Gail Whitiker (5 page)

‘Goodbye, Mama,’ Robert whispered. ‘May you find in heaven the happiness you did not find on earth. And may God forgive you for your sins, whatever they might have been.’

Robert bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead. Then, with one last look, he turned and walked from the room.

Dinner that evening was a dismal affair. Hannah called upon every skill at her disposal to keep the conversation light and entertaining, but as the evening dragged on and nothing she said seemed to make any difference, she began to despair that anything would. Robert was polite but distant, the silences between them growing more uncomfortable as the evening wore on. Nor did they speak of any important matters, as he had led her to believe they would.

Finally, when the last removes had been cleared, Hannah got up to leave. ‘I think I shall retire, Robert. It has been a long day and tomorrow will not be any easier.’

Something in her tone must have penetrated his mood of preoccupation, for he roused himself to look up at her. ‘Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Goodnight, Hannah.’

She was almost at the door when he stopped her. ‘Hannah?’

She turned. ‘Yes?’

‘Forgive me. I fear I have been…less than agreeable company this evening.’ He hesitated for a moment, as though struggling for words. ‘You have been trying to entertain me and have earned little response for your efforts.’

Hannah smoothed down her skirts, glad that he had at least acknowledged her attempts, but still too hurt to so easily forgive. ‘I’m sure you have much on your mind, Robert. Besides, we do not know each other well. In some ways, we are more like strangers than family, and strangers are never easy upon first meeting.’

‘Nevertheless, it does not excuse rudeness.’ He offered her a half-hearted smile. ‘Pray forgive me.’

It was an apology, Hannah realised, but one offered out of duty rather than remorse. He was a gentleman offering a lady an apology for unbecoming behaviour. It had nothing to do with feelings of regret for the lack of closeness between them. Still, it was an apology.

‘Of course,’ she said, answering his brief smile with one of her own, ‘but it is not necessary. You may behave in whatever manner you wish in your own home.’

‘My home.’ He laughed, but the sound rang empty and somehow hollow. ‘Yes, every now and then I remember that Gillingdon Park is mine, and that I am no longer a guest in my mother’s home. Or in yours,’ he said, gazing at her over the rim of his glass.

The veiled insinuation brought a flush to Hannah’s cheeks. ‘I am well aware of my position here, Robert. Though I cannot think of Gillingdon Park as anything
but
my home, I would not presume to consider myself mistress of it in light of our mother’s passing. That position rests with your wife, and with her alone. Well, there is much to be done before the funeral tomorrow. I expect the family will start arriving early. Did Mr Haberford tell you when we could expect him?’

‘Some time tomorrow, I believe. Why?’ Robert looked at her, his expression veiled. ‘Are you anxious for the lawyer’s arrival?’

Intent on her own thoughts, Hannah missed the note
of enquiry in her brother’s voice. ‘No, but his note said only that he would be posting down directly, so I had Ned secure a room for him at the Angel. I suppose I had thought to see him arrive today.’

‘Perhaps he was delayed leaving London,’ Robert said. ‘Speaking of matters legal, are you acquainted with the contents of Mama’s will?’

Hannah’s dark brows drew together in surprise. ‘No. Why should I be?’

‘I simply thought the two of you might have spoken of it in recent days.’

The implication of what he was saying—or of what she
thought
he was saying—caused Hannah to stiffen. ‘There was no reason for us to discuss it. I knew Mama was failing, but I did not expect her to…’ She broke off, the constriction in her throat making it impossible for her to finish.

‘Of course. And I apologise for sounding callous,’ Robert said, though his voice, like his face, was impassive. ‘But you did tell me that Mama had been suffering with a cough for some time, and that the doctor himself had remarked on her failing health. Knowing what I do of my mother, I cannot believe she did not know she was dying.’

It was a blatantly unfeeling remark, and hearing it caused Hannah to wince. However, drawing on years of training, she kept her voice, and her anger, admirably restrained. ‘I know you and Mama were not close, Robert, but I would thank you to remember that she and I were, and that I loved her very much. If I have any interest in the will at all, it is only to see what provisions have been made for the servants. I know they are your servants now, but it is only natural that they will be wondering about their futures. Especially the older ser
vants, like Sally, who effectively
has
no position any more. She will no doubt be hoping that Mama has made some provision for her.’

‘And I’m quite sure Mama did,’ Robert said, putting his glass down on the table. ‘Just as I’m sure she will have made adequate provisions for you.’

Eyebrows raised, Hannah shook her head. ‘I have no reason to expect anything apart from a few sentimental objects. You are the heir, Robert, and entitled to it all. But in truth, if she’d left me her entire estate, I would give it all back if I thought doing so would return her to me.’ She stared at her brother, looking for some crack in the marble façade. ‘Why do you not love her, Robert? What did she do to earn such antipathy from you? You were her only son. Was it asking too much that you gave her the respect and the love she so deserved?’

A nerve jumped in his cheek. ‘I had no need to give her love, Hannah. She had you. Remember?’

The words were spoken quietly and without force, yet Hannah flinched as though he had shouted them at her. ‘Yes, and all I can say is thank goodness she did.’

Then, without so much as a backward glance, Hannah turned and left the room, consigning her brother and his uncharitable thoughts to a place far warmer than this.

T
HE
funeral of Charlotte Emily, Viscountess Winthrop, was well attended. The stone chapel was filled to over-flowing with family and friends, and as Mr Howard read the moving words of the sermon, the sounds of ladies weeping softly could be heard throughout the old building.

Hannah sat in her usual pew at the front, with Robert on her right, and Sir Roger and Lady Montgomery, her mother’s sister and brother-in-law, on her left. Lady MacInnes, the Viscountess’s first cousin, had sent word that she would travel down from Scotland as soon as she could, but that she was unable to leave immediately due to the precarious state of her husband’s health. Other nieces, nephews, cousins, as well as most of the servants from Gillingdon Park, occupied the pews behind.

It was a moving and dignified service, just as her mother would have wished, and for the first time since her death Hannah began to experience a feeling of peace. A small bouquet of white roses—her mother’s favourites—lay atop the casket, along with a prayer Hannah had written for her.

It was comforting to know that at long last her mother and father would finally be reunited. That they would lie side by side in the Winthrop vault, her mother’s coffin placed there by Robert and the five other gentlemen who had volunteered to carry it.

The church bell heralded her passing, a sad, mournful tolling in the quiet of the afternoon.

The wake was a quiet affair. The ladies of the village had kindly provided refreshments, but Hannah partook of very little. In truth, she knew herself to be in something of a daze. She heard people speaking to her, some offering condolences, others just making polite conversation, and she knew that she gave the appropriate replies, though afterwards she could scarce remember what she’d said.

What she did remember was Robert standing at the edge of the room watching her. She could feel his gaze following her as she moved, talking to people and trying to make them feel welcome. But why did he study her so intently? Was he afraid she was in fear of collapsing? It hardly seemed likely, given that he didn’t like her well enough to harbour any such concerns about her health.

‘Oh, my dear niece,’ Lady Montgomery said, coming up and throwing her arms around Hannah. ‘What a sad day this is for us all. And for you especially, my dear. You will miss her very much, I think.’

‘I shall indeed, Aunt.’ Hannah said with a tremulous smile. ‘But I am glad she is no longer suffering.’

‘Yes, that is true. Poor Lottie. So very frail at the end. Indeed, it broke my heart to see her like that when I remember how beautiful she was as a young woman. But then, we were all young and beautiful once,’ she said in a wistful voice. ‘Ah, Robert, there you are. I dare say this has come as a terrible shock.’

Robert, formally dressed and surprisingly sombre, inclined his head. ‘It has indeed, Aunt. Hannah wrote to tell me that Mama was suffering from coughing spells, but I had not expected them to be so serious.’

‘But that is often the way of it, is it not, my dears? One minute here, the next gone.’

‘How is Alice, Aunt?’ Hannah asked, endeavouring to
move the conversation to a more cheerful topic. Her aunt was a kindly soul, but at times she could be dreadfully maudlin. ‘I was sorry not to see her here with you.’

‘Alas, when I left, the poor child was abed with a most dreadful megrime. I vow, I have never seen anyone suffer with such pain. When she is having a spell, I must go about in complete silence, for even the slightest noise causes her poor head to ache.’

‘How unfortunate,’ Hannah murmured.

‘It is to be hoped she recovers quickly,’ Robert put in, ‘for I have heard that she is a popular young lady about Town.’

‘Oh, indeed she is, Robert, indeed she is. In fact, she has any number of young gentlemen calling upon her,’ Lady Montgomery said, brightening a little. ‘Sir Roger and I are hopeful that we will see her advantageously settled before the end of the year.’

‘You must be very pleased,’ Hannah said, genuinely happy for her cousin’s good fortune.

‘I confess we are, my dear, but what about you? Surely you will not wish to continue living here. Why don’t you come to London and stay with us for a while?’

Hannah felt Robert’s eyes on her and raised her chin. ‘To be truthful, I am not sure what I shall be doing for the next while, Aunt. There has been so little time to think of it.’

‘But I’m sure my sister is grateful for the invitation, and will give it her due consideration.’

Hannah caught her breath as she turned to stare at her brother. What could have prompted him to speak for her in such a way? He might be the master of this house but that did not give him control over her.

Lady Montgomery, however, only took her hand and patted it reassuringly.

‘Of course she will. And I only offer because I think it is what dear Lottie would have wished. But there is no need for you to rush into a decision, Hannah. You are welcome to come and stay with us for as long as you like. Our social activities will, of course, be somewhat curtailed over the next few months, but we can enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company and make ourselves as merry as possible. Dear Alice has always enjoyed your company, and I know she will welcome the opportunity of spending time with you now.’

‘It is very kind of you, Aunt,’ Hannah said, carefully concealing her displeasure at her brother’s offhand remark. ‘And I
will
give it some thought, but I’m sure you can understand that there are things I must attend to here first.’

Lady Montgomery seemed to find that perfectly understandable, and did not press Hannah for an answer. Instead, she moved away to speak to Mrs Branksmuir and her daughter, who were clearly delighted at being addressed by a lady of such distinction. Robert also turned away to speak to a neighbour, leaving Hannah alone to enjoy a few minutes of solitude. But even that did not last long.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Winthrop,’ Philip Twickenham said, appearing at her side. Then, in a voice that only she might hear, added, ‘How are you bearing up, old girl?’

In spite of her feelings of annoyance, Hannah found a smile for her childhood friend. Dear Philip. So uncomplicated and likeable. He had matured considerably over the last few years, and was now a handsome young man with a thick head of curly blond hair and the warmest green eyes Hannah had ever seen. He was amiable in nature, quick to smile, and seldom displayed the flashes
of temper that had so characterised his youth. Hannah could understand why most of the young ladies in the village found him so appealing.

Unfortunately, his good looks and easy manners had never succeeded in capturing her deeper sentiments. To her, he would always be Philip—the freckle-faced boy who’d dared her to climb the old elm tree in front of the house, and who had put her on the back of his pony when she’d been little more than six years old.

‘Reasonably well, Philip, thank you,’ Hannah said now, ‘though I shall be glad when all of this is over and I am left to myself once more.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it must be tedious dealing with all of these people at such a time.’ Philip looked up, and his glance rested for a moment on her brother. ‘I see Lord Winthrop managed to make it home in time for the funeral. How are things between the two of you?’

‘Well enough, I suppose, though we’ve not had much opportunity to talk.’ Hannah did not look at her brother. ‘He arrived late yesterday afternoon, and today has been rather hectic.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it has. Do you think he means to take up residence here?’

‘I’ve no idea. I suspect he’ll prefer to remain in Town, at least until he is married. But Gillingdon Park is his now, so it is entirely his decision to make.’

‘And what of your plans, Hannah? Have you given any thought to whether or not you’ll stay on here?’

The familiar form of address did not surprise Hannah. She and Philip had long since agreed to call each other by their Christian names, at least when they were alone. Nor was she surprised at finding herself more at ease in his company than she was in her brother’s.

‘To tell the truth, Philip, I really haven’t given it any
thought. The last thing I expected a week ago was that I would be wondering what my future held in store for me today.’

‘Well, I shouldn’t worry about it. I dare say your mother will have seen to your welfare.’

‘Robert seems to think she has left me a considerable inheritance,’ Hannah said quietly.

‘And I sincerely hope she has,’ Philip said, surprising her with the remark. ‘After all, she’s seen a great deal more of you than she has of him these last years.’

As if becoming aware that he was the topic of conversation, Robert drifted back towards them. ‘Afternoon, Twickenham.’

‘Lord Winthrop.’ Philip bowed perfunctorily. ‘Please accept my deepest sympathies on your loss.’

‘Thank you. It is a sad time for all of us. On a happier note, I understand that congratulations are in order.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Your engagement to Miss Branksmuir.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’ Philip coloured at his lack of recollection. ‘Thank you.’

‘I must say it came as something of a surprise.’ Robert smiled as he glanced from Hannah’s face to Twickenham’s. ‘I always thought you and my sister would end up marrying.’

Hannah stared at her brother in horror. ‘Robert! You are embarrassing poor Mr Twickenham.’

‘Not in the least,’ Philip assured her. ‘But you’re quite right, my lord. I might well have proposed to your sister had I thought there was the slightest chance of her accepting me. But I suspect she has always looked upon me more as a thorn in her side than as a potential husband. Isn’t that right, Miss Winthrop?’

Hannah looked at him and hardly knew what to say. He
might
have proposed to her…?

‘Is that what you thought, Hannah?’ Robert softly repeated.

‘Well, yes…I suppose I did.’
Did she?
‘After all, Mr Twickenham and I were children together, and I certainly had no reason to think he would wish to marry someone who had pushed him into a smelly duckpond.’

There was a brief silence. ‘You pushed Mr Twickenham into a duckpond?’ Robert said.

‘Yes. Farmer Brownley’s, to be precise,’ Philip said in all good humour. ‘Possibly the foulest, most ill-smelling pool in the area. It was a very long time before I forgave her for it.’

‘There, you see,’ Hannah said, relief lightening her voice. ‘The adventures of our youth put paid to the chances of our ever enjoying a life together. Mr Twickenham saw what a troublesome minx I was and obviously decided to marry an amiable young lady who was less inclined to such hoydenish pastimes.’

‘Hoydenish they might have been, but no one could have been more amiable,’ Philip assured her. ‘In fact, had you given me
any
indication—’

‘Philip, what are you saying to Miss Winthrop?’ Frances Branksmuir demanded, suddenly appearing at his side. ‘I vow, she has gone quite pink.’

Hannah was indeed aware of the heat stealing into her cheeks, but she couldn’t help it given the unexpected turn the conversation had just taken. Heavens, what had Philip been about to say? Surely he’d not been about to admit that he’d been harbouring a
tendre
for her all these years…?

‘Actually, my sister was being reminded of the time
she pushed your fiancé into the duckpond,’ Robert said smoothly. ‘Isn’t that right, Hannah?’

Hannah blinked, aware that they were all looking at her, aware of the jealous glint in the other girl’s eyes. ‘Yes, that’s…right. And I do admit to being somewhat…embarrassed at having my conduct brought up for discussion all these years later.’

In a gesture that could only be called smug, Miss Branksmuir slipped her hand into the crook of Mr Twickenham’s arm. ‘Come to think of it, I do remember Mama talking about that particular event. She said it was quite the most appalling display of behaviour she had ever seen. Tell me, Lord Winthrop, what did you think of your sister’s antics? I cannot imagine you approving of such conduct.’

‘As a matter of fact, this is the first I’ve heard of it,’ Robert admitted with a smile. ‘But I shall make sure I hear the rest of the details in the very near future,’ he said, sliding an amiable glance in Hannah’s direction.

Having obviously held out hopes of a more censorious reply, Miss Branksmuir pouted. ‘I do hope you’ll not leave out any of the details when you recount the story, Miss Winthrop. Well, come along, Philip, I see Mama waving to us. Good afternoon, Miss Winthrop, Lord Winthrop.’

Robert executed a polite bow. ‘Miss Branksmuir, Twickenham.’

Hannah felt the warmth linger in her cheeks as the two moved away.

‘You pushed him into a duckpond?’ Robert said under his breath.

‘It was a childish impulse, I admit, but one that seemed entirely appropriate at the time,’ Hannah murmured, watching them go. ‘However, I dare say it will
prevent me from ever taking Mr Twickenham or his new bride too seriously.’

Robert glanced at his sister in surprise. It was hard to imagine the poised young woman beside him resorting to such tactics, or to believe that she would take seriously the conduct of such a prissy miss as Frances Branksmuir. The thirteen-year-old girl he remembered might have, but not this considerably more mature and composed Hannah.

It was only later, as Robert watched Hannah in conversation with the vicar and his wife, that he realised he was already starting to forget what that thirteen-year-old girl had looked like.

The reading of the will took place in the library. Mr Haberford, having arrived that morning, gathered all of the family members and staff together, and once they were seated, proceeded to outline what the Viscountess’s final wishes had been. As expected, each of the servants had been given a generous financial bequest. Sally had received the largest amount, in the form of an annual annuity, as well as a small piece of jewellery as a token of Lady Winthrop’s affection and gratitude.

Hannah smiled at her across the room, seeing the tears rising in the old woman’s eyes. Now, no matter what Robert did, the woman who had served her mother so long and so well would be able to live comfortably into her old age. She would never have to worry about finding work again.