The Secrets of Winter

by Nicola Upson

  Archie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I tried to follow the case, but my inspector pulled me off it – told me I was being unprofessional. Did you keep in touch with them, Richard?’

  ‘Not after the first few weeks,’ Hartley said. ‘We took them in for a while, didn’t we, dear?’ His wife nodded, and Josephine was shocked by the intense sadness in her face, so raw that the tragedy might have happened only yesterday. ‘But then the authorities got involved, and they were farmed out to different places. I don’t know what became of either of them.’

  ‘It must have been painful to be separated on top of so much other grief,’ Hilaria said. ‘It’s hard to see how a child could ever get over something like that.’

  She left them briefly to go and speak to the butler, giving Josephine a clear view of the Lancasters; they had been listening intently, she noticed, and she wondered how long it would be before Archie was cornered about every criminal case he had ever worked on. They were saved now by the sound of a gong, and the butler announced dinner. Hilaria led them through to the dining room, obviously enjoying the impact that the room made on her guests. It was a stunning space, a true castle great hall with a high vaulted ceiling and a solid oak table that stretched the length of the room. Josephine could only begin to imagine how such an extraordinary piece of furniture had been carried up the Mount. The sheltered, internal windows held the room’s most beautiful feature: a collection of delicate stained glass, some of it clearly very old, which depicted vivid and fantastic flora and fauna, as well as the more traditional biblical scenes. At one end of the room, there was a plaque representing what she assumed to be the St Aubyn family emblem, and the royal coat of arms sat proudly over the fireplace at the other. The hearth was vast, and an entire tree seemed to be burning in the grate.

  ‘What a wonderful room!’ Marlene said.

  ‘Thank you. It used to be the monks’ refectory. This is the oldest part of the castle.’

  ‘Why did your butler call it Chevy Chase?’ Marta asked.

  ‘After the ballad,’ Hilaria said, pointing to a plaster frieze which ran round the room, illustrating various hunting scenes. ‘It’s about a moonlit fight between the English and the Scots in the Cheviot Hills.’

  ‘Which the right side won, of course,’ Josephine added.

  Hilaria smiled. ‘It would be rude to argue with a guest. Please everyone, do sit down.’ They all took their places, and Josephine noticed that Barbara Penhaligon and Marlene couldn’t have been seated further apart. She, Marta and Archie had been placed near the actress at the head of the table, while Richard Hartley sat at the other end, flanked by his wife, Miss Penhaligon and the Lancasters. Hilaria – both host and referee, Josephine thought – took a seat in the middle, opposite Alex Fielding.

  Fortunately, no interventions seemed necessary. The food was excellent – a rich game terrine followed by sole with white wine sauce – and the atmosphere improved as the wine flowed. Hilaria got to her feet as the fish course was cleared away, and the conversation petered out around the table. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I won’t interrupt your evening for long, but on behalf of Lord St Levan and myself, I would just like to welcome you all officially to St Michael’s Mount. Naturally I’m biased, because I have loved this island all my life and been privileged to live here for many years, but I genuinely believe that it is one of the most special places on this earth, and I very much hope that you will grow to appreciate it in the short time that you’re with us. We are here to enjoy ourselves and to have the merriest of Christmases’ – she raised her glass and everyone at the table did the same – ‘but we must not forget the very serious cause that has brought us together. The world is growing increasingly more dangerous by the day, and it is our duty to offer a refuge to those whose freedom is currently under threat—’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ Marlene said, looking pointedly down the table at Barbara Penhaligon.

  Hilaria continued before the interruption could get out of hand. ‘I’m delighted to announce that, as of today, Lord Baldwin’s Fund for Refugees stands at £244,000.’ There was a murmur of appreciation around the table, louder in some quarters than in others. ‘And thanks to your generosity, St Michael’s Mount is able to add another twenty thousand pounds to that remarkable total.’ There was a round of applause from everyone except Rachel Lancaster, who looked embarrassed and reached for her glass. Josephine felt sorry for her. An excess of wine had brought a high colour to her cheeks which sat starkly against her pale skin and the yellow, rather outdated evening dress; she had seemed uncomfortable all evening, except when talking to Angela Hartley, the only person in the room who didn’t seem to threaten her.

  Their hostess resumed her seat and the main course arrived, a spiced side of beef, smelling deliciously of cloves and nutmeg, and decorated with holly. ‘Did you like your flowers, Miss Dietrich?’ Barbara Penhaligon asked loudly down the table, and Josephine saw Hilaria glance nervously at Archie.

  Marlene gave her a frosty smile. ‘I appreciate everything that Miss St Aubyn has done to make me so comfortable,’ she said innocently. ‘The flowers, the Christmas decorations, this wonderful meal – the day is perfect.’

  She picked up her cutlery, as if to put an end to the conversation, but the younger girl refused to be so easily diverted. ‘And the ones from the Führer? I gather he really is your biggest fan.’

  Josephine looked at Marta and desperately tried to think of something to say that might defuse the tension, but things had already gone too far. ‘You are just a foolish child,’ Marlene said, her voice low and even, ‘and you have absolutely no idea what those people you call your friends are like.’

  ‘So you’re happy to betray your country?’

  ‘I will always be German to my very soul. They are the ones betraying my country.’

  ‘Miss Dietrich is right,’ Hartley said, making no attempt to disguise the anger in his voice. ‘You’re far too young to understand what’s coming our way, Barbara. If you had lived through the last war as an adult – if you had had to consecrate trenches like I did to keep up with the burials – you wouldn’t be talking such nonsense now.’

  ‘Gosh, I’d forgotten how divisive good intentions can be,’ Hilaria said, and although the comment was made lightly, there was a note of steel in her voice which was enough to salvage the situation. Marlene apologised and her antagonist seethed in silence.

  ‘Archie was telling us about some of your myths and legends,’ Josephine said in an effort to get the conversation back on safer ground. ‘He said you found a giant buried in the church?’

  Hilaria smiled at her gratefully. ‘Something like that. A hermit’s cell was discovered about fifty years ago. You can see it now if you look behind the family pews, and inside they found a leather jug and a skeleton which was about seven foot tall. We’ve no idea who he was or why he was there, but he’s buried now in the graveyard.’

  ‘I’ll show you the chamber tomorrow during the carol service,’ Archie promised, ‘and I’m sure Hilaria would be happy for us to look at St Michael’s Chair, too.’

  ‘What’s St Michael’s Chair?’

  Archie grinned. ‘It’s a stone seat on top of the tower, hanging over the edge.’

  ‘It’s actually a medieval lantern that was used as a guiding light for fishermen,’ Hilaria corrected him, ‘but pilgrims used it for prayer, and there is a more recent legend attached to it. Newly married couples have been known to race each other to the top of the tower, because it’s said that whoever sits on the chair first will be the dominant partner in the marriage.’

  ‘If they live to enjoy it,’ Marta said. ‘Have you ever seen it done?’

  ‘Twice, and in both cases the winner was the wife.’

  ‘It sounds tempting,’ Rachel Lancaster said suddenly. ‘We should try it, Gerry.’

  She drained her glass and the footman stepped forward to refill it, but her husband reached across the table and covered it with his hand. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had en
ough, darling? You don’t want to embarrass yourself.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence as the couple glared at each other, but eventually Rachel Lancaster backed down and pushed the glass away from her. The pudding was served quickly, and Josephine began to wonder how many more times the conversation could be rescued and set back on an even keel; this time, Alex Fielding took his turn. ‘What is St Michael the patron saint of?’ he asked, turning to the vicar as the person in the room most likely to know.

  ‘Grocers and policemen, amongst other things,’ Richard Hartley said. Then added more seriously: ‘St Michael is the guardian of the Church and the champion of justice. He calls all men to their heavenly judgement and gives each of us the chance to redeem ourselves before passing.’

  ‘Crikey,’ Fielding said. ‘Then we’d better be on our best behaviour.’

  The strengthening wind blew a billow of snow against the window, making them all jump. ‘And on that note, I think we should retire to the drawing room and leave the gentlemen to their port next door,’ Hilaria said, standing up from the table.

  ‘I didn’t think they still did that in the twentieth century,’ Marta whispered, as they followed their hostess out of the dining room.

  ‘Neither did I, but the whole evening’s been an education in one way or another. I shall be pleased to get to bed.’ Josephine stopped by one of the windows and looked out into the night. The snowflakes were thick and restless, as if there were too many for the sky, and they jostled each other in endless fallings to settle on the already blanketed terrace. ‘Looks like we’re going to be well and truly cut off,’ she said, squeezing Marta’s hand. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  8

  There was an old-fashioned charm about the Godolphin Hotel, which Violet found all the more welcoming after the last leg of their journey from Plymouth. The weather had worsened steadily as the train moved through Cornwall, delaying their arrival by more than an hour, and by the time they got out at Marazion Station, the wind was howling dismally in from the sea and the whirling flurries of snow had nothing romantic or magical about them. ‘Just as well we weren’t hoping to get across tonight,’ Johnny shouted above the gale, doing his best to shelter her as they hurried down the platform to the station house. ‘It’ll be a miracle if it’s any better in the morning. Once this sets in, it could hang around for days.’

  Just her luck that it was the time of year for miracles, Violet thought as she shook the snow off her coat; she could dream up worse things than spending Christmas in the hotel, just the two of them, without the pressure of being nice to Johnny’s mother, but she kept her feelings to herself. There was a taxi parked outside the station, but one of the other passengers beat them to it and they could only watch as its tail-lights disappeared down the road towards the village. ‘Never mind, we’ll wait for the next one,’ Violet said, not wanting to make a fuss when he was trying so hard to make things special for her. ‘At least we’re dry in here.’

  Johnny shook his head. ‘Don’t forget we’re in Cornwall,’ he said despondently. ‘The next one will be along dreckly, and that could be any time between now and New Year’s Eve. Wait here a minute. I’ll see if there’s anyone about.’ When he came back, he was in much better spirits. ‘We’re in luck. One of the lads is knocking off for the night now and he lives in Rosudgeon. He’ll drop us at the hotel on his way.’

  The guard had made a promise to his young daughter to be home before she went to bed, and he wasted no time in getting them to their destination. ‘That was good of him,’ Violet said, as Johnny bundled their cases in through the door of the hotel’s reception. ‘That’s what I love about this time of year. It brings out the best in people.’

  The entrance hall had been enthusiastically dressed for the season, almost as if each member of staff had been given charge of a corner which bore no relation to the colour scheme of the other three, and Violet had to smile to herself when she saw the overcrowded tree, its red and gold decorations seeming to offer a reflection of the vividly patterned carpet. The hospitable sound of carols, heartily sung, drifted across from the bar, and through another open doorway, she could see a waitress clearing away the last of the dinner tables and re-laying them ready for breakfast. ‘Looks like we’re too late to eat,’ Johnny said. ‘I’m sorry, Vi.’

  ‘Will you stop apologising?’ she said. ‘You can’t do anything about the weather. A port and lemon and a packet of pork scratchings will do me just fine.’ In the corner, where three rows of paper chains met, pinned to the ceiling, a grandfather clock struck nine. ‘This is nice,’ she said, squeezing his arm to show how much she meant it. ‘Only three hours to go to Christmas Day – our first proper Christmas together. And just think – this time next year we could be sitting by our own fireside on Christmas Eve.’

  He smiled, and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘I like the sound of that.’

  There was a young woman standing by the reception desk, waiting to check in ahead of them, and Violet looked her up and down, noting the flat-heeled shoes which were the only practical concession to the weather; otherwise, she was attractive and smartly dressed in a royal blue winter coat and matching hat. She seemed anxious, tapping her fingers continuously on the polished wood; when she turned round, sensing their eyes on her, she was obviously pleased to have company. ‘It must be the busiest night of the year,’ she said with a smile. ‘They’re rushed off their feet. I was tempted to offer to help.’

  A man hurried through from the bar before they could answer, red-faced and welcoming. ‘I’m sorry to keep you all waiting,’ he said, ‘especially on a night like this. Would you like to check in?’

  ‘I suppose I’d better,’ the woman said, then blushed. ‘I’m sorry – that sounded rude, and I didn’t mean to be. It’s just that I was supposed to be staying at St Michael’s Mount tonight, but my train was delayed by the snow and I gather I’ve missed the last crossing.’

  ‘Mrs Carmichael?’

  She hesitated. ‘What? Oh yes, that’s right. Carmichael.’

  She said the name as if trying it out, and Violet wondered if she was newly married; she certainly couldn’t be much more than twenty. ‘Excellent,’ the hotelier said. ‘You’re in room three, Mrs Carmichael. I’ll get someone to show you up.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t bother. You’re busy enough as it is and I haven’t got much luggage. Just tell me where it is and I’ll find my own way.’

  He gave her a key and directed her to a room on the first floor. ‘Now – would you like something to eat? The kitchen’s closed, I’m afraid, but we could rustle up a sandwich or some soup.’

  ‘That would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘No trouble at all. In your room or in the bar?’

  ‘In my room, please.’ She picked up her case. ‘The station master told me that Miss St Aubyn has made arrangements for me to go over by boat in the morning?’

  ‘That’s right, Mrs Carmichael, if the weather allows it.’

  ‘Is it possible for me to get a message to the castle before that? I was supposed to be surprising someone for Christmas, you see, and it’s quite important.’

  ‘The wires are down at the moment, I’m afraid, but I can try again later. What’s the message?’

  ‘Just that I’ve arrived safely and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Right-o. I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now then,’ he said, turning back to Johnny, ‘by a process of elimination, you must be our final guest for the night. Mr Soper?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Emily’s son, if I’m not mistaken?’

  Johnny smiled, and Violet’s heart sank; she had been hoping for at least one night of anonymity before the island closed in around them. ‘You know my mother?’

  ‘We often have a chat while she’s waiting for the boat. Nice woman. I haven’t been here long, but she’s made me very welcome. And she thinks a lot of you, I know that much. She’l
l be pleased to have you home.’

  ‘She doesn’t know yet. We thought we’d surprise her for Christmas. This is my fiancée, Violet.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you both. Now, if you could just sign the register, we’ll get you settled in. It’s not a night to be out and about. You’re in room number one. I would say nice view, but you might want to draw your curtains tonight.’

  He pushed a single key across the desk, and Johnny looked at him in horror. ‘But I booked two rooms,’ he said, his face flushing scarlet as he glanced apologetically at Violet.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. You’ll have to find us another one.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Soper. Mrs Carmichael’s was the last reservation, and now she’s here we’re fully booked.’

  ‘But you can’t be! What about one of the staff rooms, then? I could sleep there if there’s a free bed.’ The barman shook his head, and Johnny turned to Violet. ‘I haven’t done this deliberately, Vi. You’ve got to believe me.’

  ‘Of course I believe you,’ she said, glad now to have told her mother that they were going straight to the island. ‘Anyway, it’s not the end of the world. You’ll just have to sleep on the floor.’

  ‘It’s a twin room, Miss.’

  ‘Well then, that’s all right. Sign us in, Johnny.’

  He hesitated, then carefully wrote ‘Mr and Mrs Jonathan Soper’ into the register. She watched, feeling suddenly superstitious; it was silly, but she wished desperately that Johnny had filled in their real names rather than tempting fate with a marriage that hadn’t actually happened yet. ‘You won’t tell—’ he began.

  The barman cut him off. ‘Don’t worry. It’s our mistake and I won’t mention a thing.’ He repeated the offer of food made to Mrs Carmichael, and they accepted gratefully. ‘I’ll have it served in the bar for you in ten minutes, when you’ve had a chance to take your things upstairs. Follow me.’

  He led them up the first flight of steps and down a long corridor with creaking floorboards. It was a decent sized room on the seaward side of the hotel, and a welcome fire was already burning in the grate. Their host put some more coal on and left them to unpack, apologising once again for the confusion over the rooms. Johnny hovered awkwardly between the beds, blushing and scarcely able to meet her eye. ‘Which one would you like?’ he asked, looking at his shoes.