The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Why would there be?’ he blustered, which left her even more troubled. ‘The only thing you need to know is that the business has not been doing too well of late.’

  Abbie’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Really? I thought custom-made jewellery was increasingly popular. Precious Dreams has been doing well ever since Gran started the business almost forty years ago. So what’s gone wrong?’

  ‘I’m afraid your mother rather lost interest in recent years, worn down by . . . events. She quite lost heart, not having been herself for some time, as you are only too aware.’

  There it was again, the insinuation that Abbie was to blame for her mother’s depressed state of mind. ‘I wasn’t aware of that, actually, Dad,’ she gently reminded him. ‘How would I be if nobody wrote and told me?’

  ‘Or if you never asked.’

  As an awkward silence began to develop, Robert intervened. ‘We should sell the shop to help pay for the upkeep of Carreck Place.’

  ‘I think that’s the answer, yes.’

  ‘Very sensible.’

  ‘No!’ Abbie cried, jumping to her feet. ‘Please don’t do that.’

  They both looked at her in surprise. ‘Why ever not?’ her father said. ‘It’s the obvious solution.’

  Abbie took a breath to steady herself as she sank back into the chair. ‘Look, the truth is that Eduard and I, we . . . well, we’ve split up, so there’s no reason for me to return to Paris. You know I’ve always been fascinated by the business, the workshop side of it more than the retail. Jewellery is an art form, just as much as painting a landscape is, and I’d love to be more involved. If Mum hadn’t been so set against the idea I would have taken a course or something when I left school.’

  Robert’s laugh was sardonic. ‘So leaving home had nothing to do with your lusting after a Frenchman, or becoming pregnant? Stop making excuses, or trying to make out it was Ma’s fault, when we all know that was not the case.’

  Abbie could feel her cheeks growing warm, although whether with anger or embarrassment was hard to judge. ‘I’m not claiming to be entirely innocent. I freely admit I behaved somewhat rashly, but I was in love. Surely it’s time to forgive me for that youthful indiscretion?’

  She turned to her father, blinking back a blur of tears. ‘The point is I have a child to raise, alone, so I need to earn a living. I’m prepared to work hard, and would absolutely love the opportunity to turn the business around and make it successful once more. Please allow me that chance, Pops,’ she said, risking using her pet name for him once more in the hope that her father might still nurture some love for her in his heart, if not the much-longed-for forgiveness. Perhaps he did, for she saw how his gaze softened and warmed towards her.

  Robert, however, was typically scathing. ‘What absolute rubbish! You’re hopeless, an untidy, irresponsible, disorganised mess.’

  Abbie stiffened, feeling again that familiar burning resentment against the way her brother always put her down, which had forever marred their relationship. Robert never believed anyone else’s opinion mattered half so much as his own, that no one could be as clever as him, or even worth listening to.

  ‘Thank you for the accolade. However, it may have escaped your notice that I am no longer a foolish teenager. I’ve learned a few lessons about life, and business, these last seven years. As a matter of fact, I worked in a small, rather classy boutique in Paris, which is the fashion capital of the world, in case you didn’t know, so I’m not entirely ignorant.’

  Ignoring her completely, Robert addressed his father, a curl of derision to his upper lip. ‘Don’t listen to her, Dad. Sell it. Property is fetching a high price right now, and we could use the money to maintain Carreck Place, which is far more important.’

  ‘Because you’ll inherit it one day? That couldn’t possibly have any bearing on your opinion, by any chance?’ Abbie challenged him. ‘You want a legacy plus the house. Nice!’

  ‘I’ve already made it clear I have absolutely no wish to discuss these matters right now,’ their father calmly informed them, raising both hands this time in a gesture of despair. ‘The shop is a separate issue and I suggest you leave me to consider Abigail’s proposal in private. I will let you know my decision when I’m good and ready.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Abbie said with a smile of appreciation, feeling again that small kernel of the connection they’d once enjoyed. ‘I agree, this isn’t the moment for dividing the spoils since Mum is hardly cold in her grave,’ she added, giving her brother a fierce glare.

  Even Robert didn’t dare argue further, knowing how grief was taking its toll upon their father. But as he quietly closed the library door behind them both, he couldn’t resist one last dig. ‘Who the hell do you think you are, the prodigal daughter? You stay away for years, then imagine you can just walk back and claim a wad of cash. Even if Dad is soft enough to let you have a go at running the business for a while, it doesn’t alter the fact that you are the reason Mum took her own life. The blame for her death lies entirely on your conscience.’

  So saying, he strode away in a cold fury.

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Abbie went in search of her daughter, finding some relief from her distress in seeing how pretty and happy Aimée looked pushing Jonathon on the swing, gently bossing him and showing off her extra year.

  ‘Why don’t we pack a picnic and go for a ramble over the Langdales?’ Abbie suggested. ‘Or we could walk around Rydal Water and visit the cave. I’m sure Grandpa would lend us the old Ford. Which would you prefer?’

  ‘The cave, the cave,’ yelled Jonathon.

  Fay appeared with a wriggling Carrie desperate to escape the confines of her pushchair. ‘Can we come too?’ her sister-in-law asked, her tone revealing her own eagerness to escape for a while.

  ‘Maybe a walk around Rydal is too long for the little ones. It would take at least a couple of hours. I know ‒ how about a sail in a steam yacht on Coniston Water, just like in the story of Swallows and Amazons?’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ the children all yelled, even little Carrie who hadn’t the first idea what she was shouting about. And so it was decided.

  The two women enjoyed the relaxing drive over Little Langdale and Tarn Hows with its spectacular views of Wetherlam and Coniston Old Man, glad of a welcome break from the gloom of the tragedy and funeral. The weather, too, was kind, a sparkling spring day with the smell of fresh new grass and sunshine in the air, perfect for a sail.

  It proved to be a delightful adventure which the children loved, Jonathon and Aimée pretending to be Captain John and First Mate Susan, as they were allowed to have a go at steering by the friendly boatman. And they loved seeing Peel Island, named Wildcat Island in the book where the five Walker children set up their camp.

  ‘Apparently the author, Arthur Ransome, also spent time in Russia, just like Gran,’ Abbie commented, as she and Fay sat together in the cabin of the small boat, enjoying a sail on the tranquil lake. ‘He worked as a foreign correspondent during the revolution, so must have been there at the same time as the young Millie, and became something of a spy. Although he was rather on the side of the Bolsheviks, I believe, which Gran was not. At least, I don’t think so.’

  Fay said, ‘Goodness, I never knew that about your grandmother. What on earth was she doing in Russia?’

  ‘I’m not entirely certain, as she rarely speaks of it.’ Privately, Abbie was hoping to persuade her otherwise. There surely came a moment when it was time to pass information on to your family. There were things she wanted to ask about her mother too, and about the will which had clearly upset her father for some reason.

  Could matters be quite that bad? The upkeep of Carreck Place was no doubt quite expensive, although the house no longer employed the number of staff it once had in its heyday. And it wasn’t as if there was a mortgage to pay on the property. Nor, so far as she was aware, did her father have any debts. He’d alw
ays been a most prudent man. Her mother, too, could not have been classed as a spendthrift, her wardrobe being that of a countrywoman who preferred tweeds and pearls, and spent her free time outdoors in the garden or walking over the fells when she wasn’t working. She’d never been one for rich furs, or even jewels, despite her selling many gems of great value in her shop.

  But laying the blame for her mother’s death on her own youthful rebellion was deeply hurtful and entirely unfair. Abbie hoped her father would soon come round to that point of view, too, even if her brother persisted with the accusation.

  ‘So what’s eating Robert? He seems even more strung out than usual, blaming me for everything, when it was more likely worry over finance that drove my mother to the edge.’

  Fay cast her a sympathetic glance. ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry if he’s being a bit prissy.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to him. He always did like to lord it over me. Not that I ever paid much attention to his elder brother lectures,’ Abbie added with a chuckle.

  Fay smiled. ‘He did complain that you never listened to a word he said.’

  ‘I did now and then, if it was advice worth listening to.’ She laughed. ‘But we do both tend to get on our high horses if we don’t agree on something. It’s the way it’s always been between us, and I’ll admit I’m a bit uptight myself at the moment.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Look, it’s none of my business, but don’t be too hard on him. He’s a good husband, and an excellent father to our children, but he’s having some problems of his own right now. He’d been hoping for a partnership this year. Sadly, it hasn’t yet materialised, so he’s a bit stressed out.’

  ‘No reason to take his disappointment out on me, though, is there? I absolutely refuse to be held responsible for my mother’s death, and Robert has no right to make such an accusation.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it quite as it sounded,’ Fay insisted, clearly determined to defend her husband.

  Abbie was pleased that the trip had at least given her an opportunity to get to know her sister-in-law a little better. She hadn’t quite made up her mind about Fay. One minute she seemed quite a gentle creature, and certainly a caring, devoted mother, but then she would come out with some caustic remark, such as the one about Aimée’s parentage, which was deeply hurtful. It was perfectly natural, of course, that she would take her husband’s side. Even so her next words surprised Abbie.

  ‘He’d been worrying about Kate’s state of mind for some time, and wishing you were here.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh yes. He did miss having you around.’

  Abbie reminded herself that they hadn’t always been at loggerheads, even if sibling rivalry had got the better of them at times. Making no further comment, she took out her copy of the book and read a passage for the children, the one where the Walker children, sailing in their boat Swallow, meet the Blackett family pretending to be pirates as they sailed the Amazon.

  ‘You’ll have to read them the rest of the story now,’ laughed Fay, as Abbie closed the book with a snap to huge moans all around.

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure.’

  The boat docked, and as Aimée begged for an ice cream, with Jonathon acting as echo to her request, difficult family issues were temporarily shelved in favour of a pleasant afternoon by the lake.

  FOUR

  Abbie felt a sudden hopelessness overwhelm her as she sat gazing out of her bedroom window, her transistor radio playing Andy Williams singing Can’t Get Used To Losing You, which was exactly how she felt right now. To lose her mother just when she needed her most, needed that much-longed-for reconciliation, was more than she could bear. How cruel life was at times. If only she possessed her grandmother’s strength. She watched the whooper swans preparing to leave Carreckwater for their summer breeding grounds on the Arctic tundra. How far those beautiful birds must have to travel, and to a region even colder than this one. Rather as Millie had done when she’d sailed to Russia.

  The thought reminded Abbie of her promise to visit her grandmother yesterday, which she’d failed to do since they’d arrived home quite late following their afternoon on Coniston Water. Now, leaving Aimée in the care of Mrs Brixton, who was happy for the little girl to help her make some scones for tea, she set off for the lodge house.

  As she strolled along, marvelling at the display of daffodils that lined the stony path, the answer was quite clear in her head what she must do. She needed to investigate the true cause of what had destroyed her mother, and which now threatened to ruin her relationship with the rest of her family. She must find out more about Kate’s background, in particular her deprived early childhood before she was adopted, and her allegedly troubled teenage years. Perhaps then she might understand, and be able to work out why her mother’s life had gone so badly wrong that she had seen no other solution but to end it.

  Abbie found her grandmother sitting in the small conservatory at the back of the lodge. It faced southeast so was something of a sun trap at this time of the morning, even on a cool day in late March. A book lay open on the old woman’s lap but she wasn’t reading it; rather, she was gazing out upon the garden, a shuttered look on her face. Abbie thought how lovely she still was, with her high cheekbones and scarcely any wrinkles. A tray of coffee rested on the table beside her. Abbie helped herself to a cup and quietly took the chair beside her, smiling when her grandmother put out a hand to give hers a warm squeeze.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t manage to call yesterday, Gran, only we took the children out on Coniston Water for a treat.’

  ‘Good for you. Cheer you all up, I expect.’

  ‘Indeed it did.’ Abbie sipped her coffee as the two lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching a house martin flying frantically to and fro as it gathered material for its nest. ‘Do you remember us once climbing Coniston Old Man, just the three of us, with me moaning about the long walk all the way up, and Mum gently urging me on?’

  Millie smiled. ‘Then when we neared the summit you set off at a run and beat us all.’

  ‘She gave me a badge for winning, one she made herself out of slate with “star performer” carved on it. I’ve still got it. What fun we had back then.’

  Both women lapsed into silence for a moment as they recalled happier days, then Abbie gave a little sigh. ‘I still can’t get my head around why Mum would do this. It’s quite beyond my comprehension. But then she was never easy to understand.’

  ‘It’s true she was rather a complicated person, a bit screwed up, as you young people would say. But then she had a lot to deal with, not knowing exactly who she was, for one thing.’

  ‘That must have been awful for her.’

  ‘I’m afraid it did trouble her greatly.’

  Abbie tried to recall when first she’d learned that her mother had been adopted, perhaps when she was being something of a problem during her own teen years. Kate had told her that she considered herself fortunate to have enjoyed a good upbringing with loving parents, which included being privately educated at a local girls’ school, when she could so easily have suffered a deprived childhood confined in an orphanage. She said just the memory of that cold, unfeeling place gave her the shivers. Growing up here in the small village of Carreckwater, situated as it was in a wooded valley in the heart of Lakeland, had been utterly delightful, not to mention living in this beautiful house on the shores of the lake. Kate had declared that she’d a great deal to be thankful for.

  So why had all that optimism disappeared?

  Not knowing who her birth mother was must surely have haunted Kate. No doubt some foolish girl who had got herself into trouble, abandoned her child and simply walked away. Not a pleasant thought. It had never crossed her own mind for a moment to give up Aimée, no matter what. Of course, the girl might well have been forced into giving up her baby, as was often the case in those days.

  Abbie’s head teemed
with questions and she longed to know more about her mother’s origins. But was her grandmother up to such a discussion, grieving as she was right now? On the other hand, perhaps talking about her daughter might bring her some comfort. Abbie decided to take the risk, and to stop the moment Millie appeared weary.

  ‘When you said Mum felt as if all the security she’d taken for granted was slipping from her grasp, why did you say it was hard won?’

  ‘Because she spent her early years in an orphanage, which left her with a justifiable sense of insecurity.’

  ‘Where was it, this orphanage?’

  ‘Pursey Street in Stepney, London.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s some distance from the Lakes. Why choose that one?’

  ‘I can’t quite recall. It’s all so long ago.’

  ‘So when did you return to England, exactly? You’ve never said.’

  ‘Some time in the early twenties, I think.’

  Abbie could tell that Millie was being deliberately vague, but couldn’t work out why. Something was going on that she didn’t quite understand. Why had Millie adopted a child at such a young age? Surely at the time she’d still have been young enough to expect to have children of her own one day? Not that any had ever come, so perhaps she’d known that she couldn’t. But that was not a question she dared ask. ‘Was it something that happened during the revolution that made you decide to adopt a child? Did you see children starving in the streets? Was that the reason?’

  She couldn’t help but wonder what terrible events had happened back then to make Millie so unwilling to recall the past. Like her mother before her, Abbie had tried on numerous occasions to persuade her grandmother to talk about her time in Russia, and how she came to go out there in the first place. But only rarely would some snippet of the young Millie’s early life emerge, after which she would clam up, folding her lips into a tightly compressed line as if she’d divulged some dreadful secret.