Secrets of the Past

by Estella McQueen

  ‘I have never cherished you, as I should,’ he continues. ‘I hid you away. Why did I do that to you? It’s not as though you were any better off for my doing so…,’

  ‘You are letting me go,’ she says, ‘and that is all I want.’

  ‘Yes. I will not stop you. This young man, Samuel, sees something in your character that appeals to him. You have impressed him. I confess it puzzles me that he should be willing to overlook such faults as would put off many an otherwise reasonable man.’

  If Mary Ellen feels the slight, she forgives him for it. ‘Samuel is very kind to me. He is a thoughtful, steady, intelligent individual.’

  ‘Indeed,’ says Richard, almost smiling, ‘well I wish him luck in his thoughtfulness.’

  Mary Ellen blushes and looks down.

  ‘I chose badly, there will be no more marriages for me. I should never have picked a woman who regarded me with such ill favour. A woman controlled by a self-serving father, like Amelia’s papa, could never have been happy; I should have allowed her to make up her own mind. She was never a flighty girl, or a woman who had the pick of all the young bucks, but a gentle individual who could, I thought, give me the family I craved. It was all I ever wanted. Bramall’s character vastly exceeds mine, no doubt he seeks her opinions, impresses her with his excellent manners. She will be happy, will she not? Whatever her wants and needs, he will fulfil them. It will not be in law, but they will live as husband and wife, and all will be calm, and settled. What do you think?’

  ‘Indeed,’ she says, ‘it is a bold plan.’

  And when he holds out his arms to her, she goes to him. Neither of them is used to intimacy of this kind, but Mary Ellen clings onto him, listening as his breath comes in tight, difficult gasps.

  He clumsily kisses her forehead, and before he can see the tears dropping from her cheeks, she gathers up her shawl and hurries down the Great Stair, where her new husband is waiting to escort her to the coach, and to their new life in America.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Charlie walked down the Great Stair and through the corridors of Addleston House. He tic tacked his way across the Portland stone floor of the entrance hall, the early spring sunshine illuminating the contours of the stuccowork panels, and pushed open the heavy front door. He splashed straight through the pool of water in the middle of the courtyard, and on towards the double row of columns. Underneath the portico he stopped and surveyed the field, the lake, the cedars. The wind blew a strand of hair across his face; he moved it aside. His eyes travelled the length of the long drive where it curved around towards the entrance gates and the B road in the distance. His skin was prickling all over. His head was filled with images…

  *

  Amelia whirls around, interposing herself between her husband and the view of her lover as he recedes into the distance. But she spins too fast.

  ‘Amelia…,’

  ‘Stay there. Stay away! Don’t come near!’

  An intense dizziness comes over her, so overwhelming she staggers backwards.

  ‘Amelia! Take care!’ Richard is almost upon her, but not close enough to catch hold. Her foot misses the edge of the step, her ankle goes over. Richard starts forwards, an expression of fear and panic on his face, but he cannot reach her in time. She clutches at air and then she tumbles, hard and heavy against the sharp edges of the unforgiving steps, rolling over and over towards the bottom. Richard rushes down after her. He cradles her limp form in his arms and begins to shout: ‘Mary Ellen! Someone! Anyone! Help us!’ He lifts his wife in his arms and carries her gently back up the steps and inside the house.

  *

  Astrid had followed him again, through the entrance hall and out into the courtyard, and hovered now a few feet away. ‘Did it work? Did I help you fill in the gaps?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Absolute disclosure. Now I know everything.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘He let them go.’

  Astrid came forward. ‘What do you mean? What happened?’

  ‘Mary Ellen wasn’t the only one who knew what was going on in Amelia and Harry’s minds. She wasn’t the only one who watched as Amelia sank into a decline, pining away in misery, or who knew all about Harry’s mental turmoil, his preoccupation with the Queen’s trial. Richard saw it too. He’d followed his wife’s affair from the very beginning.’

  ‘He had?’

  He leaned back against a pillar. ‘All three of them believed they had outwitted Richard with their elaborate charade, but he wanted them to think that. The phony Frenchman, the ruse to pass a message to his wife, the elopement in the early hours of the morning. The truth was - he set Amelia free himself. He set them all free. Remorse, in the end, is what did it.’

  Astrid copied his pose, lolling against the next pillar. ‘You mean - he knew they were leaving and he didn’t try and stop them?’

  He spoke carefully, measuring his words. ‘As you know the whole thing is very melodramatic. Mary Ellen’s outpourings paint Richard as a monster, but that’s because she was angry with him for his repressive ways. She called it neglect, he called it protection. A maelstrom of conflict had been brewing for years. Who would blame her if she really had kept the lovers apart to please her father? But it wasn’t as straightforward as that. There was far more going on in that family than an arrogant man lording it over his womenfolk.’

  ‘Let me get this clear – was it an abusive marriage, or not?’

  ‘Pretty dreadful. But I was wrong about one thing.’ He motioned towards the steps. ‘Richard didn’t push Amelia that day. She stumbled. If anything, he tried to save her. Harry had just walked away from her; in anger, she assumed. It was Harry’s wounded pride that kept them apart until Mary Ellen intervened. They might have fled, any time. Tunney wouldn’t have stood in their way.’

  ‘So, our lovers found their happy ending. They ran away together to France. They prospered. They thrived.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘That’s remarkable,’ she said. ‘You are remarkable.’

  ‘You believe me?’

  ‘Of course I believe you.’

  ‘It’s not normal,’ he said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘But it’s what you are.’

  At first he couldn’t place what was different about her. All he knew was that something significant had changed - and then he realized what it was. Astrid’s eyes were dancing with happiness, and it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

  ‘Charlie, you’re like nothing on earth. There’s plenty about you I don’t understand at all. Like a becalmed lake, it’s all going on beneath the surface.’

  A blink of an eye, a brief disinterested turn of the head, a momentary distraction.

  She led him across the courtyard, through the front door, and back to the library, where everything she’d amassed; everything they’d discovered together was displayed for maximum effect. An exhibition that might at last pull in the requisite amount of visitors. A venture that would keep the Big Boss happy.

  ‘That’s it now, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘That’s everything. You’ve worked it all out?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes. All done.’ He felt very calm, clear headed. ‘But you didn’t really need my input at all. The clues were already there.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I needed you.’ She indicated the room’s layout. ‘I should have known you’d hate it presented this way.’

  He leaned against the table edge. ‘I wouldn’t go that far…,’

  ‘That’s good,’ she said, ‘because I’ve had an idea. If you’re up for it.’

  ‘Another one?’

  ‘I’ve been offered a job in the North of England,’ she explained. ‘There’s a wreck of a building that needs some TLC. The Big Boss wants to know if I’ll start again. Do what I did here, up there. Mrs Toon, for one, will be glad to see the back of me, and so will everyone else probably.’

  ‘Not Megs, she adores you.’

 
‘Bless her, yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘Even so, it’s time for a change. Only… I might not take the job. It depends on you.’

  ‘You want me to come with you?’ He was startled, slightly panicked, although he couldn’t work out why.

  ‘No, I was thinking of something else. A new line of work. You and me, in partnership. Tell me if I’m overstepping the mark, but this ‘gift’ you have, this second sight that you can tap into – don’t you think it’s high time you made it work for you?’

  He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve done it here, why not do the same thing in another house, another home? Why not advertise your skills? I don’t mean like some freaky soothsayer, wearing crimson robes and armfuls of jewels - I mean a discreet, sympathetic service, employed by people who’ve exhausted every other research avenue. Where the paper trail has ended, where the primary sources no longer exist, where important documents are lost, or gone up in smoke?’

  ‘Sunk by U-boat?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  But he didn’t take her seriously. It was crass, stupid, nonsensical. ‘I couldn’t do that. No one would believe it.’

  ‘I believed it would work. And it did, didn’t it? Up until now you’ve been embarrassed by your ability; playing it down rather than celebrating it. But what if you used it to your advantage? On your own terms. A regular income, hours to suit.’

  Obviously there was more to it than that. ‘You said ‘partnership.’ What’s in it for you? You’d be my agent, broker my services?’

  ‘I’d protect you, look after you. Managerially speaking.’

  He thought of his father’s warning. ‘You’d rent me out?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ she said, horrified. ‘Nothing could be further from my mind. We’d do it together. Equal status. Joint enterprise, a team.’

  It wasn’t hard to see how the concept would manifest itself: Gilchrist and Buchanan: Historians for Hire!

  ‘But only one of us is a specialist in Retrocognitive psychic ability. Or had you forgotten?’

  ‘Of course I hadn’t. You’re bringing more to the party than me, I accept that, but think where it could take us? Half remembered stories, shady ancestors, long forgotten secrets. Finding out what really went on in the dim and distant past. Romantic mysteries solved, happy endings unearthed. People will love us.’

  He still wasn’t convinced. ‘What if they’re unhappy endings? What if all we uncover is tragedy and disaster?’

  ‘Rough with the smooth. Clients won’t care. It’s answers people want.’

  ‘There’d be fierce opposition,’ he argued. ‘We’d be branded charlatans. Look at Mrs Toon. And what about financial practicalities?’

  ‘You let me worry about that.’

  ‘And the house up north?’

  ‘It’s somewhere safe to shunt me. I’d be starting from scratch. They’ve asked me to restore it, redecorate; nurture it back to life. But that’s not what I want. I want more, Charlie. I’m tired of having to justify everything I do. You understand that, don’t you?’

  He understood only too well. ‘But I’ve never considered it in those commercial terms. I don’t always like what I see; often it’s disturbing, why would I want to put myself through that on a regular basis – and call it a job?’

  ‘If it gets too dark and murky, we’ll stop. I’ll look after you,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll take care of you.’

  ‘It’s you that needs taking care of,’ he said. ‘You’re all over the place.’

  ‘I think it’s what we both need. Come on, what do you say?’

  He needed more time to think this through, consider what it meant, where it might lead. ‘Strictly professional?’ he queried.

  ‘If that’s the only way,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘No, I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘Okay.’ The pained expression was discernible once more; definitely on the verge of a comeback.

  ‘The strictly professional part,’ he clarified. ‘I don’t like the sound of that at all.’

  ‘No, neither do I. But while you’re considering, there is something that might help you make up your mind. One more thing we can do.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  It was a big room, there was plenty of available space, and yet she moved even closer, taking his hands and pulling him away from the table edge. She trailed a finger lightly down his face from eyebrow to cheekbone. He bent his head until their foreheads were touching. ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Shall we give it another go?’

  He smiled, his lips hovering over hers, and when the longed-for kiss finally came it was notably more successful and sustained than any of the ones they’d tried so far. So accomplished, in fact, it made them both smile.

  ‘That was you,’ she said.

  ‘See? I don’t always channel.’

  He kissed her again, cradling the back of her neck with his hand. Like a high water tide their bodies bumped and yearned towards one another. But after a minute or more of urgent kisses she began to exhibit some resistance. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something else to show you. I’ve been saving the best till last.’ She rocked on the balls of her feet; that familiar signal, action was imminent.

  ‘What, now?’ he laughed.

  ‘Come on.’ She grasped hold of his hand and hurried him along the corridor and down the steps into the office.

  ‘What is it? What’s in here?’

  Pulling open one of the desk drawers, she carefully removed a pair of unfolded letters. Charlie recognized the handwriting, the shape, the form, the words, even before he’d been given them.

  ‘We’ll read them together, shall we?’ she said. ‘I’ll be Amelia, you’ll be Harry?’ She slid one of the letters across the desk and kept the other for herself.

  Astrid Buchanan, he deduced, had no fear. Her mind was open to anything and everything.

  ‘Shall I go first?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, making herself comfortable in the battered old armchair, ‘I think you should.’

  He rested his chin on his hand, and for a second squinted out of the window and across the park, smiling to himself. ‘Give me a minute, would you?’

  It was funny but he really couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be, or anyone he’d rather be with. He was doing the right thing for once in his life. Someone believed in him, and that was all he needed to know.

  He picked up the letter in front of him and began to read.

  ‘My darling Amelia,

  The piecrusts are very thin and light here, don’t you agree? Completely unlike the fare we are used to back in England. And the wines are the finest I’ve ever drunk. The air is light, the breeze is comfortable, the noise of the insects is gently soothing. Sometimes I am reminded of our walks in the woods at Addleston – cold, rainy, miserable days, my love – and I think to myself how lucky I am to be here with you, and to have the pleasure of your company. I shall see you this evening, my darling, and every evening, from now on.

  Harry’

  And Amelia replied:

  ‘My dearest Harry –

  The piecrusts are indeed, as you say, notable for their lightness, but I do not agree that the wines are the finest. And I certainly decry the lack of a decent cup of tea. However, these small niggles I can overcome; for I am far too busy congratulating myself on my good fortune. To be able to look up of an evening, and see you sitting in the chair opposite me, where you belong, is really all I have ever wished for. And to look down at our beautiful child in the crook of my arm, where he lies sleeping, and to know that his father will be joining me ere long is more wonderful than I had ever thought possible. Till tonight my love, adieu,

  Your ever loving Poppy’

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