The Secrets of Palmerston House

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “Hello, Martha.”

  Martha opened the door for Charlotte to come through. “Christie’s out I’m afraid. She’s walked up to Martin’s house with Randall.”

  “Is Martin home?”

  “Tomorrow I believe. She said something about checking the fridge but I think she feels closer to him by being up there.”

  “Ah. Okay. Would you mind letting her know I have some information about the...” Charlotte trailed off.

  “The trunk?” Martha led Charlotte to the dining room and gestured inside. “Christie mentioned you’d helped her retrieve it from the attic. I thank you for doing so.”

  “Not a problem. I take it she feels better if she’s walked to Martin’s.”

  “Better?” Martha titled her head. “What happened? Don’t give me that look please.”

  “Nothing awful, just a slip on the steps going to the attic.”

  “And?”

  “Bit of a bump when she landed. Winded, probably a bruise down her side but she wasn’t concussed. Just embarrassed.”

  “All for this.” Martha turned to the trunk. “And you have information about it? Are you an antiques enthusiast?”

  Charlotte took out her phone. “Not me. A friend at home is though. She owns a rather successful business and was excited by the photos I sent. Umm, Christie said it would be okay, but if you would rather—”

  “Child, stop fretting.” Martha put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “Come and sit with me. I’m interested in what your friend has to say.”

  They sat at the other end of the table and Charlotte read the text message aloud. “Beautifully crafted and unusual as I think it is ahead of its time. The rounded top came into vogue only in the late 1800s but the base is in keeping with English pieces from the first half of the century. Possibly a one-off for a wealthy family. A gift or commission.”

  “She’s good. It is dated 1840 and made in London.”

  “Oh. So, do you know its history?” Charlotte put her phone away.

  “It belonged to my sister, Dorothy. When we were children, of course, living in Palmerston House.”

  “Then, how did it get here? I mean... I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “It is a mystery all of its own, isn’t it? Thomas wants to pursue it but I worry the answers might hurt him. You see, my one time best friend got together with Dorothy and created a situation that looked bad. Very bad. And made sure I saw it. After Tom and I went our separate ways, there was a time when we would have reunited. He even waited for me every morning for months, at the end of the jetty on the beach.”

  “He did? What stopped you reconciling?”

  “All the letters he wrote and posted to me were intercepted by Dorothy. I never saw them and nor did he again, not until Christie discovered them hidden in a shoebox in this trunk. Frannie lied to him, Dorothy lied to me, and they won. We let them take almost fifty years away.” Lost forever.

  “You are so brave, Martha,” Charlotte whispered, her eyes wide.

  Martha laughed. “No, child. Not brave. Lucky. I’m very lucky to have gone full circle and be back where I belong, with the man I belong with.”

  ***

  In companionable silence, Thomas and George sat either side of the long glass counter in the jewellery shop. Each held an almost empty glass of whiskey from George’s small but exceptionally well selected bar. Behind George on the wall, all manner of clocks ticked and tocked slightly out of rhythm.

  In the corner, the grandfather clock slowly chimed four times, rousing Thomas from his thoughts. “The bride will be expecting me home soon.”

  “Did you come to see me, or is there a shopping list somewhere in your pockets?” George’s eyes sparkled. “Like once or twice before.”

  “My bride doesn’t need another sparkly gift until Christmas. Of course I came to see you. And this particular whiskey.” He stared into the glass.

  “Perhaps I should have given you a bottle on your wedding day. Would save you having to endure my company to drink it.”

  “Actually, I was thinking about a gift for the children.”

  Without being asked, George refilled both their glasses. “Something for their home?”

  “Martha is keen to buy them a honeymoon.” Thomas sipped his drink. “Thanks.”

  “A worthy idea.”

  “It is. We’re thinking of Sydney, just for a few days. Art galleries, Opera House. Time somewhere a bit luxurious, where they can simply enjoy their own company without being away too long, given both are busy people.”

  “But.”

  Thomas smiled. “You know me too well. I want them to have something tangible as well. Something for their kids. Grandkids. An heirloom.” He glanced at the grandfather clock and George followed his gaze.

  “You want to give them a grandfather clock?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Martin has a modern house.”

  “An eclectic house. Both of them love old things. Look at Martha and me.” He chuckled and George joined in.

  Thomas stood, and taking his glass, wandered to the clock in the corner.

  “Still not for sale?”

  “Ah, Tom. I can’t.” George joined him. “As long as a descendant of the Brown family lives, it can’t be sold.”

  Thomas looked at his lifelong friend. “Sold?”

  “You and I are the only ones who know the real history. Unless some fragment of the past is out there. But the Temples are long gone, Tom, not one of them in this whole region for a hundred years or more.”

  “It still matters though. To you, George Campbell, it matters. You have honour.”

  “It’s what I was trusted with.” George touched the face of the clock. “But I have no children to pass it on to. Perhaps the time has come.”

  “George? What are you thinking?”

  “We’ll see, Tom. We’ll see.”

  ***

  Charlotte paddled through the lagoon, then stopped, sandals in one hand as she gazed at the jetty. Did Thomas really wait there every day for Martha for months? What an incredible story Martha told.

  Ahead, a dog barked and Charlotte held her hand against the glare of the lowering sun. Randall ran toward her. Christie wandered behind at a distance, head down. Her steps were heavy and Charlotte hurried to meet her. Randall got to her first and she paused to greet him with a pat.

  “Christie? Are you okay?”

  Christie raised her head as if jolted out of deep thought. Her face was serious, drawn. She shrugged her shoulders and to Charlotte’s dismay, began to cry. By the time Charlotte reached her, she’d brushed the tears away and regained some control, taking deep breaths. “Silly tears.”

  “Oh. Do you miss Martin so much?”

  “Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know. I might sit for a bit.”

  “I’ll join you.” Charlotte’s tone was no-nonsense in case Christie wanted to argue. “I just saw you wince.”

  On the sand, legs stretched out, Christie managed a smile. “There’s a lovely colourful bruise still, down my hip and leg.”

  Randall flopped down beside them.

  “Why were you crying?”

  “I saw something I wasn’t meant to. I mean, he’d probably show it to me once it’s finished but it isn’t and being what it is he might not.”

  “Start at the beginning please. You lost me about halfway through.”

  “Sorry.” Christie picked up a handful of sand and watched it trickle out of her fingers. “I accidentally saw a painting in the studio. Part finished, which means no looking unless I’m asked for an opinion. Martin is firm about it. It depicts that night. In the storm.”

  “The yacht?”

  “No. But I shouldn’t tell you.”

  “Let’s call this an informal counselling session. One where I’m bound by confidentiality.” A little jolt of guilt jabbed Charlotte. You nearly gave Bernie away. “You and me only.”

  Christie bit her bottom lip. “I think I’ve really hurt him. It’s a self-p
ortrait and he’s on the beach... almost right here actually. I’m in his arms as if he’s carried me out of the depths, and Randall has his head on my lap.”

  “How did you feel seeing it?”

  “It broke my heart. He really thought I would die.” Her lips quivered.

  “It was traumatic. For everyone and of course for the man who loves you. He found you and got you to safety but then saw Randall on his side and imagined the worst. I’ve never heard such grief in a man’s voice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Him in the shallows in the painting? Mirrors what he did when he saw Randall. Dropped to his knees and cried out the dog’s name.”

  Christie turned startled eyes to Charlotte.

  “Listen, the painting is his way of dealing with the demons. Martin with you safe in his arms and Randall safe at your side. It helps him put the chaos of that night into an order his mind can accept. Whether he ever shows it to you, or destroys it, or keeps it locked away? Doesn’t matter. He loves you so much and needs an outlet for what happened. It’s normal. Very normal in fact.”

  For a few moments the women sat in silence. Charlotte watched Christie’s face, powerful emotions crossing it until she nodded to herself. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Anytime. Anyway you won’t thank me once you get home.”

  “Why?”

  “Sort of mentioned your fall. Sorry, just wanted to know you were okay.”

  “In that case I’d better go and explain myself.” Christie got to her feet and Charlotte joined her. “I’m glad you’ve stayed in River’s End. Even if you do give my secrets away.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Palmerston House was unusually quiet. Elizabeth sat outside on the verandah indulging in a glass of sherry, watching the sun set.

  A car turned slowly into the driveway and, at first, Elizabeth thought it must be Bernie’s SUV. But as it got closer, she saw it was a lot bigger and her heart raced. She stood, leaving her glass on the seat and arriving at the top of the steps as the Range Rover pulled up. The passenger window silently wound down and from inside, a man’s voice called. “I know it’s late notice, but would you have a room for the night?”

  Elizabeth let out an uncustomary squeal, quickly restrained by covering her mouth. She rushed down the steps and around the vehicle just as Angus got out. He grinned and held his arms out and without hesitation she went to him. His arms folded around her and she snuggled into his tweed jacket, inhaling the familiar scent she’d missed so much.

  “You don’t ever need a booking.” Her voice was muffled against him and he released her.

  “I think you said Palmerston House is booked out?”

  She smiled. “Silly man. Whatever are you doing here? I mean, had I known I’d have prepared dinner.”

  “Would you accompany me to dinner then? Perhaps the pub bistro, or we could go further afield?”

  “The bistro would be lovely. We can call Christie and—”

  Angus took her hand. “Much as I want to see her, I’d like to have dinner with you. Just you.”

  A delicious tingle of excitement filled Elizabeth and she squeezed his hand. “Your room is empty, so bring in your luggage and I’ll make myself presentable.”

  “You go ahead, dear lady. I’ll be right behind.”

  Elizabeth left the front door open and went up the staircase to make sure everything was right in Angus’s room. As she passed a mirror she realised she was smiling. A wide, delighted smile going all the way to her eyes.

  ***

  “Dear, would you find the old man please and tell him dinner is almost ready?” Martha glanced up from stirring a pot of her world famous chili, as she called it. Christie agreed it was about the best chili she’d ever eaten and once expressed surprise at an Irish Australian girl perfecting it. With a private smile, Martha had muttered something about spending time in South America and refused to elaborate.

  “Garage?” Christie sniffed with deep appreciation, her stomach responding with a rumble.

  “Most likely.”

  “Coming, Randall?” Christie opened the back door. Randall didn’t move from where he sat near the door to the hallway, his eyes not leaving Martha. “Fair enough.” She closed the door behind herself and stepped into the almost dark of early evening. The garage light was on, so she headed there first.

  “Looking for me?” Thomas called from the front of the driveway. As Christie reached him, he pointed to the sky. “Too much cloud about.”

  “For what?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Okay. Dinner’s about to be served.”

  “I like the stars.”

  “Me too.” Christie glanced up. There were stars about but it was early and the light cloud covering made constellation spotting difficult. “Later it will be clearer.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Stars aren’t as bright down here.”

  “You miss the mountains.”

  “Don’t tell the bride.”

  “So hard isn’t it.” Christie joined Thomas by leaning on the fence. “Different passions. Someone always compromises.”

  “She’s worth it.”

  “No doubt she feels the same about you. You still own the cabin up there so why not visit?”

  “Maybe. It needs checking anyway. Yes. Maybe.”

  The clouds parted, revealing a half-moon rising. “Thomas?”

  “Christie.”

  “You’re an artist.”

  Thomas straightened to look at her fully. “On occasion. Why?”

  “When you paint, where does the inspiration come from?”

  “Depends. Landscapes and the like are just there. Ready for my interpretation. The one I painted of Martha... after she left? From memory of a wonderful summer day when we were innocent of what lay ahead.”

  “It’s a beautiful painting. I see the love for Martha every time I look at it. What about the seascape... but don’t answer if you prefer not to.”

  “I’ll tell you, but then you’ll tell me why you’re interested. Losing Martha was the worst night of my young life. Worse than the problems with my father or anything else. She was, is, my world. My soul mate. Out of sheer pain and desperation I brought the storm to life again. I poured my grief into it and as I painted, something happened. I began to find hope. You’ll see it isn’t exact. The jetty is different, not much, but enough to change what happened. And we were in the water on the other side, so in my painting, it might not have occurred.”

  “As if you rewrote the events to have a better outcome.”

  “Yes. It didn’t change the fact she was gone nor how close she came to drowning, but on canvas, those little differences spoke volumes. Which is why I sent it to her. At least, I thought I had.” He frowned, creases filling his forehead.

  Christie put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. We should go inside.”

  “First, tell me why you did ask.”

  “I... I guess I wondered if art was a means of dealing with distressing events. Martin’s painting, Sole Survivor, was kind of autobiographical although he won’t admit it.”

  “Martin is a lot more expressive in his painting than I. If he paints something, there’s a reason. Always. I’m hungry and even from out here I smell chili.” Thomas started back to the cottage. “I’ll close up the garage and be right in.”

  Behind him, Christie mulled over his words. It made sense to use your talent to change something. To give hope. And Charlotte pretty much said the same thing. Dealing with demons. The question was, how would she manage her own fears? Bury them. They’ll disappear over time. She hoped.

  ***

  Lance made a big fuss of Elizabeth and Angus when they arrived. He whisked them into the quietest corner of the busy bistro that was part of River’s End Hotel. Before they’d had time to begin their conversation, he returned with menus, bread, and a bottle of wine. “I hope this one suits. On the house.”

  A
fter he left again, Angus grinned at Elizabeth. “He likes you.”

  “Don’t be silly. This is all because of a dinner I had here not long ago.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, unfortunately I may have been a fraction tipsy toward the end of the evening.”

  “I think you should fill me in.” Angus offered the plate of bread to Elizabeth. “Little details such as the company you were with. Surely Christie would not allow such a thing.”

  “It was the fabulous four.” She laughed at Angus’ expression. “Daphne, Sylvia, Martha.”

  “And you.”

  “And me.”

  “And you are. Fabulous. Now, a glass of this... oh, rather decent red.” Intent on the label he missed the stunned look on Elizabeth’s face. By the time he looked up, it was replaced by her normal calm expression. He poured two glasses. “Now, for a toast.”

  They held their glasses aloft, staring at each other as if not knowing what to say. Lance walked past and came back. “Earth to customers. How about to the best restaurant this side of Melbourne? If not in the whole world?” He held a thumb up as they turned amused eyes to him, then continued to the kitchen.

  “To the warmest welcome I always receive at Palmerston House. And to the beautiful lady who makes it happen.”

  “Angus.”

  Angus tapped his glass on hers. “Cheers.” He sipped his wine with his eyes twinkling. “Very nice. Try it.”

  Elizabeth did, her eyes never leaving his. She liked the creases around his eyes when he smiled. “Very nice.” Oh dear, I’m copying him. She almost giggled and wondered what on earth was wrong with herself.

  “What shall we order? Are you still partial to the gnocchi?”

  “What a good memory you have.”

  “I haven’t been gone that long, have I?” Angus reached over the table, his palm open in invitation. Elizabeth put her hand in his. This felt right. Perfect. Natural.

  “You’re here now.”

  “As if I’d miss the wedding. How are preparations?”

  “There’s so much to tell you! Before I do though... is everything alright with you, Angus?” Elizabeth had to ask. He’d left in something of a hurry, not saying much other than he had some business to attend to.