Charity smiled. ‘A sort of Douglas Bader?’
‘I suppose so,’ Toby smirked.
Charity digested this. ‘What about our parents?’ she asked. ‘Do you tell people about them?’
He shook his head violently. ‘I don’t want anyone to know my father was a weird preacher. I only tell people about Uncle Stephen and Studley.’
In a flash of insight Charity understood. Toby had tried to wipe out all that went before, and created a glorious background for himself. Four generations of Pennycuicks in the Rifle Brigade, a dashing, brave and indulgent colonel uncle. A mansion and a fortune he would one day inherit. But an adolescent boy with the trauma of being orphaned behind him needed more than a romantic fantasy if he was to grow straight and true. He needed love and support. With only a bitter, manipulative man like Stephen to guide him, it was little wonder Toby’s outlook on the world was becoming twisted.
‘I don’t tell many people about the past either,’ she said gently. ‘When people see my nice clothes and my business they might think I had rich parents and went to a good school. It’s OK to let people form their own impression, but you mustn’t tell lies about it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in our background.’
Toby lifted his eyes to Charity’s and the coldness chilled her. ‘You know that’s not true.’
Charity flushed, and her heart began to beat faster. Did he know what their father did to her? Is that what he meant?
‘I know Father was very stern, sometimes cruel,’ she stammered. He couldn’t know, surely? He was only nine at the time of the fire – he would surely have said something before? ‘OK, so we were scared of him and Mother was always ill. We were also desperately poor. But by the time you get to my age you find none of that matters.’
‘Do you tell people about me?’ Toby asked.
‘Of course I do.’ She laughed in relief, now her moment of panic had passed. ‘I show people your photographs, talk about you all the time. When I get back to London I’ll be boring everyone to death with how handsome and clever you are.’
‘Will you forgive me now?’ he asked, moving nearer to her and putting one hand on her knee. ‘You see, I couldn’t bear it if you went away and never saw us again.’
‘Oh Toby.’ She reached out and cupped his face in both hands. ‘I might not like you and Prue all the time, but I’ll always love you. I practically brought you both up. Love is like one of those trees out there in the drive, there for ever. We might have lots of disagreements, but when the roots go down as far as ours do, you can’t kill it.’
‘Will you come and see me at school next year?’ Toby begged her with his eyes. ‘Wear something beautiful so all the boys turn and stare?’
‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away,’ she smiled. ‘But I want you to promise me you’ll be honest from now on. No more lies. Admit to your friends that your uncle is a crusty old buzzard and half the house is closed up. You’ll feel better without so much pressure, and people will like you more.’
‘She just looks as if she’s asleep,’ Charity said to Stephen as she stood by the open coffin looking down at her grandmother.
It was Saturday. All week people had trooped in to pay their last respects to Isobel Pennycuick, Stephen had spent many hours alone with her, but Charity had avoided coming in here until now.
She felt a little foolish that she’d been frightened of this moment. Grandmother’s face seemed to have lost some of its deep lines, and there was a tranquil expression on her lips as if she’d died having a happy dream. Charity bent to kiss her cheek, and though her skin was icy cold, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience.
‘She had a good innings.’ Stephen sighed. ‘At least she didn’t have to suffer pain and she kept all her faculties.’
‘Would you like to be alone with her for a bit?’ Charity said gently. This was the first time Stephen had really spoken to her as an equal and even in such sad circumstances it felt good. But she had a feeling he wanted to cry and she had no wish to prevent it.
‘No, take me back to the library,’ he said. ‘Nurse Giles is waiting. I can come in again tomorrow.’
As Charity wheeled him back towards his room he turned his head round to her.
‘Get my mother’s jewel box,’ he said, his customary brusqueness back. ‘She kept it somewhere in her wardrobe. Prue probably knows where.’
It took Prue some time to find the box, which had been hidden beneath a pile of old nightdresses. When Charity got back to Stephen, he was in his dressing-gown and nightshirt. Nurse Giles was just leaving.
‘I’ll be back in half an hour,’ she said, giving Stephen an almost affectionate pat on the cheek. She smiled at Charity, then swept out carrying some clothes.
Grandmother’s remark about Dawn Giles being a maneater came back to Charity. Maybe it was the swing of her hips and her big breasts pushing out her starched apron, but there was something seductive and very worldly about her. She had been cloistered with Stephen a great deal since Grandmother died and the fact he’d rallied round the morning after his mother’s death, becoming almost polite, was odd. But Charity wasn’t concerned if the nurse had some secret way of making him more amenable. In fact, she applauded it.
‘Here we are, Uncle,’ she said, putting the box on Stephen’s desk. ‘By the way, Grandmother did tell you about giving me the earrings, didn’t she?’
‘She mentioned it.’ He looked up at Charity and frowned.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ She was anxious now.
‘I would rather she had consulted me first since they are very valuable. But they were hers to dispose of, if that was her wish,’ he said looking away from her.
He unlocked the box and opened it before Charity had left the room and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. The top velvet tray was full of rings and as he lifted it out, she saw a layer of earrings and brooches.
‘Some of these are three hundred years old,’ Stephen said, glancing round at her hovering in the doorway. ‘Passed down through the family.’
‘May I see?’ Charity asked. She had a feeling he wanted to share them and she was curious.
Stephen lifted out the final tray and put his hand in, bringing out a ruby necklace. ‘This one is worth a king’s ransom,’ he said.
Charity gasped. It was an intricate web of gold with rubies suspended from it the size and colour of pomegranate seeds.
‘It’s fantastic,’ she said, moving closer. ‘I can’t believe Grandmother had that just lying in her wardrobe. You should put it in a bank vault, Uncle.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me how to look after my valuables,’ he snapped, instantly severing any idea she might have had that they were beginning to establish a rapport. ‘Now off with you, and make sure you look after those earrings.’
It rained the whole weekend, but though it should have been a sad and difficult time, for Charity it was almost joyful. She, Toby and Prue sat up in Toby’s room playing board games and talking, and for the first time since Charity came to Studley she felt as if their defences were breaking down. As the weekend progressed she began to see Toby and Prue’s characters unfolding. Prue was ambitious, but she also had a gentler, romantic side which sat uneasily with her plain appearance. Toby was far more vulnerable; he knew he wasn’t as clever as Prue so he compensated by laying on charm with a trowel. His looks and his sporting ability had pushed him into the role of devil-may-care rabble-rouser at school, but underneath, Charity knew he wasn’t sure of himself at all.
Yet despite everything, both Prue and Toby loved James. They spoke of him with pride and affection, getting out photographs and showing her his sweet, childish letters. Whatever else might be slightly awry in their lives, James was clearly not a cause for concern. They were looking forward to seeing him again, made long-term plans for his holiday with them later in the month, and to Charity that made up for a great deal.
Despite everyone’s predictions that the rain would go on right through Monday, it was a beaut
iful day. Charity had risen at six to get the food prepared for tea after the funeral service, but as an early mist slowly drifted away the sun came out and dried up the puddles. Now the weather seemed more suitable for a wedding.
The cypress and oak trees on the drive had never been more beautiful; each flower seemed more brilliant. Even the birdsong sounded like a massed choir paying their last respects to the old lady who had loved this place.
Prue and Toby were unusually co-operative, Prue helping Margaret in the kitchen, Toby rushing around finding extra chairs for the mourners.
Lou and Geoff arrived with James soon after eleven and although Charity couldn’t give them the sort of joyous welcome she would have like to, she soon managed to get them out into the walled garden.
‘I couldn’t say what I wanted to with Stephen about,’ she said, looking at James with shining eyes.
She could hardly believe this was the baby she had once done everything for. An eight-year-old boy in long grey trousers and a school blazer, with a wide grin and two missing front teeth.
‘You’re so big, James,’ she said, wanting to hug him fiercely but afraid he would reject someone he didn’t remember.
‘Is this really my sister?’ He looked from Lou to Geoff for confirmation. ‘The one you tell me about?’
‘That’s her all right,’ Geoff grinned. ‘Pretty enough for you?’
Geoff and Lou looked odd in their sombre dark clothes. It was the first time Charity could recall seeing Lou in high-heeled shoes. Her red hair was restrained under a black hat that made her look much older. Geoff had even less hair, and he’d trimmed his beard hard back. But his eyes still twinkled.
These are my first pair of long trousers,’ James said gleefully. ‘Uncle Geoff says I have to lift them at the knees when I kneel in church. Auntie put a sixpence in the pocket too and I don’t have to put it in the collection.’
Charity was lost for words. There was so much she wanted to ask, but all she could do was look at James. He was very like Toby and it was clear he was going to be tall too.
‘Why have you got tears in your eyes?’ James asked, looking up at Charity in surprise.
‘Because I’m so pleased to see you again,’ she said, with a wobbly smile. His mouth was still plump and childlike, cheeks soft and rosy. ‘Can I hug you?’
‘Course you can.’ He threw himself at her with the happy enthusiasm of a child who’d known nothing but love and demonstrative affection all his life.
She felt his arms around her waist, his head resting on her shoulder, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry she felt so happy.
‘Come and see us as soon as you get back to London,’ Lou said, smiling broadly. ‘We can’t talk properly here today, everything will be a bit stilted.’
Geoff grinned. ‘You look marvellous, Charity,’ he said. ‘We’re so proud of you. Everything will be different now, you’ll see.’
The funeral service was more like a joyous tribute than a mournful goodbye. The sun peeped in at the small church windows, dancing on the flowers and polished wood. Everyone for miles around had come. Wealthy landowners standing shoulder to shoulder with shopkeepers, farm labourers and villagers. The vicar’s words about Isobel Pennycuick were uplifting; she had been a great favourite of his. Even when the coffin was lowered into the grave on top of the brigadier’s, the brilliant sunshine made it seem more poignant than sad.
Around twenty people came back to the house and the atmosphere verged on the jovial as relations who rarely met caught up with news of family events. Charity kept herself busy plying people with tea, sandwiches and cake, one ear pricked up to hear the gossip.
Nurse Giles bustled into the room bringing a tray of drinks, her large breasts quivering beneath her dress like two large blancmanges.
‘I wouldn’t say no to a bit of nursing from her myself,’ Charity overheard one old gent say to another. She had to hide her face so people wouldn’t see her struggling not to laugh.
Charity sat alone in the dining room the next morning and poured a cup of tea for herself. Her packed case was in the hall and Margaret had informed her that Toby and Prue had both gone out riding, but would be back before she left. It had been wonderful to see James, Lou and Geoff again, and as they’d left yesterday they’d urged her to come and see them in London soon.
But Charity was anxious now about saying goodbye to Stephen. He had been very upset last night and as she cleared away in the drawing room she’d heard him sobbing like a child in his room.
The dining room door opened and Nurse Giles came in. As she saw Charity she smiled.
‘All ready to leave?’ she asked.
‘Have you got time for some tea?’ Charity asked. ‘I wanted to ask how you think Uncle Stephen is.’
The nurse sat down heavily beside Charity. ‘He’s feeling a bit poorly,’ she said. ‘Too much whisky and feeling sorry for himself.’
‘Perhaps I should stay on till tomorrow?’ Charity asked.
‘You go.’ Nurse Giles tossed her head, in a gesture that said Stephen’s temper wouldn’t improve if Charity stayed. ‘Don’t you worry, Miss Charity, I’ll soon get him settled down.’
Charity found herself studying the nurse as they drank tea and chatted. Dawn Giles was a very plain woman with a pale moon face which wasn’t helped by straight hair cut off abruptly at her jawline. Her eyes were pale brown, her nose a little too big. Her mouth was her only redeeming feature: well-shaped lips curled up at the corners, giving the impression she was smiling. Yet there was something vivid about her that seemed to come from within, and Charity wished she’d taken the trouble to discover more about this intriguing woman.
‘I’m nervous about saying goodbye,’ Charity admitted.
Dawn Giles looked at Charity appraisingly for a moment, then patted her hand.
‘He’s just an old windbag,’ she said, dropping her voice. ‘But for all that, I’m intending to stay because there aren’t many nice comfortable jobs around like this for a woman of my age and circumstances. But you, Miss Charity, you’ve got the world at your feet, if you don’t think I’m being too personal.’
‘Not at all,’ Charity said, a little taken aback.
‘Well take a bit of advice from a woman who’s been around. Think of yourself, dear, not those kids, and not him. Get back to your business and your own life. I’ll sort your uncle out.’
‘I suppose I’m scared he’ll slam the door in my face,’ Charity said. She guessed Nurse Giles must know her position. ‘Now that I’ve seen the children again after so many years I don’t want to lose them a second time.’
They’re almost grown now. You’re – what? Twenty-one? You’ve got a lifetime ahead of you to share with them, but the years when you’re young and pretty go very quickly. Make the most of them.’
Charity had a feeling this advice came from personal experience and she appreciated it because of that.
‘Good luck with Stephen.’ Charity got up and put one hand on the plump nurse’s shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
‘I just came to say goodbye, Uncle,’ Charity said from his doorway.
Stephen was still in his dressing-gown, unshaven, and his eyes were puffy. His breakfast tray was untouched and she saw an empty Scotch bottle on his desk.
‘Goodbye?’ he frowned. ‘Where’re you going?’
‘Back to London and my business,’ she said. ‘I can’t take any more time off.’
‘What does a slip of a girl know about business?’ he snorted.
‘I’ve been here almost three weeks,’ she said. ‘I must go.’
His face crumpled unexpectedly.
‘Don’t leave me all alone,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘I can’t manage.’
‘You’ve got plenty of help now.’ Charity was repulsed, but she tried to soothe him, even moving forward to pat his large, veiny hand. ‘And you’ve got Prue and Toby.’
‘What use are children to me?’ he said. ‘I need you here. This house needs a mistress.
’
‘I’m sorry, Uncle,’ she said firmly. ‘I have to go, but I’ll come back.’
His head reared up and his eyes flashed.
‘You minx!’ he roared. ‘You worm your way back in here, take my mother’s earrings. What else have you got? Another few valuable trinkets, pieces of family silver?’
‘I beg your pardon.’ Charity felt anger rising inside her. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing? You know perfectly well those earrings were a present!’
‘Huh,’ he snorted. ‘You leave here now and you won’t come back a second time.’
Charity turned away. She had hoped for so much, but she wasn’t going to plead.
‘I’m sorry for you, Uncle Stephen,’ she said, turning as she reached the door. ‘I thought we’d reached some sort of truce. I became very fond of your mother and I know this isn’t how she’d have wanted it to be. But I can’t take any more abuse from you.’
She waited, hoping for an apology.
‘I won’t let you see the children again.’ His voice dropped, heavy with menace.
Charity sighed deeply.
‘That won’t wash this time,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘They’re big enough to make up their own minds about me. Goodbye, sir. I’ve done all I can here.’
She didn’t stop even to say goodbye to Margaret and Dawn Giles, though she suspected the nurse at least had overheard the whole conversation from the drawing room. Picking up her case from the hall, she marched out the front door and down the drive, her eyes smarting.
She kept walking, right down through the village and on towards Beckley. It was hot, her case was heavy but she was still hoping to see Prue and Toby before she hitched a ride into Oxford.
She paused for a moment by a five barred gate and looked back at the Priory on the hill. Sadness took the place of anger. It stood, so proud, on the brow of the hill, flanked by cypress trees almost as old as itself.
‘Chas!’
She looked back up the road. Prue and Toby were flying down the hill towards her on their bikes. In shorts and T-shirts they looked very alike, Prue’s hair floating out behind her.
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