Page 81 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

He had heard from Mr Bland once, that he was on the trail of Jack Hubert, and hoped to track him down eventually. It reminded him again, forcibly, that he had not decided what to do about Hubert when he was found – for, indeed, what could be done? But he thrust that away to the back of his mind. For the moment, he just ached for the sound of her voice, for one kind look.

She did glance up, briefly and piercingly into his face. Then she looked away, and said, in an almost normal voice, ‘Mr Crooks said you were going to the funeral tomorrow. Is that right?’

‘Yes. Felt I ought to pay my respects. He didn’t have the happiest of lives.’

‘Living in a grand house surrounded by his own land, you mean? That would be hard.’

‘There’s more than one sort of hard,’ Sebastian said. ‘He inherited his father’s debts, and had to struggle to keep the bailiffs out of that grand house, while watching it gradually falling to bits. And it couldn’t have been easy, being married to my niece,’ he added.

A faint quirk of a smile touched her lips. ‘You mustn’t say such things to me, sir. It’s not proper.’

‘I know you won’t repeat it. And must it be “sir”?’

‘It’s easier for me,’ she said bluntly. She sighed. ‘At least he was married. And had two children. For some, that would be a blessing.’

He wanted to say to her then, ‘I’m doing something about it! Just be patient a while longer!’ But what, what, what could he do? As long as Hubert lived, she could not marry him. If he could somehow ensure Hubert would never come after her, and somehow convince her that he wouldn’t, would she consent to live with him unmarried? He could sell the house in Henley and they could go somewhere no-one knew them, and live quietly, out of the public gaze. He had sufficient income to make them comfortable, and to provide for her after he had gone. Would she accept that? Or would she feel lessened even by the suggestion? He didn’t know. But at present he couldn’t even put it to her. He must confront Jack Hubert first, and he hadn’t the least idea how that was to be done, what arguments might work with him. Unlike Christian, he must tackle Apollyon before he could rest and refresh himself at the House of the Palace Beautiful.

For now, all he could say was, ‘I’m sorry.’ He meant it, on so many levels.

‘It’s not your fault,’ she said quickly, putting out a hand as if to touch him, but snatching it back before he could take it. She hesitated, and then said quietly, ‘You’ve given me so much already. More than you know. Don’t be unhappy – sir.’ And she hurried away along the passage before he could say anything more.

It was a day of heartbreaking beauty, blue and gold, sweetly warm. The trees towered in their summer glory, stirred by soft airs; the gentle rounded hills of Dorset were freckled with browsing sheep; the hedges were busy with birds. It seemed all wrong to Alice to be burying someone on such a day (her father’s funeral had taken place in proper January weather, with bare dripping trees and weeping skies.) At the graveside, she looked up at the perfect sky and thought how sad it would be to leave the world in June, the loveliest month. Then she found it was possible after all to weep for her brother-in-law, whom she had known so little.

At the graveside Linda, stiff-backed and unapproachable in her well-worn blacks and heavy veil, was simply enduring, waiting for it to be over. But as the coffin was lowered, she suddenly remembered that Cordwell’s father had also died in a shooting accident. Once, early in the marriage, when they had still exchanged intimacies, Gerald had confided to her that he sometimes suspected his father had deliberately shot himself because of his debts. Gerald’s mother had still been alive then, and Linda had asked her about it. She had said that it had definitely been an accident. It had been witnessed: he had been out shooting with friends, had stepped backwards to take a shot, tripped, and the shot had gone wild. Linda had never discussed it again with Gerald. Now she was wondering if the suspicion had remained with him all his life, buried at the back of his mind. Had he, at the end, seen it as an example, as the proper thing to do? Oh, Gerald, you fool! She had a sudden overwhelming sense of his loneliness, and for the first and last time, tears prickled her eyes.

Afterwards, back at Holme Manor, Cordwell proved to have had many more friends than Linda had suspected, for all his neighbours came, and spoke warmly of him. The Cordwells were an old family and had been at Holme Manor for hundreds of years, and for most of that time it had been a prosperous place. They had done much good locally, opening a village school, building alms houses, and endowing the church. St Mary’s, Frome Monkton, was tiny, and of Saxon plainness, but it boasted four very fine stained-glass windows that had been donated by Gerald’s grandfather; around the walls there were many marble and alabaster plaques and memorials to Cordwells of former ages, going back to the mediaeval; and two tattered flags hanging from the beams on the decani side reminded the congregation of Cordwells who had given their lives for their country at Sebastopol and Waterloo.

It was good, Alice thought, to remember that Gerald Cordwell was not just Linda’s rather beleaguered husband, but the scion of an ancient house. She thought of little Arthur, bumping about in the saddle on Goosebumps’ back as she led him in a riding lesson, and wondered what there would be for him when he grew up. She gathered it would not be much.

Uncle Sebastian came over to her and said, ‘Very pensive, m’dear?’

‘I was just thinking about Arthur, and all this.’ She waved a hand.

‘Ah yes. It’s a sad situation.’

‘What will happen to him and Arabella?’

‘From what I’ve heard your mother say, I imagine they’ll come and live at the Castle.’ He gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I know they’ve rather been left on your hands on past visits.’

‘Oh – well – I don’t really mind . . . not too much,’ she said awkwardly. It seemed unkind to express reluctance at a time like this.

‘You’re a good girl,’ Sebastian said. ‘But you shouldn’t be forced into the role of childminder. I shall talk to Kitty and Giles about it. If the children are to live permanently at Ashmore, they must have a governess. And, in time, Arthur must go to school and be put in the way of a career. It’s a serious responsibility. You can’t just take in orphans and then ignore them.’

‘Like Jane Eyre,’ she said, ‘and Mrs Reed.’

‘Kitty and Giles will do the right thing, I’m sure, however much—’ He stopped short.

Alice wondered whether that sentence would have ended however much they dislike Linda, or however much it costs.

He began again. ‘Now, there’s a very fine buffet laid out for us over there. I think we ought to go and sample it, don’t you?’

‘Yes, especially as Giles has had to pay for it all twice over,’ said Alice, falling in beside him as they crossed the room. ‘I heard Linda telling Richard he’d had to pay the tradesmen’s bills before they’d provide anything.’

Some flakes of plaster descended gently onto Sebastian’s sleeve, and he brushed them off with a glance upwards. ‘I hope the house remains standing until tomorrow, at least.’ They were staying the night there.

‘But if it does fall down,’ Alice said, ‘at least it’s warm enough outside to sleep in the garden.’

‘How practical you are,’ Sebastian said admiringly.