Tyringham Park (10 page)

“I’ve just the man for you,” Algernon said from behind his newspaper the following autumn, a week after she’d turned twenty. “He’s ideal. He
has 19,000 acres, a mansion, a string of horses, a title and he’s your cousin. He’s my second cousin, so that would make him your second cousin once removed.”

The words ‘horses’ and ‘cousin’ made a small ripple in the dark pool of gloom in her mind.

“He called by yesterday when you were out riding and fell in love with you or, to be more precise, your portrait.”

He went on to say Major General Lord Waldron Blackshaw had recently inherited his father’s title and land, so the onus was on him to find a wife to supply an heir. Before his
father’s death he had been stationed in India, and was so career-orientated he hadn’t felt the need to find a bride. By rights Verity, being the elder, should have been the chosen one,
but Waldron wouldn’t be deflected from Edwina after he had seen her likeness in the painting. He wasn’t even worried that the missing hand might be true to life.

“I’ve invited him to stay for a month beginning next week, so he and I can talk about old times in India and you can have a good look at him and see what you think. It’s only
fair to warn you that he thinks there are two things you might find unacceptable, though personally I don’t see why you should – both minor compared to all he has to offer. So
unimportant they’re hardly worth mentioning, but I thought I’d get them out of the way before you meet him.”

He’s probably an ugly bore, Edwina thought. “What are they?” she asked aloud.

“You might think he’s a bit on the old side.”

Worse than being an ugly bore, thought Edwina, remembering Dirk’s delicious youth. “How old is he?”

“Around my age.”

Disgusting. “What’s the other thing?”

“His estate is in Ireland.”

“
Ireland?
”

“Yes, Ireland. Don’t look so shocked. It’s only next door. They do speak English over there, you know – well, most of them do by now.”

Was this an arranged marriage he was talking about? “Do I have to marry him?” she asked in a small voice.

Her father lowered his newspaper for the first time during the interview and looked directly at her. “Of course not. Just a hope that you two might get on. The best way to keep a fortune
in the family is through marriage. And here’s your chance – you’re both Blackshaws so you won’t even have to change your name. My father lost out as a second son, so it
would be nice for the wheel to turn full circle. You share a great-great grandfather but, even though you have the same name and come from the same family, his side got the lion’s share of
the wealth.”

The idea had its tempting aspects. A cousin would be more tolerant of her deficiencies as he probably shared them. She would please her father. And then there were the horses . . .

But the only man she wanted was Dirk.

Before her cousin arrived in his role of suitor, she felt she must finally find out if something had happened to Dirk to prevent him from answering her letters. Perhaps, after all, his
continuing silence hadn’t indicated a loss of interest in her but something else entirely, something perfectly innocent and understandable that would be cleared up as soon as they met face to
face, giving her the strength to stand against her father and dismiss her cousin out of hand.

She travelled by train to Dirk’s village of Burnstaple and, trying to hide any outward show of nerves, went into a teashop across the street from Armstrong & Son Emporium, the large
shop to which she had addressed her letters.

“Just passing through,” she said to the friendly middle-aged woman serving her, and went on to ask after Dirk in as casual a manner as she could affect. Wasn’t this where a
friend of her brother’s lived and had the woman by any chance heard of him or his family? The Armstrongs?

The woman smiled. “You mean the good-looking one? The artist? Father owns the shop over there?”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed it. Yes, that’s the one I mean.”

“I have the pleasure. He was knee-high to a grasshopper when my late husband and I bought this place, and I watched him grow up. Know his mother well. A real lady. Often brings her sisters
in here. Had a bad turn last year –”

So it was true.

“– but back in the pink now and very proud of having an artist in the family once they got over the shock of him wanting no part of the shop and him doing so well.”

“So he has done well?” Edwina pulled out the chair beside her. “I would be pleased if you would join me.”

Impressed by the authority of Edwina’s accent if not her years, the woman said, “Don’t mind if I do.” She fetched herself a pot of tea and sat opposite. “Lovely to
take the weight off my feet before the afternoon-tea rush. I’ve just sent the waitress to collect the clean linen. Now, where were we? Your brother’s friend, you said. Is Dirk doing
well, you ask? I can tell you this, he would be doing a lot better if people did the decent thing and didn’t refuse to pay him . . .”

“Pay him?”

The woman leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Well, his mother doesn’t know all the facts and Dirk doesn’t like talking about his clients, but his father got it out of him.
Well, it was obvious when he returned after six months with little money and he’s not a gambler or a drunk or anything and it appears that one old general refused to pay a penny because he
said his nose couldn’t be that large and purple – but he kept the painting, mind – and then some spoilt daughter or another had a hand missing. Not in real life, mind, but in the
painting and the father didn’t pay for the whole family as he said the contract wasn’t honoured and hadn’t Dirk been living off the fat of the land for five months at his expense?
Which just goes to prove that people like that know how to keep what they have.”

Edwina spilt her tea over her hand.

The woman rushed off to fetch a cloth and a glass of water.

“There, dear,” she said, dabbing the red patch with the wet cloth. “That hot tea can give you a nasty scald.”

Two ladies came in and she went off to serve them. After she had taken their order and brought them their tea and cream cakes she returned to Edwina and examined the hand.

“That’s not too bad. No permanent damage by the look of it. You were lucky the tea had cooled off or you might have been scarred for life.” She leaned in again. “To
finish my story. Dirk had intended to return to finish painting the hand but after he got the letter he was so disgusted he cut his losses rather than go back there. He had his pride. You were
lucky you didn’t meet him as he’d spoil you for anyone else and you’re too young for that and it wasn’t as if he was just handsome but he was good to his family and a
man’s man into the bargain. He got a girl into trouble –”

Edwina’s throat contracted.

“– and I’m not telling secrets out of school as everybody knew. They were married and they’re over in Ireland at the moment and he’s painting the Duke of some Irish
name or other I can’t spell or remember and his family, and I hope he has better luck this time now he has responsibilities and will you leave your name and I’ll tell his mother your
brother was asking after him?”

“Of course.” Edwina was finally able to gulp down the tea she had been holding in her mouth. “No need to do that. My brother will be contacting him. As I said, I was just
passing through and thought I’d ask. My aunt wanted to commission a portrait, but it looks as if she’ll have to wait. It was nice talking to you.”

“You too. Mind how you go, and I hope you’ll call in again some time.”

Was there a knowing look in her eyes? Does she suspect I’m another girl who got into trouble? Edwina, flustered, left with as much dignity as she could command.

Later she wished she’d asked the owner of the teashop the date the wedding had taken place. Could her unanswered letters mean Dirk was already committed to someone else
at the time she wrote the first one? Did he take up with his future wife so quickly after leaving her because he thought she didn’t love him? Was the lucky woman waiting in the wings, ready
to have an ‘accident’ as soon as possible? Was he wooing the two of them simultaneously?

Had her father’s refusal to pay any bearing on the decisions Dirk made after he returned to Burnstaple?

If Waldron were in any way presentable she would marry him. He wouldn’t intimidate her, being a cousin, and her father would be proud to welcome him into the family as a
son-in-law. As a bonus she might even run into Dirk in Ireland, its being such a small place, and from her secure position as a married aristocrat, find out the details of why he had forsaken
her.

Waldron was dignified, mature, interested, quiet and respectful when she first met him. Her mother and father acted as if they had discovered a unique work of art.

“This will amuse you. Your cousin is quite a wit,” her father said after the betrothal had been finalised. “When he first saw your portrait he said he hoped he wouldn’t
ask for the wrong hand in marriage. Isn’t that a good one?”

Edwina laughed, gratified that she was responsible for her father’s satisfaction in seeing his daughter transformed, by virtue of one decision, from an odd spinster to a woman of
significance.

If only she had known then what she knew now. Nine years later she reinterpreted those qualities that had first impressed her, and saw Waldron as nothing better than an arrogant, drunken
narcissist. Had she been a bad judge of character back then or had he been a good actor? For the sake of her self-respect, she clung to her belief that he had deliberately misrepresented himself
for as long as it took to win her acceptance.

Tyringham Park
1917

The long journey was at an end. As Edwina alighted from the train, she focused her mind on the task ahead. In a short while she would be confronting Nurse Dixon, and this time
she wouldn’t let her out of her sight until she had elicited Teresa Kelly’s address from her. She was now convinced Dixon possessed the information but was keeping it a secret out of
loyalty to her friend.

Sid was waiting for them at the station. Edwina composed herself so that she wouldn’t show too overtly how relieved she was to be on the last stretch for home.

After her month away Edwina was shocked to see the change in Manus. He had lost weight, which he could ill afford to lose, and looked older than his thirty-three years. When he
saw her from a distance he raised a hand in greeting but didn’t smile.

“The man’s heartbroken,” said Sid, driving on past the stables. “I don’t think he’ll ever give up looking for the child. It’s killing him.”

He’ll never leave Tyringham Park now, Edwina thought, and gained comfort in the conviction. Lord Prothero, a County Tipperary breeder aspiring to win the Derby, impressed by Manus’s
methods of schooling, had been trying to entice him away from the Park for years. Manus had stayed on in his position, despite Waldron’s resentment of his reputation and Edwina’s
attempts to change his mind about methods of training, but there had always been the fear that one day he might tire of them or receive an offer impossible to refuse. Not any more. He and she were
forever bound together in guilt. They would always be searching, always regretting.

She remembered how they had looked at one another in dread and then resignation after the initial search had proved fruitless, both thinking it was all over. And then his ride along the banks
and no sighting of a little body, and the hope that the infant might be still alive and standing on the bridge together the next day watching the brown water carrying branches with such speed there
was no swirling movement in the middle of the river, only a clear, fast run, knowing there would be no hope for a child caught in it.

That was seven weeks ago and they were no wiser now than they had been then.

At the front door Sid took out the luggage.

“Take those to my room, there’s a good chap, and then go up to the nursery and send Dixon down to me.”

Sid hesitated. “Won’t you be resting first, milady?”

“No, I’ll be in the library. I’ve too much on my mind to relax at the moment. And I won’t be able to settle until I’ve seen Dixon.”

Whatever threats or bribery were needed, no matter how extreme, she would use to wrest Teresa Kelly’s address from her, now that all other options were closed. She wouldn’t be as
tentative with her as she had been earlier.

Sid seemed to be standing on one foot and continued to hesitate.

“Is there something the matter?” she said finally, turning to face him, but he was gone.

Miss East waited for the summons. She had seen Lady Blackshaw and her maid arriving, and Sid, whom she’d warned to say nothing, carrying in the luggage. If there was to
be any unpleasantness she wanted it over as soon as possible. She would welcome a reprimand or a demotion or a fine: anything, as long as Charlotte wasn’t taken from her.

Looking after the child had been difficult and tiring, but she hadn’t expected it to be easy. For the first two weeks in her care, Charlotte had woken many times during the night,
clutching her throat and gasping as if she couldn’t catch her breath. A couple of times she jumped from her single bed to Miss East’s double as if she were being pursued. If the light
in the room had gone she would shake Miss East until she woke to relight the lamp.

To take her mind off her fears, Miss East would repeat in a singsong voice all they had to do in the morning: checking and supervising the household servants who dusted, polished, laundered,
mended, stitched, knitted, scoured, mopped, cleaned and hauled, and the kitchen staff who sliced, baked, steamed, kneaded, preserved, roasted and pickled under the supervision of Cook. By the time
the litany was completed, Charlotte was usually calm and fading into sleep.

From the beginning there had been no difficulty with food – stopping her from eating too much was more of a problem. She had to conclude Dixon was starving the child, but to what end? To
make her speak or to keep her silent? To what lengths would she have gone if Charlotte hadn’t been removed from her care?