The Shifting Fog (36 page)

Emmeline picked up a bottle of talcum, shook some on her own wrist and replaced it. ‘Yes you did.’

‘When?’

‘Always,’ Emmeline said, sniffing her wrist. ‘You always said you wouldn’t get married.’

‘That was before.’

‘Before what?’

Hannah didn’t answer.

Emmeline found Hannah’s locket on the vanity, ran her fingers over its engraved surface. ‘How can you marry him?’

‘I thought you liked him? You certainly didn’t appear to mind dancing with him.’

Emmeline shrugged sulkily.

‘What’s wrong with him then?’

‘His father for one.’

‘I’m not marrying his father. Teddy’s different. He wants to change things. He even believes women should have the vote.’

‘But you don’t love him.’

The hesitation was slight, the answer offhand. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Like Romeo and Juliet?’

‘No, but—’

‘Then you shouldn’t be marrying him.’ She snatched up the necklace.

‘No one loves like Romeo and Juliet,’ Hannah said carefully, her eyes following Emmeline’s hand. ‘They’re made-up characters.’

‘I do.’

‘Then I pity you. Look what happened to them!’

‘David wouldn’t approve,’ Emmeline said, beginning to prise open the locket.

Hannah stiffened, reached for the necklace. ‘Give it to me,’ she said, voice low.

‘No.’ Emmeline’s eyes were suddenly red and brimmed with tears.

‘He’d say you were running away. Abandoning me.’

Hannah grabbed for the locket but Emmeline was faster; swept it out of reach.

‘Give it to me,’ Hannah said.

‘He was mine, too!’ Emmeline threw the locket onto the vanity with all her might. It hit the wooden surface and split open. We all froze, watching as the tiny book, its spine hand-stitched, its cover faded, fell from inside, tumbled across the top and landed on its cover by the talcum.
Battle with the Jacobites.
There was silence. Then Emmeline’s voice. Almost a whisper.

‘You said they were all gone.’

She ran from Hannah’s room, through the burgundy room and into her own.

The door slammed.

I stood back, held the brush by my side as silently Hannah picked up the locket from where it lay: face down, its little gold hinge pointing upwards. She took the tiny book, turned it over and smoothed its surface. Then she placed it back into the hollow of the locket’s chest and pressed it carefully closed. But it wouldn’t clasp. The hinge had broken.

She regarded her reflection a moment and stood up. Kissed the locket and laid it gently on the dresser. Ran fingertips lightly over its etched surface. And then she followed Emmeline. I tiptoed into the burgundy room behind her, made a show of busying myself with Emmeline’s discarded clothing and peered around the door. Emmeline lay across the bed and Hannah perched at the foot.

‘You’re right,’ Hannah said. ‘I am running away.’

No answer.

‘Haven’t you ever been afraid that nothing interesting lies ahead?’

No answer still.

‘Sometimes when I walk across the estate, I can almost feel the roots growing from my feet, tying me here. I can’t bear to walk by the cemetery for fear of seeing my name on one of the headstones.’

Hannah exhaled slowly. ‘Teddy is my opportunity. To see the world. To travel and meet interesting people.’

Emmeline lifted her reddened face from the pillow. ‘I knew you didn’t love him.’

‘But I do like him.’

‘
Like
him?’ Emmeline’s cheek was scarred where warm, moist skin had been pressed against the sheet’s fold.

‘You’ll understand one day.’

‘I won’t,’ Emmeline said stubbornly. She sniffled and her eyes filled again with tears. Then came her despondent plea. ‘You said you were going to have adventures.’

‘What’s an adventure but a step into the unknown?’

‘You should wait for someone you love.’

‘What if I never love anyone like that? What if loving is a gift, like horse-riding, or climbing, or playing piano—?’

‘It’s not.’

‘How can you be so sure? I’m not like you, Emmeline. You’re like Mother. I’m much more like Pa. I’m not good at laughing and smiling with people I don’t enjoy. I don’t take pleasure from the carousel of society; I find most society people tedious. If I don’t marry, my life will be one of two things: an eternity of lonely days living in Pa’s house, or a relentless succession of society parties and medieval chaperonage. It’s like Fanny said—’

‘Fanny makes things up.’

‘Not this.’ Hannah was firm. ‘Marriage will be the beginning of my adventure.’

Emmeline looked at her and in her face I saw the ten year old she had been that first day in the nursery. ‘And I have no say? Have to stay here alone, with Pa? I’d sooner run away.’

‘You wouldn’t last half a day.’ Hannah said drolly, but Emmeline was not in the mood for teasing.

‘He frightens me since the fire,’ Emmeline said in a low voice.

‘He’s not . . . He isn’t normal.’

‘Nonsense, Pa’s always cross about something. It’s his way.’

Hannah paused, chose her words carefully. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if things got better very soon.’

‘I don’t see how.’

‘You will.’

‘Why? What do you know?’

Hannah hesitated and I leaned closer, curious.

‘What?’

‘It’s supposed to be a secret.’

‘You know I can keep secrets.’

Hannah sighed shortly, with the capitulation of one about to speak despite her better judgement. ‘You mustn’t tell Pa. Not yet.’

She smiled with nervous excitement. ‘Teddy’s father has promised to buy Pa’s factory. He’s been talking to the lawyers for weeks now. He said if Teddy and I were marrying, if we were going to be family, the proper thing to do was to buy it and build it up again.’

‘And give it back to Pa?’

Hannah’s hopeful tone dipped. ‘I don’t know about that. Evidently it’s going to be very expensive. Pa had a lot of debts.’

‘Oh.’

‘Still. It’s better than letting someone else buy it. Don’t you think?’

Emmeline shrugged.

‘Pa’s men will keep their jobs. And Pa will likely be offered an overseeing position. A regular income.’

‘It sounds like you’ve got everything worked out,’ Emmeline said bitterly as she rolled over.

‘Yes,’ Hannah said to her sister’s turned back. ‘I think I really might.’

Emmeline was not the only Hartford for whom the engagement didn’t bring unrivalled joy. As wedding preparations got underway in earnest, the household swept up in dress-fittings, decorations and baking, Frederick remained very quiet, sitting by himself in his study, a permanent expression of trouble clouding his face. He seemed thinner too. The loss of his factory and his mother had taken its toll. So, as it turned out, had Hannah’s decision to marry Teddy.

The night before the wedding, while I was collecting Hannah’s supper tray, he came to her room. He sat in the chair by her dressing table then stood, almost immediately, paced toward the window, looked out over the back lawn. Hannah was in bed, her nightie white and crisp, her hair hanging, like silk, over her shoulders. She watched her father and her face grew serious as she took in his bony frame, his hunched shoulders, the way his hair had gone from golden to silver in the space of a few months.

‘Wouldn’t be surprised if it rains tomorrow,’ he said finally, still looking out the window.

‘I’ve always liked the rain.’

Mr Frederick did not answer.

I finished loading the supper tray. ‘Will that be all, miss?’

She had forgotten I was there. She turned to me. ‘Yes. Thank you Grace.’ With a sudden movement, she reached out and took my hand. ‘I’ll miss you, Grace, when I go.’

‘Yes miss.’ I curtseyed, my cheeks flushed with sentiment. ‘I’ll miss you too.’ I curtseyed to Mr Frederick’s turned back. ‘Goodnight, m’Lord.’

He appeared not to have heard.

I wondered what it was that brought him to Hannah’s room. What it was he had to say on the eve of her wedding that could not have been said at dinner, or afterwards in the drawing room. I left the room, pulled the door behind me, and then, I am ashamed to say, I lay the tray on the corridor floor and leaned in close. There was a long silence and I began to fear the doors were too thick, Mr Frederick’s voice too quiet. Then I heard him clear his throat.

He spoke quickly, his tone low. ‘Emmeline I expected to lose as soon as she was of an age, but you?’

‘You’re not losing me, Pa.’

‘I am,’ he said, volume rising sharply. ‘David, my factory, now you. All my dearest . . .’ He checked himself and when he spoke again his voice was so tight it threatened to buckle. ‘I’m not blind to my part in all this.’

‘Pa?’

There was a pause and the bedsprings squeaked. Mr Frederick’s voice, when he spoke, had shifted position and I imagined he now sat on the foot of Hannah’s bed. ‘You are not to do this,’ he said quickly. ‘There are other ways.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking of—’

Squeak
. He was on his feet again. ‘The very idea of you living amongst those people. It makes my blood . . . No, it’s out of the question. I should have put my foot down earlier, before any of this business got out of hand.’

‘Pa—’

‘I didn’t stop David in time, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to make the same mistake twice.’

‘Pa—’

‘I won’t let you—’

‘Pa,’ Hannah said, and in her voice was a firmness that had not been there before. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

‘Change it,’ he roared.

‘No.’

I was frightened for her. Mr Frederick’s tempers were legend at Riverton. He had refused all contact with David when he dared deceive him. What would he do now, faced with Hannah’s outright defiance?

His voice quivered, white with rage. ‘You would answer no to your father?’

‘If I thought him wrong.’

‘You’re a stubborn fool.’

‘I’m like you.’

‘To your folly, my girl,’ he said. ‘Your strength of will has always inclined me to leniency, but this I will not tolerate.’

‘It’s not your decision, Pa.’

‘You are my child and you’ll do as I say.’ He paused and an unwanted note of desperation coloured his anger. ‘I order you not to marry him.’

‘Pa . . .’

‘Marry him,’ his volume leapt, ‘and you won’t be welcome here.’

On the other side of the door, I was aghast and afraid. For though I understood Mr Frederick’s sentiment, shared his desire to keep Hannah at Riverton, I also knew threats were never a way to make her change her mind.

Sure enough, her voice when she spoke was steely with resolve.

‘Goodnight, Pa.’

‘Fool,’ he said in the bewildered tone of one who couldn’t yet believe the game has been played and lost. ‘Stubborn fool of a child.’

His footsteps drew near and I hurried to pick up my tray. Was withdrawing from the door when Hannah said: ‘I’ll be taking my maid with me when I go.’ My heart leapt as she continued. ‘Myra will look after Emmeline.’

I was so surprised, so pleased, I barely heard Mr Frederick’s reply. ‘You’re welcome to her.’ He pushed the door so furiously I almost dropped my tray, strode toward the stairs. ‘Lord knows I don’t need her here.’

Why did Hannah marry Teddy? Because she loved him? Perhaps. She was young and inexperienced—to what would she compare her feelings?

Because she believed marriage was her ticket to freedom?

Undoubtedly. Lady Clementine, with Fanny’s help, had seen to that.

There were those that thought she was deserting a sinking ship, but those who whispered such had never known her. She wasn’t deserting the ship, she was saving it. Or thought she was. And there was Emmeline to think of. Always, there was Emmeline to think of—she had promised as much to David she told me, the day he went to war. With Mr Frederick’s business as it was, marriage to Teddy was a way of looking after Emmeline. Ensuring her a future of connections and comfort.

Whatever the case, to outsiders the match was a good one. Simion and Estella Luxton were delighted, and so was everyone downstairs. Even I was pleased now that I was to accompany them. For Lady Violet and Lady Clementine were right, weren’t they? For all her youthful resistance, Hannah was sure to marry someone and surely Teddy was as good a catch as any?

They were married on a rainy Saturday in March 1919, and a week later we left for London. Hannah and Teddy in the car up front, while I shared the second car with Teddy’s valet and Hannah’s trousseau.

Mr Frederick stood on the stairs, stiff and pale. From where I sat, unseen in the second car, I was able, for the first time, to look properly upon his face. It was a beautiful, patrician face, though suffering had robbed it of expression.

To his left was the line of staff, in descending order of rank. Even Nanny had been exhumed from the nursery, and stood at half Mr Hamilton’s height, leaking silent tears into a white handkerchief. Only Emmeline was absent, having refused to watch her sister leave. I saw her though, right before we left. Her pale face framed behind one of the etched Gothic panes of the nursery window. Or I thought I did. It may have been a trick of the light. One of the little boy ghosts who spent their eternity in the nursery. I had already said my goodbyes. To the staff, and to Alfred. Since the night on the garden stairs we’d made tentative amends. We were circumspect these days, Alfred treating me with a polite caution almost as alienating as his irritation. Nonetheless, I’d promised to write. Extracted from him an undertaking to do likewise. And I’d seen Mother the weekend before the wedding. She’d given me a little package of things: a shawl she had knitted years before, and a jar of needles and threads so that I might keep up my stitching. When I’d thanked her she’d shrugged and said they were no use to her; she wouldn’t be like to use them now her fingers were locked and as good as useless. On that last visit she’d asked me questions about the wedding and Mr Frederick’s factory and Lady Violet’s death. She surprised me, taking her former mistress’s death easily. I’d come lately to realise that Mother had enjoyed her years of service, yet when I spoke of Lady Violet’s final days she offered no condolences, no fond remembrances. She merely nodded slowly and let her face relax into an expression of remarkable dispassion. But I did not think to query it then, for my mind was full of London.