Breakfast at Midnight

by Fiona MacFarlane

CHAPTER FIFTY

  Bachelors and Spinsters

  For the next few days, a cloud of almost funereal solemnity descended over both Rosewood and Wintersleigh, and during this time very little stirred within the confines of the walls. While the houses’ occupants locked themselves away from public view, whispering servants stole tentatively around Wintersleigh, removing any reminders of the wedding that never was. Wedding presents, covered with a veil of elegant lace, were taken away and discreetly returned to their owners, the three-tiered wedding cake, surmounted by a decorative display of iced flowers, was hidden, and even the giant vases were emptied of their floral arrangements. In general, any item that displayed an inappropriate degree of colour or gaiety was removed with equal celerity.

  And so ended the magnificent dream of a union between Miss Agnes Wentworth and Doctor Michael Brearly.

  A union of some sorts did eventually take place between the two families, but the news of Agnes and George’s wedding two weeks later in Melbourne was of no consolation to the families involved. If anything, the information heightened their anger and strengthened their resolve to never forgive Agnes and George’s treacherous conduct.

  Jack Maycroft’s immediate welfare was also of major concern. George and Agnes had taken the child with them to Melbourne, just after Michael’s ill-fated wedding, and given the dubious circumstances surrounding the child’s disappearance, the families considered involving the police. After receiving legal advice, however, they changed their minds and decided to let the matter rest. Agnes Wentworth, now Agnes Brearly, had legal custody of the child, as stipulated in Thomas Maycroft’s will, and no amount of police involvement could change that arrangement.

  Louisa was so distressed by this last development that as soon as she could manage it, she hastened into town to alter her will, disinheriting her eldest daughter with a swift stroke of her pen. She then gathered together Agnes’s few remaining possessions (whatever Agnes hadn’t taken to Melbourne with her) and in less than an hour, her discarded belongings were distributed to either Charlotte or to manifold charities. But in spite of Louisa’s suffering, she continued to live her life as though nothing had happened. She was at heart a proud woman, and she was desirous to show the world at large that nothing, not even the loss of her once favourite daughter, could induce her to change her lifestyle. After all, she had reasoned, Agnes had sinned, she had not. The doors to Wintersleigh were therefore thrown open to anyone who wanted to visit, and to Louisa’s relief her acquaintances did not shun her. If anything, they rallied behind her, and lauded her courage and fortitude. Little did they know that Louisa cried herself to sleep every night.

  As Louisa struggled to maintain her crumbling façade, a withdrawn Michael Brearly spent his days simply and quietly at Rosewood. For an entire fortnight after the aborted wedding, he read none of his mail, and refused to admit anyone into the house, including his patients and friends. All patients with booked appointments were referred to another local physician, and house calls were only made in emergencies. The doctor, it seemed, had become a recluse, and apart from his servants, no-one knew what he did and how he spent his time.

  Frances was one of those people who were ignorant of his movements, though not through want of trying. She had attempted two visits to Rosewood House, but was turned away on both occasions, and the one letter she wrote to him a week after the wedding was never answered. While Frances understood the reasons behind the doctor’s self-imposed exile, it in no way diminished the pain it caused her. In view of their burgeoning relationship, to be ignored and avoided in this manner was almost cruel.

  It was now mid-April and almost a month had elapsed since the not-to-be wedding. Nothing much had changed in that time, except that autumn was running its course and the bronzed leaves had begun falling from the trees and piling up on the frosty ground. Louisa’s façade was still in place, Frances was still residing at Riverview, and the relationship between Frances and Michael was almost as cool as the weather.

  It was a bracing Wednesday morning and Frances had just endured a particularly trying session with Crispin Ballard in the schoolroom. He was restless and inattentive, and in no frame of mind to digest Frances’s lesson on early French history. At one stage he inserted a pencil up his nose to see how far it would go, an action that almost required the services of a doctor. Once the pencil had been removed, an exasperated Frances called an end to the lesson, and sent him from the room. A short time later, from her vantage-point at the schoolroom window, Frances watched the happily liberated student and his grandfather drive away in one of the Ballard family’s many carriages.

  In Crispin’s absence Frances wandered miserably downstairs, before eventually making her way into the shrubbery, a secluded spot where she was sure to find some peace and quiet. Despite the fact that it was cold outside and the ground was wet underfoot, she was content to rest on the garden seat, amidst a scattering of pastel coloured leaves. It was only when she sat down that she realised how tired she actually was, and leaning forward she drew her hands to her head and closed her eyes.

  This period of repose, however, was short-lived. It wasn’t long before the sound of footsteps startled her, and looking up, she discerned the figure of a woman occupying the path up ahead. It was Edwina Ballard, cradling a large basket of freshly picked flowers in her arms, a composition that included roses, daisies, sweet peas and foliage in various shades of green. Her multi-coloured spoils were in stark contrast to Edwina’s drab gardening attire, a dowdy brown gown and a rather worn looking shawl that was draped inelegantly about her shoulders. Gardening, it seemed, was when Edwina was the happiest, and at this moment, she looked the picture of contentment. Her wrinkled cheeks were aglow from her morning exercise, and several strands of her wispy grey hair were hanging about her face. It was a far cry from the Edwina Ballard who swept regally about her house regaled in voluminous gowns and shimmering jewels. Frances preferred this mellow side to her employer, and she greeted Edwina with an engaging smile.

  ‘My dear girl,’ Edwina said, seating herself beside Frances, ‘you look positively worn down. Has Crispin been misbehaving again?’

  Frances toyed with a leaf that had just fluttered down upon her. ‘No more than usual, Mrs Ballard.’

  Edwina set her basket of flowers down on the ground and sighed. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘I thought as much.’ She folded her hands on her lap and for some time said nothing. ‘I do feel for you, Frances,’ she eventually declared, ‘I really do. Crispin is a dreadful boy and I don’t know how you put up with him.’ She turned her eyes upon Frances. ‘I would understand perfectly if you wanted to leave me.’

  Frances shrank back. ‘What makes you think that I want to leave Riverview?’

  Edwina met Frances’s gaze freely. ‘You are not happy here, Frances, I can see it in your face. I have seen it for quite some time now. You have been restless ever since that wedding nonsense in March.’

  ‘I’m very grateful for this position, Mrs Ballard,’ Frances tried to explain, ‘and I—’

  ‘It’s not about gratitude,’ Edwina interrupted rather briskly. ‘I know the level of your appreciation. What is it, Frances?’ she asked. ‘What is the matter?’

  Frances looked blank. ‘I wish I knew,’ she said, breaking pieces off the dried leaf.

  Edwina sat further back on the seat. ‘Perhaps you are worried about your aunt and how she is coping without Agnes. I have heard it from several sources that she is still struggling to come to terms with her daughter’s absence. I considered visiting her yesterday, but after everything that has happened between us, I thought it best not to.’

  Frances placed the remains of the leaf on the seat and cast Edwina Ballard a sideways glance. In the three months that she had spent living at Riverview she had never discovered the reason for the rift between the two women, and the prospect of finding out now heightened Frances’s curiosity.

  ‘I have never told anyone this before, Frances,’ Edwina began slowly, ‘but
I feel certain that I can trust you. I am, after all, an old acquaintance of your mother’s.’ She gave Frances a friendly smile. ‘You may perhaps be wondering why my relationship with your aunt is, at best, strained. Naturally, you are too polite to say so.’ Frances said nothing. ‘The fact is that we have barely spoken since an incident that occurred many years ago. Put simply, Harold Wentworth abandoned me at the altar, in favour of your aunt, Louisa Norwood. Louisa and I were best friends at the time.’

  France gasped. ‘Harold Wentworth!’

  ‘Yes, the very man.’ She rearranged the shawl about her shoulders. ‘I will not go into details, but you must know the part that your dear father William played in the episode. Whilst he was courting a very pretty young lady by the name of Lucy Emerson, your mother of course, he discovered Harold’s attachment with Louisa and tried to get Harold to leave her. Despite your father’s best intentions, his actions did not result in a successful outcome. On the very morning of my wedding, Harold and Louisa ran away together and eloped. Just like your good friend Michael Brearly, I was the last to find out. Needless to say, that is when I ended my friendship with your aunt.’

  ‘But she never told me! My aunt never said a word about it!’

  ‘Well of course she didn’t say anything, Frances. It is not something she would like to advertise to the world.’ Frances fell into a reflective and troubled silence. ‘Speaking of the doctor,’ Edwina resumed, ‘how is the poor man?’

  Frances fixed her eyes to a recalcitrant bunch of sweet peas that were threatening to spill out over the sides of the basket. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied coolly. ‘He receives no visitors and he has answered none of my letters.’

  ‘Do you blame him? In the space of a few months he has lost his brother, his fiancée, his nephew and his brother-in-law.’

  ‘I realise the extent of his suffering, Mrs Ballard, but he wasn’t the only one to be cruelly used.’ The remembrance of George’s behaviour on New Year’s Eve returned to her, and she felt a warm flood of resentment surge through her veins. ‘George Brearly treated me very badly, but I never once considered retreating into myself, and shunning the people I care about most.’

  In the background meanwhile, the parlour maid had just led two visitors into the shrubbery, and while the guests waited for a pause in Frances and Edwina’s conversation, to acknowledge their presence, they stood patiently behind Frances. Edwina spotted the visitors right away and rose to her feet to greet them, but Frances was still oblivious to the newcomers’ existence, and continued talking. Not even Edwina’s whispered warnings were enough to get Frances’s attention.

  ‘I have gone out of my way to accommodate Michael,’ Frances explained, ‘but enough is enough. There is only so much I can do. If he doesn’t wish to communicate with me, then so be it. I only wish he would be man enough to see me face-to-face, to tell me as much.’

  Frances would have continued speaking had Edwina not tapped her on the arm and alerted her to the fact that they had visitors. ‘Look, Frances,’ Edwina was saying in an uncharacteristically loud voice, ‘look who has come to visit you.’ She accompanied her words with expressive eye movements.

  Frances followed the direction of her employer’s eyes and slowly turned around. To her surprise, Louisa and Michael were standing there before her.