Starlight Over Bluebell Castle (Bluebell Castle, Book 3)

by Sarah Bennett

  Releasing her leg, Steve sat back with a sigh. ‘They’re young enough to adjust. We just need to give it a bit of time.. Isn’t this better than spending the next twenty or thirty years together when our hearts aren’t truly in it and destroying each other with a million tiny acts of bitterness?’

  She knew he was thinking about his own parents then. For all she wished her folks would be a bit more honest with each other, she’d never once doubted the love they had for each other unlike the icy war of words that raged constantly under the roof of Steve’s childhood home. Though they seemed to have reached something of an entente cordiale lately, the Ripleys had rowed constantly when she and Steve had been growing up. Part of the reason Steve and Marcus had become such close friends was Steve’s desire to escape from the toxic atmosphere his parents had created.

  After Marcus died, she’d been so desperate for something to hold onto as life imploded around her, and Steve had been there, warm and familiar, and just as in need of comfort. They thought they loved each other enough to hold on forever, but they’d been wrong. Or perhaps it was because they still loved each other just enough, that they knew it was time to let go.

  Bracing his arms behind him, Steve dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. ‘Or maybe that’s the lie I’m telling myself, so I get to be selfish.’

  Now it was her turn to offer comfort. She rubbed her foot against the edge of his. ‘We only get one go at this, and archaeology has always been your dream, Indy.’

  He laughed at the old nickname he’d given himself at ten years old after the BBC had shown the first three Indiana Jones movies over Christmas. Steve had been mesmerised by the wise-cracking, whip-cracking hero and his love of archaeology had been born. ‘God, those films have a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Including your love of all things beige,’ she teased, poking the leg of his chinos. When Marcus had been experimenting with hair dye and piercings, Steve had stuck rigidly to khaki and beige, as though any moment he might be summoned on an adventure to the deserts of Egypt, or the jungles of South America. Jess had skipped the experimental stage all together – her brother had done more than enough rebelling for the both of them. Even after all this time, the memory of him pricked sharp like a needle. ‘No more calling yourself selfish, okay? We made this decision together, in the best interests of our family.’ They’d both hear enough of that particular accusation when her parents arrived tomorrow.

  He nodded. ‘United front.’ He held out his fist and she bumped hers against it.

  ‘United front.’

  They returned to their chores, but the previous easiness between them was lacking as the reality of their choices pressed a little closer. This was the last night the four of them would spend beneath this roof. Her gaze strayed to the freshly painted wall beside the door where they’d drawn marks on the wall to record the boys growing. She closed her eyes. It was just a wall; the memories of those moments were what mattered, and she would carry them in her heart forever.

  A couple of hours later, she sealed the final box of toys that were being donated to a local charity and lifted it on top of the half a dozen others also heading for a new home. ‘Are we giving away too much?’

  ‘Given the fact the keep pile is about three times the size of that, I’m going to say no.’ Steve climbed down from the stepladder he’d been using while he cleaned the top of the wardrobe and folded the dirty cloth into a small square. ‘I think that’s this room about done.’

  There was no helping the lump in her throat as she glanced around them. The little beds looked too bare. She’d wanted to take the bunk beds to her parents, but her mother had refused, saying there wasn’t room, that the boys would be fine to top and tail in the second guestroom until Jess got herself back on her feet and had her own place again. A place close enough for Wendy to be able to keep an eye on the boys, and her too, Jess suspected.

  ‘You look done in,’ Steve said, dragging her thoughts back to the present once more. ‘Why don’t you go and have a bath and I’ll check on the boys? There’s no point in loading anything up until the morning.’ Although Steve wasn’t taking any more than he could fit in his car – a cheap second-hand runaround he’d purchased after returning his company car – they’d rented a small trailer and attached it to the estate car they’d invested in after Isaac’s birth when the logistics of transporting all the paraphernalia of two small boys proved too much for their old hatchback.

  ‘That sounds like a good idea, I might just do that.’

  ‘And I’ll order a takeaway.’ He checked his watch. ‘The Szechuan Palace is open until ten, so there’s no rush.’

  Jess let him usher her out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom without protest. She was pretty much at the end of a very frayed tether and could feel the tears that always gathered when she was tired, or angry, or hungry, or just about anything on the emotional scale these days. Crying was a default she’d always hated and did her best to fight, but damn it she was exhausted.

  Avoiding the bathroom mirror, she began to fill the tub, adding a squeeze of Matey bubble bath because she wanted the comfort of the bubbles but everything of hers bar the absolute essentials was already packed. She was swishing her hand through the water to build them up when a soft knock came at the door. Steve was in the hallway, holding a glass of white wine so cold it was already covered in condensation. ‘I decided we both deserve a drink,’ he said, showing her the open bottle of beer in his other hand. ‘Kids are out like a light.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She accepted the wine, feeling awkward because they were now people who knocked on bathroom doors. How many nights had they spent chatting with one or other of them perched on the toilet lid whilst the other soaked away the trials of the day? The tiny threshold strip of metal holding down the carpet separating them felt as wide as the ocean. She turned away, not wanting Steve to see her cry, knowing this was part of the mourning process and not true regret.

  ‘Jess.’

  She froze, not daring to turn around in case it allowed any regrets he might be feeling to intrude, then cursed herself for a coward. ‘Yes?’

  ‘That stupid idea of yours? I think you should do it.’

  This time she did turn. ‘You do?’

  He shrugged. ‘Why not? When else are you going to get the chance to do a job you know you’ll love and live in actual castle at the same time?’ His enthusiastic grin was infectious. ‘Imagine the history in a place like that! And it’s like you said, the boys will have all that space to run around and explore.’

  ‘It’ll be disruptive. Come the new year I’ll be back where I am right now.’

  ‘Maybe, or maybe you’ll have had time to work out what it is that you want from life. You can say as many times as you like that we’re making the decision to split together, but I’m moving on to something positive, and I just wish there was a way for you to be doing the same.’

  ‘If I’m up in Derbyshire, it’ll be harder for you to see the boys.’ One of the many reasons she’d agreed to move in with her parents was to be close to where Steve was doing his course at Exeter University.

  ‘Stop putting everyone but yourself first, Jess.’ There was real exasperation in his tone. ‘So what if it’s inconvenient for me? So bloody what?! This is a brilliant opportunity for you. All you have to do is give yourself permission to take it.’ A thin, high wail came from the main bedroom, Isaac disturbed by his father’s uncharacteristically loud voice. ‘Damn, I’ll get him.’ Steve took a couple of steps away then glanced back. ‘I appreciate that you wanted to consult me about this, but this is one decision you need to make for yourself.’

  Chapter 4

  ‘Sit down, Tristan,’ His great-aunt Morgana peered at him from over the top of the porcelain teacup which looked as pale and delicate as the hand holding it. ‘You’re making the place look untidy.’

  Though age had shrunken her somewhat from the formidable figure she had cut during his childhood, nothing had dimmed the streng
th of her character and the old admonishment was enough to still his pacing. With worry gnawing at him, he resorted to staring out of the sitting room window once more. He’d never felt a sense of responsibility towards another person before, well not more than the usual consideration for his family. From the moment Jess had called him that morning to say not only would she be taking the job, but she and the boys were loaded up and ready to hit the road immediately, he’d been weighed down with the knowledge that he’d put himself firmly in the middle of her very delicate domestic situation. The urgency of their impending arrival hadn’t given him much time for introspection during the day as it’d been all hands to the pump to get suitable accommodation sorted out, but now there was nothing he could do but wait – and worry.

  It wasn’t just Jess he would need to look out for. As he and Arthur had cleared out old boxes and rearranged furniture whilst Maxwell and Mrs W cleaned and Lucie had cut fresh flowers from the orangery and even managed to find a few old toys to brighten up the old nursery, it had struck Tristan that he needed to offer a place of security to two very vulnerable little boys. The doubts niggling at him now were not about his family, they’d taken the news that their new events planner came with some very special baggage with their usual open-hearted acceptance. It was himself he was bothered about. And more especially his motivation for offering Jess the job. Yes, he needed help, and yes, she was the perfect person to do it, but sitting beside her in the pub had reminded him of how much he’d missed being around her and he’d not been ready to say goodbye. Stupid, really, but as long as he kept any foolish yearnings for what might have been firmly to himself, there was no reason they couldn’t work successfully side by side as they had these past few years.

  His gloomy mood matched the weather beyond the glass. The heavy rain showed no signs of letting up and had now been joined by a thin mist rolling in from the dales. He could barely make out the dark shadow of the protective curtain wall which separated their land from the single road snaking up through the village. A dim light flashed giving rise to his hopes that this might be them at last, but the headlights vanished an instant later, the vehicle passing rather than turning into the heavy iron gates he’d left open. ‘They should’ve been here by now.’

  ‘They’ll get here when they get here,’ his brother’s relaxed voice from somewhere behind the paper he was reading was enough to make Tristan want to punch him in the nose. ‘I’m sure Jess is just being sensible and taking her time.’

  Their great-aunt harrumphed. ‘Phoning out of the blue to say one is setting off without so much as a day’s notice to one’s hosts doesn’t strike me as the actions of a sensible woman.’

  ‘It wasn’t out of the blue. I offered Jess the job knowing her circumstances, and that we’d have to move quickly if she accepted it. She was willing to book herself into a hotel for a few days, but what’s the point in wasting money unnecessarily?’ Hearing the defensiveness in his tone, Tristan attempted to moderate it as he continued. ‘I’ll try to minimise any disruption, Aunt Morgana, I promise.’

  She gave him a look blistering enough to peel the lacquer from the wood panelling at his back but said no more on the subject.

  ‘I’m sure Arthur’s right and there’s nothing to worry about.’ Lucie offered him a reassuring smile. ‘Come and have a cup of tea.’

  Abandoning his watch with one last glance out the window, Tristan slouched over to drop himself onto the floral sofa next to his sister-in-law. They’d complied with his request to take afternoon tea in this rarely used front parlour rather than their usual cosy family room just off the great hall so they would know the instant Jess and the children arrived. It would be churlish of him to refuse a cup of tea when he could have left them in peace and skulked around here on his own.

  ‘Maybe the weather got too bad and she decided to stop for a while?’ Lucie suggested after handing him a plate of sandwiches to go with his tea. ‘I wouldn’t fancy driving in this on my own, never mind with two little ones on board.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ But wouldn’t she have called? Tristan slid his phone from his pocket to check the reception. Thankfully, the booster they’d had installed over the summer at considerable expense was holding up even in these dank conditions. It was early in the year for it to be so gloomy, but the forecasters were promising the rain was a temporary blip and high pressure would be moving in to bring one last taste of summer by the weekend.

  Half a cup of tea and two sandwich fingers later, he was up by the window once more. Folding his newspaper, Arthur tossed it onto the footstool beside his armchair and rose. ‘For goodness sake, if you want something to do why don’t you come and take the dogs out with me?’

  ‘You’re going out in this?’

  ‘Doggy bladders don’t care what the weather’s like.’ Crossing to his side, Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Besides, if we’ve worn them out they’re less likely to scare our new arrivals.’ The last was said to his wife with a wink.

  ‘They can be a bit of a handful if you’re not used to them,’ she said with a rueful grin. ‘Oh, what the heck, I’ll come out with you as well.’

  Their arrival in the great hall was greeted by a few enquiring woofs from the dogs who were all cosied up before the fire. As the three of them made their way towards the coat cupboard beside the front door, those woofs rose in volume and were soon joined by the skitter of claws on stone as Nimrod and Bella, their pair of matched greyhounds shortly followed by Tristan’s wheaten terrier, Pippin, came over to see what was going on. When Arthur appeared from the cupboard clad in a Barbour jacket and flat cap, the excitement level in the hall reached fever pitch and Tristan found himself almost toppled over by the milling pack as he raised one foot to wedge it into his wellington boot. Once dressed similarly to his brother, he pulled open one side of the enormous wooden front door and stepped aside expecting a stream of fur to rush past him. Nimrod stuck his nose outside, gave a sniff and promptly sat down on the stone floor. Tristan couldn’t say he blamed the dog, to be honest.

  Arthur was having none of it, however, and he marched out the door and down the steps, pausing at the bottom only long enough to toss a couple of tennis balls out across the wide gravel drive. The temptation proved too much and Nimrod shot up and out after the balls, the rest of the dogs following closely on his heels.

  Once he was out in it, Tristan decided it wasn’t that bad. The earlier wind had dropped, and if he kept his face ducked down, his cap kept the worst of the rain off. Though the rest of the dogs followed his brother and Lucie as they made towards the path leading through the formal gardens and to the broader open spaces of the parkland beyond, little Pippin kept close to Tristan’s heels, only circling off now and then when one delicious scent or another proved too tempting to ignore.

  Happy to let them range ahead, Tristan found himself breaking away from the path and headed towards the open gates at the end of the drive. As he reached them, he ordered Pippin to wait before poking his head past the heavy stone pillar securing the left-hand gate to stare down the hill. Other than a few static lights shining from the houses and cottages lining the lower half of the hill, all was quiet. The oppressive rain laid a strange stillness over everything like a thick wet blanket. ‘What are you doing?’ he muttered to himself. ‘It’s not like staring down the road is going to make them arrive any quicker.’ It still took him a few more moments before he could persuade his feet to move.

  Not ready to return to the house, Tristan wandered away from the gates towards his latest obsession. Tugging a torch from his pocket, he shone a thin beam of light through the dirt-encrusted window of the old gatehouse. The saggy old sofa he, Arthur and Iggy had persuaded their father to put in the sitting room when they’d claimed it as their private den still stood before the fireplace. It looked more black than the pale green velvet he remembered, possibly a trick of the light, but more likely from mildew. He pulled a face, wondering just what else might be lurking in the depths of
its cushions after so many years of neglect. They’d outgrown it after going off to university, and he doubted very much anyone had been inside in the dozen or so years since.

  Ever since Uncle Lancelot had taken it upon himself to convert the rooms above the stable blocks from which he ran his successful horse stud, Tristan had been pondering the idea of carving a private space for himself on the castle grounds. It wasn’t that the castle didn’t have more than enough bedrooms to accommodate them all several times over, but now the long-term future for the castle looked healthy, it was time to start making plans of his own. A home of his own. He’d have to speak to Maxwell, the family’s butler, to see if he knew where the keys were and check the place out before he got too far ahead of himself.

  Ignoring the little voice in his head that whispered perhaps now wasn’t the best time to take on yet another project when he had so much already on his plate, he circled around to the other side of the gatehouse, shining his torch through each window in turn. The kitchen was small, but how much space did he need? Though Lancelot and Constance lived above the stables, they still joined the rest of the family for most evening meals. The old wood-fed stove was a bit too primitive for Tristan but could easily be replaced with a microwave and an electric hob. He flashed the torch around the rest of the room. The tile floor looked pretty sound and the wooden cupboards were mostly intact apart from one door hanging loose off its hinges.

  His progression round to the two rooms which had once served as bedrooms was halted by a sudden splash of light behind him. A car with a mobile trailer box attached had pulled into the drive and come to a standstill. At last. Abandoning his plans for the gatehouse for the moment, Tristan hurried across the grass. When he got close he could make out the silhouette of a woman, hands gripping the steering wheel as she stared straight ahead through the windscreen. She seemed lost in a world of her own and gave no sign she was aware of his approach.