Secrets of Nanreath Hall

by Alix Rickloff

  “Dear God,” Hugh gasped. “My mother was attending a Women’s Institute meeting. Anna, I have to go.” He was covered with dirt, dust, and blood. He gentled his left arm close to his body, a tear in the sleeve revealing an ugly laceration. His face was streaked with ash, a wild look ringing his eyes.

  “Your arm.”

  He waved off her words. “I’ll have it bound up, but you . . . will you be all right if I leave you?”

  She nodded then wished she hadn’t. Her skull felt scrambled as an egg. “I can manage.”

  He threw her one last uncertain look before fleeing.

  Anna hurried to assist a young man leaning drunkenly against a doorway, his wheelchair and blanket gone, his eyes looking everywhere at once as the chaos of sounds bombarded him from every direction.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  “A Dornier. Engine on fire. Tail shot away. Must have jettisoned its bombs hoping to ditch in the sea.” He continued staring out at the greasy black smoke as it rolled upward and was seized by the winds to smear itself across the spring sky.

  “Let’s find you a place out of the way to sit down.”

  He seemed to return to himself. He stared at her, his pale eyes fringed by long, dark lashes, his lip fuzzed with the beginnings of a mustache. So impossibly young and yet bearing an old man’s burdens. “Don’t be scared, Nurse,” he said in a firm voice. “I’ll see you come through all right.”

  She started to lead him toward an alcove in the shadow of the stairs where the hospital’s main telephone sat. It was out of the way and somewhat sheltered should any more of the ceiling decide to fall. But with each wobbly-kneed step she took, the floor heaved and dipped under her feet, and strange dancing spots flickered at the edges of her vision. She stumbled over a fallen chair, banged her hip against a table. She drew a deep breath, hoping to stave off her dizziness, but her ribs ached and she gasped against a shooting pain down her side.

  “Nurse?” the young man said, his brows low. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think . . . I think I need to sit down.” She sank onto the bench and leaned back, letting the roll of voices wash over her. She closed her eyes against the smoke and to ease the throbbing pain at her temples. “I’ll be all right. Just need a moment.” She couldn’t lie about here—just five minutes and then she’d get up, find Sister Murphy or one of the VADs and help where she could . . . just five minutes . . .

  “Nurse?” The airman’s voice seemed to call from a long tunnel. “Nurse Trenowyth, listen to me. Anna . . .”

  She wished he’d stop shouting. She tried to tell him but gave it up as too much work.

  “Anna? Anna, can you hear me?”

  She swam up toward consciousness like a deep-sea diver emerging from the ocean floor. For a moment she was unaware of either where she was or how she had arrived. Weight pressed uncomfortably upon her, the air hung thick with old smoke and dirt, and she had a moment’s panic of being trapped once again amid the burning sinking ship.

  She opened her eyes, squinting against a blinding glare. She licked her lips, her mouth dry, her tongue fuzzy. The pain in her side dulled to a bearable, yet uncomfortable ache.

  “Welcome back, sleepyhead.” The silhouette burning its way into her retinas slowly focused itself into the familiar form of Tilly. Anna was in her bedroom, tucked up under a pile of blankets. Late-afternoon sun streamed in through the window.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” Anna said, suddenly remembering the soldier and Tilly walking out toward the cliffs just before the bombing. “You’re all right.”

  “I’m fine, but how do you feel? You’ve been out for hours.”

  “Horrid.” Anna tried to sit up and winced. “Ugh, my aching head.” She shifted and decided she shouldn’t have. “Ugh, my aching body.”

  “No wonder. You’ve got a goose egg the size of a cricket ball and you’re sporting a beauty of a bruise from your hip to your shoulder. Your orders are to stay in bed for a few days in case of concussion or cracked ribs.”

  “I can’t possibly. There’s far too much to do. The hospital must be a mess and the patients—where’s that nice soldier who helped me?”

  “Trooper Young is fine, though you gave him a fright.” Tilly poured her a glass of water. “Drink this. It will help.”

  The water slid chill down Anna’s parched throat. “Tell me, please . . . is Tony . . .” Her hands trembled, and she felt a wild, anxious fluttering in her chest. Pushing her panic down where it couldn’t touch her, she began again, forcing her words out slowly and clearly, both frightened and relieved at how easily she was able to banish her emotions to a place where they couldn’t touch her. “Was anyone hurt?”

  Tilly’s expression tightened, her normally cheerful face taking on a rather gray and worried look. “One of the bombs hit the old stables where the firefighting crew is billeted, and an orderly died when a wall came down in an office on the second floor.”

  “What of Hugh? And Lady Boxley?” Would she lose this new family as she’d lost her old one? Just when she’d found them?

  “They’re both fine, though the village is a bit the worse for wear. They’ve been bringing the wounded to us all day. We’re not equipped for surgery, but the MO has done what he can.” She tucked Anna beneath her blankets. “Speaking of Hugh, he stopped by to see how you were doing.” Tilly’s voice seemed almost shrill, as if fighting off her own black thoughts. “He brought you this.”

  The leather portfolio from the attic.

  Tilly set it on the bed beside her. A long, deep scratch defaced one side, and the clasp was torn away. “As for gifts, I’ve one of my own. It’s much better than a battered old case, but if you’re caught, I don’t know anything and I had nothing to do with it.”

  “You haven’t been dealing with the black market, have you?”

  Tilly merely offered a mysterious smile as she rose to open the door. “You’ll see. Now, close your eyes.”

  “But . . .”

  “Go on. Don’t be a wet blanket.” She flicked her hands in an impatient gesture.

  Anna closed her eyes and folded her hands upon the coverlet in patient resignation. Footsteps sounded and the turn of the door-knob followed by a stir of cool air from the corridor. She heard Tilly whisper, and even with her eyes closed, Anna felt a change in the atmosphere. A quivering expectation, as if someone stood watching her, breath held.

  “Can I open my eyes?”

  “Go ahead,” replied a familiar deep voice.

  Her eyes flew open to find Tony Lambert standing sheepishly in the doorway. “Surprise.”

  Chapter 16

  October 1914

  I adjusted the sumptuous drape of the doll’s velvet gown before setting it back amid the rest of Mr. Byam Shaw’s collection that he housed in a spacious upstairs studio cupboard at the school in Campden Street. I’d been using it this afternoon as part of my still-life class; I was instructed to create a composition that required me to exactly duplicate the rich nap and bold color of the fabric as well as the way each shadow fell within each soft crease as the skirt brushed the floor. I enjoyed these classes but found them difficult to master. I much preferred Saturday’s exercises, when I was able to submit an unsigned work for evaluation. This might be a quick pencil sketch of the newsboy on our corner or a pen and ink of our windowsill where the landlady’s tabby lay sunning amid pots of scraggly herbs. This was where my gifts lay, in distilling a scene down to its essential properties. Not cluttering a scene with a cast of thousands each in period-perfect costume and props.

  Today my mind lacked the concentration needed to master the delicate layering of dark and light that would turn a flat canvas into a three-dimensional white velvet gown. Cramps pinched my stomach and my lower back ached. All I wanted was my bed and a soothing hot water bottle. These symptoms, along with the inconvenience of dealing with belts and menstrual pads, should have had me grumbling and unhappy. Instead, I was relieved at my regular monthlies, which only served to irritate m
e further. A child was a complication I didn’t need, but as the war’s casualty lists grew, so did my unreasonable wish for a part of Simon I could call completely my own.

  Just as I finally settled into work, the creak of a floorboard and a draft from an open door alerted me to an intrusion into my self-pitying disgruntlement. I wanted to hurl my brush across the room in frustration before I realized it was Simon, dashing in gray flannels and a jaunty panama hat.

  “They told me you were down here. It’s a lovely day outside. I thought we’d take the bus to Richmond and go to the Hippodrome. Afterward, we can take a punt out on the river while the weather is nice.”

  For some reason, his pleasant invitation grated my already strained nerves. “I can’t. I’m trying and failing to wrestle this ridiculous painting into some semblance of art.”

  He eyed my half-finished wedding scene of bride and attendants standing upon the porch steps awaiting the first strains of Mendelssohn. “Maybe it’s the subject matter that has you stumped.”

  His gaze held a teasing gleam, but I was not in the mood for jokes. My face grew tight and hot, and my tongue ached from biting back so many words for so long. “I wonder whose fault that is?”

  He had the grace to blush, the skin around his eyes tensing in dismay. “Here we go again. How many times do we have to discuss this before you realize you’re being ridiculous?”

  “Once would be nice, but every time the subject comes up, you dodge it.”

  He took my hand, his gaze both cajoling and rueful. “Come on, love. Leave your painting for now. The day is perfect, and if you’re nice to me, I’ll take you to the Fountain Tea Room for luncheon and an ice cream. You’ll come back with fresh eyes and a full stomach, and we can talk all about it tonight.”

  “See? You’re doing it again.” My voice shook, and I knew even as I picked this fight that it was pointless. “Is the idea of marriage so terrifying that you won’t even consider it?”

  He dropped my hand and stepped back, his face grim. “Of course not, but now is hardly the best time, is it?”

  “When is the best time, Simon?”

  He sighed, as if I were a recalcitrant child and he the long-suffering adult. “How about when you’ve completed your studies? Or when I’ve established the gallery and can afford to keep you in the style an earl’s daughter expects? It hasn’t been easy since the war began, you know. Commissions have been thin on the ground, and my parents aren’t doling out the blunt the way they used to.”

  “Is that what this is about? Do you really think I care about how much money you have?”

  “I care.” He pressed his lips together, as if he was trying to control his temper. “We both have dreams we’re chasing, Kitty. Do you really want to throw everything we’ve worked for aside just so you can have a day of orange blossom and white tulle? Frankly, I’m surprised you’re so determined. You’re always so contemptuous of your sister and her obsession with marriage.”

  “Amelia is obsessed with weddings, not marriage. She likes the idea of a big party where she gets to be the center of attention. I’m talking about building a life together.”

  “I thought that was what we were doing.”

  It was my turn to inhale a deep, calming breath before my head exploded. “You once asked me if I thought you weren’t good enough. Well, I would ask you the same question—am I not good enough for you? Don’t”—my voice wavered and broke—“don’t you love me enough to marry me?”

  He seemed to sway, as if I’d physically struck him. His face was white and pinched, the muscle in his jaw clenched tight. “How can you even ask that?” Desperation filled his gaze. “I love you more than I can possibly say. It was as if every choice I’d ever made led me to that first moment when I saw you on the stairs at Nanreath Hall. I was struck by lightning. There was no going back. No denying it. I love you, Kitty Trenowyth. And you love me. Why do we need a priest to murmur some words over us to make what we have real?”

  Because I’m afraid of losing you. Afraid of waking up and finding this has all been a beautiful dream. That was what I wanted to say. Simon watched me closely, and I could feel his tension in our clasped hands, see it in the lightning-shot depths of his green eyes. If winning this fight meant losing him, was it really a victory?

  He must have sensed my weakness. He pulled me against him, his body hard, his muscles taut as wires. If possible, his kiss spoke more eloquently than his words, drowning out my last sputtering argument. Scalding liquid heat slid along my limbs, his devouring passion teasing me into velvety surrender. I closed my eyes. “Richmond sounds lovely.”

  Chapter 17

  May 1941

  Tony, what a nice . . . uh . . . surprise.” Even as her heart thrilled to see him alive and safe, Anna darted swift glances around the room as if Matron or, heaven help her, Sister Murphy, would leap from behind the wardrobe like a diabolical jack-in-the-box.

  “Your words say nice yet your face says horrible.”

  “You can’t be here. This is very, very against regulations. If we’re caught, I’ll be in heaps of trouble. And you . . . oh dear.” She threw herself from the bed, ignoring her state of undress and her sudden wash of dizziness to shove him back out the door into the corridor. “You have to leave. Now. Immediately. Sooner than immediately. Oh dear,” she repeated weakly as her legs turned to jelly.

  Tony caught her before she fell flat on her face, amusement clearly written in the lift of his brows and the twitch of his lips. “Are you supposed to be out of bed?”

  She ignored his question as well as the shivery tingle firing every nerve ending and dragged him toward the door. “Quick before anyone sees.”

  Voices echoed hollowly from the far end by the stairwell.

  “Wait, someone’s coming. You can’t leave.” Anna pulled him back inside, shutting the door with a soft click, before leaning an ear against the panels. Her heart banged against her sore ribs and the room continued to swim in and out of focus as she sought to calm her breathing, which came in hoarse gasps.

  Tony was clearly enjoying her consternation. The smile in his eyes drifted to his mouth.

  “Shhh!” she scolded as she listened. The voices passed by and faded. She let out a sigh all the way to her toes. “That was close.”

  “I feel like I’m trapped behind enemy lines.” His voice was a low, accented purr at her ear.

  She squeaked and whirled around, once more struck with a world-tilting dizzy spell that had her groping for something solid to grab. Unfortunately, the something solid was Tony Lambert, who’d crept up behind her and now stood at her shoulder. They collided chest to chest, his arms coming round her waist as she leaned woozy against him. She could swear she heard his heart pounding through the layers of uniform, or maybe that was hers.

  “Careful now,” he said. “You’re a bit unsteady on your feet.” His brown eyes seemed to darken, his expression no longer amused, but something more somber that clenched her innards and doubled the spinning of her head.

  “Oh God, Tony. When they said it was the airfield . . .” She tightened her arms around his waist.

  “I’m fine, but it’s nice to know you worried over me.”

  “Despite my best intentions, I’m afraid.”

  “I think that’s a compliment, but dashed if I’d lay odds on it.”

  She stepped free of his encircling arms, unexpectedly disappointed when he let her go without protest. She snatched her dressing gown from its peg and hastened into it, yanking the sash closed before collapsing on the edge of the bed, dropping her head into her hands. “You must think I’m completely mad.”

  “Yes.” She glanced up through her lashes to see him leaning against the door, arms folded across his chest, looking incredibly handsome. Her wobbly stomach did another flip. “But in a good way.”

  She rubbed her face, trying to look less like a case for asylum and more like a capable and confident nurse. Once more, she sought to lock away her feelings, but this time she found the
m slippery and uncontrollable. Excitement buzzed in her chest and a smile fought its way through her stiff upper lip. “You have a very bad habit of turning up unannounced and in the oddest places. First London. Now my bedroom. I fear where I’ll find you next.”

  “I was at a meeting with the brass hats when I heard about the bombing. I stopped here on my way back to the airfield to see for myself that everyone was all right.”

  “You weren’t even there.”

  “No, but I’m still gratified to know you worried I’d been blown to smithereens along with two latrines and a supply shed. I’d just about given up hope I’d ever win you over.”

  The conversation was veering in a dangerous direction. Anna scrambled to pull herself free before her better judgment was overcome by wide shoulders and a pair of devilish brown eyes. There was no place in her life for romance; especially not with someone she could grow to love. “Hugh found my mother’s portfolio in the attics.”

  “Did he? Just when you think the chap’s a lost cause, he does something gallant and you have to like him all over again. Well, now that I’m assured you’ve not dented your skull and you see I haven’t been disintegrated by a stray bomb, I’ll make my escape while the coast is clear and leave you to it.” His hand moved slowly round the rim of his cap before he put it on. “Good-bye, Anna.”

  She reached out a hand, as if she might hold him back. “Don’t go.”

  He paused with a slight lift of his brows. “I promise to steer clear of the sisters. None will ever know I was up here. I promise.”

  This was foolish, so bloody foolish. She chalked it up to her head wound. “It’s not that, but since we’re already breaking about ten different regulations, you may as well stay a little longer. I’m not as brave as I make out, and this feels as fragile as an unexploded grenade.” She ran a hand over the soft leather.

  “Let’s hope less deadly.” He returned to sit beside her.

  She continued to caress the case, as if she might read the contents through her fingertips, then with a resolution born half of fear, she snapped open the latches, drawing it wide.