by A. O'Connor
As the horse wandered off he stood on top of the hill. He used to come to that hill when he was a child. It offered a breathtaking view across the entire estate. He could see the hundreds of tenant cottages spread out like a patchwork. In the distance stood Armstrong House majestically on the shores of the lake that stretched out for miles beyond it. He had stood there like a prince all those times before, surveying the kingdom that would one day be his. Confident in his position in life as the heir to a noble family that had stretched back centuries. Even the area and the earldom were named after them. And yet that had been taken from him, stolen by a few words of honesty that afternoon from his father. As he surveyed the estate he realised his heritage didn’t lie in the regal stonework of Armstrong House but somewhere in that patchwork of cottages that spread out like a plague of thistles across the land. He sank to his knees in despair. He had always studied the portraits of his ancestors that hung in the house, delighting in the fact that he was their descendent. And now he had been told they were strangers to him. He shared no blood with them.
It was night by the time Charles rode the weary horse back to Armstrong House. He handed the animal to a stable boy and made his way to the front door and let himself in.
“Charles!” said Arabella, rushing from the drawing room. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you all day.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking at her ashen face.
“It’s your father – he collapsed in the library this afternoon. Fennell found him lying unconscious on the floor.”
“Where is he now?”
“Upstairs with the doctor and Margaret. They’ve been up there for hours!”
At that moment Margaret and the doctor came down the stairs.
“If I could speak to you somewhere private?” asked the doctor.
“We’ll go into the drawing room,” said Margaret, leading them in and closing the door.
James was already in there, pacing nervously up and down.
“Well?” demanded James.
“Lord Armstrong has had a major coronary attack,” said the doctor.
“Will he be all right, Doctor? What can you do for him?” asked Margaret in a surprisingly even voice.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for him. He really shouldn’t have travelled to America for the wedding, he wasn’t well enough. I advised him not to go. He’s been in bad health for a while.”
“He never said anything!” Margaret was shocked.
“He didn’t want to worry you. He has been very stressed with one thing and another.” The doctor shot Charles a look.
“But he will recover?” asked Arabella, alarmed.
“I’m afraid not. He should last for a couple of weeks, but who can say after that,” said the doctor.
James sat down on the couch and buried his head in his hands as he started crying in a strange gasping manner.
Charles stood rigid, his face pale as a ghost.
But what astounded Arabella most was Margaret. She and Lawrence were so close, so loving, she expected her to collapse in tears or even faint. Instead she went to the bell pull and tugged it.
“We must send telegrams to all the children immediately. They all need to get back and see their father. I hope Harrison can get back from America in time.”
Fennell arrived in.
“Fennell, go to Castlewest immediately and have telegrams sent to London, Dublin and New York and tell all my children their father is dying and they are to come back immediately. I shall give you the addresses shortly.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Send me in the housekeeper. We must have all the guest rooms aired and made up for their arrival. We’ll put Gwyneth and His Grace in the Blue Room.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Harrison and Victoria in the Red Room . . .”
Arabella could only look on in awe and shock as Margaret continued with the arrangements with military precision.
In London, Emily and Hugh Fitzroy sat eating their dinner in silence. She cringed as he ate his roasted duck with the worst table manners she had ever witnessed. As he slobbered over his food she found he was making her lose her appetite. He spotted the look of disdain on her face.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded.
“Nothing!” she said as she delicately cut her meat with her silver knife.
He threw his fork down on the table and picked up what was left of the duck on his plate and started sucking it.
As she watched him she began to feel sick.
Marriage to Hugh had not been what she had expected. Oh, the travel was exciting at the beginning. South America and Europe and even as far as India. She had gluttonously fed on the sights and sounds of all the foreign climates she never had expected to see. But as the marriage continued, she realised there was no more foreign a sight than Hugh. As she became used to his ways she realised they had very little in common. And seeing him in his full ignorance, he sometimes repelled her.
Then there were other things, darker things, that she could only see shadows of but she feared ever seeing those things in the full light of day. He would go out at night and never explain where he was going. Sometimes he would disappear for days and leave her worried sick. And when he did come back he would look exhausted and wrecked and sleep for twenty-four hours without waking up. She tried to question him about where he went and what was he doing in these absences, but he would clam up and sometimes get angry.
She had never considered herself a snob in any way. She hated snobbery. She had hated her mother’s and their circle’s way of doing things. She had thought marrying Hugh would be an escape from all that, yet she often thought he was an even bigger snob than they were, the way he revered the upper classes and strained every nerve to aspire to being just like them. All the time he strove to be accepted by society. He continuously splashed his money around buying friendships with people who Emily could see viewed him with contempt. He loved attending the high-class functions with Emily and continually telling people that he was married to Lady Emily Armstrong as if she were some badge of honour he wore to impress people. Sometimes she thought he despised her. Sometimes she wondered if he despised her because he could see the disdain she held him in. Because she now knew that in spite of his money, marriage to him had cost her the position in society that she had taken for granted from birth. She dreaded attending all these social functions that Hugh insisted they went to, not because of the sniggers of people about Hugh, but because they were also sniggering about her. She had lost people’s respect.
The butler came in. “A telegram for you, my lady.”
“Get me a vodka!” Hugh barked at the butler as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“I wish you wouldn’t speak to him like that,” said Emily. “It shows a lack of breeding when you don’t address staff correctly.”
Hugh looked at her and then he roared with laughter. “You’re not at Armstrong House now – you’re in my house – the house your family lost to the bank!”
Emily ignored him as she read the telegram. Her hand shot to her mouth.
“It’s Father, he’s not well. We have to go to Armstrong House immediately.”
Hugh flung the duck back on his plate. “I’m not going to Armstrong House. I’m not giving your mother the opportunity to look down her snobby nose at me again.”
“Did you not hear what I said? He could be dying,” Emily said, reinforcing her message.
“You’ll have to go on your own.”
“Right then, I will,” said Emily, rising from the table and walking out. She felt relieved that he didn’t want to go.
chapter 50
As Lawrence drifted in and out of consciousness the siblings arrived. First Daphne from Dublin, then Gwyneth and His Grace from London. Then a pale and tired-looking Emily. To everyone’s relief Hugh had not come with her. Everyone sat around drinking tea and holding vigils by Lawrence’s bed. Margaret was a revelation. She di
dn’t falter once.
“Your mother is very strong,” said Arabella one night as she lay in bed with Charles.
“Not really. She’s just treating death in the same manner she treats every occasion in her life. It’s to be overseen with dignity and decorum.”
“But it’s her husband!” Arabella still couldn’t understand.
“It doesn’t matter. The pride and reputation of the family comes first, and she will make sure this is done the correct way.”
“It almost sounds heartless,” sighed Arabella.
“It’s not heartless, it’s just her. You’re not like that, so you’ll never understand her.”
What Arabella really dreaded was the arrival of Harrison and his wife who had sent back a telegram saying they were coming straight away. She had never imagined she would see Harrison again. He was just an echo from her past. And yet soon he and his wife would be here at Armstrong House. She didn’t know how she would behave to them or how they would behave to her. Would he still be angry and bitter? Would he ignore her? Would this new marvel of a wife insult her? Arabella gathered her nerve and prepared for the storm that was coming.
“Aren’t you nervous about seeing Harrison again after all these years?” she asked Charles in bed another night.
“I’m curious if anything. Curious to see what he’s become, curious to meet this wife.”
“I hope it won’t be awkward,” she said.
“Of course it will be awkward! But don’t worry, the little matter of Lord Armstrong’s death will take all the attention away from you!”
Charles sat at Lawrence’s side, watching him sleep. He continuously thought about the secret his father had shared with him. And as Charles watched him breathe slowly, he didn’t see the great Lord Armstrong any more, he saw a man who had been a fake all his life, even to his wife.
Charles leaned forward and whispered, “Why did you tell me? I didn’t want to know.”
The family were gathered in the drawing room late one afternoon when they suddenly heard the most extraordinary noise coming in the distance. James got up and raced to the window.
“It’s a motor car!” he said excitedly.
“Whoever is coming to us in a motor car?” said Margaret, getting up for a look.
The family all rose quickly and hurried to the window for a look as the motor car pulled up in the forecourt.
“It’s Harrison!” declared Emily.
“Indeed – who else?” said Charles as he strained to get a glimpse of his brother and his wife.
“And Victoria is driving it!” exclaimed Emily.
Arabella remained seated. She had known it would be Harrison without even looking.
Outside, Harrison got out of the motor car and took off his gloves as he stared up at Armstrong House.
“Has it changed?” asked Victoria, coming from around the side of the car and resting against his arm.
“No, it hasn’t changed, not one tiny bit,” he said.
The front door opened and the family came rushing out to greet them. Charles and Arabella stayed in the drawing room, looking out the window.
“The prodigal son returns,” said Charles.
“Harrison isn’t a prodigal son – I’m sure he’s never done anything wayward in his life,” said Arabella.
Charles turned to her. “Aren’t you going out to greet your boyfriend?”
“And aren’t you going out to greet your brother?” She fixed him with a look.
As Arabella heard everyone come into the hall, she went and sat down and tried to compose herself. A few seconds later the drawing room door opened and in came Margaret with Harrison and Victoria, followed by the rest of the family.
Harrison stopped suddenly as he saw Arabella sitting on a Queen Anne chair and Charles standing beside her.
Victoria saw the stern look on Harrison’s face and she quickly took in the couple already in the room. She suddenly broke away from the others, smiling as she crossed the room.
“Hello, I’m Victoria,” she said very warmly. “You must be Charles and Arabella.”
“Yes,” Arabella managed, the impact of seeing Harrison again only hitting her now.
“Welcome to Armstrong House,” said Charles.
“I was so looking forward to meeting you both – it’s unfortunate it’s not under happier circumstances,” said Victoria. She reached forward and kissed Charles on the cheek and then bent down and did the same to Arabella.
It was such a tender kind kiss that Arabella suddenly felt like crying.
Victoria turned around to the others. “Harrison, come and greet Charles and Arabella.”
Harrison nodded and slowly walked across the room.
“Charles,” he said on reaching them.
“Welcome home, Harrison,” said Charles and he put out his hand.
Harrison viewed the hand and for a moment it looked as if he would ignore it. But to everybody’s relief he took the hand and shook it.
Harrison then looked at Arabella.
“It’s good to see you again, Harrison,” said Arabella evenly.
Harrison nodded and bent down and kissed her cheek.
“You must be hungry – I’ll get Fennell to bring in something for you immediately,” said Margaret. “Of course we didn’t know when exactly to expect you so we are not quite prepared . . .”
“Oh, please excuse us,” said Victoria, registering the mild complaint from her hostess. “We really should have sent a telegram along the way. We docked the day before yesterday and set out to drive up here, staying in little Irish hotels on the way. As for food, we had a hearty breakfast this morning – rashers and sausages and this amazing thing called black pudding! So hearty I could hardly eat a bite when we stopped for lunch. So we can certainly last till dinner!”
Fennell came rushing into the room looking panic-stricken. “My lady, the doctor said you’re to come at once to his lordship.”
Margaret turned and began to walk quickly from the room, saying, “Harrison, quick, come with me, there mightn’t be much time.”
Everyone rushed out of the room, leaving Arabella alone. She stood up and walked over to the fireplace, her mind lost in thought after seeing Harrison again.
chapter 51
“It’s the end of an era,” said Margaret that evening as they all sat in the drawing room.
“That it is,” said Gwyneth, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief.
“I’m so sorry he didn’t get to see the new century in a couple of months. He was so looking forward to 1900, and seeing the twentieth century,” sighed Margaret.
“I’m just glad we got to see him in time,” said Harrison.
“First thing in the morning we’ll start sending the telegrams. It will be a very big funeral,” said Margaret.
“Where will the service be?” asked Victoria.
“In the village church,” said Margaret. “It probably won’t be big enough to hold everyone, but it’s tradition for the Armstrongs.”
For a man who was never an Armstrong, thought Charles.
There was much crying echoing around the house from the servants’ quarters.
“Why do they have to wail and bellow like that?” asked Charles irritably.
“Nobody mourns like Catholics,” said Margaret. “I went down earlier to give them words of comfort and they were all on their knees praying for Lawrence, bless them all.”
“He was obviously much loved by everyone,” said Victoria who was sitting on a couch holding Harrison’s hand tightly.
James had been sitting in the far corner, his eyes red from crying.
“At least they know how to mourn him, Charles!” James suddenly said angrily, causing everyone to look at him. “At least they cared about him, unlike you!”
“James, shut up, you’re being ridiculous,” snapped Charles.
“No, I’m not! I heard you shouting at him in the library the afternoon he collapsed. I heard the screaming match you were having!”
“James, you know nothing about it,” snapped Charles, looking over at Harrison and Victoria who were listening attentively.
“You were always having rows with him, causing him stress. You lost him his prize house in London with your deceit and your tricks, which he never recovered from. You killed him!”
“His heart killed him, you stupid boy!” shouted Charles.
“You killed him as much as if you’d drowned or shot him!” shouted James as he rushed from the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving everyone to look uncomfortably at each other.
“I’m sorry, Victoria, what must you think of us?” said Margaret eventually.
“Oh, I never think anything of anybody at times like this – people say things when they are distraught,” said Victoria with a reassuring smile.
“Poor James,” said Margaret. “He’s taken it very badly – they were very close, you know.”
“James will be lost without him,” Arabella said, unsettled by the things James had said about Charles.
Charles wanted to say so much about James in his own defence, but as he looked at Harrison and Victoria he knew their presence was stopping him.
Victoria stood up. “You know, I’m tired from all the driving – I think I need to go to bed.”
“Of course. In fact, I think we all need to go to bed – we have much to do over the next few days,” said Margaret, standing up.
Charles didn’t go to bed with the rest of them. He stayed up drinking into the night.
At about two he opened the front door and walked across the forecourt and stood staring out at the gardens below him and the lake stretching into the distance. It was now all his, he was the new Lord Armstrong. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see Arabella walking towards him.
She stood beside him. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”
“I suppose,” he agreed.
“What was James talking about? A row you had with Lawrence?”
