Secrets of Nanreath Hall Page 18

  “You don’t sound as if you believe her.”

  “I should, I suppose, but I can’t. Something makes me believe there was more to it than that. He might have been all those things Lady Boxley claims, but I truly believe in his own way he must have loved my mother.” She pulled the rolled catalog from her bag and handed it to Tony with the page marked.

  “Bloody marvelous,” he said on a small, impressed gasp.

  “My father painted it.”

  “She’s . . . very beautiful.” He cocked her a shy smile. “Though she can’t hold a candle to her daughter.” He handed her back the catalog. “So why didn’t they marry and live happily-ever-after?”

  She picked at the table where the wood splintered under decades of wet glasses and dirty plates. “Sometimes love isn’t enough. Life gets in the way.”

  Forgive my love.

  Anna focused on her drink, the bar, the door—anywhere but at Tony. Tilly and Hugh had disappeared, their stools empty. A raucous game of darts in the corner drowned out conversation. Cigarette and pipe smoke burned her eyes, and she felt dizzy after so many beers on an empty stomach.

  “Want to get out of here?”

  She nodded.

  Outside, she inhaled the fresh, salty air. Clouds obscured the moon, and the street was barely a paler shadow among the thick, cloying dark. They passed a warden making his rounds and a doctor headed on a house call as they meandered down toward the sea, where the shingle crunched under their feet and the water slapped at the fishing boats moored at the harbor’s wall. “Why do you suppose she did it, Tony? What would make her pose in such a way for him?”

  “You said it yourself. She loved him.”

  “Fat lot of good that did her. Do you think she ever regretted her choice? Do you think she ever regretted . . . me?”

  He didn’t answer at once. But after a suitable weighty silence, he cleared his throat. “There were plenty of options for women who regretted their choices, Anna, but she did the best she could by you.” He ground out his cigarette under his heel. “I don’t think you can ever doubt she loved you very much.”

  They sat on the harbor wall, legs dangling above the water. Tony leaned back on his elbows to stare up at the sky. Anna enjoyed the comfort of his quiet presence. She’d come to rely on his friendship despite her intention to keep him at arm’s length.

  “I can’t get used to how dark it is out here,” she said. “I mean, London’s dark since the blackout, but it’s still different. Here, the sky seems so close and the stars . . . I’ve never seen so many.”

  “Do you know your constellations?”

  “Only the Big and Little Dippers, and Orion. His belt is an easy one.”

  She felt rather than saw Tony smile. “They’re up there.” He pointed above the horizon and off to their right. “Those two stars there are Castor and Pollux. They make up part of Gemini that sinks below the ocean there. And off to the left and above is Leo. See, you can just make out his head and follow it around. There’s the star Regulus and his body goes back from there.”

  Anna tried to follow his hand as it painted its way across the sky. The beers at the pub left her warm and relaxed as she listened to him explaining the stars and their positions. His voice held a deep, resonating certainty as he spoke. “My dad had a telescope when I was a kid. He was always dragging it out to show us lads what was what up there. Who knew it would come in so handy?”

  “Do you miss your family?”

  “It’s just my dad at home and old Mrs. Sinclair, our housekeeper, who keeps him in proper nabob style. One brother’s in the navy, the other working in RAF ops outside of London. My sister’s married and living in Edinburgh.” A shadow lay across his face like a crescent, his cheekbone honed to a knife edge. “I miss them, of course. But we’ll be together at some point, then I’ll wonder what I ever saw in the pesky lot of them.”

  Anna gave a soft laugh. “It must be wonderful to have such a big family. It was always just the three of us in Aldersgate. Now, well . . .” She tipped her palm up in a gesture of futility.

  “Now you have Hugh and Lady Boxley and mysterious Aunt Amelia and that wild daughter of hers. A whole different family.”

  Anna stared up into the sky and kept silent.

  Tony seemed to sense the wild sawing of her thoughts. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Lit one behind a cupped hand, the tip glowing against the dark. “The Lamberts are a noisy, uncivilized bunch. Dad’s the first generation who didn’t have to scrabble to make ends meet, and it shows. You should have seen the horrified faces when he’d turn up at my school’s prize day, speaking like a collier’s boolie. He did it on purpose, you know? He thought it was hilarious to shock a reaction from all the old money who looked down on him despite the fact he could buy them ten times over.” He chuckled under his breath. “My family argues and they’re messy and uncouth at times, but they’re a good lot. Solid, you know what I mean?”

  Anna lay back beside him, her hands behind her head, and smiled up at the milky trail of starlight. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  It was May, and Anna took advantage of the lovely warm spring afternoon to take a blanket, book, and flask of lemonade out onto the lawn. She settled beneath a greening elm tree, her back resting against the trunk, knees drawn up. Clouds pulled thin as candy floss spread across a milky blue sky. On days such as this, it was hard to believe men were fighting and dying and the world bucked and growled as it sought to tear itself apart.

  A nurse and soldier strolled arm in arm along the path leading toward the cliffs. She wore the same uniform as every other VAD, but the gleaming blond chignon and movie-star figure gave Tilly away. Anna was pleased to see her back to normal. She’d returned from a week’s leave far too quiet—at least for Tilly, and twice she’d turned down an evening at the pub. Anna hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Hugh, who’d been visiting London around the same time. Tony tried reassuring her, but she couldn’t help fearing that Tilly would be the one to suffer for Hugh’s increasing restlessness.

  A group of recovering patients played a game of cutthroat croquet on the lawn by the back terrace, the mingled, laughing voices of Lancashire and Perthshire, Isle of Dogs Cockney and flat Canadian drawl. Hardly more than boys, and when left to themselves reverting to young boys’ games and young boys’ vocabulary. If she were back home, she’d have been shocked by such crude vulgarities spoken within her hearing. Here and now, it was part of life, and the real vulgarity was playing out in the skies above her and on the far-off battlefields of North Africa.

  “Enjoying this fine afternoon, Nurse Trenowyth?”

  Anna looked up to find Captain Matthews at her elbow. “Sorry, sir. A million miles away.”

  “So it would seem,” he said with a genial smile. “I didn’t mean to intrude. A nurse’s half day off is too precious to use in chattering away with an old doctor.” He cleared his throat and ran a finger along his thin, pale mustache. “Matron says you have a real aptitude for nursing. That’s quite a compliment coming from her.”

  “I hope to continue my nurse’s training after the war, sir.”

  “A worthwhile goal. If you ever have need of my assistance in pursuing the field, let me know. I have contacts at St. Thomas’s in London that would be happy to put you in the way of a suitable posting.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  He shifted from foot to foot, swiped a hand through his thinning brown hair, and looked as if he wished to share her blanket but was unsure of his reception.

  “What ho, Captain. Nurse Trenowyth.” Anna looked over her shoulder to see Hugh approaching across the grass. His gait remained awkward and crab-like as he traversed the uneven ground.

  Matthews stiffened, as if to attention. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  “At ease, sir.” Hugh laughed good-naturedly. “Last I checked, you still outranked me.”

  “On the battlefield, perhaps.” Matthews smiled like an indulgent parent. “Actually, I�
��m glad to run into you. I want to thank you for coming to dinner with the men last night. And for taking the time to stop in this afternoon, though I’m not sure if your offer of brandies all around went over well with Matron.”

  “Had to give them something to cheer after all the bad news recently, sir. Greece gone, Hungary, Yugoslavia. I’m only sorry I couldn’t offer them enough to drown their sorrows into oblivion. The Nanreath wine cellar houses more mice than bottles these days.”

  “It feels odd inviting the owner to his own house, but ignore Matron and come anytime, sir. The wards can always stand a bit of a shake-up.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I think I shall. Now if you don’t mind, I was hoping to steal Miss Trenowyth away.”

  “Of course.” Hands clasped behind his back, the MO strolled away, leaving her alone with Hugh, who eyed her as if enjoying an enormous joke.

  “I’d heard the two of you were an item.”

  “You’ve been speaking with Tilly.”

  “Among other things.” He shot her a wicked grin that would have set any woman in the place to swooning. It only irritated her, especially considering Tilly’s growing moodiness. If Hugh had hurt her in any way . . .

  “What do you want, Hugh? I’m busy.”

  “Really? You look positively slothful.” He leaned against the tree, arms folded, a smile continuing to hover. But she knew it was all show. He couldn’t sit beside her on the blanket without revealing his handicap, and the tree offered him support without being obvious. That moment of naked despair she’d glimpsed New Year’s Eve had been buried deep. He’d not let her that close again—not without being blind drunk. “I’ve a surprise for you, but if you’re too busy you can forget all about it.”

  “Oh? Another lovely tea with your mother? A sack of poisonous snakes would be preferable.”

  “She can be a bit of a handful, but you seem to have come to an understanding. I don’t hear her crying for your head on a plate anymore.”

  She slumped back against the tree. “No, though I still think she’s watching me to see I don’t make mischief for the family. What is she so scared of, Hugh? Lady Katherine ran off over twenty years ago. What can it possibly matter to anyone now?”

  “It matters to you,” he answered quietly.

  “It shouldn’t.” She shoved her book in her bag. “Lady Katherine gave me life, but the Handleys raised me. That counts for more.”

  “It does, but we all like to know where we come from. Where we fit.” He held out a hand. “Do you want my surprise or not? I swear it has nothing to do with my mother. She doesn’t even know what it is I’ve found.”

  “All right.” Anna stood with a smoothing of her skirt. Shaking out her blanket, she folded it and added it to her bag. “But this better be good.”

  “That’s a girl,” he said, leading her toward the house.

  They passed through the croquet game that was fast becoming a rugby match and entered through the terrace doors into the salon. A few men looked up from their papers or the wireless, but most ignored them. The main hall was busy. Sister Murphy glanced up from her files and scowled. Sophie pushed a trolley of medicines to Ward A, grief turning her bright, rosy looks to ash. The telephone rang. An orderly rushed to answer it. A young man sat in a wheelchair in a patch of sun by the front doors, a blanket across his knees, his eyes trained on the sky, face gaunt and grim.

  “To set the record straight, I have no interest in Captain Matthews,” she said, apropos of nothing, but wanting to be absolutely clear.

  Hugh took her hand as they climbed the stairs, though she couldn’t be sure whether his act was born of spontaneous familial bond or his lack of balance. “You’re right. He’s far too upright and forthright. Hmm . . . who can we pair you with?”

  She thought of Tony Lambert, and warmth burned her cheeks. She focused on the scratched paint of the wainscoting, the creak of the stair treads, the faint squares of light spilling across the corridor. “Maybe I’m not looking to be paired with anyone.”

  “No? I thought you girls were constantly sizing up men for our matrimonial potential.”

  She tried to remain stern, proof against his potent charm. “Not all of us pine for a wedding ring.”

  “The woman who says that is the woman I fear the most.”

  Together they continued through empty rooms and up stairs, which he took slowly and painfully until they reached the top floor in a wing of the house she’d never been. A bare bulb hung from the low ceiling, and mildew snaked along the peeling paint of once cream-colored walls. Hugh fit a key into a lock and pushed wide a creaking iron-hinged door. Snapping on his torch, he swept its light back and forth. The room was enormous, open beams crisscrossing a sloped, cobwebbed ceiling. The air was stale and sour. Boxes and crates were piled high amid a layer of thick dust.

  “Where are we?”

  “Nanreath’s attics.”

  She followed him into the long, windowless chamber under the eaves, trying not to stumble over either the clutter of past generations or Hugh, who paused before a battered rolltop desk to shine his light upon a dusty leather portfolio case. “Welcome home, cousin.”

  She rubbed a hand over the dusty cracked leather, revealing a brass name plate, scratched and tarnished with age. “This belonged to my mother.”

  “I came across it when I was repairing the leak in the roof. Yes, I was telling the truth, thank you very much. This house would crumble around our ears if I let it. Anyway, the portfolio must have been up here for ages.”

  Anna stared at the loopy script upon the plate, her mind spinning until she sank onto a rickety stool to catch her breath. Her hands tightened on the case as she fought to control their trembling.

  “I didn’t look inside,” he said. “Figured you might like first crack at it.”

  “Yes, uh, thank you.” She snapped open the latches, drawing it wide. Froze at the deep growl of airplane engines. Her brain went blank. Her heart skipped at the unmistakable whistle of falling bombs.

  “Anna, get down!”

  Hugh threw himself over her, knocking her to her knees as the first explosion rocked the house, showering them with dust and chunks of plaster. More explosions sounded, shattering windows, spraying glass and splinters of wood. The sound pushed the air from her lungs.

  “They must be after the airfield, and bloody smashing everything within twenty miles,” Hugh said, levering himself onto one elbow.

  “Tony,” she whimpered.

  “Will be quite safe, I’m sure. It’s us I’m worried about.”

  An airplane engine sputtered in and out before ominously rising in pitch. The whine vibrated painfully along her bones, setting even her teeth on edge.

  “It’s going down!” Hugh shouted.

  The sound intensified, the growl coming closer, louder. The pressure along her skin lifted the hairs along her arms and the back of her neck. The noise deafened her.

  “. . . not going to make it to the water.” Hugh grabbed a nearby tarpaulin, dragging it over them both as a bone-rattling boom brought down a heavy beam along with a section of ceiling. Plaster, lathing, bricks, and tiles rained down. With a curse and a grunt of pain, Hugh pressed her into the floor. She couldn’t breathe beneath the heavy canvas. She gulped like a dying fish, flailing to free herself from the confining weight. Just when she thought she’d go mad, Hugh shoved the canvas aside, letting in a rush of smoky air. Heavy splintered wood lay in jagged pieces on the floor. A ragged hole above them opened to a blue sky smeared with black smoke. She could hear the crackle and spit of flames above the pounding of her heart.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  She touched her scalp, her fingers coming away red. Drops speckled a torn page from her mother’s portfolio.

  “So are you.”

  A cut slashed Hugh’s cheek and there was a spreading red stain on his shoulder. He held his left arm close to his body. “We need to head downstairs before the whole bloody roof caves in.”

  Blood dripped
onto Anna’s hand. Warm and sticky and bright red. Smoke spread thick and black. She choked on a sob, shuddering against the panic overwhelming her. This was not France . . . this was England . . . and yet . . .

  Harriet’s blood spattered Anna’s face, its scalding heat seeped through her fingers and drenched her uniform. Someone gripped her under the arms to pull her clear of the twisted steel wreckage as men screamed. She passed out, coming to in the cold, salty plunge of seawater. She gasped and sank and surfaced again, her body gnawed by an unspeakable pain. Screams and shouts accompanied by the groan and scrape of a dying ship and the incessant whip of bullets across the greasy water. She struck out for the shore, sank once more and this time, let herself submerge, too exhausted to continue.

  “Damn it, move or you’ll get us both killed.” She was jerked to her feet, a voice shouting over the noise. “Downstairs now!”

  “But Harriet . . . I can’t leave her! I can’t . . .” She lashed out, but a hand gripped her by the arm and forced her to focus.

  “It’s me, Anna. It’s Hugh. You’re safe. But you have to move. Can you do that?”

  She nodded, turning her back on her friend—again.

  Downstairs, shattered glass from blown-out windows sparkled like diamonds across the lino amid splintered wood and toppled furniture. Cracks spread dark, spidery lines across the plastered walls, and the front doors hung crooked off their hinges, beyond which burned two cars and an ambulance that had been parked in the sweep. Smoke billowed above the distant tree line.

  Nurses and orderlies rushed to move patients out of the damaged wards under Matron’s sharp eyes and quick commands as Captain Matthews and Sister Murphy worked triage. Those injured by flying debris sat against the wall or leaned upon their friends as surgeon and nurse moved calmly and efficiently assessing need and dispensing reassurance.

  A soldier tore through the door. “The plane went down just outside the village! Took the whole church out, and three streets round about.”