Dorothy Eden (28 page)

“I was pretty spoiled and impossible then, I guess. I think we both had our eye on the main chance.”

“I expect we did.”

“Hugo, we’ve never talked like this before. As friends.”

He grinned and his mouth seemed only slightly crooked.

“We’ve both changed a good deal. That’s something the war has done.”

“Would you have fallen in love with that girl you knew in New York? I mean, as time went by.”

“I doubt it. Nor she with me.”

“We’re talking of her as if she’s someone else altogether,” Hetty said compulsively.

“Isn’t she?” His blue eye was actually twinkling. “Certainly I didn’t bargain for too much of your mother’s company.”

Hetty moved back to their shared bedroom that day, and without a word being said the whole house knew what had happened.

Lionel went out for too long a walk, got chilled, and retired to bed. He had never shaken off his malarial fever.

Julia looked ashen-faced, the corners of her mouth pinched, her eyes blank. She couldn’t be unaware of the new sparkle in Hetty’s eyes or her quiet contentment. Nor, unless she was deaf, could she have failed to hear Hugo humming tunelessly as he walked about the house. He had become very agile on his crutches.

Would she give up now, Hetty wondered, and could afford to have pity for the girl who had written, “
I will never give you up, never, never, never
…”

Lady Flora sent for Hetty, and said briskly, “Well, Hetty, so the invalid has decided to recover.”

“Yes, I think so. I’m taking him to London next week to have consultations about an artificial leg. Pimm will drive us up.” Hetty couldn’t prevent herself from smiling radiantly. “Yes, he really is recovering.”

“Well done, my dear.”

“Oh, it was nothing to do with me. It was just that he was ready.” She felt her blush, and looked up to see the kindness in Lady Flora’s wide beautiful eyes.

“I wouldn’t say it had nothing at all to do with you,” she said. “You’re a very attractive young woman. Especially now you’re happy. It’s the first time we have seen you happy, Hetty, do you realise that?”

“I hope we may have a baby,” Hetty said in a rush.

“Why, of course you will. And this time you will take the greatest care. I will see to that myself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hetty said instinctively and realised that she had fallen into the old subservient way of speaking to a superior.

But Lady Flora didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps she liked Hetty’s humility, for she smiled and said, “I’m just going to have tea. Won’t you join me?”

She might have known that none of this could last. Especially when she was sure that she was pregnant. She had reached her goal and the satisfaction of this achievement was too great and too undeserved. It was not surprising that it was about to be snatched from her.

The letter was beside her place at the breakfast table. She had a distinct and unhappy feeling of
déja vu.

“I see you have a letter from America, Hetty,” Kitty said pleasantly. “How nice for you. You haven’t heard from New York for a long time, have you?”

“No,” said Hetty. Her mouth was dry. She had recognised Uncle Jonas’s handwriting. There was no reason why he shouldn’t write to her, nor was there any specific reason for her apprehension. She only knew that if she weren’t careful her hands would shake and Hugo would notice.

“Hetty always gets upset about letters from New York,” Julia observed to no one in particular. “She seems to anticipate bad news.”

Hugo was opening his own mail. He looked up to say, “I don’t know why you’re all staring at her so inquisitively. She might prefer to read her letter in private.”

But that would be highly suspicious, Hetty decided, ripping open the envelope and taking out the thick notepaper covered with Uncle Jonas’s distinctive writing.

My dear Clemency,

I can’t think what this business of “extreme importance” is that you want to see me about. I wonder if you realise how difficult and hazardous it is to come to England at this time. However, since I am your Trustee, and for poor Millicent’s sake, I have pulled all the strings I can, and have finally obtained a passage on a cargo ship, the
Erin,
which I am sure will be highly uncomfortable.

As you, of all people, must be aware of the danger of German U-boats in the Atlantic, I can only think your matter of extreme importance must be urgent. It would have been kinder to elucidate a little. Are you having trouble with your bank? Or your husband?

Well, I mustn’t be a tetchy old man. I will enjoy seeing Loburn and you, my dear, of course. The
Erin
is scheduled to dock at Southampton on the 12 November. I have cabled for a car to meet me and drive me direct to Loburn. This will avoid trouble for you, and you can expect me when you see me.

Your affec. Uncle Jonas

P.S. I am too old for this sort of thing, so that business of yours had better be important.

“What is it, Hetty?” asked Hugo. “Bad news. You look upset.”

Hetty had frequently wondered how the end would manifest itself when it did come. So this was how it was to be, with Uncle Jonas denouncing her. She sat dazed with shock, unable to speak. Uncle Jonas was arriving to see the young woman whom he supposed to be his niece, only to be confronted by a stranger. For he of all people must recognise that she was not Clemency whom he had known from birth. Even if she could deceive him with the story that her year in England had changed her greatly, what business of extreme importance could she invent? More significantly, someone, and it must be someone in this house, had treacherously written to him asking him to come.

Hetty’s anguished eyes took in the breakfast table, with the shining silver and fine china, the warm comfortable room, the people round the table, her family now, surely. And at the opposite end Hugo, no longer flushed and violent and irascible but a rather slow and quiet man whom she had grown to love.

What would happen when he heard of her monstrous deception? Would he fall into one of his old rages and order her to leave the house for ever? Very likely. He was a proud man. He would never tolerate the mother of his child being a servant and illegitimate and a deceiver.

“Hetty!”

“Oh, sorry, Hugo.” Somehow she pulled herself together. “I was lost in thought. This is surprising news. My Uncle Jonas is on his way to visit us. His ship docks on the twelfth. That’s in three days. It’s so soon.”

“Whatever brings the old boy over here? He’s a bit foolhardy crossing the Atlantic in the middle of a submarine war.”

“Business of extreme importance,” Hetty said numbly. Her gaze went round the table again, Kitty, Lionel, Hugo, Julia. Julia! The cold blue eyes had given the smallest flicker.

A small scene flashed into Hetty’s mind of Julia bending over her desk, searching for something. A bill of sale for a horse, she had said. But was it not in reality Uncle Jonas’s address? So that she could play this last treacherous trick on Hetty.

For hadn’t there been other tricks—the dress from Lord and Taylor’s, for instance, the dress that didn’t quite fit. The insinuations, the watching, the slowly gathered evidence, the enmity inspired by bitter jealousy.

Oh yes, it all fitted. Hetty was tempted to accuse Julia now, at the breakfast table, in front of everybody.

But such an act would mean a confession by Julia of her suspicions, and above all Hetty didn’t want Hugo to hear that. There might be too much truth in them. She had no alternative but to wait, face Uncle Jonas, play her part until the end, and trust to luck staying with her. Perhaps it would.

Having made that decision, Hetty became calm. She decided what room Uncle Jonas should have and had it carefully prepared. She arranged menus which she thought he would like. She talked about him to Lady Flora.

“He’s a little stuffy grey man, rather plump, only interested in finance, his own and other people’s. At first he was very opposed to my coming to England to marry Hugo. He didn’t like so much of my money being put into a venture not of his planning.”

“So he’s coming to look over the investment?” Lady Flora enquired shrewdly.

“He must be. I don’t think you will particularly like him, Lady Flora.”

“Oh, we have his kind in Threadneedle Street, too. And he is your family, my dear. Of course we will like him.”

Apart from the preparations for Uncle Jonas’s arrival, Hetty did one other thing that made her wince with distaste. She began wearing Clemency’s heavy gold bracelet. She had hidden it away ever since the shipwreck, unable to bear the sight of it. But now it must be brought out to give her the right identity, to prepare herself for being called Clemency.

Only one day later than expected, Uncle Jonas arrived, a little bundled-up figure climbing out of the hired Ford motor car and gazing up at the façade of the house.

Hetty didn’t wait for Bates to let him in. She ran out eagerly (wouldn’t Clemency have done that?) crying, “Uncle Jonas! How wonderful to see you.”

He allowed himself to be embraced. He didn’t look at her very hard. His small stone grey eyes were watering from the cold wind.

“Well, Clemency. A bit decrepit, this famous house, isn’t it? Needs a bit of paint and refurbishing.”

“I know, Uncle. That’s what I want to talk to you about. But not yet. Come inside. You must be tired and frozen. How was the journey?”

“Hellish. A rolling old tub, permanent black-outs, and disgusting food. But we never caught a glimpse of a U-boat, and I’m here safely. I could do with a good tot of Bourbon, though.”

“Scotch, Uncle Jonas. We don’t have Bourbon. Bates, take in Mr Middleton’s luggage and bring drinks into the library. Hugo’s waiting for us there.”

“Hugo?”

“My husband, Uncle Jonas.”

“Of course, of course. I’m getting forgetful. Anno Domini, I’m afraid. An old gentleman like me shouldn’t be travelling across the world. But I’m still quite capable of sorting out your affairs, Clemency. I’m not forgetful about money.”

Hetty, although not daring to relax, noticed with relief that the old man was totally self-absorbed, fussing about his comforts, his small grey eyes looking inward. He had kissed her but scarcely looked at her. Now he was saying, “You look fine Clemency. Your husband’s finished with the war? Badly wounded, wasn’t he? I must say this war’s no parlour game. We’re trying to keep out of it. No business of ours. Ah, so this is the library. Fine room. I’d always heard English country houses had fine libraries. Ah—Lord Hazzard. By jove, old man, they’ve knocked you about a bit. Recovering?”

“Splendidly. With limitations.”

“Ah! Damned cold journey I had here. Clemency said something about some whisky.”

“Here it is, Uncle. Come and sit by the fire.”

“Yes, I will. Now that’s real cosy. I could sit here for an hour or two. I can’t make a long stay, Clemency. A day or two to get your problems sorted out, a quick look at London, and then I’ll be on the same old tub back to New York.”

Hetty stiffened as she heard Hugo’s question.

“How do you think Hetty—I mean Clemency—looks? We call her Hetty, you know.”

“Do you? Can’t think why. Didn’t know it was a name in our family. Why, she looks just fine.”

The sunken tired old eyes looked at her briefly, and Hetty made herself smile warmly.

“Hugo and I are expecting a child, Uncle. Does that please you?”

“That’s nice, I guess. My, if Millicent were alive she’d be right over. Poor Millicent. Her grave all right, Clemency?”

The twinge of ice down her spine again.

“Yes. I send money to the Convent sisters. They see it’s looked after.”

“Good. That Scotch isn’t bad at all. May I have another? And now, both of you, tell me what this urgent business is which you brought me over about.”

Hetty caught Hugo’s questioning glance.

“It could wait, Uncle Jonas. You have the rest of the family to meet, Hugo’s mother and brother and sister-in-law.”

“Business comes first. Out with it, my girl. Have you got into some trouble?”

“No. No, indeed.” Hetty plunged desperately. “It’s only that I so love this house, and it needs an immense amount of money to be spent on it. Almost all my inheritance, I would say. Hugo and I have been planning it. We don’t want to wait until the end of the war. And it is going to be our child’s inheritance.”

“If he’s a boy, yes. But I’d remind you you won’t be spending all your inheritance, Clemency. You still have the Fifth Avenue and Long Island houses, you know. Freehold. Like gold. And talking of gold, I’ve taken the opportunity to bring over your mother’s jewellery, all that didn’t go down with her on the
Lusitania.
If it isn’t to your taste there’s no reason why you shouldn’t sell it. Get some advice on an honest jeweller, though.”

Hetty was blinking back tears. It couldn’t be so easy, fooling this astute old man. It was too much to believe.

But she was realising rapidly that Uncle Jonas was only astute regarding property. People didn’t count half as much. He scarcely saw people. Nor was he going to be particularly interested in doubts and mysteries. He would brush them aside as embarrassing complications in the straightforward administration of an estate. He would rather not know about them. Not that he did know about them. It was obvious that it had never occurred to him that this young woman they called Hetty, attractively anglicised, and running an important house capably, might not be his niece.

Three liberal measures of Scotch whisky later, and thoroughly warmed by the fire, the old man began to look relaxed and benevolent.

“Ah! Feel comfortable for the first time since I set foot on that old ship. Think I’ll go to my room and have a rest. What time do you have dinner?”

“Seven-thirty, Uncle. We don’t have many servants, it’s hard to get them with the war on, and we don’t like keeping them up late.”

“Good. Suits me fine. That’ll give us time to have a business discussion after dinner.”

“Hetty, why have you been so secretive with me?” They were in their bedroom preparing to dress for dinner. Hugo was indignant enough to bring back her nervousness.

“What do you mean? Oh, the money for Loburn. Well, I thought I had been rather brilliant about that.” She was improvising again. “I want all my inheritance brought over, not just dribs and drabs, and I couldn’t have an endless cross-Atlantic correspondence with Uncle Jonas. There are ways to handle him, and they’re not by letters. He’s too clever and cautious about the written word.”