by Val Wood
Joseph shook his head. ‘I didn’t,’ he said softly. ‘Not until I saw Laura.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘You are so much like your grandmother, my dear,’ he said to her. ‘Your mother’s mother. It was when I saw you and you told me your mother’s name. Then I knew.’
‘Joseph!’ Julia had sat very quietly as Joseph had broken the news, but now she spoke. ‘Why did I not know of this? Why was I never told?’
‘Because our parents considered that your fine sensibilities were too delicate to hear it.’ Joseph’s voice was flinty. ‘You were to be protected from the unseemly knowledge of your brother’s wrongdoings. The fact that I had fathered a child!’
‘What nonsense,’ she murmured. ‘I know many young mothers who have no husbands. They come to me for advice, even though I am a single woman myself.’ She looked at Susannah and put out her hand. ‘Come here, my dear, and let me look at you in a different light now that I know you are my niece.’
Susannah, with fresh tears streaming down her face, did as she asked and stood in front of her. ‘May I give you a kiss, Aunt Julia?’ she said brokenly.
‘I wish that you would,’ Julia said softly. ‘And I wish that I had known you before. I would have taken care of you. I always longed for a child to love, but I never met a man whom I wished to marry.’
Joseph’s temple throbbed. Had it all been in vain, this secrecy? Would Susannah have been accepted had he insisted on bringing her home? She had told Julia before dinner that she had been brought to the house when she was a child, and had met his mother. It must have been whilst he was still away in France. Would his mother have accepted her? Looking back now, he thought that perhaps she would have, had she been allowed. And then my life would have been very different; I would have had my daughter, but not my sons.
‘I think, Mama, that perhaps we had better leave.’ Laura’s voice was calm and controlled, but inside she was aching with a desperate need to weep. ‘We – we both have much to consider. We need time to absorb what has happened.’ She looked at Joseph, deliberately directing her gaze away from Edmund. ‘Perhaps you’d be so kind as to ask someone to drive us back to Hedon?’
‘I’ll take you,’ Edmund broke in. ‘I must speak to you, Laura!’
‘I think it would be best if you didn’t.’ She looked at him at last, raising her eyes to his, and her resolve almost gave way when she saw the grief on his face. ‘At the moment there is nothing that we need to say to each other.’
‘You are so cold,’ he said angrily. ‘How can you claim that we have nothing to talk about?’ He was about to say more, but there was something, some hint of pleading in her eyes, a tremor on her lips, that stopped him.
Joseph decided to drive them himself when he discovered that Frederick Cannon was waiting for them at the Fleet. Laura kissed Aunt Julia, but when Edmund grasped her hand imploringly she pulled it away and wouldn’t look at him.
Freddie was waiting for them. He had been there for over an hour, pacing up and down the waterway, unable to sit for long in the crowded inn. He came towards the brougham in the courtyard and Susannah introduced him to Joseph Ellis.
‘Freddie,’ she said quietly, ‘did you know who Mr Ellis was?’
Freddie looked from Joseph Ellis to Susannah and saw the enlightenment. ‘I didn’t know,’ he said. ‘But I guessed. Though I couldn’t be absolutely sure. I was very worried about Laura.’
He looked back towards the inn, where Laura had retreated after briefly greeting him. ‘Very worried indeed. Has it been resolved?’ When Susannah nodded, he said, ‘It would be an unwise connection, I fear. I confess, Mr Ellis, that I began some sleuthing work after I became Susannah’s adviser, which was many years ago. I wanted to be sure that everything was as it purported to be, even though my father was always very particular and meticulous when dealing with his clients. Then quite by chance I met your agent. I’d arrived early for a meeting at Mr Watson’s rooms, and your man came out of his office. When I left later I called in at the Sun Inn as my train wasn’t due for an hour, and he was there.’ Freddie ran his hand over his chin. ‘I knew he had something to do with Susannah’s benefactor, and most unprofessionally I began to talk to him. He knew nothing of the history, of course,’ he assured Joseph, who was surveying him anxiously. ‘He was simply the messenger. But he mentioned that his employer owned a large farm estate in Holderness, and I knew of course that Susannah came from that area. Then, all these years later, when Laura and James came to visit your grandson at Skeffling, I began to put two and two together and hoped that it wouldn’t make four. I hope, sir, that you do not think I have overstepped the mark in my professional capacity. It is only because I have always had Susannah’s best interests at heart, and I was aiming to protect her.’
‘I understand that,’ Joseph said. ‘I’m glad to hear that someone was looking after her.’
Freddie took hold of Susannah’s hand and said softly, ‘She is of course perfectly capable of looking after herself. But soon I hope that I shall be able to do more than I do now to safeguard and support her.’
‘You are to be married, I understand,’ Joseph said. ‘May I – may I come to the wedding?’
Susannah looked up at him. She had felt very shy of him whilst at Skeffling, apprehensive as to what her role would be or how to behave. Now she said, ‘I’ll need someone to stand by my side, to give me in marriage. I was going to ask James, but it didn’t seem quite appropriate. Would you perhaps be willing to do it?’
He put his hand to his mouth, pressing his fist hard to his lips. ‘Thank you.’ His words were choked. ‘I would consider it an honour.’
Laura had dashed upstairs to her mother’s old room and flung herself on the bed. At last, she let the tears flow.
I have acquired a father and a grandfather in a matter of weeks, she thought. But I’ve lost the only man that I’ve ever felt I could love and allow to share my life. How can we ever meet again? We cannot! It will be impossible. I can’t go to a house where my grandfather and great-aunt live. I cannot even improve my acquaintance with Amy – how could I, when he will be there?
There came a soft tap on the door and she sat up as her mother came in. ‘Joseph Ellis has gone,’ she said quietly. ‘He asked me to say goodbye for him.’
Laura nodded and blew her nose and her mother came to sit on the bed beside her. She put her arm round her and said, ‘I’m so very sorry, my dearest. So terribly sorry. But you do realize it’s for the best? There could be such worse heartache ahead of you if I were to agree to such a match.’
Laura leaned her head against her. ‘It’s as well that we found out in time,’ she said, sniffling. ‘Before harm was done. It was true when I said that Edmund hadn’t asked me to marry him. But he would have done. He wanted me to be his wife. Oh, Mama,’ she cried, ‘I wanted to be. What am I to do?’
Edmund wrote to her. Bombarded her with letters which she didn’t open. James, on being told the news, arranged to meet Edmund on neutral territory in Hull and listen to his anguish.
‘I told him there’s nothing to be done,’ he whispered to his mother out of Laura’s hearing. ‘That you won’t change your mind as you consider it too risky. But he’s bereft, poor fellow. I hope I never feel so badly over a woman.’
Susannah had patted his hand. ‘I hope that you do, James,’ she said. ‘But with a happier outcome.’
She and Freddie had decided to wait a little while longer before their own marriage. ‘It would be so unfair,’ she said to him, ‘when there is so much unhappiness. We can wait a little longer.’
There were other letters from Skeffling, for Joseph wrote to Susannah, telling her of things he had never confessed to anyone before. His love for her mother; what kind of person she was, full of fire and passion, defiance and independence. He told her too of his retreat to France after Mary-Ellen’s death to try to escape from the misery of his loss. ‘I understand how Edmund is feeling, though he doesn’t think that I do; but I remember clearly how empty my life wa
s.’ He explained to her his first meeting with Arlette, who had made him laugh and reminded him that he was still alive, and of their subsequent marriage. ‘We are totally incompatible,’ he wrote, ‘but we had three sons to compensate us for an unsatisfactory life together.’
And then their eldest son died, Susannah mused, as she sat reading his letters. That had surely been heartbreaking, and it must have widened the gap between them even further. But she read on and felt a warm rush of joy as he added, ‘Now my daughter from my first and only love has been returned to me, which restores my faith that life isn’t totally cruel, even though Edmund would not agree with me.’
He went on to say that his wife was returning from France and that he would tell her about Susannah and ask her forgiveness for not having spoken of her before.
Susannah returned the letters to their envelopes and thought of her daughter. Laura had thrown herself into a reckless round of engagements: charity meetings and indiscriminate social events filled each day and evening. She refused to discuss her inner feelings, putting on a façade of wilful indifference which fooled no-one.
Her heart is broken, Susannah thought, though she won’t admit it, and yet what am I to do? I should blame myself if something dreadful happened. She sighed. I wish to see my father again. He’s asked me to. I’d like to go back to Welwick and see the place where I was born, and perhaps meet Aunt Jane and Thomas if they are still there, for I didn’t get the chance to ask after them. But how can I when Laura is so unhappy? Freddie would go with me, but he knows little of the life I led as a child. No – if I return, I must do so alone.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
‘I can’t help you, Edmund. I would if I could.’ Joseph ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I know how you feel. Believe me, I’ve suffered as you are suffering now.’
‘Laura is only a cousin!’ Edmund exploded. ‘It’s not illegal for cousins to marry. And if we didn’t have children then it would be all right!’
‘You know that it wouldn’t be,’ Joseph said quietly. ‘Your father and Susannah were brother and sister. Yes, half-brother and sister, I know,’ he said, when he saw the objection on Edmund’s face. ‘But I was father to them both. And a marriage between you and Laura would be not so much wrong as not right. It would be unacceptable in our society, and no clergyman would condone a marriage entered into with the stated intention of avoiding having children, which would be nigh on impossible in any case. But her mother will not consent; she will not give her permission so there’s an end to it!’
I’ll be glad when Arlette comes home, Joseph thought as Edmund crashed out of the door. She’s always had a soft spot for Edmund; perhaps she can make him see sense. Usually when his wife came back from France he viewed her return with mixed feelings. Routine was disrupted and within hours they were arguing over something. But now he wanted his confession over, he wanted to make his peace with her, and more than anything he needed her to console Edmund.
Arlette had written to him that she was unsure of her travel arrangements and that she didn’t want him to meet her. ‘We will come by train from London, though I may do some shopping first and visit the theatre, and then I will travel north. Perhaps I will hire a chaise to bring me to Holderness or maybe continue by train. Gena is good with porters and drivers so there is no need for you to come.’
Poor Gena, he thought, thinking of Arlette’s maid. She won’t be pleased to be back, any more than Arlette will. I wonder how long she will stay this time.
A hired chaise rolled up to the door a week later. Julia was just pouring tea for herself and Amy. ‘Oh!’ she murmured, glancing out of the window. ‘Here is your grandmother, my dear.’ Hurriedly she got to her feet. ‘I’ll take tea in my room if you don’t mind, Amy. Arlette will have much to discuss, I expect, and I’ll catch up with the news later.’
‘Don’t go, Aunt Julia,’ Amy said. ‘She doesn’t bite, you know.’
‘I know she doesn’t, dear, but she does make me very nervous. All that energy!’
She scurried out of the room trailing her cottons and embroidery silks after her. Julia always kept out of the way whenever Arlette arrived home. And no wonder, Amy thought; it was as if the air was changed when her grandmother whirled in: a charge of exotic French perfume, of wine and crushed spices and mellow cheese, seemed to follow her wherever she went.
Amy went to the front door to greet her as the housekeeper and a maid went down the steps to help the driver with the luggage. There was no maid accompanying Arlette, however. She was quite alone.
‘Grandmama! How lovely to see you.’ Amy kissed her. She was very fond of her grandmother. ‘Where’s Gena? You’ve never travelled alone?’
‘Only from London.’ Arlette took Amy’s arm as they went up the steps. ‘The silly girl decided she wanted to go ’ome. She did not want to come back ’ere. She says it is too cold. But it ees all right. I manage very well.’ They entered the hall and Arlette looked round. ‘Everything is the same, yes.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Well, that is good! I am so very tired, my darling. Where is your grandfather? And Edmund?’
‘Out somewhere. They should be in soon. We were just about to have tea,’ Amy said, leading her into the drawing room. ‘Would you like some?’
Arlette pulled a wry face. ‘Tea? Ah yes, everything stays the same, does it not?’ She sank into a chair, not even taking off her coat. ‘But yes, I will have a cup, but weak with lemon, not strong as your grandpapa likes it.’
‘I’ll ring for more hot water,’ Amy said, reaching to press the bell on the wall. ‘You look very tired, Grandmama. Was the journey horrendous?’
‘It was long,’ Arlette said. ‘I am getting too old for travelling.’ Her eyes alighted on the tray set with two cups and saucers. ‘Aunt Julia fled, did she, when she saw me arrive?’ She gave a wicked grin that brightened up her face. She had always been a striking woman and maturity hadn’t lessened her attraction; her bone structure was good, and her hair was fashionably dressed beneath her large velvet hat, which was trimmed with ostrich feathers.
‘I told her you didn’t bite.’ Amy smiled. ‘But she says you make her nervous.’
Arlette gave the little shrug which Amy loved to see; it was so Gallic, and a gesture she had practised herself, but not with the same success.
‘I don’t mean to,’ Arlette murmured. ‘I admire her. Where is your grandfather?’ she asked again. ‘Why was he not ’ere to greet me?’
‘We didn’t know when you were coming,’ Amy said. ‘You said you didn’t know yourself when you would arrive.’
‘Did I? Ah, perhaps so.’
A maid brought in fresh tea and a jug of hot water. ‘Mr Ellis is just coming, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Beg pardon, I mean madame,’ she apologized, dipping her knee. ‘He’s just crossing ’yard now.’
Arlette raised a languid hand. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Amy. ‘She is new, I think?’
‘Yes,’ Amy said. ‘Someone in the kitchen must have told her to call you madame, knowing that you prefer it.’
Arlette shrugged again. ‘It ees not important.’
Joseph breezed in a few minutes later. ‘Arlette!’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’ve just heard that you travelled alone. Are you exhausted?’
‘I am a leetle tired, Joseph. It is a long way to come without a companion. But when we got to London, Gena insisted that she did not want to come back, and I couldn’t make her.’
‘But she’s been with you for so long.’ He frowned. ‘She knows how it is here … and summer is coming.’
‘I know,’ she said vaguely. ‘But she would not come this time.’
Arlette went upstairs to rest and change before supper. She and Joseph had separate rooms, but as Joseph washed and changed out of his working clothes he could hear Arlette moving around next door. He knocked on her door. ‘Are you not resting, my dear?’ he called to her. ‘Would you rather take supper in your room?’
She opened the door to him. She had changed out of her trav
elling clothes and into a blue silk peignoir and had let down her thick, now fading, fair hair. ‘Come in, Joseph. I am too restless to sleep,’ she said. ‘My mind is in a jumble.’
She is still very beautiful, he thought, remembering how he had been attracted to her vitality and love of life. He came towards her and, putting his arms round her, kissed her cheek. ‘You always smell so nice,’ he murmured into her hair. He looked at her. ‘And you are still lovely.’
She gazed at him and gave what he thought was a rather wistful smile. ‘And you are still ’andsome,’ she said softly. ‘Just as you were all that long time ago.’
He released her. ‘I want to talk to you, Arlette. But not now. Later, after supper.’
She nodded slowly and said huskily, ‘And I want to talk to you too, Joseph; about many things.’
He kept glancing at Arlette across the supper table. She was talking to Julia and Amy about Paris, and trying to bring Edmund into the conversation, but although he had greeted his grandmother warmly he made little contribution to the general discourse and spoke not at all to Joseph. Arlette noticed and asked jokingly if he and his grandfather had had a disagreement. Edmund said tersely that they had and, excusing himself, left the table.
‘He has had an upset, Grandmama,’ Amy began, but saw her grandfather’s hand raised to stop her and fell silent, her face colouring with embarrassment.
‘We ’ave much to discuss, I can see,’ Arlette said lightly. ‘So many things ’appen when I am away for even five minutes.’
‘It’s been longer than that,’ Joseph said sharply. ‘You’ve been away all winter.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, and to his surprise didn’t say that she couldn’t stand the winters here, as she usually did. ‘It ’as been too long.’
After supper Julia asked to be excused and went to her room, and Amy, sensing something in the atmosphere, did the same.
