Together for Christmas (38 page)

Bertha studied the sick boy who sat in the Bath chair. She had not expected to see such an instant resemblance, and it had shocked her. She had spoken to him, enquiring after his health. She had
gazed into his eyes and seen his mother’s looking back at her. The clear, brilliant blue under the pouches of swollen skin had made her recoil. It had taken all her courage to face him
– and smile. Of course, she had to smile, to show concern, and to confirm the information that she had been given by Lillian Appleby.

A bastard child. An orphanage boy, carrying the name of his institution. Twenty years of age this coming December. Short, blond hair that was slowly growing back into curls over the unsightly
bulge on his head.
Her
blonde curls, her smile. And her son.

How could this travesty have come about? Bertha had been assured that her brother’s lover was dead, and her child dead with her. What trickery had returned him to the place where he was
conceived? And William, her brother, a recluse at Adelphi Hall and far removed from life, but nevertheless this boy’s father!

Bertha shivered. A cold, fearful sweat prickled her skin. An heir to Adelphi – her Adelphi. An illegitimate heir, but a threat. After Amelia had died, she had nurtured Guy as her own. He
had been a weak, self-indulgent and greedy child. Perfect for her purposes. She had given him freedom, satisfied his lust for life and women that knew no bounds. She had made Guy dependent on her.
Adelphi Hall was hers and always had been.

Bertha’s eyes sparkled. Why couldn’t William have taken Constance Shine to bed and be done with it? She was just a servant! The day William had told Bertha that he intended to marry
the trollop and give their bastard child a legitimate claim to Adelphi Hall had been the day when Bertha’s world had almost collapsed.

‘Damn the man,’ Bertha said under her breath. ‘Damn Constance Shine and her brat for ever.’

‘Lady Bertha?’

She jumped. Turning quickly, she found one of the white-coated doctors beside her. ‘Yes? What is it?’

‘There are many more casualties arriving from Ypres.’

‘We can’t take them all. You have almost all of the second floor now. And Lord William will
not
be moved from his quarters.’

‘I was hoping we might stretch to temporary accommodation. Perhaps the servants’ quarters?’

Bertha gave a stifled laugh. ‘And where would the servants be sent?’

The doctor, young and wearing thick-rimmed spectacles, gave a light shrug. ‘Not all their accommodation, of course. Just a few rooms on the lower floor.’

‘You will have to speak to Mr Leighton and Mrs Burns about that.’

‘Thank you, Lady Bertha.’ He turned to go.

‘One minute!’

He swivelled on his heel, looking alarmed.

‘The boy, the patient from Bristol . . .’

The doctor nodded. ‘Here at your request, Lady Bertha. I’m afraid the long journey has exhausted him.’

‘He looks a weakling to me,’ Bertha agreed. ‘What is your opinion of his condition?’

The young man was thoughtful. After a moment, he said, ‘The blood loss from his injury has not yet been resolved. And who can tell if the arm will heal?’

‘Will he survive?’

‘I shouldn’t like to give an opinion.’

Bertha nodded, her face drawn and tight. ‘That is all.’

When she was alone, she peered back through the screen. William Boniface was weak . . . weak . . . his recovery uncertain. And by the looks of it, as his head flopped back on the pillow as the
girl talked to him, his strength was ebbing away.

She must act quickly before his death could not be explained by natural causes.

It was late afternoon. The rain beat down on the roof of Michael’s car and Flora gripped the seat. Lillian was driving fast through the slippery streets of London. Once
again, Lillian had come to Flora’s aid. After Flora had left the orphanage, she had caught the bus to Poplar and run to Lillian’s house. Lillian, she knew, was the only person she could
turn to for help.

And now, they were speeding to Adelphi Hall once again in Michael’s car. The skies were black with storm clouds and lightening cut the dark sky in half. Rain splashed noisily on the
windscreen making it difficult to see.

‘Tell me again all that you know from Sister Patricia,’ Lillian said, her eyes narrowed towards the rain-soaked road ahead of them.

At Lillian’s house, Flora had hurriedly explained her story, and now she did so again.

‘And it was only Sister Patricia who knew of your past?’ Lillian asked.

‘She said she had planned to tell me and Will when we were older. But then she was trapped in France.’

‘Your mother must have loved the earl very much.’

‘But did she love my father, John Devonish?’

Lillian smiled softly. ‘There are many kinds of love, Flora.’

‘I hope she found happiness before she died.’ A little tear came to Flora’s eye. She wiped it away quickly.

‘And now Will is returned to Adelphi. What hand of fate has brought him there?’ Lillian wondered aloud as she drove into the countryside.

‘I thought it was for the best,’ Flora said miserably.

‘And it would have been,’ Lillian said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. ‘I only hope we aren’t too late.’

Flora couldn’t stop thinking about Sister Patricia’s warning. Lady Bertha had tried to kill her mother. Would she try to kill again?

Flora closed her eyes, unable to believe this was happening.

There was just one night nurse to supervise the ward.

Bertha had issued orders for the new casualties from Ypres to be put in some of the servants’ quarters. She knew the hospital staff would be busy.

Most of the patients were sleeping. She moved cautiously forward in the shadows, watching the nurse go to each bed. She swallowed nervously. This was her opportunity. She would put an end to any
threat to Guy. Her nephew was her guarantee to a glorious future. Once the war was over, the house would be returned to her. Gabriella and Guy would do as she told them. There would be parties,
hunts, balls and entertainments as befitted such a great estate. She would wear fine clothes and reclaim her true position as mistress of Adelphi Hall.

And William would die, old and shrivelled away in his attics.

Her confidence returned as she moved forward, slipping silently behind the curtain. She waited for the nurse to leave the room, then stepped out.

Bertha crept noiselessly towards the boy’s bed. He was unable to defend himself. He was weak and she was strong. She would do as she had planned.

She took a pillow from an empty bed, grateful for the darkness. There was little light from the trembling glow of the oil lantern.

The boy murmured in his sleep. William Boniface struggled to breathe. His mouth was open as he tried to draw air.

Bertha stood at the bedside, watching. For a moment, she saw Constance Shine, the servant who had stolen her brother’s heart. The girl who had given life to this bastard child and would
have made herself mistress of Adelphi Hall.

Bertha lifted the pillow and placed it over the boy’s face.

‘What’s wrong with the engine?’ Flora asked as they stood in the rain in the quiet village street. The engine had spluttered then silently come to a halt.

‘I think it must just be wet.’ Lillian pulled her coat around her. The rain trickled down from her elegant head of hair which was pulled into a pleat at the back of her head.
‘We’ll have to find someone to help us.’

Flora shivered. She too was soaked through. They had turned the starting handle at the front of the car and all it did was rattle. She stood in a puddle, her boots letting in the water. There
had been no time before they left to dress for wet weather. She was wearing her skirt, blouse and jacket and Lillian had found one of Michael’s old raincoats in the back of the car. It was
far too big, but now it served to protect her from the downpour.

‘Let’s ask at the post office.’ Lillian nodded to the small shop on the other side of the road. It was in the middle of a row of village shops: a haberdashery, a
grocer’s, a café and a tobacconist. They hurried across the shimmering street and breathlessly arrived in the tiny shop.

‘Our car has broken down,’ Lillian said to the person behind the counter. The middle-aged man, with dark hair and a parting down the middle, frowned out of the window. ‘Is
there someone who can help us?’

‘There’s no one who knows about them things, ma’am. We only got horses here. There’s a smithy down the road, though I don’t think he’d be much
help.’

‘Doesn’t anyone know about automobiles?’ Lillian pleaded.

‘A bit new-fangled for the sticks, ma’am. You from the city?’

Flora and Lillian both nodded. Flora felt the rain dripping down her neck. She was making a puddle on the floor of the shop.

‘How far you going?’

‘We’re on our way to Adelphi Hall.’

‘The Earl of Talbott’s Estate?’

‘Yes. We must hurry.’ Lillian opened her purse. ‘I shall pay handsomely for any help you can provide.’

The man’s eyes widened as he saw the notes in Lillian’s hand. ‘Tell you what, the landlord at the White Buck keeps a trap for customers.’ He lifted a wooden flap that
divided the counter from the shop. ‘I’ll lock up here and take you over.’ He unhooked his coat from a peg.

‘Do you mean we should hire his trap?’ Lillian asked in astonishment.

The post office keeper raised his shoulders. ‘Tis the only way you’ll get out of this village before dusk falls, ma’am.’

‘Are you sure there’s no other way?’

‘I wouldn’t recommend Shanks’s pony in this weather.’ The man pulled on his coat and, opening the post office door, gestured to them. ‘This way, ladies.’

A gust of rain blew in and covered them.

Flora looked at Lillian. There seemed nothing else to do but follow.

It was dark by the time Flora and Lillian, together with a hired driver, set out from the village. Although they sat under the shelter of the trap’s roof, they were cold
and huddled close for warmth. The road ahead was strewn with branches and twigs from the dripping trees. The rain still poured down, little pellets of silver in the light of the Tilley lamps
attached to the trap.

‘How does he know where to go in such darkness?’ Flora worried as they jogged up and down over the bumpy roads.

‘The landlord said his driver knew the way. We shall just have to trust he’ll get us there.’

‘You paid them generously,’ Flora said gratefully.

‘I do miss Michael’s car.’ Lillian smiled in the darkness. ‘How quickly we’ve become used to motor vehicles and the like. It seems very old-fashioned to travel like
this.’

‘Especially when we are in a rush.’ Flora felt the rain soaking up her legs. She missed Michael’s car too. This was no way to travel in an emergency.

‘Lillian, will we get there in time?’ Flora fretted. So many things were going through her mind. Why had she ever thought of that plan to have Will sent to Adelphi Hall? His life was
in danger. At this very moment, something dreadful could be happening.

‘I hope so, Flora. We are doing all we can.’

‘I should never have got this far without you.’ Flora looked at the woman beside her and saw Michael’s profile. How she missed him. How very much she needed him now.

The trap bounced and shook and the driver yelled and whipped the little pony. The rain lashed down, they were wet through, but Flora knew that none of this mattered. They had to get to Will in
time.

In time for what? a frightened little voice asked inside her.

Old sins cast long, long shadows, the tall, stooped man decided as he watched the watcher. Sins that he had committed, of negligence and of cowardice. He would have fought
Bertha had he been as strong in his personal life as he had been on the battlefield.

In his heart, he had always suspected that Bertha had been responsible for Constance and their son’s disappearance. On his return from his tour of duty, he had searched everywhere,
followed every trail, from the empty farmer’s house where he had left them in safety, throughout all of Surrey. He found nothing. For years, he had looked and never given up hope but
eventually a deep loneliness had engulfed him. First robbed of Amelia, then Constance and his child.

He had finally shut himself away from a cruel world that refused to give him love.

Lord William Calvey drew in a sharp breath as he thought of the day in spring of last year, when his life had begun to change. The young woman on the prow of the hill. Constance’s double.
Her hair, her face, her movements; even through binoculars he had known that in some way she was connected to Constance. The fog of grief and loneliness had, by some miracle, turned to curiosity,
and to hope. He had sent Turner, his valet, to listen to the servants, to discover who she was. He had learned about Hilda Jones and her connection to the girl. And recently, to the young man,
Will, who had fought for Kitchener’s men at the Western Front.

The young soldier, whose life hovered in the balance.

William Boniface, his son.

He reached out to steady himself. The pain in his chest was much worse today. But he couldn’t rest, knowing the boy was here. He had stolen downstairs and, in the absence of staff, had
stood at his son’s bedside, reaching out to touch his face lightly. He had Constance’s beauty. Her hair, her innocence. And he was in mortal danger once more.

Lord William Calvey gripped the finial of the banister, gritting his teeth against the overpowering assault on his heart. He was no longer the youthful warrior, a leader of men. He was old and
weary and the tired muscle inside ached to stop beating. But he had a duty to fulfil before he left this earth. The duty he had neglected two decades ago. He must go on.

The long, elegant sweep of Adelphi Hall’s stairs was behind him, above the coat of arms that symbolized his family’s proud history. He must perform this last duty of his life with
valour and courage.

Standing by his son’s sleeping form was his sister, his nemesis. She was about to snuff out the life that he himself had created.