off into a reverie.

Edward had climbed down from the cart and held his wife about the waist, smiling at them all. He had the gladness of a returning soldier, the benign glance of a prince.

‘A little unusual to be collected in the cart when we keep a carriage and a car,’ he said.

Charlotte clung to him as he greeted the men with handshakes and Patience with a respectful raising of his hat.

‘I was sorry to miss the birthday,’ he said to Emerald. ‘How was it?’

‘I might have to be thrashed,’ said Smudge, emerging from behind her mother’s skirts.

‘What for?’ he asked seriously. ‘You know I’ll do it.’ (He wouldn’t.)

‘For bringing Lady into the house,’ said Charlotte, widening her eyes.

‘Up or down?’

‘Up,’ said Emerald.

‘Oh. That’s grave. I did that once, when I was a boy, and we had to get Brian Doonan out with his winch. It was a dreadful calamity, but the pony survived.’

‘What was your pony’s name?’ asked Smudge.

‘He was Godfrey.’

Smudge nodded.

‘It was a Great Undertaking,’ she said.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ was his reply.

They all made their way into the house, as the tale of the descent of Lady was told to him.

‘Fun and games here,’ he said, ‘compared to the terrible crash they had down at Whorley.’

At this, every one of them stopped, entirely arrested in the act of walking and leaving Edward to go on alone a step or two before realising it.

‘A crash?’ said Charlotte faintly. ‘A train?’

‘Yes, a dire one. Fifty people lost their lives, George at the station was telling me. Men, women and children – all of one carriage, and casualties from the next. They say we’re all equal in the eyes of God, but they were all of them from Third Class. An unfair disadvantage. Except for one unfortunate fellow from First.’

He did not think their silence odd, the news being so shocking. After a moment, Emerald whispered, ‘What did the others do?’

‘The others?’

‘From the train – the
survivors.
’

‘They took them on to Whorley, I believe. There’s the hotel there and the inn. George said the Railway had to lay on a motorbus and several horse-drawn for the journey, all at short notice. It’s a terrible thing. They were all in shocked discombobulation, you can imagine.’

They were standing in the hall, each absorbing the news of the crash, but none moved to discuss their impressions.

‘Shall we?’ said Charlotte at last, and they continued.

With daylight and their own concrete concerns to occupy them, it’s perhaps not so odd that a train crash elsewhere, affecting strangers, bore little significance to Emerald, Charlotte and Clovis, who wanted to know if the house were to be saved, or Ernest, who was only thinking about Emerald, or Patience, who was looking at Clovis… Edward had journeyed to Manchester to see about saving Sterne, and the time had come for them to discover if he had succeeded.

‘I have news,’ he said. ‘It’s family business, and somewhat delicate, being concerned with financial matters.’

‘Then we shall leave you,’ said Ernest.

‘No, no – we’ll leave you. We’ll go to the morning room, if you’ll forgive us.’

‘No, of course,’ said John, and as the family left the room, Smudge hung back, knowing she would not be wanted.

‘Smudge!’ Charlotte called as she left.

Smudge never knew if her name meant ‘go away’ or ‘come here’ – but it was usually the former.

‘Come!’ Charlotte cried, and embraced her as she did so. ‘We’re going to talk about grown-up things now, but if you wait, shall we find something to do later?’

The gift horse of her mother’s attention would not have its mouth peered into by Smudge. She nodded in squashed and surprised delight.

‘Yes please, Mother,’ she said.

Charlotte continued, ‘Patience dear, would you mind taking Imogen with you and finding her a hair ribbon?’

Of course Patience was delighted to be charged with the task, and held out her hand happily. Watching her go, Clovis wondered how he would ever be able to see her cheerfully off to Berkshire on Monday, she had become something of a drug to him.

‘Mrs Trieves!’ trilled Charlotte. ‘You’re one of us, surely; do come in!’

And so Florence Trieves, at a respectful distance, followed.

It did seem strange for the family to enter the sunlit morning room after the adventures of the night, with the step-parent Edward Swift at their head once more. They all arranged themselves, Florence the furthest away, behind Charlotte, the others grouped around Edward at the fireplace.

Emerald noticed a blue and white teacup, teetering on a high shelf.

‘Your birthday was rather a rum go by all accounts then, Emerald?’ he asked, with his back to the fireplace, his arm behind his back.

‘Rum’s not the word for it,’ she told him, and smiled.

Clovis had seated himself on the chaise, with Nell and Lucy at his feet. He found himself eager to show his stepfather his advancement towards maturity, but was unsure how to do it.

‘We had a devil of a time getting Ferryman into harness,’ he said, by way of an introduction to civility, and Edward responded in kind.

‘So Robert told me, but he behaved himself nicely on the way from the station.’

They smiled at one another, and with that short exchange laid much of their past ill-feeling to rest.

Charlotte sat quite still with her hands in her lap, looking at him expectantly.

The conversation stumbled, faltered and ceased. This was the moment. The fate of Sterne was Edward’s to divulge.

‘Sterne,’ said Charlotte.

‘Go on,’ whispered Emerald, clenching her fists. ‘Tell us what happened.’

‘It has turned out very oddly,’ said Edward. He seemed momentarily unsure of himself, but then continued. ‘As you all know, I went to see Mr Jarvis. And it was much as I thought. He’s an unpleasant man and his rejection of my request for a loan was given unpleasantly.’

‘He turned you down?’

‘Yes.’ There was a brief silence as they contemplated the significance of this. ‘You know my feelings about Mr Jarvis. I was both disappointed and relieved. Well, it came to nothing; so that’s that.’

‘Oh!’ said Emerald and Charlotte together, while Clovis merely dropped his chin and stared unseeingly at the spaniel Nell’s domed head.

So that was that. There was no money; he had failed.

Bad news could be told so quickly. How swift and decisive was the hand of fate.

‘But that’s not all,’ he went on hastily. ‘There’s a great deal more. I—’ He broke off and turned his back to them. He seemed to examine the photograph of Charlotte and Horace that stood on the mantel, while the family behind him waited, with shallow breaths. ‘The fact of the matter is this,’ he said quietly, still not turning. ‘And if it had not happened to me, if I had not seen the papers and had them verified myself, I wouldn’t believe it…’

‘Believe what?’ Charlotte was more frightened now than curious. All three felt a frisson, like a cold wind over a wheat field. The very strange events of the nighttime had reached out, and come to visit them in this cheerful sunny room.

Could it be that Edward Swift, the most solid of men, had himself come across the Insubstantial, and wondered at it, as they had?

He turned to face them once more, but it was Charlotte, and Charlotte alone, he addressed.

‘Somebody from your past has taken a hand in our affairs,’ he said.

His words were leaden. Clovis sat back at once and looked askance at the empty grate. Emerald felt a lump rise in her throat and her scalp prickle. The spectre of dishonour had again raised itself.

‘Oh?’ said Charlotte.

She reached a hand blindly behind her, and found it gripped, warmly, by Florence Trieves’ strong fingers. They clutched one another as he continued.

‘A most extraordinary and wonderful thing has happened.’

‘Wonderful?’ echoed Charlotte in a whisper.

‘When I left Mr Jarvis’s office yesterday, it was still very early, so I decided to stop by my chambers on my way to the club for dinner. I hadn’t any appointments, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there – anyone save the porter, you understand.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well… When I got there, when I arrived, the porter – you know him, Hargreaves – wasn’t there.’

‘Wasn’t there?’ she whispered.

‘No, his cousin – that is, a fellow who claimed to be his cousin – was there.’

‘Claimed to be? Did you doubt it?’

‘I had no cause to, but it was odd – I don’t know why I mention it. He was a queer fellow – very pale, unwell, I think. Anyway, he said he sometimes stands in for Hargreaves when there is no one about, and they hadn’t expected me there on a Saturday, of course, but that the gentleman I was expecting was in my chambers, and waiting for me.’ He glanced around their faces, as if to make sure they were listening. ‘You know, I wasn’t expecting any gentleman. The man’s name was—’ He stopped. ‘Well, it was… Modkin, or Malcolm, or – Lord, it’s not like me to forget a fellow’s name. It was Martin then, whatever it was, he was an old man, weak, possibly, distinguished. And he claimed to have business with me, and, what’s more, that I had known about it for a fortnight. Am I soft in the head, Charlotte?’

‘No, Edward.’

‘Emerald?’

‘No, of course not: please go on.’

‘He said I had known about it, and that he was in Manchester on another matter, but that he had thought it would be more civil and appropriate to speak to me face to face, given the large sum of money.’

‘What large sum of money?’

‘The one left to Horace – excuse me, Charlotte, for mentioning his name when I know it pains you to hear it – for Horace Torrington’s child. Money left by a wealthy and distant relative called—’ Again he stopped, perplexed. ‘Perhaps I’m tired,’ he said. ‘It’s not like me to forget names.’

‘Sit down; go on,’ said Charlotte, who was herself as white as the pillows on which the passengers had laid their poor and rotting faces.

He sat and, doing so, he drew a narrow sheaf of papers, tied with a black ribbon, from his breast pocket. He untied it by tugging the free end neatly with his front teeth as was his habit, opened it, and read. ‘A great-aunt named Mabel Eglantine Breeches – that was it! – Mabel Eglantine Breeches, which is a very odd name and no wonder she never married if she was as odd as it was. But as I say, she has bequeathed to the youngest child of Horace Torrington, the sum of – Emerald, see to your mother.’ Emerald went and sat by her mother, and took her hand. ‘– the sum of sixty thousand pounds.’

‘The child?’ whispered Charlotte. ‘
Children
, surely?’

‘No, it clearly states “child”, and it names Smudge, see here: “Imogen Artemis Torrington”. “To secure for her, and her mother, who may do with it as she sees fit, a dignified life.” Odd wording from an odd woman. A dignified life. See? I can’t make head nor tail of it.’

He held the paper out to her. Charlotte did not move to take it, so Emerald took it for her.

‘It’s all very… I can’t understand the language very well, Edward,’ Charlotte said.

‘Trust me, then. This isn’t the will, you understand, this is a document drawn up by the gentleman, Mr… What was his name? McCloud? He has the will, signed and sealed, in Lincoln’s Inn, in London. This Modkin wasn’t her lawyer, but simply charged with the delivery of the papers to me. It’s all quite legal and respectable, if unconventional.’ There was a silence. ‘Miss Breeches died some months ago.’ Still nobody responded. ‘She had no other relatives.’

‘Horace had no one,’ said Charlotte weakly. ‘His family were dead – poor and dead.’

‘So you’ve always told me. You were mistaken.’

‘What did you say was her name?’

He checked the paper once more. ‘Mabel Eglantine Breeches.’

‘And she’s dead?’

He was patient. ‘Yes, Charlotte, she’s dead.’

‘I see. Sixty thousand pounds?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the house is saved?’

‘Yes, my dear. And everyone in it.’

‘We have a roof?’

‘A large one.’ (He was not a man to point out that his own respectable salary would have kept them modestly until they died, in a smaller and more sensible house.)

‘Dignified,’ said Charlotte. ‘Dignified.’ And then she bowed her head and cried.

‘There, Dearest, there …’ said Edward.

John Buchanan was taking his leave. His gleaming car, restored, seemed about to paw the gravel with its eagerness to be gone, as he followed Robert down the stairs with his luggage. Emerald stood waiting by the newel post, with a fonder look than any she had bestowed upon him before.

‘John,’ she said. ‘I don’t know whether to apologise or thank you.’

John paused beside her and let Robert and the trunk get away from them before replying, ‘You’ve nothing to thank me for, Emerald, and certainly no apology to make, either. You are—’