The Crimson Bed (21 page)

    Dillinger had sent a carriage to collect them and as it rounded the bend of the trees, the warm red brick of Oreton Hall came in sight. Ellie could see that Fred was impressed though he would never admit it. It was a stunning sight, raised on a slight hill and looking down upon the two clear grey lakes below, a beautiful seventeenth century building, square but graceful in its proportions with curved steps that led up to a splendid portico frontage. On this were carved the Dillinger arms. The original owner and builder of the Hall, who had been made an earl by William of Orange in exchange for services rendered, had died without male issue. The Dillingers had bought the house in 1750 and it was now the ancestral home of that family. Lord Dillinger's father, George Dillinger, had their crest carved and set up there above the door, proud of his family possession. He himself had no title, his riches made from plantations and business ventures in Jamaica. But his son, Percy, did well in politics and rose to a peerage through intelligence and wit. Sadly, George Dillinger died before seeing his son made a Lord with entry now into the Upper House. He would have been immensely proud of his accomplishments.

    On each side of the portico, which extended upwards to the roof, were four tall square paned windows. Above these on the next floor were another four on each side. Over this, dormer windows were set in the roof itself while below stairs were the eight smaller windows of the service rooms. The effect was solid yet graceful and as balanced as a mathematical equation. Reflected in the steel waters of the two lakes, it was reposeful and gentle.

    'You spent a good deal of your childhood here, did you not, Ellie?'

    'I did, Fred, and happy memories they are too,' she replied gazing with delight at the house as it came closer.

    'I understand why you feel affection for the place. It's very handsome.'

    'I'm so happy to hear you say that. You understand now, Fred, you understand my feelings for a place that was almost a second home to me. I knew you would feel that way when you saw its beauty.'

    Their hosts were alerted by the clatter of the horses' hooves and the rumble of the huge carriage wheels. Alfie's brothers, George and Benjamin, came dashing out of the house and down the steps to greet them with delight, catching at the horses' bridles before the groom could get to them and stopping the carriage before the house.

    'I'm so happy to see you, Ellie,' cried Charlotte, who was following her brothers. The young girl gathered up her skirts and came running down the steps to greet her old friend.

    Lady Mary stood awaiting them at the door, always a kindly, thoughtful hostess who made all her guests feel welcome. Lord Dillinger, who was standing behind her, also came forward to greet them, shaking Fred's hand and kissing Ellie warmly on the cheek. He appeared to be slightly distracted as if his thoughts were elsewhere, his voice was softer than usual as he welcomed them both to the Hall.

    'Charlotte has been longing to discuss the news of the impending Thorpe birth and have some female companionship closer to her own age,' smiled Lady Mary as she took Ellie's hand and kissed her on the cheek.

    'I've been longing to see Charlotte,' laughed Ellie. 'longing to see all of you and dear, dear Oreton Hall!'

    Dillinger had mellowed considerably and Ellie felt that Fred was now far more relaxed about her affection for his lordship and regarded him with less suspicion and dislike. Perhaps he felt safe now he was to be a father and realised that it had been ridiculous to suppose there was anything untoward in Lord Dillinger's feelings.

    They had been given a bedchamber together as befitted a newly married couple. Ellie was not too enthusiastic, missing her beloved crimson bed and the fact that at home she could shut the door on her husband most nights. Fred, however, was pleased to feel her lying close to him, to touch her arm and stroke the curves of her soft, firm flesh and she did not discourage his advances but neither did she return them with any eagerness. This always made him feel he was imposing himself upon her delicacy and thus he hastened his climax when he might have liked to dally a little more. In this way, he felt he satisfied his disgusting male needs without making her feel sullied.

Ellie rose and washed herself afterwards and by the time she returned to bed, her husband was already snoring peacefully. She looked at him for a long while, the curl of his eyelashes, the soft, almost feminine look of his face, the fair locks tumbled over the pillow. He looked as gentle and youthful as a lad and made love like an innocent, guiless boy who hadn't a clue about the art of wooing and seduction. It was with the naturalness of some animal; it reminded her of one of the proud, deep-throated stags in Oreton woods whose insistent chasing to cover his favourite female ended in a short, swift entry once he managed to get a hold of her. Yet, the stag for all his sexual roughness could be immensely tender to his mate, gently nuzzling her, licking her face. It was not truly satisfying to her as a human being to be treated as a doe but so be it. She would have other things to occupy her mind once the baby was born.

Next morning she rose early to take a walk before breakfast. Slipping silently out of the bedroom, leaving Fred asleep, she dressed herself as well as she could and flung a shawl about her shoulders. She wanted to recall her own past memories in concentrated silence without the chatter of other people to distract her from enjoying the sounds and sights about her.

    Today her feet were ruled by the heart. They took her on the familiar pathway that followed the banks of a broad stream round to the woods on the edge of the estate. The wind ruffled the surface of the stream into ripples and she stood awhile, smiling, watching the dance and glitter of the early morning sunshine on the water. Reaching the woods, she paused for a moment in hesitation, as if about to enter another world. Then in she went swiftly and eagerly, craning her neck upwards to gaze at the crimson leaves of the beeches, the dense gold-orange oaks and the yellowing branches of the birches, feeling a thrill in her heart at the sight of long rays of sunshine streaming through their boughs. The forest floor was carpeted in a rich riot of russet leaves. They spread out and fanned in all directions, weaving like tendrils along the pathways, drawing the eye into the distance and disappearing into a hazy, gloom. How Henry would have loved this colour, the colour of his Rosie's hair! She loved it too, in all its warmth and magnificence.

    A bird started out from a bush and trilled its panic song as it made a flight right up into the oak's golden midst. The harsh
chukachuka
echoed in the stillness. An acorn fell to the ground like an explosion and in a distant mound of leaves she could hear the rustlings of some small creature as it hid itself away.

    She would bring her children here someday, she thought; bring them here to feel the deep silence of the wood, to sense the sweetness of the place. Yet she would never be able to tell them why she loved this place so much. It would have to remain her secret.

    As she left the woods, making her way back, she saw Lord Dillinger walking alone along the footpath by the stream. He looked distressed and sad and she called out to him. He turned and his wan face lit a little on seeing her.

    'Dillie, what is it... what makes you look so troubled?'

    She came up to him and slipped a hand through his arm. He smiled at her and patted her hand. For a little while they walked on in silence.

    'What is it, Dillie?' she persisted, 'I know you are worried. Is it trouble in the House? Has that horrible old Palmerston been annoying you again? I know you two fight like cats and dogs!'

    He smiled a little. 'Now where did you learn that, little minx! No, no, my dear, those are just the ridiculous everyday matters. I lose no sleep over that kind of thing.'

    His forehead furrowed again and then he said with a sigh, as if letting the words escape from him despite himself, 'It's just that I've had news that Alfie has been sick with cholera. And it makes one think, Ellie – will our boy come back again? Will he come back to us? It makes one think these morbid things – but there, just so much weak nonsense! It's Lady Mary. She gets herself into such a state of anxiety that in the end it communicates itself to me. There is no cause for alarm. Apparently he is much recovered and insisted on going straight back to his Brigade.'

    'He is very brave!' Ellie said. Her heart trembled.

    'He is,' said Dillinger and looked down at her with a little frown then looked away over the fields towards the distant hills.

    'He is so far away,' he said almost in a whisper. 'Lady Mary

will never forgive me if anything happens to him. Our eldest boy. Yet he had to go to his duty.'

    
But why
, Ellie wondered, wh
y did he have to go? Your eldest
son. Eldest sons of aristocrats don't go into the Army. Why did
you send him? You sent him there; you and your stupid
government sent our men, ill equipped, underfed, sent them there
to die of cholera and for what reason?

    She felt like saying this but did not. She too felt troubled now. Poor Alfie, sick and so far away from those who loved him. By all accounts he must have suffered greatly in those revolting field hospitals they had set up in Scutari. Rats from the filthy sewers running loose over men packed in so close together one could hardly move amongst them. More men died of cholera from the filth and dirt around them than from their wounds. She had read about these terrible conditions in the
Times
and it had made her cry.

    Henry Winstone's sister, Agatha, had wanted to go out with Florence Nightingale and help with the nursing and if Ellie had been able, she would have offered to do the same, if only for a glimpse of Alfie. She might have nursed him and seen him every day! Now, of course, it was impossible for her to go and in the end neither had Agatha.

    'He will be back, Dillie, never fear. He's always been lucky, hasn't he?' She tried to make her voice sound cheerful but they both looked at one another and felt troubled.

Fred had come down for breakfast and saw no sign of his wife. Lady Mary saw him standing and looking a little perplexed in the dining room and went up to him.

    'Do come and break your fast, Mr Thorpe,' she said in her amiable, gentle voice. She was a quiet-featured person with an air of dignity and sweetness. Her face was a little pale that day, Fred thought and he assumed she had not had a good night's sleep. All this entertaining of visitors every weekend must be a strain, he supposed. Certainly
his
mother would have taken herself off to bed with a headache by now.

    Lady Mary now undertook to help him to eggs and viands from the sideboard as her daughter, Charlotte, was serving someone else. It was the custom for the ladies of the household to serve the guests at breakfast and an informal yet bountiful meal it was too.

    'I saw Eleanor set out early for a walk in the grounds,' she said, as if guessing what was on his mind. 'She always was an early riser and loves to walk on her own, as you know.'

    'I do indeed. My wife has always said how much she loves to be at Oreton Hall. She said she could not wait to be out of doors and wandering the places familiar to her.'

    'Yes, Eleanor has visited us since her childhood and is like one of the family,' smiled Lady Mary, 'she has grown up with our own children.'

    'I believe your eldest son is in Turkey right now, Lady Mary? Have you news of him?'

    A shadow crossed her ladyship's face but she replied, 'He has been ill but is much recovered, I thank you, and returned to his regiment.'

    She handed him a cup of tea and excused herself as another guest joined them. Fred picked up a newspaper and scanned the lurid reports of the war and other interesting topics of the day, drank his tea, rose and went out into the hall. Ellie and Dillinger arrived at that moment in the porch and he could hear their hushed voices through the partially opened door. Unable to help himself, he stopped to peep and listen.

    'Mention nothing to anyone, Ellie. This was spoken between us,' his lordship was saying. He was holding her hand to his heart as he spoke. 'Don't mention it to Lady Mary, promise me, won't you? Don't trouble her with my own foibles. She has enough of a burden to bear.'

    'Of course, I promise,' she replied looking up at her friend in that half-playful, half-tender manner that made her look so charming and beautiful.

    'I feel ashamed of myself, I suppose,' sighed Dillinger, 'ashamed of my weakness.'

'Don't say that – it isn't a weakness to love.'

    'Oh, it can be,' he said. He looked down at her and laid a hand on her shoulder, 'it can be, my dear.'

    'Oh, Dillie!' She thought of Alfie and sighed deeply. She put her arms about Dillinger's neck then and they hugged one another for so long a time that Fred almost stepped out to see if they were still there. He moved back hastily when he heard Ellie give a long sigh and then the sound of a kiss implanted, hopefully upon a cheek and nowhere else.

    This snatch of conversation and her tenderness towards her handsome godfather brought Fred's sense of doubt and suspicion about the true state of their relationship back with a vengeance.

Chapter 18

'Stormed at with shot and shell
Boldly they rode and well
Into the jaws of Death
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the Six Hundred.'
Tennyson: Charge of the Light Brigade

The news of the terrible defeat at Balaclava came through swiftly at the end of October. Lord Cardigan returned a hero for his efforts and everyone praised and mourned the bravery and gallantry of the men of the Light Brigade. However, it was not long before the truth emerged and the real cost and blunders of this senseless battle emerged. Then people shouted for the blood of politicians, generals and anyone else that might be blamed for the extraordinary fiasco of sending in a sword-waving cavalry against modern Russian artillery. However, a scapegoat, satisfying as it might be for the nation's bloodlust, could not bring back the fallen men of the 17
^th
Lancers and other regiments that had charged into battle that fateful October day.