The Shifting Fog (36 page)

‘Yes, miss?’

‘I haven’t told anybody else.’ She hesitated, glanced toward the closed door and lowered her voice. ‘You have to promise not to tell. Not Myra, nor Alfred, nor anyone.’

‘I can keep a secret, miss.’

‘Of course you can. You have kept my secrets before.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Mr Luxton has asked me to marry him.’ She glanced at me uncertainly. ‘He says that he’s in love with me.’

I was unsure how to answer. To feign surprise felt disingenuous. Again, I took her hand in mine. This time there was no resistance and I resumed my task. ‘Very good, miss.’

‘Yes,’ she said, chewing the inside of her cheek. ‘I suppose it is.’

Her eyes met mine and I had the distinct feeling I had failed some sort of test. I looked away, slipped the first glove off her hand like a discarded second skin and began on the other. Silently, she watched my fingers. A nerve flickered beneath the skin of her wrist. ‘I haven’t given him an answer yet.’

She continued to look at me, waiting, and still I refused to meet her eyes. ‘Yes, miss,’ I said.

She met her own gaze in the mirror as I slipped off her glove.

‘He says he loves me. Can you imagine that?’ She regarded herself as if for the first time, as if trying to learn her own features for fear that next time she looked they may be changed.

Why didn’t I tell her then, all that I had heard? The machinations leading to what she imagined was a spontaneous declaration? I suppose I didn’t think she was giving serious thought to his proposal. She was flattered by his attentions—that was understandable, he was a handsome and successful man. But marriage? She had made her feelings about marriage clear.

And perhaps I was right. Perhaps at that time she had no intention of accepting. Was merely savouring the thrill of having been chosen. It is hard to say. Whatever the case, it hardly matters. For later that night something happened to change everything.

Just before dawn, far across the plains of England, Frederick’s factory caught fire. It was swift and spectacular and utterly devastating.
According to the newspapers, the building was completely destroyed, stripped so that only a shell remained. Mrs Townsend’s cousin who lived on the road to Ipswich, wrote that the motor cars inside were like carcasses, charred black and covered by soot. Her letter said the smell of burning rubber hung about the village long after the last ember stopped glowing.

The fire brigade was called but by the time the engines arrived it was too late. The men could only stand and shake their heads and say what a pity it was, and how unusual for a factory to burn like that in the middle of winter. Not like summer, when the sun made metal hot and all it took was a piece of overheated machinery to ignite the timber frame and send the whole building up. No, an inferno in the middle of winter was damn near unheard of. And then the police were called.

There were whispers in the local village. About Mr Frederick and the troubles he’d been having making payments to his staff. His foreman, Jack Bridges, had waited a month for his last cheque and—as he told Mrs Bridges, who in turn told the ladies of her church group, one of whom was Mrs Townsend’s cousin—if Lord Ashbury hadn’t been such a good man he’d have told him to stick his job, would’ve gone back to working at the steel factory in the next town which had a strong union and where employees were paid above the award.

Of course, none of these details were known to us at Riverton for a week or two. The fire happened on the Sunday and the house party continued through to Monday. The house was full of guests who had come a long way in the middle of winter and were determined to have a good time. Thus, we continued our duties, serving tea, making up rooms and delivering meals.

Mr Frederick, however, had no such compunction to carry on as normal and, while his guests made themselves at home, eating his food, reading his books and tut-tutting about his factory, he remained sequestered in his study. Only when the last car pulled away did he emerge and begin the roaming that was to be habit with him until his last days: noiseless, ghost-like, his facial nerves tightening and knotting with the sums and scenarios that must have tormented him.

The lawyers began to make regular visits and Miss Starling was called from the village to locate official letters from the filing system. There were whisperings about unpaid insurance bills, but Mr Hamilton dismissed them and said we were not to listen to idle gossip. The Master was not the sort to be lax where business was concerned and it was bound to be a mix-up of some kind. Mr Hamilton’s gaze would then be cast in Miss Starling’s direction, hungry for a confirmation that was never forthcoming. Day in, day out she was required in Mr Frederick’s study, emerging hours later, clothes sombre, face wan, to lunch downstairs with us. We were impressed and annoyed in equal measure by the way she kept to herself, never divulging so much as a word of what went on behind the closed door.

Lady Violet, still sick in bed, was to be spared the news. The doctor said there was nothing he could do for her now and if we valued our lives we were to keep away. For it was no ordinary head cold that had her in its grips, but a particularly virulent influenza, said to have come all the way from Spain. It was God’s cruel show of attrition, the doctor mused, that for millions of good people who survived four years of war, death was to be a caller at the dawn of peace.

Faced with the dire state of her friend, Lady Clementine’s ghoulish taste for disaster and death was tempered somewhat, as was her fear. She ignored the doctor’s warning, arranging herself in an armchair next to Lady Violet and chatting blithely of life outside the warm, dark bedroom. She spoke of the ball’s success, the hideous dress worn by Lady Pamela Wroth, and then she declared that she had every reason to believe Hannah would soon be engaged to Mr Theodore Luxton, heir to his family’s massive fortune.

Whether Lady Clementine knew more than she let on, or merely plied her friend with hope in her hour of need, she showed a gift for prophesy. For next morning, the engagement was announced. And when Lady Violet succumbed to her flu, she drifted into death’s arms a happy woman.

There were others for whom the news was not so welcome. From the moment the engagement was announced and dance preparations gave way to wedding plans, Emmeline took to stomping about
the house, glowering. That she was jealous was clear. Of whom I wasn’t sure.

One night in February, as I brushed Hannah’s hair, Emmeline stood by the vanity, turning objects over one by one. She placed a small porcelain sparrow back on the surface rather too roughly.

‘Careful,’ Hannah said. ‘You’ll break it.’

Emmeline ignored the admonition and picked up a pearl hairclip, fastened it in her hair. ‘You promised you wouldn’t leave,’ she said, voicing my own feelings.

I felt Hannah tense. The storm had finally come. ‘I said I wouldn’t get a job and I didn’t,’ she said carefully. ‘I never said I wouldn’t get married.’

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.