‘I really don’t mind.’
‘The blooms are not at their best at this time of the year, of course, but their scent lingers. And it should be cooler there than on the terrace.’
‘I am happy to walk wherever you choose.’
She knew she sounded ungracious and, for a moment, regretted it. The afternoon had been difficult enough and she had just lobbed a hand grenade into the genteel assembly. Not that she was sorry about that. Genteel it might be, but thoroughly false. Now, though, she was being curmudgeonly to this perfectly pleasant man, who was guilty only of trying to smooth the feathers she’d ruffled, including her own. He must be finding the situation as trying as she. She stole a sideways glance at him, seeing the greying at his temple and the creases around his mouth. She wondered about his past and what kind of life he had led. She couldn’t ask. That would be to enquire of his dead wife, an intrusion as insensitive as it was ill mannered. In turn, he couldn’t ask her what he must want to know. Why had she seemed willing to contemplate marriage with a widower, but appeared now to be decidedly against such a union? Politeness held them in its iron band.
‘Do you get up to London often?’ she asked at last, unable to maintain her froideur.
‘Very little these days. My wife loved the social whirl, but since her death I’ve hardly been to town. I’ve thrown myself into managing my estate instead. It may be small but there’s a constant need for oversight.’
The subject was in the open after all. ‘You didn’t share your wife’s enjoyment of London then?’
‘I was content enough to accompany her whenever she fancied a trip to town. What made Lavinia happy made me happy, too.’ Then seeming to sense he might have been clumsy, he said, ‘But you, Miss Summer. You must often be in London.’
‘I’ve only made one visit. Last year – I was presented at Court.’
‘A rare honour. How did you find the experience?’
They had reached the rose arbour and he stood back to allow her to pass through the stone arch, but, once inside, the sense of abandonment hit her hard. The garden was in disarray. Weeds tumbled between bushes, and the roses themselves looked old and weary, their petals a trifle ragged, as though they had grown tired of waiting for a human touch.
When they were again walking side by side along the path that bordered the arbour, she answered his question.
‘I found London frantic and the presentation tedious.’ She would be honest. What had she to lose? To her surprise, he laughed out loud.
‘If being presented at Court was tedious, what do you make of today?’
‘Family events are never exactly riveting, are they?’
She’d brushed away his question, but he had no intention of allowing the subject to drop. It was clear he wanted to discuss what had led them both to Amberley on this sunny afternoon. ‘I’m afraid this feels very awkward for you – this meeting with me.’
She blushed very slightly. ‘It’s as awkward for you.’
‘I’m an old warrior. Nothing much fazes me these days. But you are still very young, at the beginning of your life. Back there—’ and he jerked his head in the direction of the house ‘—I was worried you’d been brought here as a sacrificial lamb.’
It was her turn to laugh out loud. ‘I don’t think I’d ever be a sacrificial anything. In fact, I rather think I’d be the one wielding the knife.’ They’d paused beside a splendid Damask rose and she smelt its heavy drenching perfume fill the air around them.
‘And what knife are you wielding this afternoon, apart from decimating your uncle?’
‘That doesn’t count. I’ve yet to start. I haven’t quite decided where.’
‘My goodness, that alone sends me trembling.’
She looked up at him, seeing the slight twist to his mouth. ‘I’m sure it doesn’t. But it might make you reconsider whatever plans you had in mind when you came here.’
‘Reconsider? You mean, make my escape while the going is good.’
She liked him. He was candid and direct. ‘I could give you a flavour of what you’ve escaped,’ she offered.
‘I’m intrigued.’
‘Well, I could quote Emmeline Pankhurst at you: “If it is right for men to fight for their freedom, and God knows what the human race would be like today if men had not, then it is right for women to fight for their freedom and the freedom of the children they bear.”’
‘Impressive. So you’re a suffragette?’
‘In thought only.’
‘It might be best to stick to thought. I believe that even ladies of good family are landing in prison these days.’
‘That’s not what worries me. It’s that I don’t approve of some of their actions,’ she said judicially. ‘Trying to get into Buckingham Palace to mount a demonstration seems sensible to me, but what is the point of slashing the “Rokeby Venus”?’
‘Or of dying beneath a horse’s hooves?’
‘Exactly. It doesn’t invalidate their demands though.’
‘And that is the vote. But do you want it? Many women don’t, you know.’
‘I want equality and a vote is part of that. I want the freedom to decide my own life, just as you and most other men do.’
‘It’s a noble aim but I fear it will be some time coming.’
Her face puckered. ‘I’m not sure. The suffragettes are stepping up their actions all the time. Something will have to give.’
‘Yes, I know. Planting bombs and burning churches. But they’re likely to be overtaken by larger events. Strife in Europe is what will do for them. The government will be too intent on keeping us safe from that whirlwind to have much time for votes for women.’
‘You agree with my father then? You think that Britain will become involved in whatever trouble is brewing?’
‘Not if Asquith has any say in it. But our country is bound by treaty to intervene if Belgium is attacked, and there’s no knowing how present troubles in Europe will be resolved.’
She felt a shadow grasp at her and was unsure of what it meant. These last few hours the gloom of war seemed to have come closer, a strange echo of her family’s unhappiness and the darkness of her own future.
‘Elizabeth.’ Her mother’s voice sounded from a distance, and then Alice’s figure appeared framed in the stone archway, her head bobbing this way and that as she tried to locate her daughter.
‘I’m here, Mama.’
Her mother moved along the path towards them, seeming more flustered than when they’d left her. ‘I hope you will excuse us, Mr Audley,’ she said, ‘but my husband is wishful to leave.’
‘Giles, not Mr Audley, please,’ he said. ‘We are cousins, are we not? And you must have known me as a small boy.’
‘I did… Giles… very briefly. And now we have renewed our acquaintance, I hope we will see a great deal more of you.’ She looked up at him, raising her hand to shade her eyes against the late-afternoon sun hanging low in the sky. ‘Perhaps you would care to visit us at Summerhayes?’ Elizabeth noticed that her mother deliberately looked away from her. ‘You must come to dinner.’
‘I would be delighted,’ Giles Audley said, with a wide smile.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, Elizabeth walked out of the breakfast room and into an altercation. That in itself was not unusual, but this time it was her mother embroiled in argument with the head gardener. Mr Harris was in no mood to listen to Alice’s complaint that the house flowers had not been changed for three whole days. He was still fully occupied putting to rights the ravages visited on his beloved Summerhayes by the recent fair.
Her mother’s voice was developing a dangerous quaver and she thought it time to intervene. ‘I’m sure Mr Harris has a hundred and one things to think of, Mama. Why don’t I cut the flowers for you?’
‘It is not your place to do so, Elizabeth, and besides, it’s already growing hot and you shouldn’t be outside. Your complexion will suffer.’
‘I won’t be gone long and I’m n
ot so fragile that I can’t withstand a little sun. Mr Harris is very busy today and all I have to do is splash a little paint around.’ The flippancy was a betrayal of her art, but in the interests of peace it was a price worth paying.
Harris tipped his cap. ‘Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I’d be most obliged. The calla lilies are looking beautiful, ma’am. A vase in the hall would be splendid.’ Now he knew himself released from the pettifogging chore, he was eager to placate his mistress.
Elizabeth found her sun hat squashed behind several old jackets in the hall cupboard, then walked quickly down to the tool shed and selected what looked to be the sharpest pair of secateurs. There was just a chance that she might see Aiden on her way. But by the time she’d walked through avenues of dahlias and delphiniums and gladioli, she’d seen no one and could only suppose that the men were working by the lakeside or in the greenhouses to the east.
She had reached the calla lilies and stooped to begin her task, when the voices reached her. Even from this distance, one had a familiar ring. She straightened up again, screwing her eyes against the sun and made out two blurred figures walking through the arch of the Wilderness and into the walled garden. As they drew nearer, she could see that one of the figures belonged to Giles Audley. She hadn’t been wrong about the voice. But what was he doing here so early in the morning and completely unannounced?
He shook his companion’s hand and turned to walk along one of the gravel paths that bisected the walled garden. He was evidently making his way to the house. But when he saw her standing watching him, he paused, and then came on towards her. She thought he looked a little sheepish as though caught out in some minor mischief.
‘Good morning, Miss Summer. You’re at work early, I see.’
‘And you too, Mr Audley. This is a surprise. I didn’t hear the door knocker or I would have accompanied you down to the garden.’
‘I didn’t knock. I’m afraid, I’m something of an intruder,’ he said guiltily. ‘I came from Amberley, through the back way.’
She was puzzled. ‘The back way?’
‘There’s an old path, did you not know? It’s become a little overgrown now but it’s still passable. It leads to a disused entrance to the lower part of this estate. I think it must have been blocked at one time, but the brickwork has crumbled here and there. The path comes out just behind the lake, in the middle of the trees, in fact.’
She took some minutes to digest this. She’d had no idea there was any way into Summerhayes from the lower end of the estate and she was pretty sure that none of her family had either. And what about Harris and his men? Were they aware? At times this summer, she’d felt a disquiet she couldn’t explain and now it grew more intense.
‘I’m sorry, I can see I’ve startled you. I don’t usually pay calls in this irregular fashion. I do hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.’
‘You have surprised me,’ she admitted. ‘But why come that way?’
‘I wanted to catch Simmonds before he went off on his day’s travels, and I knew he’d be working there.’
‘You need Mr Simmonds? You need an architect? Are you building a temple, too?’
His laugh was a trifle self-conscious. ‘Nothing like that. It just seems like a good time to refurbish Wych Hall – that’s my home – and your father recommended Simmonds. I thought it sensible to speak to him while I’m in the district.’
‘What’s wrong with Wych Hall?’ She knew she sounded suspicious, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘There’s nothing wrong with the house. It’s just a little tired, I suppose. My wife has been dead ten years and to be honest I’ve done very little with it since. I let it out while I was abroad and my tenants were a bit careless, and since I’ve been back in Sussex, all my energies have gone into setting the estate on its feet.’
‘So what has brought on this flurry of housekeeping?’
Her suspicions were mounting. Perhaps Audley’s desire to refurbish his house was a genuine impulse. Or perhaps it was something more. Before the tea party at Amberley, she’d hoped he wouldn’t like her. But he had, and their ease with each other in the rose garden could have misled him into thinking that, despite her bold words on female freedom, she was willing to contemplate marriage. On top of which, there was the dinner her mother had promised. The space in which she moved seemed to have got smaller these last few hours. Had Aiden been right then in saying her life had already been mapped out and she would have little say in it?
But there was nothing in his expression to suggest subterfuge. ‘It’s simple enough,’ he said easily. ‘It was seeing other people’s homes and realising how shabby I’ve allowed mine to become. I’ve the money after all, to make the place a great deal more comfortable, so why on earth don’t I do it?’
If Amberley were his standard, Wych Hall must be shabby indeed. And was that a hint that if she married him there would be no lack of money? As if he knew what was passing in her mind, he said, ‘Amberley is a little old fashioned but it’s very agreeable. And your father was keen to show me what he’s done at Summerhayes. I understand your house is very modern.’
‘Bang up to the minute,’ she agreed. ‘And Papa will be delighted to give you the conducted tour. Make sure you admire the stained glass – it’s everywhere, but he’s particularly proud of the panels in the dining room. They illustrate the seasons and are quite beautiful. Oh, and the inglenook fireplace in the drawing room. The tiles are William de Morgan’s. But don’t praise too heavily when my mother’s around. She prefers her old family home, but tries to keep it a secret.’
‘I could see yesterday how much she loved Amberley. Her gaze was never still. I gather she hasn’t been back to the house since she left to be married.’
He was diplomatic, she’d give him that. ‘Things have been a little difficult between the families,’ she said, practising her own diplomacy.
‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Your uncle is a forceful character.’
‘As is my father. It doesn’t make for peace. But I hope you won’t let Uncle Henry bully you.’
‘There’s no chance of that. No one persuades me into anything I don’t want.’
Was that a message for her? Was she what he wanted? She’d hoped that her lack of interest had been clear, but the warmth of his smile suggested otherwise. Things were moving too quickly and the sooner he left the district, the better.
‘Are you staying long at Amberley?
‘I arranged to stay a few days, but I’m thinking now that I might extend my visit. Your aunt and uncle have no objection and it will give me a chance to consult with Mr Simmonds properly. Shall we walk up to the house together?’
‘You must excuse me for the moment. I still have flowers to cut for Mama.’
‘I hope we may meet later then.’ He smiled a goodbye and walked towards the pergola. She watched him as he disappeared from view. Things were definitely moving far too quickly.
*
She escaped from the house as early that evening as she dared. William had been persuaded to take another message and now, shadow-like, she stole through the garden. The peacocks roosting in the trees that bordered the lawn chattered irritably. It was a mystery to her why her father insisted on keeping such bad-tempered birds. It could only be to lend Summerhayes an aristocratic air. As swiftly as she could, she glided past, anxious for them not to begin their loud calling.
She could feel her body ache with tension. Would Aiden be at their meeting place? She wasn’t sure he would come. She’d discovered from talking to Joe that he had gone that afternoon to the sculptor’s studio to help load the carved reliefs that would hang on the interior walls of the temple. It was fatiguing work and he might choose to go back to Mrs Boxall’s indifferent cooking rather than return to Summerhayes. He must certainly be out of charity with her, after she’d run from him in anger. More than anything now, she wished that she hadn’t. He had spoken the truth as he saw it, and after this morning’s encounter with Giles Audley, she had
begun to share that truth. She should not have taken such quick offence. But she had felt insecure, her nerves jangled by fear of the coercion she might meet at Amberley. Fear that, despite her brave words, she would not be strong enough to resist the pressure brought to bear by her family.
Audley’s visit today had increased that fear. He was a pleasant man, someone with whom she could talk easily and honestly. Not a man who would bully or harass her into something she did not want. He had been charmingly frank about his late wife. It was evident he’d loved her dearly and she might well be the reason for his wishing to remarry, for there were no children to consider. He had been happy in his marriage and it was clear that he hoped to repeat that happiness. But it would not be with her. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. He was a distinguished-looking man. And it wasn’t that she had thought him out of sympathy with her – quite the opposite. But none of that mattered when her heart was leading her elsewhere.
He was in the summerhouse, looking out across the lake, and must have caught the sound of her skirt on the paving because he jumped up and came swiftly towards her.
‘I’m sorry.’ He reached out for her hand.
‘Isn’t it me who should be saying sorry? I flounced off like a silly schoolgirl.’
‘Well, yes.’ His face broke into a wide grin. ‘But you do flounce very well.’
Still holding her hand, he led her back to the wooden bench. For some minutes, they sat side by side, neither of them speaking. The slightest night breeze rippled the surface of the lake and there was a whispering in the trees. Now that she knew there was a hidden entrance not far distant, her discomfort grew. She must take Cornford to one side as soon as possible and ask him to block it. She would need to be discreet; if she announced the news at large, it would embarrass Giles Audley as a trespasser.
When Aiden spoke, his voice was serious. ‘I hope you’ll believe me when I say I had no wish to offend you, Elizabeth.’
‘I do believe you. And you were right in what you said. I think I knew it and that’s why I behaved badly. I was worried, fearful that I was walking into a trap.’
The Buttonmaker’s daughter Page 11
