“Grand’mère, why didn’t you tell me before?” Adelaide asked softly.
Her grandmother gave her a rueful smile. “It wasn’t my secret, my darling. Heather asked us to keep the promise she had made and so, with many misgivings, we have.”
“Does Andrew know?” Adelaide was very close to her cousin, and the idea that he should have known something of this importance when she had not, would hurt.
Mrs Driver shook her head. “I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. I imagine Johnny was sworn to secrecy too. Now shoo, I have to get up.”
“Grand’mère, what shall I do about this letter?” Adelaide asked.
“I should do what it asks you to,” was the reply. “Go and see the man and find out about your legacy. I should imagine you have become quite a wealthy woman.”
“What about Father? What do I tell him?”
“You don’t need to tell him anything. He already knows. He’s always known that it would all come out the day you were twenty-one. He’s simply been putting it off.” She looked speculatively at her granddaughter. “Why do you think he was away for your birthday morning, hein? He didn’t want to be there when you found out. Never forget, darling, that he loves you in his own way. He’s afraid of losing you to some ghostly father from the war. You must reassure him that he is truly your father and you are truly his daughter.” The old lady reached for her robe and went on, “And now, my darling, I really do have to get up. You may go downstairs and wait for me there if you like. Ask Davies for coffee. We can talk some more once I am ready to go out.”
The rest of her birthday passed in something of a blur. Adelaide had arranged to meet her friend Sophie for lunch, and it was all she could do not to tell her of the amazing discoveries she had made that morning. However, she knew she owed it to her father, her adoptive father that was, to talk things through with him first. The lunch was thus somewhat difficult, as Adelaide could think of very little else.
“Addie, you’re miles away,” laughed Sophie when she had made the same remark twice and received no answer.
Adelaide smiled apologetically. “Sorry,” she said, “I was thinking about this dinner party Father is giving for me this evening. What did you say?”
“I said, shall we go shopping this afternoon? I want to buy some shoes.”
“Oh Sophie, do you mind if we don’t?” she said. “I really ought to go home. My grandparents are driving up from Winchester for this evening and I really should be at home to greet them when they arrive.” She smiled across at Sophie and added, “Andrew’s coming too. He’s going to stay the night. Do you want to come round tomorrow morning for a cup of coffee?” Adelaide was well aware how Sophie felt about her cousin and she tried to bring them together whenever she could.
Sophie looked at her affectionately. “Thanks,” she said. “I might.” And they both laughed, knowing wild horses would not keep Sophie away.
Richard Anson-Gravetty arrived home only an hour before the dinner guests were due to assemble. Adelaide knocked on his dressing-room door and when he called her in, she crossed the room and put her arms round him in an unusual gesture of affection.
“Welcome home, Daddy,” she said. “Granny and Grandpa are here and getting changed. Everything’s ready for the dinner.”
He returned her hug and then held her away from him and looked into her face. “Happy birthday, Adelaide. And congratulations!”
She looked at him quizzically. “Congratulations on what?”
“On coming of age, of course.”
“The years of discretion… when I can be told everything.”
“I imagine you have already been told, if I know anything about your grandmother.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Adelaide laughed. “You’re right, of course. Today I discovered that I am lucky enough to have two fathers. But you do Grand’mère an injustice, Daddy. She kept the secret until I had learned of it from another source.”
Her father grunted. “You heard from old Brewer, I suppose.”
“I did, so of course I went to Grand’mère to find out what it was all about.”
“You didn’t think of waiting until this evening and asking me?”
Adelaide hadn’t thought of doing so, but now she prevaricated. “I didn’t think you wanted to tell me, or you’d have done it before… or let Mummy tell me,” she said. “Wasn’t that why you were away this morning?” It was after all what Grand’mère had suggested.
Richard shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said. His hands dropped from her shoulders and he turned to the mirror to knot his evening tie.
Adelaide moved towards the door where she turned and said softly, “Thank you, Daddy, for all you’ve done for me.”
“It was my duty,” he replied without turning round. “I’m your father.”
On this rather unsatisfactory note Adelaide left the room to put the finishing touches to her own evening dress.
Later that night, as she lay in bed, her birthday dinner over, she thought about the extraordinary revelations of the day. She had left her curtains open so that the light from the street lamp below gave an eerie green glow to the room. The familiar shapes of her room were comforting as she confronted her world turned upside down. Her father wasn’t her father and her mother had never told her. All of a sudden she was somebody different. It was all very well for Grand’mère to say that she was still the same person herself, but she didn’t feel it. She wasn’t the same person who had woken up that morning, sure of who she was and where she came from. Now she felt that part of her was made up of someone else. Parts of her, physical and mental, had been bequeathed to her by someone whom she didn’t know anything about. And she wanted to know; who he was, what he was like, where he came from.
Dinner had passed off quite well. Her favourite foods had been served, a birthday cake ablaze with twenty-one candles had been brought in and the assembled family had sung “Happy Birthday” and “Twenty-One Today”. Not by the slightest glance did Grand’mère, elegantly attired in a black chiffon evening dress with a corsage of tiny white roses, indicate that she and Adelaide had anything else on their minds but the birthday celebrations. No sign came from Richard that anything untoward had happened between them and to all intents and purposes the family party was a great success. He had presented her with her birthday gift in the drawing room where they had all gathered for drinks before dinner. Inside the parcel was a beautiful gold elbow bracelet, broad and heavy, chased with swirling patterns. There were gasps of admiration as she held it up to be admired before she slid it over her elbow where it nestled comfortably, fitting perfectly and drawing attention to the slender shape of her arm.
“It’s really beautiful, Daddy,” she said and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much. I love it. And you’ve put my initials inside and the date. That makes it really special.” But she wondered as she spoke if the “A A-G 9th September 1937” was some sort of statement, a declaration that whoever had been born on 9th September 1916, she was Adelaide Anson-Gravetty now.
As she caught Grand’mère’s eye, she saw a look of approval and shot her a smile.
When her father had stood and raised his glass to propose her health, he had said, “We wish you every happiness, Adelaide. I only wish your mother were here with us tonight to see what a beautiful daughter we have. We wish you health, and happiness for the rest of your days.”
Everyone had stood up and dutifully repeated, “Health and happiness!” as they clinked their glasses, but Adelaide had been touched by Richard’s words, not only was it the first time he had mentioned her mother in months, but also the nearest he had ever come to saying he was proud of her. Perhaps Grand’mère was right; perhaps he had been afraid he might lose the battle against a ghostly, heroic father about whom she might fantasise.
Everyone had stayed overnight, so there was no rush to leave as the hour got late. They sat around in the drawing room talking companionably, at ease as they always had been. No one mentioned the subj
ect that was churning round Adelaide’s brain, though they all must have known that she knew by now.
It was strange, Adelaide thought. Was she the only one whom the revelation affected?
She had looked across at Andrew, who was chatting to Grand’mère, but there had been no chance to have a private word with him.
If he really doesn’t know I’m not Richard’s daughter, what will he say when he finds out, she wondered? I wish I could talk to him.
At last she fell asleep and didn’t wake again until Florrie was tapping on the door with her early tea.
By the time she got down to breakfast, her father was about to leave the table.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said. “Come and find me in the study when you’ve had your breakfast.”
“Yes, of course, I won’t be long,” Adelaide replied. As she ate her toast she wondered what on earth it could be. After all, she’d had her present last night.
When she knocked on the study door twenty minutes later, she found her father at his desk.
He looked up as she came in. “Ah, there you are. I’ve looked this out for you. Your mother wanted you to have these things when you reached twenty-one.”
He pointed to an envelope on the desk, but Adelaide did not pick it up. She said softly, “I know I’m not your real daughter, by blood I mean. But I am your daughter, you know. You are my father, not the man who died in 1916.”
Richard looked up from what he was writing as she spoke but said nothing. Adelaide went on, “You’re the one who’s looked after me all these years. It was you sitting with Mummy by my bed when I came round from having my appendix out. It was you who ran in the fathers’ race at my first school sports.” She paused and when he continued to say nothing she added, “I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.”
Richard shrugged. “I thought it better not to. Your mother agreed. However, we both knew you’d learn in the end, when you came into Sir George’s money.”
“I still wish you’d told me yourself, not left me to discover from a complete stranger,” Adelaide said. She sighed. “I suppose I must get in touch with this Mr Brewer, now.”
“You must do what you think fit,” Richard replied calmly. “You’re of age now.” He turned back to what he had been writing when she’d come in, saying as he did so, “Don’t forget to take your envelope.”
It was her dismissal and Adelaide picked the envelope up. “Thank you, Father.” Quietly she turned and went out of the room; clearly he wanted no displays of affection. He felt he had done his duty by her and now she was on her own.
Adelaide took the envelope to her room, locked the door and sat down in the chair by the window. For a moment she looked down on the square. Only twenty-four hours since she had looked down on it in such hope yesterday morning, the first day of her adult life and yet it seemed a lifetime away.
She slipped her finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open. Inside there were two documents and another, smaller, sealed envelope. The first of the documents was her birth certificate, naming her Adelaide Sarah, daughter of Heather Hurst and Captain Frederick Charles Hurst (deceased). Born 9th September 1916 at Greyling House, Chalfont St Giles. The second was the certificate of adoption in which she, Adelaide Sarah Hurst, became the legal daughter of Richard David Anson-Gravetty, and her surname was changed to his. It was dated 12th June 1919. She had never asked which year her parents got married. Although she knew that their anniversary fell on 21st April it was never celebrated in any style and it had never dawned on her that they might not have been married until she was nearly three.
Adelaide set the two certificates aside and opened the other envelope. Inside was a letter, written in her mother’s handwriting. The sight of her mother’s neat hand made tears spring to Adelaide’s eyes. She dashed them away and started to read.
My darling Adelaide,
I know I haven’t very long to live. This awful disease has got the better of me, and my time is nearly over. My only real regret is that I shan’t see you grow up into the beautiful young woman I know you will be. You’ll know by now that Richard is my second husband and not your natural father, though he has been as real a father to you as is in his nature. He made me promise not to tell you about Freddie. I know that he was always jealous of the place Freddie might hold in my heart, though he had no need to be, and he was afraid that Freddie might usurp his place with you as well. He also hoped to have children of his own and he thought it would be easier, for you and them, if it were assumed that he was your natural father.
When Freddie was killed, I was on my own. Even with the help of my parents, life was a struggle. I was still very young, with you to consider, and when Richard finally asked me to marry him it was a chance of security for us both and I took it. He is a kind man and even though he doesn’t show his emotions, he loves us both. We’ve both learned to love him too, haven’t we, and thanks to him we’ve had happy and contented lives.
Freddie was a wonderful man; honourable and courageous. He had a wonderful smile, which I’ve seen on your face on many an occasion, and a really infectious laugh, just like yours. You are like him in so many ways, not just in looks, which indeed you are, but mannerisms and character, too.
However, when I look back now I realise I hardly knew him as a husband. We had a whirlwind romance and then three days of married life and that was all. To me he was a figure of great romance, straight from a young girl’s dreams. Handsome and debonair, he swept me off my feet… a brave soldier off to do his bit for King and country. I loved him and he loved me, don’t ever doubt that, but we never had our own home, never delved deeper into each other than our few days together allowed. Richard is my true husband and believe me when I say that despite all the outward signs to the contrary, Richard is a vulnerable man.
On your twenty-first birthday you will come into the money put in trust for you by your grandfather, Freddie’s father, Sir George Hurst. Then you will have to be told about Freddie, but if you feel the need to find out more about him, please be gentle about it. Remember, even though Freddie gave you life, it is Richard who has watched over you as you have lived it. Look after him for me.
God bless you, my darling.
With my love, Mummy
The writing blurred in front of her eyes as Adelaide read. Sitting with the letter in her lap, Adelaide thought about her mother.
Dearest Mummy. She knew she was dying and she wrote to me, even though she knew that I wouldn’t read the letter for another five years.
Adelaide wondered briefly if Richard had read the letter before giving it to her and then chided herself for such an uncharitable thought. It was not in Richard’s nature to do such a dishonourable thing.
Adelaide considered what to do for several days before she finally put in a call to trunks and spoke to Mr Arthur Brewer in Belcaster.
“My dear Miss Anson-Gravetty,” said the voice over the crackling line. “I would be delighted to meet you on Thursday. Will you catch the 10.30 train from Paddington and perhaps you would take luncheon with me after we have concluded our business?”
Adelaide took a taxi from the station to the offices of Brewer, Harben and Brewer and was greeted by a lady of middle years, smartly dressed in a grey suit over a pale blue twin set.
“How do you do, Miss Anson-Gravetty. I am Miss Davenport, Mr Brewer’s secretary. He is expecting you and asked me to show you straight up.” She led the way up some narrow stairs to a room on the first floor. With a brief knock she opened the door and ushered Adelaide in.
“Miss Anson-Gravetty, Mr Brewer.”
An elderly man rose from behind the desk at which he had been sitting and came forward to meet her, his hand outstretched.
“Miss Anson-Gravetty,” he beamed, “how delightful to meet you at last!”
Adelaide shook his hand and was shown to a comfortable seat in front of a smouldering fire. Having asked Miss Davenport to bring coffee, Mr Brewer took a chair opposite her.
“I like to have a fire, even though the days aren’t that cold yet,” he said. “When you get to my age, you know, you feel the cold so much more.” He looked across at her. “May I ask you something, Miss Anson-Gravetty? Did you know about your inheritance before I wrote to you?”
“No, Mr Brewer. It came as a complete shock,” Adelaide replied. “I didn’t know until I received your letter that my father wasn’t my father, if you see what I mean. I knew nothing of Freddie Hurst.”
“Ah,” Mr Brewer sucked his breath in through his teeth. “I was afraid that might be the case. I had hoped that Mr Anson-Gravetty might have told you himself before the letter arrived. It certainly must have come as a shock.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Adelaide agreed. “I had no idea that he wasn’t my real father.”
“It was his wish that we didn’t communicate directly with you and as he is, was, your legal guardian, we had to respect his wishes. However, now you are twenty-one you are responsible for your own affairs.”
“I see,” said Adelaide. “And what are those affairs?”
“Well, apart from a few small bequests, your late grandfather, Sir George Hurst, made you his sole beneficiary. I must tell you, Miss Anson-Gravetty, that you are an extremely rich young woman. The capital has been invested in trust for you and all the accruing interest has been reinvested. It amounts to a tidy sum.”
Adelaide stared at him. “How much?” she asked him softly.
“Well, let me see now,” Mr Brewer reached for a file on his desk and opened it. He pulled out a sheet of figures. “At the last evaluation your portfolio was worth some £75,000.” He glanced at her face and saw the colour had drained from her cheeks. “My dear Miss Anson-Gravetty, are you all right?”
“How much?” whispered Adelaide.
“As I said,” Mr Brewer went on, “you are an extremely rich young woman. The money is now yours to do with as you wish. At present it is invested fairly conservatively, and I suggest, if I may, that you leave things as they are until you’ve had the benefit of some professional advice.”
The Sisters of St. Croix Page 2
