And I knew I would get nothing further from him by way of explanation.
We worked on, and only one small thing that I found vaguely disconcerting occurred.
Bevan asked me to file away a pile of documents. Some went into labelled boxes on a shelf, but I could not find homes for all of them, and attempted to open a bureau where I imagined more were stored. The door refused to budge when I pulled on the handle, and I exclaimed aloud in surprise.
‘Oh, it’s locked!’
Bevan was on his feet in an instant, with surprising speed, in fact, given his precarious state of health.
‘Not that one, Miss Flora. That’s for private matters only. What is it you can’t find now? Let me see…’
I suppose there was really nothing strange about a locked bureau for private papers; I might have thought nothing of it had it not been for Bevan’s obvious agitation, which somehow went beyond a normal reaction. I was not, after all, about to force the lock and pry – or at least, not until Bevan aroused my suspicions by the violence of his response! As it was, I couldn’t help thinking that the secretary was very well aware of what was in the locked bureau, and edgy about it. Could it be I had been correct in my earlier suspicions, and there were less than legitimate transactions being recorded in this office?
Shortly before one o’clock Louis returned. He came into the office, and as always his presence, brooding and forceful, seemed to fill the room.
‘How have you been getting along?’ he enquired.
Bevan ignored the question.
‘There are some letters here, Mr Louis, that require your signature.’
‘I’ll deal with them later,’ Louis said. ‘First, I am in need of some refreshment, and I would think it is time that you and Flora took a rest, too.’
‘I’d prefer to finish what I’m at first,’ Bevan said primly. ‘I’m a little behind, what with having to explain everything to Miss Flora.’
‘As you wish. But I would like Miss Flora to come with me.’
Puzzled, I rose. There was something purposeful in the way he said it.
I followed him across the hall and into the parlour. There was no sign of Gavin; if he had been there drinking Louis’ cognac, he had clearly grown tired of waiting and gone elsewhere.
‘Flora, I have something for you,’ Louis said without preamble.
From the pocket of his redingote he took a small casket that I recognized immediately.
‘My pearl collar!’ I exclaimed. ‘But…’
‘I know how upset you were at leaving it behind,’ Louis said. ‘My travels took me not far from Tucker’s Grave, so I thought I would get it for you.’
‘You’ve been to Tucker’s Grave! But I thought it was all locked up…’
‘I do have a key, remember,’ he said.
‘Yes, but…’ The thought of Louis, free to come and go in my home when I was not, was somehow disturbing.
I put the thought aside. It was kind of him to have remembered my distress at leaving my pearl collar behind, and to have put himself out to collect it.
Unless, of course, he had some other reason entirely for wanting to go to Tucker’s Grave…
No, I wouldn’t think it. I would accept it as a gesture of friendship, the first real kindness he had shown to me.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
I opened the box, feasting my eyes on the creamy pearls that I had feared I might never see again, running my fingers over them and feeling them warm to my touch.
I remembered my eighteenth birthday when my father had given them to me, fastening them around my neck, which had felt so bare since this was the first day I had put up my hair; remembered too the love and pride in his dear eyes.
‘They are so beautiful, Father!’ I had said, and I had seen him swallow at a lump which suddenly constricted his throat.
‘No, you are beautiful, Flora. The pearls just complement your beauty. And they always will, throughout the years. Take care of them, and they’ll grace your neck for a lifetime.’
‘Oh Father…’ A lifetime had seemed to me then to stretch away into eternity. For both of us. Now, my father’s life was ended, but his gift to me, at least, was safely in my possession once more, thanks to Louis’ unexpected thoughtfulness.
I looked up, my eyes brimming with tears, and surprised an expression on his face that I had never thought to see.
He was looking at me with something that could only be described as tenderness. The hard lines of his face had softened, his eyes held a thoughtful smile.
And in that moment something equally strange happened to. My stomach tipped, tiny shivers of warmth ran through me and prickled on my skin. Never in my life before had I experienced such a sensation; it was disturbing, and yet at the same time extraordinarily pleasant.
Disconcerted, I lowered my eyes.
‘Thank you,’ I said again, and to my own ears my voice sounded breathless and a little shaky. ‘I’ll put them away at once for safe keeping.’
And on legs that felt curiously unsteady, I fled the room.
Five
I met Gavin on the staircase, almost colliding with him in my haste.
‘Why all this haste?’ he asked, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder.
‘Oh, it’s my pearl collar!’ I replied, the words tumbling out. ‘I left it behind when I left the inn and Louis has kindly collected it for me. I am taking it to my room.’
‘Louis has been to Tucker’s Grave?’ Gavin sounded startled, but at the time I thought nothing of it. I was too full of confusion.
‘So it seems,’ I said.
‘He’s a dark horse, my brother.’ Gavin was making no attempt to move aside and let me pass. ‘Well, since you are so clearly delighted to have your pearl collar in your possession again, why don’t you wear it?’
‘Oh, I can’t! I’m in mourning…’
‘The neck of your gown is so high you could wear it beneath and no one would know,’ he suggested.
His hand moved a little up my shoulder and towards my throat. Flustered as I already was by the look I had surprised on Louis’ face and my own unexpected response to it, I recoiled instinctively. His touch, though light, was a little too intimate for comfort.
‘I… I think I’d rather…’
‘The hell with propriety, Flora!’ He laughed softly, and it occurred to me that he was talking about something more than the wearing of a pearl collar when I should not be. ‘Live a little dangerously! Do what you want to do, not what others decree you should! That’s the maxim I live by, for life is too short to do otherwise.’
A door opened into the hall beneath us; I looked down and saw the maid, Clara, carrying a plate of cold meats into the dining room.
‘Clara will help you to put it on!’ Gavin said. ‘By God, you should have a maid to help you dress. It’s every lady’s right. I shall speak to my brother about it.’
‘I have no need of a lady’s maid!’ I protested, but Gavin took no notice.
‘Clara!’ he called. The girl re-emerged, looking up at us questioningly, and Gavin turned me with that hand that still lay upon my shoulder and urged me back down the stairs. ‘Go with Miss Flora into the morning room and help her with her pearls.’
It seemed easier to fall in with his instruction than to argue, and in any case I had to admit the idea of wearing my precious pearl collar, albeit secretly, was a comforting one. Perhaps such adornment was not the done thing at a time of loss, but how could it possibly be wrong when it only served to make me feel closer to my dear dead father? I went with Clara to the morning room and when the door was closed behind us, I stood passively whilst she unhooked the high neck of my gown, fastened the collar around my throat, and rehooked my gown.
‘It doesn’t show, does it?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Not a bit. You’d never know it was there, honest, Miss Flora.’ Her earnest little face wore a sympathetic and almost conspiratorial expression, and I warmed towards her. Perhaps having a lady’s maid
would not be so bad if it also meant I found a friend.
As we emerged from the morning room I heard the sound of raised voices – Louis and Gavin arguing again.
‘You seem to be spending more and more time here in the house these last few weeks.’ Louis’ tone was strident; it carried clearly into the hall.
‘Because I’ve had business here.’ Gavin sounded a trifle defensive.
‘Are you sure that is the real reason? I’m not so sure. And I don’t like it, Gavin. You know that after what happened I said I would not have you under my roof.’
‘For the love of Christ, Louis, that was almost ten years ago…’
‘And as fresh in my mind as if it were yesterday. I could have turned you out to fend for yourself, but I did not. I bought the house in Falmouth to give you somewhere to live – a generous gesture, I think, in the circumstances – and when necessary for the sake of the business I allow you to use the Lodge. Now, however, it seems you are trying to worm your way back into the house.’
‘It is my family home,’ Gavin said.
‘Perhaps. But I would remind you it belongs to me. And I don’t want you here. Do you understand?’
‘I understand very well,’ Gavin said. ‘You are a hard and unforgiving man, Louis.’
‘Some things, Gavin, are unforgivable. I very much hope you will continue to abide by my wishes, or you will find I can be harder yet.’
Gavin muttered something too low for me to hear, the door flew open wide, and he came storming out. His eyes narrowed when he saw me standing there, rooted to the spot like a rabbit caught in the bright light of a poacher’s flare, but he said nothing to me. He simply grabbed up his redingote and strode to the door, shrugging into it as he went.
And still I could not move. Louis would emerge at any moment and know, too, that I had overheard the quarrel, but I simply did not know which was worse – to remain where I was or to be caught fleeing like some peeping Tom.
What did it mean? Clearly the antagonism I had noticed between Louis and Gavin was indeed very real and not in my imagination, clearly it was rooted in something that had occurred long before I came to Belvedere. But equally I could not help feeling that I had somehow unwittingly caused this most recent fracas.
You seem to be spending more and more time here these last few weeks…
These last few weeks. Since I had been here? Certainly Gavin had been paying me a great deal of attention. Certainly he had just all but accosted me on the stairs. Was that the reason Louis had lost control of his temper? Did he think there was something between Gavin and me? But what connection did our exchange have with whatever had occurred in the past, whatever it was they had fallen out over?
Hot colour burned in my cheeks. I had done nothing to encourage Gavin’s attentions, yet I felt as guilty as if I had done just that, and strangely anxious to assure Louis it was not so.
‘Has Uncle Gavin gone?’ Antoinette’s voice, coming from the staircase, sounded surprised and regretful.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think he has.’
‘Oh – and I wanted to talk to him about Perdita!’ Antoinette was pouting. ‘Why did he have to go?’
Louis emerged from the parlour. He had clearly heard every word she had said.
‘Your Uncle Gavin does not live here,’ he said sourly. ‘I’m afraid you will have to make do with Flora and me. Now, shall we eat? I’ve a busy afternoon ahead of me.’
He spoke with impatience. There was no sign now of the tenderness I had glimpsed earlier. The man who stomped ahead of us into the dining room was the same overbearing, driven one who had insisted I come to Belvedere, yet still there was the same strange fluttering in my heart as I looked at his straight, retreating back. For only a moment I had glimpsed a different side of him and it had called up a totally unexpected response in me, a response I must have already been feeling for him, deep inside, without realizing it.
Yet he was the man who had treated me so callously, so cruelly, with my father scarcely cold in his grave, the man who had robbed me of my home, the man who could refer to his dead wife with no emotion whatever, only icy dismissal. Why, there was even some mystery about her death, if Bevan was to be believed.
I must be going mad, I thought, to have feelings for such a man. And I must take care to control them, or it did not bode well for the future.
* * *
After a somewhat strained meal, we went our separate ways, Louis riding off once more, Antoinette to her rooms, and I to the study, where the industrious Bevan was still poring over a ledger. I spent another hour or so familiarizing myself with the books until Bevan put down his pen and got rather stiffly to his feet.
‘That’s enough for one day, I think. I’m away home now. I’ll be back in the morning, God willing.’
He put on his redingote, preparing to depart, and I could not see that I could do much more here without his assistance. I toyed with the idea of seeking out Antoinette, and perhaps suggesting a game of cards, for I thought she must be very lonely, but in the end, uncertain of the reception I would get, I decided against it. Perhaps it was best to leave her to make the first move. She had, after all, made it abundantly clear she did not want my company, and I felt too raw and vulnerable to risk another rebuff. Instead, I would go for a little walk and explore the grounds, I decided. Though cold, it was a pleasant enough afternoon, with the sun still shining palely. Those clouds I had seen this morning on the horizon seemed to have moved away and I felt I could do with a breath of fresh air.
The great house was very silent, very still. Only the clatter of pans coming from the kitchen, where, no doubt, Cook and the kitchen maids were preparing dinner, told me that I was not quite alone. I put on my cloak, then decided I would be wise to wear my gloves too if I did not want my fingers to freeze. I went up to my room to fetch them, opened the drawer where I had stowed them, and hesitated.
My things were not as I had left them. I had piled my garments neatly; now they were a little askew. Puzzled, scarcely able yet to believe that I was not mistaken, I opened another drawer, and another. Just like the glove drawer, the others looked as if they had been disturbed, so much so that the knick-knacks I had hidden beneath my petticoats were now poking out.
I frowned, no longer able to escape the conclusion that someone had been going through my things. And my father’s snuff box and brushes had been moved too, I was certain of it.
Could it have been one of the maids? I wondered. But somehow I did not think so. The maids had been into my room every day since I had been here, tidying the bed (which I still made myself every morning, though I knew they expected me to leave it for them to do), dusting, sweeping, taking out the slops, but I had never noticed that my personal possessions had been interfered with in any way. The maids would, in any case, know that they would risk dismissal if they were found prying.
No, it was not a maid who had rifled through my belongings, I was almost certain of it. The most likely culprit, in my opinion, was Antoinette. It would be very like her to nose around when she thought I was safely out of the way, working with Bevan in the study. The thought made me angry. Bad enough to be forced to live in this strange, ill-tempered household, without having my privacy invaded in this way.
Well, she wouldn’t get away with it. I’d have it out with her, and if she knew she had been found out, perhaps she would refrain from poking about in my room again.
I went in search of her. I had not yet been to her suite of rooms, but I knew which ones they were. Without stopping to take off my cloak, I marched along the passage and knocked on the double doors at the end.
There was no response. I knocked again, then turned the handle and looked in. The door opened into a small drawing room which had once, I thought, been her mother’s private domain, for it was decorated in the pink which she appeared to have favoured. If anything, the decor was even more outrageously feminine than the other rooms, but Antoinette had made her mark on it too, with a row of dolls, long since ab
andoned, sitting lined up on the window seat. A bag of silks lay open on the small occasional table, a tapestry frame beside it. But of Antoinette there was no sign.
Beyond the drawing room was the bedchamber.
‘Antoinette!’ I called sharply. ‘Are you there?’
She did not reply. And yet some sixth sense told me she was there.
‘Antoinette!’ I called again.
And this time I heard movement within the room, a scuffling sound. Then the window banged and a blast of cold air ruffled the open drapes at the dividing door.
I was across the drawing room in a flash, pushing aside that billowing drape, then stopping short in astonishment. Antoinette was there all right, standing in the centre of the room like a startled fawn. But someone was climbing out of the window! I just caught sight of a dark head before it disappeared from my view.
‘What on earth…?’
I started towards the window; Antoinette stood transfixed still. Just as I reached the window there was a tearing sound and a cry, followed almost immediately by a sickening thud. My heart leaped into my throat. I leaned out of the open window and saw a boy lying in a heap on the gravel walk beneath.
‘Dear God…!’
As I stared down in horror, the boy picked himself up, gave a quick frightened glance up at the window, then began to run away with a limping gait. I just had time to take in ragged brown breeches and coat and a black and white mongrel at his heels before he disappeared around the corner of the house.
My first immediate reaction was relief that he was not badly hurt; great heavens, if he had fallen far he could have broken a leg or even his neck, and it would have been my fault! But close on the heels of relief came a wash of horror.
Antoinette had been entertaining a boy in her bedroom! And a pretty rascal at that, from the look of him. I swung round on her, noticing her flushed face and tumbled hair, seeing her hastily pulling the neckline of her gown back into place.
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