A Handful of Ashes

by Janet Woods

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll tell him to come in then, sir, shall I?’

  ‘Sorry about Mr Bentley,’ Josh said cheerfully to him a couple of seconds later. ‘He takes his duties very seriously and acts as though I were Prince Albert, himself.’ Josh lowered his voice. ‘I’m glad you’re here, though. I’d like you to take a look at the old feller. He keeps gettin’ short of breath and is tottery on his feet.’

  ‘I don’t need to look at him.’ Francis knew exactly what ailed Bentley. He had dropsy and was finding it hard to breathe. All were indications of advanced heart disease. ‘He’s old, Josh. He shouldn’t be working.’

  ‘I know that. But he’s a proud old fart who won’t accept charity, and he insists on making himself useful. Can you give him something to make him feel better?’

  ‘A little brandy for medicinal purposes, perhaps.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that. He helps himself to nips of my best during the day, and falls asleep in the chair in the kitchen in the afternoon. The maids have been told not to disturb him.’

  Francis nodded. Josh had a kind heart. First it was Sam Saynuthin, who had been deformed in infancy due to a lack of nutrition, and who was also profoundly deaf. Josh had befriended the lad, given him a life and brought out the best in him. Now it was Mr Bentley, the former butler to the Bainbridge family, who’d been cast out on the death of his master. Josh had taken the old man in when he’d been tramping the streets looking for work.

  ‘It will be kinder to let him go on doing what he’s doing. Be prepared, though. I doubt if he’ll last over the winter.’

  ‘Poor old thing. I hope he goes off peacefully in his sleep when he’s not looking. But not before the wedding, for he’s looking forward to it.’ Josh suddenly smiled. ‘What can I do for you then, Doc?’

  ‘Have you heard from Siana?’

  ‘Ah . . . I see. A letter, you mean. No, I can’t say I’ve received news from her lately. Come through and take a look at the new conservatory. Pansy’s given me a plan of where all the plants have got to go. I’m not much of a gardener, myself. Are you?’

  Francis placed his hand on Josh’s arm, and said with some asperity, ‘Stop the small talk, Josh. Tell me, is Siana here, staying with you?’

  Astute blue eyes gazed into his. ‘Take my word for it, she is not here; or take a look around if you’d prefer.’

  ‘Your word will suffice.’

  ‘Can I be frank with you, Francis.’

  ‘You usually are, so go ahead.’

  ‘Be that as it may. You didn’t treat my sister right and fair, parting her from everyone she loved. Not after everything she went through on your behalf.’

  So, he was being forced to eat crow again, and by Josh. ‘Do you think I’m unaware of that? I’ve thought of nothing else these past few months.’

  The scrutiny Francis underwent from Josh was disconcerting, then the younger man suddenly said, ‘I imagine you must be sorry, at that, under the circumstances. Truthfully, I’ve not seen Siana, but I did hear a whisper. Have you been to see your grandchildren lately?’

  ‘Not for three weeks. There’s been an outbreak of chicken pox in the village and I didn’t want to expose them to infection.’ His eyes narrowed. Surely the worst he’d imagined hadn’t happened. Had Siana returned in the company of Marcus Ibsen to shame him by living openly with the man in Cheverton Manor?

  Drawing in deep breath, he headed for the door. ‘Perhaps I should call in on the way back.’

  ‘Perhaps you should.’

  Mr Bentley couldn’t shuffle fast enough to open the door to let Francis out. ‘The doctor’s not staying for refreshment then, sir?’ he said, as the door swung shut behind him.

  ‘No. He remembered somebody he urgently needed to see.’ Josh gave the old man a smile. ‘I don’t need you this afternoon, Mr Bentley, so you can go off and have a nap if you want. Miss Matheson will be here with Miss Edgar in attendance. The catering company is coming to discuss the food for the wedding and to inspect the kitchen and reception areas.’

  ‘I see, sir. Bentley’s manner became slightly frosty. ‘And what will my duties be during the nuptials?’

  ‘Duties?’ Josh scratched his his head. ‘Can’t rightly say you’ll have any, since you’ll be my guest. ’Cepting, of course, I’d appreciate you helping me dress, if you would.’

  ‘Me, a guest, sir?’

  ‘Damn me, if I didn’t see Miss Matheson writing your name on an invitation just the other day.’

  ‘That’s very kind of her. Thank you, sir. I’ll be happy to assist you in any way I can.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Mr Bentley. Having you here gives me a bit of class, you know. We’ll be mingling with the blue bloods, so I can’t let Miss Matheson down.’

  ‘Indeed, you cannot. Miss Matheson is a lovely young woman, if you’ll pardon the liberty. And you have more class than any other man I know.’

  ‘I think I’m the luckiest man alive.’

  ‘And so am I, sir. It’s a privilege to serve you, sir.’

  As Mr Bentley shuffled off, Josh squashed the warm feeling rising up inside him. He was a hard-headed member of the businessmen’s institute now. People looked up to him. It wouldn’t do to show emotion in front of the servants – it wouldn’t do at all.

  19

  For once, the spaniels had not come out to greet Francis. They were in the kitchen, most likely, for this was not his usual visiting day. Though if Marcus had returned, they were possibly with him. Had he returned?

  ‘Is Mr Ibsen expected home from his travels soon?’ he asked the maid who took his hat.

  Her eyes slid away from his as she said evasively, ‘I can’t rightly say, sir.’

  Of course, her evasion could have been his imagination. He was not his usual perceptive self at the moment.

  ‘I’ll run up and tell the nursery maids you are here, for they won’t be expecting thee, it not being your regular day.’

  The relief he experienced as she quickly skittered up the stairs made him feel light-headed and he was thankful he hadn’t made fool of himself by asking if his wife was in residence. He’d soon find out, for signs of occupancy couldn’t be concealed.

  There were no gloves on the hall table, no lace-edged handkerchiefs left about. No hints of feminine pursuits, such as embroidery frames or sewing boxes, were in evidence. The furniture in the main living rooms he walked through were shrouded in dust sheets.

  He could not, though, search the chambers in another man’s house. Such behaviour would be erratic in the extreme and would draw notice. Yet, any one of those closed doors could hide his wife from sight, for some of the guest chambers had private sitting rooms attached.

  He went up the stairs quietly, his ears alert for a sigh, a feminine laugh, the rustle of taffeta skirts or just the flutter of her heartbeat, for he was sure he’d recognize it if he heard it.

  He stood on the top landing outside the nursery door, the blood pumping against his ear drums, his elation plummeting when he thought miserably: She is probably still in Van Diemen’s Land.

  Inside, the children were giggling and the nursery maids were laughing about something.

  ‘Hush now, my bonny,’ one of them said. ‘I’ll take you through to the other room so you can rest. If you’re good and go to sleep, I’ll sing you a pretty song when you wake.’

  His mind sifted through the familiar sounds and discovered an odd note, a giggle which didn’t quite fit. Was it a different voice? His mouth dry, he pushed the door open.

  ‘Ganfer!’ With squeals and giggles Jane Louise and Alexander swarmed over him, lifting their arms to be cuddled.

  One nursery maid was folding clothing. The younger one smiled as she stepped through from the room the children slept in, which was curtained off. She looked ill at ease when she said brightly, ‘Good day, Dr Matheson. You’re just in time to have some tea with us. Cook has made us some oatmeal biscuits today, and there is some gooseberry conserve to spread on them. Though I da
resay you’d prefer tea to milk. Cook will bring some up directly, now she knows you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Preoccupied as he was with his grandchildren, it was some time before he noticed the smallness of the garments being folded. He gazed at them for a moment, then said, ‘Surely they don’t fit these two now?’

  ‘No, sir. It’s quite amazing how fast children grow, isn’t it?’ The clothes were quickly bundled back into the basket and set aside.

  A soft noise took his glance to the curtain separating the room, and under it he saw a small pair of chubby bare feet. As he watched, a face peered at him from the side. The child was standing there, holding on to the door jamb. When he smiled at her, she let go, staggered like a drunken sailor towards him, then folded heavily on to her rear. Jane and Alexander clapped their hands and the three of them dissolved into paroxysms of giggles as she struggled to stand and rolled over on her back with her legs in the air.

  One of the nursery maids hurried forward to pick the child up, gazing awkwardly at him. ‘Francine should be resting.’

  Francine! Something familiar about the child drew his eye. ‘Is that your child?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  He placed the other two down on the floor and his heart leaped as his memory was triggered. Siana had told him she was expecting a child and he hadn’t believed her. ‘Bring her here to me. I want to take a look at her.’

  The child didn’t protest at being picked up by a strange man. She scrutinized him intently through eyes as dark as pines. Her hair was dark, curling in a riotous cap over her head. Little fingers came to explore his face. She did it in a deliberate manner, cupping her palms over his nose then pressing them flat against his lips, as if to mould them. She made a face when she stroked against the grain of his whiskers and, after gently exploring his eyes she placed her hands over her own eyes.

  ‘Boo!’ she shouted, flinging her hands away from her.

  He laughed and so did she, a hearty giggle which made her whole body jiggle like that of a plump little puppy. It was love at first sight for him, for she was the very image of Siana.

  ‘Where’s her mother?’ he growled at one of the nursery maids.

  ‘Out walking, sir.’

  ‘Has she been gone long?’

  ‘Since early, an hour, perhaps.’

  Siana could walk for hours, so he could afford to spend some time with the children. He played with them until they tired, and were taken off to rest, though his mind was elsewhere.

  ‘Have my wife’s and daughter’s things packed and taken to Rivervale House. We’ll be back for our daughter,’ he instructed as he left.

  The two maids exchanged a grin. ‘Didn’t take ’e long to run her to earth, did it?’ one of them said. ‘Lord, but his eyes lit up when he saw the little un.’

  As Francis strode towards the hills, his mind was filled with a vision of Siana standing on the cliff top, her hair tumbling about her, her skirt blowing in the wind and her feet bare to the grass beneath her feet.

  And thus it was when she came into sight. Her bronze taffeta skirt had a hint of cream petticoat beneath, and was teamed with bodice the colour of toasted almonds. Transfixed, he gazed upon her stillness and was drawn into the relationship his woman had with the elements surrounding her. He had no doubt that the pagan part of her had pulled him to her side.

  ‘You complete me,’ she’d said to him once, and he knew with absolute certainty that it was the other way round. Siana completed him. So he stood there to watch and wait, feeling his love reach out to surround and protect her.

  He waited – waited for her to feel his presence and to allow her heart to accept him again.

  That morning it had been much the same kind of sky as on the day Maryse died, only less violent. ‘Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning,’ Siana had murmured.

  As the morning progressed the red sky had become a stipple of apricot clouds banding across to the horizon, then a race of ragged rain clouds had appeared to soak her through.

  The day was warmer than that fateful day nearly two years before, the breeze was as kind as a caress. The difference between that awful winter and the summer of Siana’s return was marked by hope, not by the loss of it.

  Maryse’s sky would have been just as glorious as today’s early red sky, with its same warning. Her eyes would have absorbed it as a last beautiful memory as she’d fallen to her death into the shadowy rocks concealed in the surging tides below. It would have filled her heart and mind and remained with her as she’d stepped forward into the light.

  She would not have thought of the children she’d born for Marcus, nor the horrible shaming of her at the christening. Maryse would not have felt fear. She would have felt nothing but the most fleeting, exquisite pain.

  Time had become meaningless to Siana. The wind blew her hair about her face and shoulders in damp strands. She didn’t mind. Up here on the cliff with the turbulent summer sea stretching into the sky, she knew her place within the landscape. Her heart was too open to the elements for her body to feel uncomfortable.

  She could feel Francis and her children, so close and yet so far. She had contacted nobody since her return, yet those who mattered to her would suspect she was home.

  From the poppy-covered grass on the hill above Rivervale House, where she’d once laid with her love, she had watched Goldie and Daisy at play, ignoring the need to reach out and hold them close. The earth had warmed beneath her body when she’d caught a glimpse of Francis leaving the house. There had been no sign of Bryn, and she’d been heartsick over his absence, for she’d hoped Francis had softened towards him.

  Francis would know she was here now. She could feel the uncertainty of him, the need he had in him to retain his pride. He was close to her, this love of hers, and she must guard her instincts, for the need to punish him was strong in her, too.

  But the conflict between them must be resolved. Her mind reached out to his, connecting with the love he held for her. Feeling his heart beating, her own picked up its rhythm. The measure of his tread trembled in the grass beneath her bare feet and the voice of her great-grandmother Lewis came to her like a sigh on the wind.

  He is come to you, cariad. Your one true love.

  ‘Don’t come any closer, Francis,’ she said, keeping him at arm’s length, as he approached her from behind.

  His voice was filled with the male gruffness of him. ‘I thought I’d find you here. You’ll catch cold standing in the rain.’

  ‘It makes me feel alive in a way you’d never understand.’ She turned, her heart churning at the sight of him, for his grief over Maryse’s death and the aftermath was written indelibly on the gauntness of his face. His hair had silvered more too, but fire burnt in the grey of his eyes. Tears filled her eyes as she closed the gap between them and gently touched his cheek. Her resolve to punish him weakened. ‘You’ve suffered greatly.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have sent you away.’

  She drew in a breath, drawing strength from the bracing saltiness coming off the ocean. There was a need in her to tell him, to redeem herself in his eyes.

  ‘We nearly lost Maryse once before. Here, in this very spot. It was when she first knew of the burden she must bear. There was a storm, and lightning struck the earth. Without my intervention Maryse would have died then, and her infant would not have been born. Marcus came upon us and it was as if he had been sent as part of the storm. That’s how we met, and the events that followed afterwards seemed fated. I must bear responsibility for Bryn, for I made myself the guardian of his life back then, when I saved the life of his mother.’

  Francis said nothing.

  ‘I must have him back, Francis! Even if you can’t accept him as a son you can be his grandfather and love and guide him. Already, I’ve lost two children. My heart is aching for them, but it’s aching more for Bryn, because he’s alive and needful of me. The circumstance of his birth was not his fault and I won’t let you punish him for it. You’ve experienced first-h
and what that does to the innocent.’

  He made a gesture of defeat with his hands.

  ‘You once loved Bryn, but what price do you place on love when you can send those you love away?’ She forgot to be strong and pleaded with him. ‘You cannot love people one moment and hate them the next. I tried it with you, tried to hate you so your coldness didn’t hurt so much. I discovered that love is stronger than my will, and to love you is a burden as well as a blessing. There can be nobody else held so close to my heart. Even as you spurned me, I still loved you. But for pity’s sake, Francis, return Bryn to my keeping, for the child was nurtured at my breast, and without him I feel bereft.’

  There was a noise deep in his throat. A sob. ‘Don’t condemn me for that, Siana, not when I feel so wretched.’

  ‘I know I don’t deserve your love. Would you have me beg on my knees for the life of the boy? I will, if you ask it of me.’

  ‘I love you. I want you to come home.’

  Her heart gave a leap, but her smile was uncertain, for she couldn’t abandon Bryn. The child was within her heart and she could feel his uncertainty and his need to be loved. ‘I cannot return without Bryn. He’s part of me now.’

  Francis took a step towards her, his eyes searching her face. He said, ‘I knew you would not, for I wounded you too much when I took him from you. But in doing so, I hurt myself more.’ A faint wintry smile touched his lips. ‘You brought me a gift in Francine.’

  When her chin lifted a fraction he knew she would fight for her children without giving him any quarter. ‘Remember what you said to me when I told you I was with child? That you would never father any child of mine. Francine is my daughter.’

  The air between them quivered with tension, for his past remark had wounded her badly. Yet she had the feeling she’d gone too far, for his face tightened as he gazed at her. ‘It was something said in the heat of the moment and immediately regretted.’

  ‘You forgot to tell me you regretted saying it. A letter would have sufficed. You could have sent one with Marcus Ibsen.’