The Secret Hours

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Oh really, Rupert! You’re incorrigible.’ Arethusa put the card into its envelope without reading it. ‘It’s from a new friend, Jane Willoughby, inviting me to tea. But I shan’t accept. I’m much too busy. Perhaps another time.’ She put the envelope into the pocket of her skirt.

  Charlotte, who had been embroidering, went back to her work.

  ‘Do you mean Willoughby de Broke?’ Rupert murmured.

  ‘No, another Willoughby. Spelt differently, I think,’ she answered vaguely. She wished she’d thought of a more common name, but she’d been caught off guard and had had to choose one in haste.

  ‘Ah,’ said Rupert. He lifted his eyes off the paper and grinned at her as if he knew the game she was playing. ‘After all, there are lots of Willoughbys.’

  ‘If you don’t propose to Lady Alexandra, you’re going to create a scandal,’ said Arethusa, deliberately changing the subject. ‘You’ve been toying with her for long enough. It’s going to become awkward.’

  Rupert sighed. ‘I have no intention of marrying her,’ he said firmly and Arethusa could see from the muscle moving in his jaw that he really did mean to hold his position.

  ‘Why? She’s eligible, sweet, and quite pretty—’

  ‘She could be Helen of Troy and I still wouldn’t marry her. I’m not for marrying.’

  Arethusa glanced at Charlotte, whose mousy head was down as she focused on her embroidery and pretended not to listen. ‘Margherita and Peregrine are soon to announce their engagement. I bet my life on it.’

  ‘Oh, you never want to bet your life on anything, Tussy. One’s life is precious. But luckily for you, I think you’re right. Peregrine told me last night that he has already spoken to his parents and they have agreed that Margherita is a good match.’

  ‘They love each other,’ said Arethusa wistfully.

  ‘I’m sure she loves him,’ said Rupert and there was a bitterness in his voice that alerted his sister to something else at play: jealousy. It hadn’t occurred to her that Rupert might have feelings for her American friend.

  ‘Oh, Peregrine loves her back, I’m sure of it,’ Arethusa replied.

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ Rupert said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because it takes a man to know a man.’

  Arethusa’s spirits were dampened. ‘Poor Margherita.’ She sighed. ‘She’s marrying him because she believes he loves her. If he doesn’t, she’ll be devastated.’

  ‘I’m not saying he doesn’t like her. I just think you’re endowing it with a romance it doesn’t have.’

  ‘Well, I’m sad to hear that, if it’s true. Margherita is very happy.’

  ‘Ignorance is bliss,’ Rupert stated idly, folding the paper. ‘I’m going to my club. How about a ride before luncheon?’

  ‘Lovely,’ Arethusa replied. ‘I’ll go and write to Ronald. It’s been a few days since I last wrote.’

  ‘And to your mama as well,’ prompted Charlotte, looking up from her embroidery.

  ‘Yes, and to mama,’ said Arethusa, getting up. ‘I will feel good about myself once I’ve written them. They’re always such a duty.’ But she left the room with a skip in her step because one letter was not going to be a duty at all. She put a hand in her pocket and felt Jonas’s card as if it were a warm potato in her fingers.

  Alone in her bedroom, she lay on her bed and read what he had written.

  My dear Miss Deverill

  It is with great pleasure that I read the book of poetry you were so kind to give me. I particularly enjoyed ‘Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms’. Those Irish writers sure know how to pull at the heartstrings. I have never been to Ireland, but I am getting a strong sense of the country and its struggles through the words of some of its greatest poets. I found parallels with the struggles of my own people and was touched all the more because of them. Thank you for that gift. I shall be sad to leave London. It has made a deep impression on me.

  Yours faithfully, J

  Arethusa put the card to her burning cheek and closed her eyes. My dear Miss Deverill, she repeated happily. My dear . . . She imagined him sitting at a desk and writing those words. She wondered how long he had deliberated over what to write, and how much he had left unwritten. She knew his regret at leaving London was on account of her. After all, one wouldn’t very well miss the drizzle and the smog! She pressed the card to her lips. The thought that she was kissing the very place he had touched made her body ache with desire.

  Shortly she got off the bed and went to the desk to compose her reply.

  Dear Mr Madison,

  Thank you very much for your letter, which I received this morning. I’m so glad you found my address hidden within the poetry. It was the only way I could get it to you. They say water will always find its way downhill. With the same logic, I will always find a way to write to you. You have opened my eyes to the power of music. I was so deeply moved by the song you sang about slavery. It has stayed with me, truly it has. If I close my eyes, I can still hear you sing it. When I said music has the ability to communicate more than words ever can, I meant that at that very moment I wanted to play you something. Something deep and tender, something magical, because that is what I felt in my heart – what I feel. No letters on a page, or words on the tongue, could ever do justice to that. I hope you understand and forgive me for my lack of restraint. I am sad you are leaving London because you have made a deep impression on me.

  Yours faithfully, A

  She put down her pen with a shiver of excitement. Her letter was audacious and improper. If Augusta or her mother ever found out she’d be in terrible trouble. She’d be sent back to Ballinakelly after a severe scolding. But they weren’t going to find out. How could they? No one would ever know.

  After writing to Ronald and her mother she went downstairs and gave the letters to one of the footmen to post. As Jonas was leaving for Manchester he would have to send her his forwarding address in his next letter. She hoped he would write soon.

  ‘You look very pleased with yourself,’ said Charlotte, emerging from the parlour carrying her bag of embroidery.

  ‘I have written my letters,’ Arethusa replied with a smile. ‘I feel very good about myself now. Let’s go for a walk in the park. I’m too restless to sit inside waiting for Rupert to come back and I don’t feel like calling on anyone. Let’s go out, just the two of us.’ Charlotte smiled at the young woman who was so clearly in love. She arranged her hat in the hall mirror and picked up her parasol. As they left the house she wondered which of Arethusa’s suitors had won her heart.

  A few days later news broke of Lord Penrith’s engagement to Miss Margherita Stubbs. The newspapers were full of it, she being a wealthy American heiress and he being from one of England’s leading aristocratic families. Rupert made a few catty remarks and then sulked. Arethusa was surprised that her usually sharp social antennae hadn’t picked up his affection for Margherita. What was more extraordinary was that she hadn’t seen them speak to each other for more than a few minutes, and when they had there had been no obvious chemistry between them. No blushing cheeks or gleaming eyes, just the usual politeness. If Arethusa’s infatuation with Jonas was the yardstick with which she measured love, then Rupert’s love for Margherita was sorely lacking.

  A few days later Arethusa received another letter from Jonas. The footman brought the silver tray into the breakfast room and went straight to his mistress, who was sitting at the foot of the table with her Pekinese in its usual place on her knee. Augusta stretched out her pudgy hand and scooped them all up. She flicked through them one by one, then, seeing a small white envelope addressed to Arethusa, she held it out. ‘This one is for you, dear, and it’s not from your mama or Ronald. Though, I think it’s time your mama wrote and as for Ronald, well, it’s a relief to have a respite. If you’re not intending to marry him, Tussy, you should let him know sooner rather than later. It’s not kind to string him along.’

  Arethusa took the letter and recogni
zed the handwriting at once. She tried, without success, to maintain her composure. The more she tried not to blush, the redder she became. Rupert and Charlotte were both watching her closely. Stoke, who was at the other end of the table reading the newspaper, was not in the least interested. ‘Must be from Jane Willoughby,’ said Rupert breezily.

  Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind and closed it.

  Arethusa put the letter in her pocket.

  ‘Aren’t you going to read it, dear?’ asked Augusta, opening hers. ‘Oh, how kind, an invitation to dine from Lady Chadwell. Darling’ – she raised her voice, but Stoke was so busy with his newspaper that he didn’t hear it – ‘an invitation from Lady Chadwell. Isn’t that nice?’

  ‘I think Tussy has a secret lover,’ said Rupert, clearly bored and wanting a fight.

  It had the required effect. Augusta’s cheeks burned. ‘I hope not!’ she exclaimed hotly, looking at Arethusa with a steely, reproachful gaze. ‘Nothing is going to be secret on my watch.’

  ‘You’re being very silly, Rupert,’ said Arethusa dismissively. ‘As if I’d have the opportunity to have a secret lover, even if I wanted to.’

  ‘Then open it and read it to us. Give us some entertainment,’ he said. ‘If it’s not from a secret lover, there’s no need to hide it. Maybe it’s an invitation to tea again from Jane Willoughby. Do you know Jane Willoughby, Augusta?’

  Augusta frowned. ‘No, who’s Jane Willoughby? Do you mean Jane Willoughby de Broke?’

  Rupert smiled, but it had a cruel twist to it. ‘I think you’ll find it’s not Jane at all, but James Willoughby.’

  Arethusa was incensed. ‘You’re just trying to bait me, Rupert. You’ve been in a sulk ever since Margherita got engaged to Peregrine.’

  ‘Fine match,’ said Stoke from behind his paper.

  The four of them looked at him in surprise. ‘It is a fine match, indeed,’ Augusta agreed. ‘Did you hear, darling, an invitation from Lady Chadwell?’

  ‘You’re just put out because she didn’t fall in love with you,’ Arethusa continued.

  Rupert laughed joylessly. ‘Margherita is not my type. She’s brash and coarse,’ he said witheringly. ‘I don’t warm to Americans.’

  ‘And Lady Alexandra is like a mouse,’ Arethusa added with a grin. ‘Then I guess you’re jealous.’

  ‘Of whom?’ he asked in a lofty voice.

  ‘Of Margherita, of course, because she’s taken away your playmate. Is that what this is all about? Peregrine?’

  Rupert stood up abruptly. Stoke peered over the newspaper. ‘Are you going out, old boy?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not going to sit here and listen to my sister’s prattle, if that’s what you mean. Going out is the only alternative.’

  Arethusa laughed. ‘I think I’ve touched a nerve,’ she said to Augusta and Charlotte.

  ‘Then I’ll come with you,’ said Stoke, folding the paper. ‘Excuse us, ladies.’ The two men left the room.

  Augusta opened the last envelope. It was large and stiff and very white. Inside was a grand invitation. Her face opened into an enormous smile. ‘Well, isn’t this exciting!’ she exclaimed. ‘The Castle Deverill Summer Ball. I always look forward to that Saturday night in August when we’re at the castle for the month. It’s the highlight of the summer. The highlight of everyone’s summer. People are bored of the London season, which has just come to an end by then, and are delighted to flock to Co. Cork for a change of scene. It’s got to be one of the most splendid events of the year.’ She stared at the card for a long moment, lost in thought. Arethusa assumed she was already thinking about what she was going to wear, but then Augusta put the invitation on the table and surprised her. ‘I think we should give a ball,’ she said, her eyes glinting with competitiveness. ‘Our own magnificent Deverill Rising ball.’

  ‘What will the occasion be?’ Arethusa asked.

  ‘Does there need to be an occasion? Isn’t it much grander to give a ball just for its own sake? What do you think, Charlotte? Really, you’re so quiet, dear, one almost forgets you’re here.’

  Charlotte shuffled uncomfortably. ‘I think a ball would be wonderful,’ she said quietly, then added in a more confident voice, as if to convince Augusta that she was not so retiring, ‘A Deverill Rising ball would be sure to outshine every other.’

  This pleased Augusta. ‘You’re right, Charlotte. I like that. We will, indeed, outshine everyone else. But we must be original. We have to plan it very carefully. We must cause a sensation. The Ballinakelly Deverills do nothing by halves, so we must hold our end up. Tussy, you must help me, and you too, Charlotte. Oh! Wait until I tell Stoke. Of course, he’ll try and talk me out of it, but now I’ve decided, nothing will stand in my way. Not even he who holds the purse strings!’ She lifted her Pekinese to her face and kissed it on the nose. ‘What do you think, Muffin? Do you think a Deverill Rising ball is a good idea?’

  Arethusa fled to her bedroom as soon as she was able to get away. She threw herself onto her bed and read Jonas’s letter with exhilaration and longing. Before, he had exercised restraint. This time he discarded it. Arethusa devoured his words hungrily, lingering on the sentences that revealed the full extent of his affection for her. He spoke of her talent, her beauty and her courage, for it took courage to write to him. Indeed, it took courage, or perhaps nerve, to even entertain the smallest idea of a friendship. It was clear that he did not entertain such an idea himself. He wrote of their impossible situation and promised to ‘admire her, for always, from afar’.

  If only we lived in a world where two people like us could be free to love each other. I would give my right arm to live in such a world. But we do not. Everything is against us. There is no escaping prejudice. Therefore, I hold your image in my heart like a secret treasure, for myself alone, and knowing it is there inspires me to higher ideals and aspirations. With your sweet face smiling on me at every turn, I know I can be the best possible version of myself. God shines down on all of His creation with an indiscriminate light. You, my darling Arethusa, are closer to God than most, for you see me only as a man. For that alone you have my love.

  When Arethusa finished, her eyes were full of tears. Of course, he was simply voicing the truth. How could they possibly be together? The only option they had was to love one another from afar. But Arethusa was not interested in the future, only in the present moment. She did not want to think of what was impossible, but to focus on what was possible. She disregarded consequence and only considered action for its own sake. Wasn’t it true that love had the power to burn through every obstacle? That the only obstacles to success were the limitations one put upon oneself?

  Arethusa hid the letter beneath her mattress and went downstairs. She found Charlotte hard at work on her embroidery in the parlour. She cut a lonely, almost imperceptible figure there in the shadows with only the regular ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall for company. ‘Walk with me, Charlotte,’ she said in the doorway. ‘I need some air.’

  Charlotte looked up and smiled indulgently, as if to say she knew why Arethusa was restless. After all, hadn’t she been there herself?

  Once in the park, Arethusa found a bench and suggested they sit down. She had something important to say to her. Charlotte looked anxious but swept her skirts beneath her and sat down. It was cool in the shade of the plane trees and the sound of children playing was faint like the chattering of birds. ‘I’m in love,’ Arethusa declared. She put a hand on her heart. ‘I know it’s mad, I’ve met him but eight times, however, my heart is what it is and I’m suffering.’ She smiled at Charlotte, silently apologizing for all the times she’d passed her over. ‘You’re the only person I can talk to.’

  Charlotte took her hand, pleased to be needed. ‘Who is he?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t say. He’s entirely unsuitable.’

  ‘Oh.’ Charlotte squeezed the hand in sympathy. ‘Now I see why I’m the only person you can talk to,’ she said softly.

&n
bsp; ‘What am I to do?’ Arethusa wailed, although the question was rhetorical. She knew exactly what she was to do. What was the only thing to do. Yet, she couldn’t accept it.

  ‘How unsuitable is he?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Is he promised to somebody else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is he from a different world?’

  ‘Absolutely. There is no resolution. Unless I run off with him, which you know is impossible.’ Arethusa laughed at the thought. Her mother’s horrified face popped into her mind along with her father’s furious red one and the idea of eloping, which had never rooted itself, now blew away in the wind of reason. She shook her head and sighed helplessly. ‘I suppose I should marry Ronald and be done with it.’

  ‘Is there really no way you and this man can be together?’ Charlotte’s face was so eager to please that Arethusa’s eyes welled with tears.

  ‘Oh Charlotte, how sweet you are. You know how I feel, don’t you? You know, because you loved Tom. Well, I know how you felt—’

  Charlotte cut her off. ‘Feel,’ she said with emphasis.

  Arethusa looked at her with compassion. ‘You mean, it doesn’t go away?’

  ‘No, it never goes away.’ Charlotte smiled sadly. ‘It gets better. Time makes everything better in the end. One just has to surrender eventually and let time do its healing. But it never goes away entirely. There is a Tom-shaped hole in my heart and no one else will ever fill it.’

  Arethusa put her arms around the woman who she believed was now too old to marry yet too young to give up on love, and felt very sad for her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ said Charlotte. ‘I’m sorry you have to suffer as well. It’s a horrid ache and there is no cure for it.’

  Arethusa released her and laughed bitterly. ‘What a trio we are, after all, Rupert is suffering too, although I’m not sure who is causing it.’