Secrets of Nanreath Hall Page 6

  “Let me explain—”

  The room they entered held shelves upon shelves of bedding. Racks contained mounds of freshly cleaned laundry, while in another corner piles of dirty stood waiting to be washed. “Sheets and blankets need sorting then we’ve got equipment to clean and sterilize,” Sophie continued, her manner briskly business. “I’ll show you around the wards this afternoon when we’re expected to help the sisters with daily rounds. Tea is promptly at four. Matron doesn’t like us to be late. It upsets the men’s schedule.”

  Anna grabbed her arm, dragging her around to face her. “Sophie, listen to me. Please.”

  Sophie glared. “You let me prattle on last night when all the time you were laughing at me. Why didn’t you say who you were then?”

  “Because I was curious. You know them. I only know what I’ve read in books.”

  Sophie folded her arms over her chest, but her icy expression held the first signs of thawing. Perhaps Anna hadn’t destroyed this hint of a friendship.

  “My last name might be Trenowyth, but I’m not part of this family. I’m not part of any family. Not anymore.”

  “I don’t understand. You told Matron you were related.”

  “My mother came from here, but I never knew her—or them. She left Nanreath Hall before I was born and died when I was six. I never knew my father, and the people who raised me died in an air raid last month in London.”

  Sophie’s brows crumpled in sympathy. “Oh no, Anna. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Why should you? It’s not usually how I begin most conversations.” Anna pushed her sorrow away before it consumed her. If she didn’t think about it, it couldn’t hurt her.

  Seemingly mollified by Anna’s apology, the two of them worked through the morning’s list of tasks laid out in Matron’s neat handwriting.

  In the corridors outside, orderlies moved with quick efficiency, conversations came and went, doors banged, shoes scuffed past, and wheels squeaked as trollies were rolled back and forth between the basement storage rooms and the medical wards, which had taken over the drawing rooms upstairs. It might be late October, but down here, the steam and heat from the nearby laundry saturated the air with damp humidity. Sweat trickled down Anna’s spine and turned her well-tamed hair to a frizz of red beneath her veil, now sadly wilted from the heat.

  Each time she thought they were coming to the end, another orderly would arrive with a fresh batch of linens to be folded and stored for use. Anna’s arms ached, her stomach growled, but the repetitive monotony of the job and the industry beyond the door soothed her into a state of unthinking numbness.

  Sophie worked beside her, the silence congenial now rather than cool until, “Does Hugh know who you are?” she asked.

  Anna looked up from the form she’d been filling out, confused until she realized that while she had laid the conversation aside, Sophie had continued dwelling on it. “I don’t know. It happened a long time ago.”

  “That won’t matter. Families like ours have long memories.” Sophie turned back to a cart filled with enough pajamas and robes to clothe a battalion. “Is that why you came to Nanreath? To find out about your family?”

  “I came to Nanreath because I was assigned here. I don’t expect a warm welcome. I don’t expect any welcome.” She felt foolish proclaiming her intent among heaps of pillowcases and stacks of sheets. “I’m here to do a job. That’s all. And at the first opportunity, I plan on transferring to a real hospital with patients that need me.”

  Rather than being dismayed by Anna’s outburst, Sophie smiled, her eyes alive with a curious excitement. “Meet me outside the library after visiting hours. I have something to show you.”

  “What is it?” Anna asked.

  Sophie continued to look like the cat with the canary. “Let’s call it ‘a long memory.’”

  Despite the linoleum on the floors and the ugly hardboard paneling nailed up to protect the walls in all the downstairs rooms, Nanreath Hall maintained an air of country house serenity. Patients relaxed in the salon, browsing newspapers or listening to the wireless. Knots of men congregated in the armory, where tall windows looked out on a sloping expanse of lawn toward the sea. Down the passage, a threesome belted out the latest hits on an antique spinet.

  Anna loitered at the base of the grand staircase, hoping Matron didn’t pass by and question her momentary inactivity. Technically, she was still on duty, but the hospital’s medical officer, Captain Matthews, was making evening rounds, and she’d been sent to grab a quick cup of tea and a sandwich by one of the sisters who’d grown tired of hearing Anna’s stomach growling while they worked checking in an ambulance of new arrivals. “Be back here in an hour,” Sister ordered. “We’ve got to see these men settled before the night nurse comes on duty.”

  The sandwich had taken the edge off Anna’s hunger, but she could gladly have devoured three more and still not been satisfied. She’d had no desire to eat since leaving London, but long hours of hard physical work had broken the numbed loss of appetite. If only it helped her to sleep soundly, she’d be satisfied.

  She checked the watch pinned to her bodice. Half past. Sophie was late.

  “Trenowyth, so glad you’re able to enjoy a lounge while the rest of us are run off our feet.”

  Anna spun round to find Sister Murphy glaring at her with beady-eyed indignation. A veteran of more battle campaigns than most generals, the QA military nurse had a long, disapproving face, a knifelike sarcasm, and the stealth of a jungle cat. No wonder Tilly was terrified of her. Even Captain Matthews seemed a bit in awe of the woman.

  “Should I bring you a cup of tea and a cushion perhaps?” she sneered. “A nice bit of cake?”

  “I’ve had dinner, thank you, Sister.”

  She shoved a pile of folders into Anna’s arms. “Take these to the MO’s office. He’ll need them before tonight’s appointments.”

  “I don’t know where the medical officer’s—”

  “Upstairs, girl,” she said with a jerk of her head toward the staircase. “And get a move on. He can’t wait on Your Highness’s laziness all day, can he?”

  Word of Anna’s connection to the family must have leaked out. Now she’d have to put up with the staff’s unwanted curiosity and, apparently in some quarters, outright hostility.

  She’d hold off on unpacking. She might be back on a train by tonight.

  Perhaps she’d get that overseas posting, after all.

  “Yes, Sister. Right away,” she answered, clasping the folders to her chest as she hurried up the steps, her mood brighter than it had been all day.

  “And wipe that ridiculous smile off your face,” Sister Murphy shouted after her.

  The upper floors had been given over to the medical staff. Bedchambers that once slept dukes and duchesses now housed Captain Matthews, Matron, and the QA sisters of Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service. Rooms had been set aside to be used as a private mess and an officers’ parlor. Filing cabinets, typewriters, and telephones replaced what must have once been graceful tester beds, draperied dressing tables, and polished cheval mirrors. Yet the air possessed a hint of perfumed graciousness beneath the layer of ammonia-laced disinfectant, and light shone golden and watery through tall lattice-paned windows.

  Poking her head in and out of doorways in hopes of discovering the MO’s office, Anna rounded a corner to come upon an enormous room ornately paneled in oak. Groupings of comfortable chairs and couches centered on thick, richly patterned carpets. But it was the paintings that drew Anna’s startled gaze. Women in ruffs and collars, men in wide-brimmed feathered hats and scarlet sashes. Families perched upon benches with Nanreath’s facade as backdrop. A woman seated with a spaniel, her great Georgian silk skirts floating around her ankles, her hair piled high and powdered on her head. A young man leaned against a tree, a brace of pheasants laid at his feet, a musket in his loose-limbed slender arms.

  “You heard about Villiers and Crangle, I suppose.”

&
nbsp; Anna stopped dead, a foot paused above the floorboard, breath clogging her throat.

  “I did. What the hell happened, Tony? We’ve lost close to half the lads with us at St. Barnack’s. Cambridge’s hallowed colleges must echo like tombs these days.”

  Hugh was in conversation on the far side of the room where a pair of armchairs had been pulled to a window. She must have stumbled into the family’s apartments. Should she retreat as silently as she entered? Announce her presence with a cough or a clearing of her throat?

  “Villiers was on the Triad that sank off the Italian coast.” A deep voice with the trace of a brogue about it. “Crangle plowed his Spitfire into a field in Sussex.”

  “And here I sit playing the doddering fool for a bunch of blasted nurses.”

  “Do you know how many men would kill for your blasted nurses, Melcombe?”

  “They can damn well have the lot.”

  Every moment Anna delayed only worsened her position, yet she couldn’t quite bring herself to back away.

  “I expect your mother is glad to have you safe at home.”

  Hugh stretched as he relaxed, his trouser leg riding up to reveal the unnatural shade of a wooden prosthesis. “Of course she is. She can wrap me back up in packing wool to be trotted out at dinner parties and village fetes for the neighbors to hail as the conquering war hero.”

  “Rumor has it you’re doing your best to dispel them of that notion.”

  The laugh that followed was harsh and bitter, full of regret. Nothing like last night’s boyish amusement. “First you ask about my mother. Now you’re starting to sound like her.”

  Anna decided retreat was her best option. One step. Two steps. Slowly. Carefully. Gauging each footfall to avoid the squeaky spots.

  “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d never stand to be compared to a miner’s grandson from Glasgow.”

  Anna never noticed the table until she banged into it, setting a lamp wobbling.

  Hugh sat up, his leg disappearing from view. “I hope whoever you are, you’re enjoying the conversation,” he called out.

  Conscious of the heat flooding her cheeks and the tremble in her fingers gripping the folders, Anna swallowed her panic and stepped forward boldly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was looking for Captain Matthews’s office.”

  Hugh levered himself awkwardly to his feet, a hand resting lightly upon the chair back. “Tony, this is one of those nurses you were envying me.”

  His companion turned out to be an RAF flight lieutenant whose square-jawed, broad-shouldered vitality only accentuated Hugh’s pallid lanky air of dissipation. He smiled, his dark eyes sparkling with laughter as he shook her hand. “Hello there. Tony Lambert. I’m a neighbor of yours over at St. Eval airfield. It’s very nice to meet you, Miss—”

  “Trenowyth,” she answered, her chin lifting in unconscious defiance. “Anna Trenowyth.” She couldn’t help the quick slide of her eyes toward Hugh, who stiffened, his face wiped clean of every emotion but astonishment. So much for lying low and easing her way through without a ruckus.

  “Is this a joke?” Hugh demanded.

  Lambert’s surprise had been fleeting. Now he eyed the situation with smug amusement. A reaction that was oddly reassuring. “I didn’t know you had any family living, Melcombe . . . well, except that crazy aunt of yours and her Yank daughter.”

  “This is not Lucy,” Hugh argued, adding under his breath, “thank God for small favors. Who are you really, Miss whoever you are?”

  “I can show you my identity papers if you’d like.”

  “You told me your name was Handley. I don’t remember much from last night, but I do remember that.”

  “Not to take sides, but I think she might be telling the truth,” Lambert interrupted. “There’s definitely something similar about the eyes and perhaps a bit round the mouth. A little rouge and lipstick, Hugh, and you’d be her spitting image.”

  “Ha bloody ha. You’re not helping.”

  “Maybe I should leave you two to sort the mystery out without my interference.” Lambert rose, taking up his cap. “It was very nice meeting you, Miss Trenowyth. Good luck with this clod. He’s not a bad sort despite his snarling.”

  Hugh continued to glare, his hands twitching at his sides, as if he wished to punch something. “Look, Miss Handley or Trenowyth or whatever name you’re using today. I’m not sure what you hope to gain, but—”

  “Anna! Golly, I wondered where you’d gotten to.” Sophie came careening into the gallery, pulling up out of breath. “Oh dear.” She sighed. “I’d no idea you’d have companions.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Hugh complained. “I’m just trying to relax in my own home. A pointless endeavor as it turns out.”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Hugh. It doesn’t suit.” Sophie waved his sarcasm off, as if whisking away a tiresome child—or an irritating servant.

  “Miss Trenowyth?” Flight Lieutenant Lambert stood just to the left of the chimneypiece, an odd expression darkening his easy, pleasant features. “You might want to see this.”

  Anna followed his gaze. A young woman in a sea-green gown stood with one hand resting upon a metal garden bench. Her head was slightly tilted, as if she stared at something or someone just beyond the edge of the canvas. A smile hovered over her lips, her gold-flecked blue eyes dancing with pleasure.

  “It’s an incredible likeness,” he said, looking from the painting to Anna and back again.

  She swallowed, unable to pull her gaze from the riveting intimacy caught by the artist. So different from the solemn reserve of the locket’s photograph. This woman glowed from within.

  “You found it.” Sophie’s voice broke the spell. “As soon as you told me your name, I immediately remembered this painting and put the two together. It must have been done shortly before the last war.”

  “Who is she?” Lambert asked.

  Anna sensed Hugh’s presence at her shoulder. She felt the tension in his frame like a vibration through the dusty air. “My father’s younger sister,” he answered. “Lady Katherine Trenowyth.”

  Anna moistened her lips as a strange, quivering excitement centered in her chest. She lifted a hand, as if to touch the swell of alabaster cheek. “My mother.”

  Night hovered just beyond the dim glow of the green-shaded table lamp, peopled with silent generations of Trenowyths all watching Anna with unblinking eyes and fixed smiles. Did they welcome her as one of the family? Or did they stiffen with indignation, as Hugh had done just before he’d offered her his hand with all the cool politeness of the very angry?

  She knew the gallery was off-limits to staff and if she were caught, there would be hell to pay, but she’d returned at the end of her shift to sit among these men and women in silent introduction.

  Her eyes burned with lack of sleep, while her shoulder throbbed, the ache moving down her arm into her fingers. She had fixed herself a cup of tea, but what she really wanted was a whiskey. Something to ease the pain in both her shoulder and her heart.

  She turned her chair so that her mother’s portrait was just off to her right. She had merely to cock her head to see the lively smile and clever gleam in Lady Katherine Trenowyth’s blue eyes. Anna pulled her locket from her blouse, snapped it open. There was no comparison between the laughing, vibrant woman in the painting and the solemn, rigid features caught by the photographer’s camera.

  What events lay between these two disparate portrayals?

  Would she ever know, or had those answers been lost with Graham and Prue?

  A stir of the dusty air and the creak of a floorboard signaled someone’s approach. Tilly was right. Sneaking was impossible in this place. She braced herself for the inevitable reprimand.

  “Miss Trenowyth? Is that you?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Lambert.” She straightened, stuffing her bare feet back into her shoes. Combing her fingers through her thick hair. “I know I shouldn’t be here and I’m sorry to intrude, but . . .”

 
He offered her a weary smile. “Say no more. I’m relieved it’s you sitting there. For an instant, I thought I’d been snabbled by Her Ladyship and all my sneaking about was for naught.”

  “Why are you sneaking?”

  “I was depositing a parcel.”

  “At midnight? A bit late for the post, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, this parcel was rather the worse for drink.”

  “Hugh?”

  “Afraid so. He should be fine by morning. I think he left most of it along the side of the road between the village and the house. Not all, more’s the pity for my poor borrowed motorcar.”

  “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have spoken. I suppose my turning up like a bad penny came as an awful shock.”

  “Losing his leg came as an awful shock. You are a welcome surprise.” His eyes had a nice way of crinkling at the corners when he smiled. “Besides, Hugh’s love affair with the gin bottle began long before your arrival.”

  He gestured for her to reseat herself while he perched against a table. Pulled a silver cigarette case from his tunic pocket, flipped it open, and held it out toward her.

  “No, thank you.”

  He took one for himself and lit it, settling himself more comfortably. He had a nice face, all sharp angles and straight lines, large brown eyes and a mouth that seemed always on the poise of laughter. That, and she’d always been a sucker for a whisper hint of an accent.

  “Is Lady Boxley that bad?” she asked. “The staff makes her sound like a cross between Attila the Hun and Bloody Mary.”

  Tony chuckled. “An apt comparison on both counts. She can be difficult, but Hugh’s been all she’s had for so long, she’s a bit proprietary. Still treats him as if he were in nappies. His injuries in Norway only made it worse.”

  “She doesn’t sound like someone who would welcome a stranger into the fold.”

  “I expect His Majesty King George would find it hard to completely meet with her approval, but don’t let her scare you off. She might be able to tell you more about your mother.” He paused. “If that’s what you want.”

  Maybe it was the compassion in his eyes or the humor in his voice. Or maybe it was simply the late hour and her own exhaustion, but she found herself confiding in him. Quiet words that fell in the solemn dark of the gallery like a sinner’s confession.