by Emma Fraser
There was a slight tremor in her hands, an ache in her voice. But any woman would have been hurt by her sister attempting to seduce the man she intended to marry, no matter how close they were, although I couldn’t help but think that Edith had over reacted. On the other hand Mum had never admitted to anyone but me that she hadn’t seen Georgina and Findlay actually kiss.
‘What was my grandmother like?’ I prompted Georgina when she was silent for a while. I knew from experience that the best way to get people to open up was to start them off with questions they felt comfortable answering.
‘Harriet?’ Georgina’s face lit up. ‘She was wonderful. Our mother died when Edith was two and I was three. Harriet was quite a bit older than either of us – seven – still a child herself, but even at that tender age she took over the role of mother.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were so young.’
‘I barely remembered Mother, but Harriet did, of course. Apparently I inherited my red hair from my mother. Edith and Harriet looked more like my father.’ She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. ‘And you obviously have the gene too. Like Olivia.’
Once, especially when I was a child, I’d resented my red hair, although mine was more black than red and only in the sunshine were the copper notes obvious – I kept it short – almost cropped. The Princess Diana hairstyle was in, but unless I was prepared to spend copious time blow-drying my hair, or going to the hairdresser to have it done professionally – which I wasn’t – I could never hope to achieve the look so I kept mine short, almost cropped.
‘Edith, being the youngest, was my father’s favourite,’ Georgina continued. ‘She was everyone’s favourite. We all adored her. She was the one who rescued wounded birds, who made little beds for them in the nursery. With hindsight, I suppose she was always bound to be a nurse. Harriet, as the older sister, was self-assured with a quiet belief in her own worth, the one who poured oil on troubled water. I was the actress – some would say fantasist – the one who liked to imagine she was acting a role in a film that was her life – it’s probably the reason I found modelling easy.
‘Edith was the defender of the underdog. The only underdog I could be bothered defending was her. Even as a child I was wrapped up in my own life and became more so as an adult. I tell you this so you will judge me correctly when it comes time for you to do so. When we look back at the past, there is always a danger we reinvent it, and the parts we played in events to suit our view of ourselves. I am going to try to avoid doing that, but I know myself well enough to know it won’t be easy.’
‘We all went to the same boarding school in St Andrews – the same one your mother attended – and were determined to forge our own identities there. It wasn’t too difficult because we were all very different. Edith loved to be outside, she played lacrosse for the school team. Harriet, your grandmother, was prefect and then head girl. Harriet was one of those people that others, particularly adults, liked. She instinctively knew how to do – or say – the right thing. I was the opposite. Harriet being head girl made me want to rebel more. It couldn’t have been easy for her. You could say I was the bad sister, even from early on.’ She held up a hand as if I’d contradicted her. ‘I don’t say that because I’m looking for sympathy. Believe me, back then, I liked being the bad sister. It had a certain cachet.
‘The school expected Harriet to go to university but she met Peter, your grandfather, the son of a friend of my father, during her first season after leaving school and got engaged to him only a few weeks later. Father thought she was too young but Harriet put her foot down – said she would marry him – and that was that.’
Although I had several questions I listened without interrupting. I’d learned it was better to let people tell their stories in their own time. Besides, I was intrigued by this glimpse into my grandmother and her sisters’ lives. Perhaps among it I’d find a clue to their later behaviour?
‘To everyone’s surprise, it was me who did best in exams, despite the constant threat of expulsion, and me who went to university to study French and History followed by a year in Paris where I went to take up a teaching position in a girls’ school. I’d only been there a month or two when I was approached by a modelling agency.’ She looked wistful. ‘Those years were some of the happiest of my life – although modelling isn’t nearly as glamorous as people think. There is a great deal of standing around being fitted.’ She gave me another of her mischievous smiles. ‘Nevertheless, it suited me better than teaching. As a model, I lived the life of a Bohemian, moved in literary circles, mixed with minor movie stars and when I wasn’t working, I was partying. Paris was a heady place back then.’ She was silent for a while, appearing lost in her memories. ‘I don’t mean to suggest that your grandmother and Edith were less bright – or less pretty – than I. Indeed they were both more beautiful. I was taller and slimmer though, and that was what was looked for in a model. But eventually all the partying took its toll on me. No one wanted a model who had stayed up all night drinking and looked as if she had. I began to lose work until it almost dried up. That’s when I came back to Britain. I let everyone believe it was because of some illicit affair, but it wasn’t.’ She gave a little shake of her head as if disbelieving of her younger self. ‘Can you imagine! The person I was back then preferred people to think she was easy rather than tell them she’d lost her job as a model.’
From somewhere in the distance I heard the sound of a tractor – the only reminder that elsewhere a modern world existed.
‘Father passed away in thirty-six when Edith was eighteen and had just started nursing,’ Georgina continued. ‘I was nineteen and your grandmother twenty-three. Father had been gassed during the Great War and his chest never really recovered. I was in Paris when he died, but came home for the funeral. The three of us clung to each other during that wretched time, seeking and finding consolation in one another’s company. We were friends as well as sisters back then.’ She ran a tongue over her lips. ‘By then Harriet was married and otherwise blissfully happy and your mother was almost six, a content, charming child. Harriet wished she could have had more children but your mother’s birth was problematic and the doctors advised her against another pregnancy. I do know it was a source of sorrow to both Harriet and Peter. If they’d had more children, it would have been easier for Olivia. Peter and Harriet were always so wrapped up in each other and it made Olivia a solitary soul. I noticed how much at the time of Father’s funeral. Olivia was there, not at the funeral of course, but she’d come to Edinburgh with Harriet and Peter. She was all wide-eyed and not understanding why all the adults seemed so sad. She was brought down by the nanny to say hello then returned to the nursery. It was the way things were but even so. Peter, your grandfather, was an only child, his parents having died in India when he was here at boarding school. He was brought up by a distant relative, an aunt or cousin – I forget which – and not used to physical attention but Harriet was able to reach him the way no one else could.’ She smiled briefly. ‘It was the way back then. Hugging and kissing in public was considered to be quite vulgar. When Olivia cried it was the nanny who comforted her better. But Olivia was loved. You should know that.’
Even this small insight into Mum’s life helped me understand her better – why, until she was close to death, she’d rarely kissed and never hugged me.
‘Peter was an only child and inherited the house in London from his father. It was lost, of course, during the Blitz. We inherited Greyfriars and the house in Edinburgh from our parents. My father was ahead of his time in that regard.’ She broke off. A cloud scudded across the sky casting us in shadow and turning the air chilly. ‘It’s going to rain. We should go back inside.’
She picked up the empty pail and we made our way back the way we’d come.
The history of Greyfriars and the relationship between the sisters was all very interesting but I failed to see what it had to do with my being here or, more importantly, why my aunts had asked Mum to co
me. Was Georgina telling me all this now it because they were worried I would want to sell my share of Greyfriars?
‘You were telling me about the fall-out with Edith?’ I asked in an attempt to re-focus the conversation. ‘I can see why she was hurt, given your relationship. But you’ve clearly made up.’
I snuck a sideways glance at her. She was looking off into the distance, a slight tremor on her lips.
‘That kiss – what I did to Edith – was only the beginning. If I hadn’t been the person I was, none of what happened afterwards would have happened. Edith would have been married – would have been safe and happy. It’s all my fault she isn’t. All my fault!’
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Forgive me,’ Georgina said into the astonished silence that had fallen between us. I wasn’t sure who was more embarrassed by her unexpected display of emotion – her or me. ‘I’ve never spoken about any of this. Meeting you, talking about my sisters, your mother, it’s brought it all back.’
By this time we had reached the front door and, as Georgina had predicted, fat drops of rain began to fall. She glanced anxiously at her watch. ‘I should see if Edith is all right.’
Clearly she needed time to collect herself and although I was burning to know what she’d meant by her outburst, I suspected I was unlikely to get more from her right now.
‘Is something wrong with Edith?’ I didn’t say Mum had wondered whether she had PTSD.
She slipped out of her coat and held out her hand for my jacket. Reluctantly I took it off and handed it over. Quite frankly, I would have preferred to keep it on for warmth.
‘The war affected her very badly. She doesn’t sleep very well. I should warn you that she is prone to sleepwalking. If you do come across her don’t wake her, bring her to me.’
I nodded uneasily. I had no wish to come across a sleepwalking Edith.
‘I’m afraid you are going to have to excuse me for a while. I must see Edith and then I have things I need to do. Why don’t you sit in the library? Stoke up the fire if you’re chilly. There’s plenty to read.’
I did as she suggested, throwing some coal on the almost dead embers until they caught and flared. The rain had drained the light from the sky and the room was dark, apart from a single oil lamp on a side table. The generator must be off. I pulled an armchair over to the fire and, as Tiger settled herself in front of it with a contented sigh, I rested my head against the back of the chair and thought about everything my aunt had told me.
Which, in fact, was very little. Except that everything was her fault.
I gave up trying to imagine what she’d meant and crossed over to the bookshelves. They were filled with leather-bound books: amongst them the full works of Shakespeare, Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson. There wasn’t a recent paperback in sight – nothing since the 1930s. I ran my fingers across the spines until I discovered Jane Eyre. It had been years since I’d first devoured it, but I remembered Mum telling me that she had read it several times while she’d been confined to bed waiting for me to be born and how it was the reason she’d called me Charlotte. I turned over the book in my hand as a fresh wave of grief washed through me. Jane Eyre might not have been the best book for Mum to have read when she’d been so sad. Together with the gloomy atmosphere of the house it was hardly surprising she’d imagined ghosts and other malevolent forces.
I took Jane Eyre over to the chair to read. The wind was rising and the house groaned and creaked under its onslaught. I felt drained and lethargic, the sound of the rain on the windows, soporific. I laid the book on my lap and closed my eyes.
I was jerked awake by the sound of a woof, followed by a low growl from Tiger. She was standing at the door, her hackles raised, her nose pointing forward.
‘What is it, Tiger?’ I was disoriented, my head thick with sleep.
I jumped up and, scooping her up into my arms, stepped in to the hall.
I had a sense of being watched from the landing above and looked up, fully expecting to see someone coming down, or disappearing up the staircase. But there was no sign of anyone. I shivered. The hall was cool after the warmth of the library. I glanced at my watch. It was almost seven. I had to have been asleep for a couple of hours at least.
It was then I thought I heard a laugh, followed by a murmured response.
‘Edith? Georgina?’ I called out.
When there was no reply, I gave myself a mental shake. Like Mum had, I was letting the gloomy atmosphere of the house get to me, exacerbating the low way I’d been feeling since Mum died.
I returned to the library and put Jane Eyre back on the shelf.
‘Are you ready for supper?’ Edith’s soft voice came from the door, startling me. I hadn’t heard her approach. She must walk as quietly as she spoke. She’d changed out of her dress and into a long skirt and a blouse with a frilly collar. It must have been her I’d sensed earlier. Perhaps she’d come down, remembered she’d left something in her bedroom and gone back to retrieve it?
Tiger trotted over to her and wagged her tail, looking up at her with imploring eyes. To my surprise, Edith bent to pat her. I’d assumed she was frightened of dogs.
‘I’ll just let Tiger out. I’ll join you shortly,’ I said.
When I went back indoors I told Tiger to stay in the library and made my way to the kitchen. To my consternation, Georgina had also changed. The wellingtons had been replaced with heels, her oversized cardigan with a fine-knitted sweater and she’d reapplied her lipstick. I felt under dressed and at a disadvantage.
‘I told Georgina we should eat in the dining room as we have guests,’ Edith said in her breathy voice. ‘Instead of the kitchen as has become our habit.’
The thought of sitting at the large mahogany table in that chilly room filled me with dismay. ‘I’m more a kitchen kind of girl myself. Should I have changed?’
‘We usually do, for dinner,’ Edith murmured. ‘We like to keep up some sort of standards – especially when we have guests.’
‘Charlotte doesn’t have to change if she doesn’t wish to, darling,’ Georgina said. Nevertheless, I was aware I’d been reproved.
‘So has Georgina being telling you the family secrets?’ Edith said as she ladled some vegetables into a dish. The look she gave her sister was almost venomous. Pointed, at any rate.
‘I’ve been telling Charlotte about how Greyfriars came to be in the family, I hardly think that counts as sharing the family secrets.’
‘Plenty of time for that,’ Edith said, giving her sister another hard stare. Despite her apparent physical frailty, like her sister, there was steel under the surface.
‘I also told her about Findlay – and what I did,’ Georgina added quietly. But as she unwrapped her napkin and spread it across her lap I saw her hands were trembling. ‘Charlotte had heard some of it from Olivia.’
‘You did? I wondered if you would.’ Edith turned her pale eyes to me. ‘One thing you should know about my sister is that she doesn’t always tell the truth. She likes to be seen in the best light.’
The contempt in Edith’s voice shook me. Was it really possible she still harboured a grudge against Georgina, even after all these years? In which case, how could these two women live together, apart from the world, when there was so much animosity still between them? At least from Edith’s side. The look Georgina gave her sister, although exasperated, was loving.
‘She was the beautiful one – you can still see it now if you look closely,’ Edith continued with a bitter twist to her lips. ‘That’s why what she did with Findlay hurt so much. I wasn’t much admired – but she could have had anyone. She was the one men flocked around.’ Edith drew a shaky breath. ‘Everything just fell into her lap. She never took anything, or anyone seriously. Did she tell you she had to leave Paris? That she had an affair there with a married man? Georgina always wanted what she couldn’t have.’
So Georgina hadn’t told her sister the real reason she’d left Paris. Or was it me she’d lied to? Was s
he, despite telling me she was going to honest, as Edith had intimated, determined to keep information from me that painted her in a less than favourable light? It would only be human.
However, there was no doubt the look of anguish on Georgina’s face now was genuine.
‘I didn’t always get what I wanted,’ she cried. She wound her fingers together and took a deep breath and when she spoke again her voice was steady. ‘But you are quite correct, Edith. I had no right to do what I did. No right at all.’
The sisters fell silent and the air bubbled with tension.
‘Georgina tells me you were a nurse,’ I said, in an attempt to defuse the fraught atmosphere.
Edith’s face softened. ‘I was. And a good one too.’ Her face crumpled. ‘At least I was for a long time.’
‘You were a great nurse all the time,’ Georgina said, covering Edith’s hands with her own. ‘Now, shall we go ahead and eat?’
Supper was a tinned Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie served with home-grown potatoes and carrots.
