Ashton Park (10 page)

“We must carry through with it this time,” he insisted, grasping her hand. “Heaven knows we need it—your love for Jeremiah, the blessing of the bishop when he takes you through your vows, the holy moment when you two make your declarations. We cannot do without it.”

Victoria sat in her room after dinner. Robbie visited with her for part of the evening, followed by Kipp, and then Catherine. If they were not with her they were with Emma. She felt no desire or compulsion to walk down the hall to Emma’s room and certainly had no intention of offering an apology. Images of Ben’s soft dark curls matted with blood haunted her. Anger toward her sister and Mrs. Seabrooke would not ebb. From time to time, as she sat on her bed, she wondered if her rage had abated, but every time stark impressions of Ben sprawled in the mud of Flanders resurfaced and whipped her indignation to a pitch of fury.

“I doubt I can forgive this, God!” she said out loud and alone. “It’s murder, isn’t it? How can I forgive such calculated, cold-blooded murder?” A few minutes later she added, “She does not even seek forgiveness. She is not sorry for what she has done.”

Victoria was still up just before midnight when another cable arrived with the astonishing news that HMS
Tipperary
had picked up a handful of sailors from the
Queen Mary
and one of them was Commander Edward Danforth. The whole household—all those who were awake—seemed to relax and fall off to sleep in a kind of euphoria. But at four in the morning a courier brought unwelcome news of the sinking of the HMS
Tipperary
due to enemy action. Sir William did not inform his wife, he let her sleep on. Victoria, still up, sat with him in his private study as he talked and prayed and fretted.

“I do not see God’s hand in this,” he groaned. “I do not see it. That does not mean it isn’t there but—”

“Are there survivors from the
Tipperary
, Father?” she asked, pouring him tea.

“I don’t know. I expect that will be in the next cable. It’s not unreasonable to suppose there were some.”

At eight-thirty yet another cable relayed that twelve men had been plucked from the sea after the
Tipperary
had gone down. Most had been rescued by the Germans and were prisoners of war. Sir William shook his head as Victoria read the cable through twice. “I would not care. A son in a prison camp is better than one at the bottom of the sea.”

Guests began arriving for the wedding after lunch. Despite the devastating news she awoke to, Lady Elizabeth greeted them with warmth and grace, clever work with cosmetics by her maid, Cynthia, disguising the redness and swollenness under her eyes. Tavy and his footmen ushered people to their seats in a chapel that gleamed with Emma’s colors of green and gold and with the afternoon light. Lady Caroline Scarborough, tall and slender and fair as sunlight—the woman that everyone expected Kipp to marry—gave him a proper kiss on the cheek and sat with her family. The bishop was about to begin the ceremony when Tavy took Sir William aside and handed him a final telegram—Edward was one of the few seamen the Royal Navy had pulled from the water when the
Tipperary
went down. Sir William gripped Tavy’s hand: “My boy is twice saved and we are twice blessed.”

Ecstatic, he handed the cable to the bishop to read to begin the service. Many of the guests knew nothing about the sea battle or what had gone on at Ashton Park from one day to the next because of it. For Lady Elizabeth, the emotions that had ravaged her mind and body for the past day proved to be so exhausting she felt she was going to collapse in the tightly packed chapel. Aunt Holly bolstered her on one side and Sir William on the other. For Kipp and Robbie, who had both seen combat and knew the ending of the sea battle saga for their family was better than anything that could be expected, a marriage coming at the end of it all was something of a triumph, and they sat elated in their pew.

But for Victoria, happy as she was to hear Edward’s life had been spared, the wedding was no more than a deeper cut in the wound of Emma’s betrayal of Ben. Emma could marry the man she loved but Victoria could not. That possibility had been stolen from her by the sister she had grown up with under the ash trees and worshipped God with at St. Mark’s. To her, the wedding was a scar on a perfect June day that had seen miracles. She sat rigidly next to Catherine without any expression on her face as Emma and Jeremiah exchanged vows. She knew something would have to be done about what her sister and Mrs. Seabrooke had set in motion against Ben Whitecross’s life. She did not know what that something was, but when the opportunity presented itself she was certain she would recognize it for what it was. And she would act on it.

February 1917

He had finally come home to Ashton Park. It seemed to Edward that nothing had changed since he had last been here. Indeed, he wondered if Ashton Park
could
ever change.

He hoped not, as he stood under the ash trees, hands in his pockets, staring up at the vast covering of green.

The rain was thin and light on his shoulders. Edward had experienced far worse standing on deck during the Battle of Jutland. He was sure the thousands of leaves kept the downpour from striking him with more force. Yet as the storm intensified, the branches flew back and forth, opening gaps that allowed the cloudburst to make its way through to the grass and to his head and body in fierce gusts. Drenched, he refused to move, testing himself against the elements.

It was much worse during the sinkings. And I could not get out of the cold sea, I could not. I can bear this.

“Mister Danforth, Mister Danforth, sir.”

He glanced at a young maid in a long coat running toward him through the trees. She threw a heavy cape over his shoulders.

“You’ll catch your death, sir. February rains are brutish.”

“Why…thank you. Did Tavy send you out here?”

“I saw you myself from the window. Lord knows it should have been your valet Lewis, but he’s off and tidying your room. I couldn’t stand to see you get soaked through. And you having been through so much.”

“I don’t know you, do I?”

“No, sir. I was brought on after you left for your post on the
Queen Mary.
I’m Charlotte Squire, sir.”

“Charlotte Squire. Do your friends call you Char very often?”

“Yes, sir.” She smiled for the first time, raindrops sliding from her hood brim over her eyes so that she blinked.

Edward took her by the arm. “Not very gentlemanly to leave you out in the storm. Come with me.”

“I should be getting back, sir.”

But she let herself be led. He took her to one of the huts that dotted the estate, which were used for storing tools and other supplies. Inside there were three spades and a large saw. A scent of earth. Light came through a small window. She shook her cloak and pulled back her hood.

He looked at her in surprise. “Your hair—”

She reached up with her hands. “Oh. What’s the matter then? Are the pins out—I can never keep them in once I’ve run a few steps—”

“I mean—it’s so dark—and your eyes are as sharp blue as the sea—”

Charlotte laughed and didn’t know what to do with her hands after bringing them down from her head. She looked away from him and at the floor. “From my father. He had the coal black hair and the eyes like a clear winter day.”

Edward watched the silver light on her hair and face. She felt his gaze and kept her eyes on the puddles of water spreading out from their boots and clothing. He made to reach out and smooth back strands of wet hair from her cheek but she turned slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Her eyes were still down. “You’ve not done anything to be sorry for, sir. But I should be getting back or Mrs. Seabrooke will have a fit. There’s all the laundry, you see.” But she did not move.

Edward stared out the window. “It’s still blowing. Like a North Sea gale.”

She lifted her face. The beauty was great, her skin shining with water and glowing with the sting of the wind she had run through to him. But he glanced away and back out the window again.

“At sea,” he went on, “there are always the waves pitching into the ship and the deck moving under your feet. Sometimes hail that hits you like stones.”

Charlotte folded her hands in front of her. “You have been through a great deal, Mister Danforth. I know that. I prayed for you. That long night. Went to the chapel, all decorated for your sister’s wedding, and prayed for God to spare you even though so many others had died. Thousands of young lads.”

Edward looked back at her. She did not drop her eyes.

“Do you believe in prayer?” he asked.

“I do, sir.”

“Did you—tell me, did you stop praying for me after I was pronounced safe?”

Blood came to her lips and face. “Why, I—” She hesitated. “That’s a strange thing to ask, sir.”

“Forgive me then.”

“No, I don’t mind answering. But I shouldn’t say, should I? And we shouldn’t be in this hut alone either. But we’re here. And you’ve asked. I’m ashamed to say I’ve never left off praying for you…there was the photograph every time I cleaned your mother’s room…you looked…so fine in your officer’s uniform on the deck of the ship and those great guns sitting just there over your shoulder…every time I saw your face I prayed for you…”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. Fancying you like a schoolgirl.”

“But you prayed.”

“I did, sir.”

“I find that odd.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Kipp was always the lady’s man. Blond hair. Green eyes. I’d have thought you’d have daydreamed about him.”

“I met your brother at Mistress Emma’s wedding last June. He does look every inch the Royal Flying Corps type, if you know what I mean. But I much prefer your looks, sir. I apologize for being bold. You’re darker, and warmer, and, somehow, deeper.” More blood filled her face. “I’m sorry. I’m speaking rubbish.”

Wind and rain cracked against the hut.

“Look at that,” said Edward quietly. Water flooded the outside surface of the windowpane. “They said I’d soon be over it—the two sinkings. That war is war. I was unconscious the first time. After the
Queen Mary
blew up. The cold of the water and the heat of the burning oil gave me quite a jolt. I came to, and then swam for my life. The crew of the
Tipperary
hauled me on board. The second time I had both eyes open when I went into the sea. The
Tipperary
was breaking up behind me. I saw the German ship coming to pick up survivors and I swam away from them. Can you imagine? The water was like ice, it was night, I was five or ten minutes from drowning, but I swam away from the people who could save my life because I didn’t want to be a prisoner of war. So the Royal Navy saved me instead. But what will my life accomplish in the end? There won’t be another fleet action. All we’ll do is hunt U-boats.”

“Ah, don’t say that, sir. Your mother and father thank God you’re alive. Why, the whole household was rejoicing when they knew you’d been saved. It was not long after that I started looking at your picture. You’re this young maid’s daydream, if that pleases you, sir.” She bit her lip and shook her head and yanked the hood back up. “I’m prattling. It means nothing.” She put her hand on the door latch.

“Please—don’t head back just yet, Charlotte.”

“I must. I’ve been acting the fool. I must go.”

“Please don’t.”

“Mrs. Seabrooke—”

“I’ll handle Mrs. Seabrooke.”

She stood at the door. “What do you want with me, sir?”

“It’s…pleasant…and comforting to speak with you. You choose your words very well.”

“Thank you, sir. We were poor but Da was always a great one for the newspapers and whatever books he could lay his hands on. We children were always reading something. Sometimes out loud to Da and Mum.”

Edward rubbed his hands up and down over his damp face. “I’m…I’m not one for using words well…for talking.”

“Many fine ladies come to Ashton Park. Once you spend time with them you’ll not have any more trouble with your talk.”

“I think you could outdo them all, don’t you?”

“Oh, no, sir, I don’t have the polish.”