Secrets of Nanreath Hall Read online

  Chapter 14

  August 1914

  Just past seven in the evening, I stepped out onto Campden Street in time to admire the end of another perfect August day of breezy blue skies and picnic temperatures. A brief shower had passed, leaving puddles on the pavement, and the air smelled fresh with just the hint of an overnight chill to come. I scanned the street, shading my eyes against the lowering sun, feeling the pinch of taut shoulders and a decided crick in my lower back.

  The rest of the female students at the Byam had ended their classes at four, but I had stayed behind, hoping to add to the household accounts with a modeling job. For the last three hours, I’d been dressed in a scant drapery of raw linen with a crown that weighed at least a stone crammed onto my head while a gentleman painted me down to the dimples in my elbows and the curve of my white thigh where it emerged tantalizingly from the sheer fabric.

  Arms outstretched, my right hand gripping an enormous spear, my hair streaming behind in a red tangled wave, I portrayed the battle queen Boudicca riding forth to meet her enemies. The final product—after horses, chariot, and suitable background carnage were painted in—would be used as an enlistment poster. The Red-Haired Wanton was going to war—or at least urging others to fight for king and country. Mother would be apoplectic.

  A taxicab slid to the curb, the driver opening the door for a tall, elegant infantry officer who emerged with a brush of his hair from his brow before he resettled his cap. “Hallo, Kitty old girl,” he said, as if we’d only parted that morning rather than nearly a year ago. “Care for a lift?”

  “William!” I leaped at him, staggering him off balance and knocking his cap askew before he recovered and returned my embrace. He wore his usual sandalwood cologne, but beyond that, he smelled of starch and soap, and perhaps even a hint of lilacs, Mother’s perennial scent. “It’s been ages, not even a letter to let me know how you were getting on,” I said as he detached himself limb by limb until he stood before me unfettered. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hoping to take you to dinner.” He cleared his throat, suddenly looking horribly young and uncertain. “I was in town for a few days, but I’m due to report back to my regiment tonight. I wanted to see you before I left.”

  “I didn’t even know you’d enlisted.” I tried to keep the hurt from my voice.

  He gave a careless dip of his shoulder. “Bit of a hectic spring, really. No time for chatty letters.”

  “Of course. I understand.” I blinked away the mist forming at the edges of my vision and stepped back, taking him in head to toe. “Good heavens, you look quite dapper in uniform. The women will be throwing themselves at you.”

  Delight glittered for a moment in his eyes. “I took the plunge when word first came that things might heat up. Father was livid and Mother wept buckets, but it seemed like the right thing to do; really the only thing to do.” His eyes dimmed briefly before brightening once more. “It’s been mostly camping out and marching with a smattering of rifle practice tossed in. Like a boy’s summer camp more than the buildup to battle.” He jangled the change in his pocket. “So, are you on for dinner? I thought Maxim’s in Piccadilly Circus.”

  My shoulders tensed. Unlike the elegant Les Lauriers or the respectable Queen’s Hotel, Maxim’s had a reputation as a discreet rendezvous for a less than spotless clientele. Was this my brother’s way of protecting me from the hostile, condemning stares of society—or himself? “I don’t know, William. I’m hardly dressed for an evening out.”

  “Won’t matter. They’re not nearly so stodgy as the usual places. It’s what made me think of it.”

  The growl of my stomach overcame the uncomfortable feeling squirreling my shoulder blades, and I shook off my misgivings. I’d missed William too much to pass a chance to spend even a few hours in his company. Besides, Simon was away on his quarterly visit to his family in Lincoln and not due back until tomorrow. “I’d love to.”

  The taxi ride around Hyde Park and up Piccadilly to Wardour Street took barely enough time to get us through the stilted commonplaces such as weather—lovely; London—crowded; and the spreading war in Europe—unavoidable, before we were stepping out onto the street in front of the restaurant’s white facade with its funny domed turret.

  I couldn’t help the shiver of pride as my handsome brother escorted me into the crowded brass and palm interior. Red-shaded lamps lit each table and the deep carpet was a matching rose color. A band played on an upper balcony. Slick military officers of every stripe packed the place, most escorted by fashionably attired women wearing an air of recklessness along with their lavish perfumes and gaudy jewelry. I smoothed my hands down my simple dark blue skirt before resting them in my lap, unsure of where to place them, unsure of where I belonged.

  Our orders were taken, and we were left alone, silent and suddenly uncomfortable with each other in a way we had never been.

  “Are you . . .”

  “Are they . . .”

  We spoke over each other in our haste to fill the deafening void.

  Tiny smile lines crinkled the corners of William’s eyes. “I hope Mr. Halliday won’t be alarmed when you . . . I mean you are still . . .”

  “Living with him?” I straightened my spine, refusing to be ashamed. “You can say it, William. Lightning won’t strike you down.”

  “No . . . no. I expect it won’t.”

  “We have a small flat above a shop in Ralston Street. Simon hopes to take over the downstairs lease in the New Year and convert it to a studio and gallery. I’m studying at the Byam and working. It’s been amazing, William. I’m in control of my life for the first time ever. I’m not merely a puppet or a piece on a board to be pushed about by others.”

  “Jolly good.” William twirled the stem of his wineglass, unable to meet my eyes. Our dinners were placed in front of us. Roast lamb and mint sauce for William and capon for me with a lovely side of crisp potatoes and green peas. I tried not to gobble my food, but I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the aroma of duck fat and rosemary was nearly overpowering. Afterward, dessert was ordered and another bottle of wine. William sat back, eyeing me cautiously. Small lines tightened his mouth, and he fidgeted nervously with his napkin.

  “I’m glad you’ve found happiness, Kitty, really I am, but frankly, things just aren’t the same without you around.”

  “I’m sure Mama and Papa are quite happy to pretend I never existed.”

  “Not true. In fact, though she’d never admit it, I think Mother misses you. Cynthia’s ensconced herself in Cornwall with a nonstop string of friends to keep her company. She rarely even comes up to London anymore except to shop. Father’s been practically living at the Foreign Office, and Amelia’s staying with a friend in Lucerne all summer. I wonder if she’ll ever come back after leading such a glamorous life abroad.”

  “And you’ve been playing soldier.”

  His eyes flashed to meet mine. “It seemed the right thing to do. Cynthia says I’ll more than likely put a bullet through my foot or catch my death sleeping in a drafty tent and where will that leave her and the baby? I tried reassuring her, but well . . . it’s just easier to let her have her head than argue.”

  Here was my chance to bring up Cynthia and the man I’d seen her with in St. James’s Park. I waited for our server to leave our pudding and depart before I summoned the nerve to speak. “Perhaps she’s just lonely. You’ve been gone so much, William. It can’t be good for a couple to live such separate lives.”

  “I don’t know. Plenty of marriages thrive on less, and it seems to suit us both.”

  “But what about Hugh? He probably doesn’t even recognize you.”

  “He’s a baby, Kitty.”

  “He won’t be one forever. He needs his father. You should go home to Nanreath, William. Enjoy this time with Cynthia and the baby before—”

  “Enough, Kitty.” He smacked his hand on the table, making the glassware jump. I felt as if the whole restaurant was staring at us. “Do you really t
hink a woman living in sin with a man should be the one doling out marriage advice? Leave it alone.”

  I’d never been spoken to like that; not by William. I focused on my pudding, flushed and hurt. “You’re right, of course,” I mumbled.

  Contrition flooded his face. “Damn it, I’m sorry. Let’s not spend what time we have together arguing. Who knows when I’ll see you again?”

  I pushed my melting Glace Chantilly around my bowl. “Do you really think the war, if it comes, will last more than a few months?”

  He sighed, seemingly as relieved to change the subject as I was. “It’s not if it comes, but when. The British have given Germany an ultimatum. If they don’t comply with our demands, we’ll be standing with France and the rest of them against the Kaiser and his allies.”

  “You sound as if you want to go.”

  “I don’t want to fight . . . I certainly don’t want to die, but I have to do what’s right. After the initial row, Father agreed, though he may just be seeing the political advantage to having an heir in uniform. Mother keeps going on about the tailoring and loading me up with supplies for the front, as if I’ll ever use a fur waistcoat or a sleeping helmet. I think she’s under the impression we’ll be doing our fighting in a Paris ballroom.”

  “Sounds perfectly mother-like. But ballroom or battlefield, you’ll be brilliant wherever you are.”

  “I hope so.”

  We finished our meal in pleasant if self-conscious accord. William laughed and joked and chatted about his time abroad and his new life in the army. I offered him amusing anecdotes about my fellow art students and Miss Ferndale-Branch’s eccentricities as an employer. He didn’t speak about Cynthia. I avoided talk of Simon. It wasn’t until we were standing on the pavement outside that the wall between us crumbled for a brief moment. “Are you all right, Kitty? Truly?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt or . . . unhappy.”

  “But that’s just it. I’m not unhappy. In fact, I’ve never been more gloriously content in my life. I’m sorry for the way things turned out, but not sorry I left. Simon loves me.”

  William’s face was grave, his voice quiet but questing. “If he loves you, why hasn’t he married you?”

  A familiar pang twisted my innards, but I’d not burden William with my growing unease. He had enough to worry over without adding me to his list. “I wouldn’t say you’re exactly a poster for matrimonial bliss, brother dear.”

  He responded with a snort that told me I’d cut close to the truth.

  “Perhaps given time, things will change between the two of you, especially now that you have Hugh.”

  “Right. Hugh. He does change things, doesn’t he?” William said with a puzzling ambiguity, then he took my hand in his own. “I only want your happiness, Kitty.”

  I stood on my toes and brushed a sisterly kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be fine. Promise. You concentrate on staying safe and coming home.”

  It ended the conversation as I hoped it would, and no more was said about Simon or my unorthodox lifestyle. Still, long after William dropped me at my flat, his question haunted me. I had always allowed Simon his avoidance. It was easier than arguing. Besides, I was too taken up with my work, my art, and my new freedom to want to change anything at all about our relationship, or so I told myself. But growing doubts crept into the empty side of my bed where Simon normally slept, and by the time I rose bleary-eyed the next morning, I had convinced myself to hash things out with him once and for all—no excuses.

  I didn’t have long to wait. I heard Simon’s footsteps on the stairs as I spooned sugar into my morning tea and nibbled a piece of buttered toast. My stomach clenched, and I closed my hand to keep it from trembling. I hadn’t been this nervous since confronting my mother in the park that long-ago autumn, a comparison I found disconcerting.

  He burst into the room, bringing with him the pungent smells of train soot and bus exhaust, burnt coffee and damp socks. His face shone with excitement, his black eyes snapping, and I had a moment’s shame for thinking ill of him as I awaited his marriage proposal. “Have you heard the news, Kitty love? It’s official. We’re at war.”

  Chapter 15

  May 1941

  Despite the black news of the war, spring still came to the English countryside. Fields and high moorland meadows became a sea of wildflowers, and the trees burst into an artist’s palette of pinks, yellows, and whites. The icy coastal gales softened to soggy gray drenches that left the landscape veiled behind a slanted misty curtain or trapped in a blanketing fog.

  Anna was both amazed and relieved when a letter arrived from Mrs. Willits, recounting the bombing that had left her homeless—again. Seeing it as an omen, she’d promptly returned to London, and only now been settled enough to send word. Anna wrote back immediately, barely able to contain her joy at this unexpected resurrection. It gave her hope there might be similar news from Sophie’s Lieutenant Douglas, whose whereabouts continued to be unknown.

  Sophie continued to do her work, but there was a new vacancy to her gaze and a bleakness to her smile. She rarely joined Tilly and Anna for evenings of sherry and gossip anymore. Her thoughts of an overseas posting were abandoned. The beautiful red dress remained packed away at the bottom of her trunk.

  “I’m worried about her, Anna. She’s barely eating enough to keep a bird alive and I know she’s not sleeping. It’s been months since Charles—”

  “Don’t say it, Tilly. He’s not dead. He’s missing. And until we hear otherwise, that’s all it is. He’ll turn up. We have to believe it so Sophie will believe it.”

  Now that winter’s rush of measles, scarlet fever, and influenza patients had been discharged, there was time for a walk into the village of an evening. Tilly and Anna sat at a smoky corner table in the pub, pints of bitter between them. Sophie had declined their invitation, as she declined all their attempts at breaking through the bleak resignation in which she’d wrapped herself.

  “Sophie’s not a fool,” Tilly argued, lighting a cigarette with Marlene Dietrich sophistication. The tweedy farmer sitting at the bar nearly swallowed his tongue. “Even if he’s alive, he’s most likely in some German prisoner of war camp.”

  “But alive and well and with the hope of return.” Anna scowled. “Say it.”

  Tilly sighed, her gaze floating past Anna’s shoulder to the pair of airmen just now coming through the door. “Alive and well and with the hope of return.”

  “Not exactly with conviction, but it’ll have to do.”

  Tilly straightened, a smile curving her red lips as she flashed Anna a sidelong look. “Look who just wandered in. Tony dreamboat Lambert and some chaps from the airfield.”

  Anna’s head snapped around to spy his familiar broad shoulders and sun-bronzed face as he pushed his way through toward their table. Her stomach did that little flip-flop it always did when she saw him, and her heart sped up.

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  “Please do.” Tilly eyed him up and down as if he were a three-course meal. “I was beginning to think we’d wasted our evening. Nothing but boys and old men here tonight.”

  “And every single one of them would crawl over themselves to buy you a drink,” Anna teased.

  Tilly smirked. “There is that. Perhaps I’ll test your theory out on that cute mechanic over by the dart board. Ta, ducks.” She rose with a feline grace that quieted conversation as all eyes watched her saunter her way across the room.

  “She’s incorrigible,” Tony commented, watching Tilly in action. “That poor chap doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “She’s honest and uncomplicated. I wish I had half her courage.”

  “You have a different sort of bravery, I think.” He sipped at his beer.

  The evening crowd thickened as airmen from St. Eval mixed with the local population. Across the room, Hugh ducked beneath the lintel, his golden head like a beacon in the dim, smoky interior. He came alon
e, though that didn’t last as a small group coalesced around him, the women flirting, the men laughing at his ribald jokes.

  “Lord Melcombe—the life of every party,” Tony said, placing the glass in front of her. “I just hope I don’t have to carry him home tonight. I’m growing weary of babysitting, and Lady Boxley’s gotten wise to me. The last time I brought him home, I had to hide in the shrubbery for ten minutes. Now I know how a fox must feel as the hounds bear down.”

  “He looks like he’s found a new minder.”

  Tilly had abandoned her mechanic, and now she and Hugh sat at the bar, laughing over drinks. Anna watched as Hugh’s arm came round Tilly’s shoulder. She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling.

  “You needn’t worry, you know,” Tony commented. “Hugh’s a charmer, but he’s not a rake. He’ll not let things get out of hand.”

  “Won’t he?” She sipped at her beer. “You think Tilly will stop him? She’s half in love with the sod.”

  “I think Tilly’s smarter than you give her credit for. She knows Hugh’s game and plays it twice as well.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right. You worry too much. If it’s not Sophie, it’s Tilly or Hugh. If I weren’t such a cocky bastard, I’d be jealous.”

  “You needn’t be,” she said softly.

  He covered her hand with his own. She let it rest there for a moment before sliding free. Her throat went dry, her nerves jumping. He released her without comment, but his second pint went down much faster. “Now that you’re back, have you managed to pry loose any of Nanreath’s secrets?”

  “Oh, just a little something . . . like . . . maybe . . . the name of my father.” She eyed him with a proud smile.

  His stare focused with a new intensity. “Did you?”

  “His name was Simon Halliday. I had my suspicions, but Lady Boxley confirmed it.”

  “You finally spoke to her.”

  “It was more like a royal audience, but yes.”

  “What else did she tell you?”

  “He and my mother met when he came here one summer to assist with portraits of the last earl’s daughters and Her Ladyship. According to her, he was brash, arrogant, and without scruples.”