Love at the Tower (2 page)

“You will have to excuse me, my dear, but I fear I am not as well as I could be. Those blasted doctors know nothing and cannot help me!”

Robina looked on in dismay as he struggled to compose himself.

She had known the Earl since childhood and as a girl had played with his sons, Robert and Ellis.

Robert, the elder of the two brothers, was in India with his Regiment and she had not seen him for ages – not since he was sent away to Eton in fact.

After Eton he had gone to the Royal Military College at Sandhurst and from there, had been sent on a Commission to India.

Robina had often wondered how he was.

She could remember him as a tall plain boy who was incredibly fond of horses, as she was herself, and who was forever getting his brother, Ellis, out of trouble.

Ellis had been born bad and looking for trouble she reckoned and had not been seen locally for some time.

Ellis, it seemed, was in London.

Lord Hampton finished the water and then snapped his fingers. Almost immediately his manservant was by his side.

“Fetch the carriage, Brocklehurst, we are returning to the Castle.”

The Castle!

Robina longed to be asked to see it, but had heard from gossip that it was a shadow of its former self. The ageing Earl had not the time nor the money for it and it was said that its once-magnificent Tower was crumbling.

“You have to leave us so soon?” her mother was saying with a concerned look, “but you have barely had a chance to tell Robina about Robert's adventures in India.”

“I am sorry, Lady Melville, but once this coughing comes upon me, I need to retire.”

They watched as the Earl was helped away.

“Poor man!” sighed her mother, “he really is very unwell.”

“And you, Mama – you are looking pale. I noticed it yesterday evening.”

Robina took her mother's arm and looked into her grey-green eyes searchingly. It seemed as if the light had been extinguished in them. All her pain was visibly etched on her face.

“I am fine, my darling,” she answered with a smile, “you must not concern yourself unduly.”

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, a look of agonising pain crumpled her features.

“Mama?”

But she did not answer. She simply clutched at her stomach and folded in two.

“Is everything all right?”

It was Robina's father. He had been watching his wife closely all day and his eyes had not left her face for a second.

Upon seeing her wince, he had rushed to her side.

“I must insist that you retire at once, Pamela.”

“No, no, I shall be fine in a moment. My guests – I must see to my guests.”

Once again her face contorted in agony as the pain shot through her.

Robina could not help but start to cry.

‘I must not allow Mama to see I am upset. I must not,' she said to herself as she turned away.

But the pain became too much and, eventually, Mama had been taken up to her room and the doctor called.

Robina was told by her father to remain downstairs and talk to the guests, but even as she laughed and smiled with them, she wished she was by her mother's side.

The party had come to an early end as the guests, sensitive to the plight of their hostess, drifted off before the sun set.

After Robina had said goodbye to the last one, she ran upstairs to be with her mother.

The grave look on her father's face had told her all.

“Darling, now you will need to be very brave, your mother is never going to recover. The doctor has found a tumour in her stomach and they cannot operate.”

At that moment Robina's world had fallen apart.

From that time on her dear mother was bedridden and the regular routine of nurses and doctors became a part of everyday life at Trentham House.

Robina gave up her studies and devoted herself to caring for her mother as best she could.

She was at her bedside when she died, holding her hand as the poor woman gasped for breath.

Robina cried as if her heart would break.

Nothing had prepared her for the complete and utter desolation she felt as her mother lay back on the pillow, still and lifeless.

*

But that was just a year ago and now Robina found herself returning to Trentham House in the family phaeton.

She sighed again as she huddled closer to Nanny.

They had now been travelling for over an hour and she noticed that Nanny had not said much about the house or her father, so finally she broached the subject.

“Nanny, how is Papa?”

“As I said before, he is much better than he was.”

“And the house? Is it just the same? I cannot wait to see it again.”

Nanny hesitated and could not meet Robina's eye. She gazed out of the window even though it was now dark, and seemed to consider her words carefully.

“There have been many changes at the house,” she said finally, “but you will find everything in good order.”

There was a weighty silence as the carriage rattled along the road.

It was the same one that Robina had travelled in on her way to France, although she could see that the interior had since been re-upholstered and the door handles were all brand new.

“Papa has been spending his money, I can see – ” she remarked, hoping it might draw Nanny out of her shell, but the old woman remained silent.

‘There is something much amiss here,' she thought, ‘when I left for France, I commented about the state of the phaeton and Papa had said that it was not worth the money to refurbish! Usually, when Papa makes his mind up about something, he does not easily change it.'

Robina's thoughts turned to the family that she had left behind in Paris.

She had not wanted to go to France, but no amount of tears or pleading would change her father's mind.

A few days later she had found herself en route to Dover, dreading what might lie ahead.

And then when she arrived in Paris, she had been so welcomed by the Lamonts, that, in spite of herself and her misgivings, she had soon found herself warming strongly to the family and their City.

“You will find that French gentlemen are different to the English,” Nanny had warned her on the journey out. “You must be so careful not to take their words of love too seriously. For a Frenchman to flatter a woman is as natural as breathing, so I don't want you to believe you are in love with some charming rogue who is merely passing the time of day with you.”

Indeed it had seemed to Robina that every man she met paid her compliments. She had not felt very attractive in her dull mourning clothes, yet she was constantly being told how lovely she was.

Even Jacques Lamont, the youngest son who was at least two years younger than Robina, had flirted with her and tried to snatch a kiss at a grand ball whilst they were walking in the gardens.

“Jacques!” Robina had cried, as he lunged at her by the fountain.

“I am sorry, Robina, but you see, you are just so beautiful that I had to kiss your lips.”

“I shall have to tell your Papa if you don't behave yourself,” she answered, trying hard to sound outraged as well as disguising a smile.

“Oh, Robina,
cherie
, you do not mean that,” he had implored, inclining his head on one side pleadingly.

She had arrived in Paris as skinny as a colt and had left a curvaceous young woman.

She regarded her reflection in the carriage window. It was so dark outside that it was almost as reflective as a mirror.

Her face had now filled out and she had lost her ‘pinched' look.

The Frenchmen had eyed her appreciatively when she had attended the opera dressed in her black silk gown with daring, short, puffed chiffon sleeves.

Whereas before she could never have worn such a gown as her shoulders were too bony, now she found that she was drawing admiring glances.

During the course of her stay Robina had become fluent in French and could now easily hold a long conversation on almost any topic.

And to pass the time she had also applied herself to learning German and a little Greek.

She immersed herself in Parisian Society and came to know the Louvre well. She could hold her own in any discussion about art and became quite an expert on Rodin, going to great lengths to be invited to his studio.

Leaning over now to the seat opposite, she noticed a new cashmere blanket on it. She fingered the soft fabric and realised that it must have been rather expensive.

‘How very curious,' she mused, ‘this looks as if a woman chose it. It is far too subtle and delicate to appeal to a man's taste.'

“Nanny, who bought this cashmere blanket?”

Nanny coloured deep red and appeared flustered by the question.

“I could not – say,” she stammered.

“Nanny, there is something odd about all this. The new blanket, the new decorations in the carriage. I know that Papa has no interest whatsoever in this kind of thing.”

She stared hard at the poor woman and she could see that she was visibly distressed.

Finally in a low voice Nanny blurted out,

“It is a new friend of your father's. She has been spending much time at Trentham House and she has made certain changes.”

“A female friend?” gasped Robina, unable to take in what Nanny had just said.

“Yes.”

“Papa has been entertaining a lady friend at home?”

“Yes.”

Robina felt shocked – she could not believe that her father would be interested in the company of a woman so soon after her mother' death. Surely it would be innocent, just friendship? She could not believe that it was anything more.

But Nanny's expression said a great deal and with a sinking feeling, it now occurred to her that this woman was possibly more than a companion.

She was beginning to feel uneasy at the prospect of going home. How would she possibly broach the subject with her father?

“Nanny,” she began again. “Does Papa have many lady friends visiting Trentham House?”

“Not really, Robina,”

“Well, does this lady come for short visits or does she stay for weekends?”

Nanny grew uneasy and steadfastly gazed out of the window.

“I have said more than enough. You must ask your father.”

“But Papa is not here, Nanny, and I wish to know!”

Nanny did not answer.

A sudden jolt threw Robina almost off her seat and, for the moment, she forgot all about her irritation.

“Are you all right, Robina, dear?” asked Nanny, as she helped her back into the seat.

Robina rubbed her arm.

“I think I am, but my arm is a little painful.”

“Tch, you always were such a clumsy girl! We shall get the doctor to look at it first thing in the morning,” clucked Nanny, rubbing Robina's arm as if she was a small child once more.

Robina dozed off as the carriage rocked and seated next to Nanny with her familiar smell of soap and lavender, she was soon soothed.

As she slept, she dreamed all over again of the day that they had buried her Mama.

It was a cold and wet day and the heavy mourning clothes she had donned were scratchy and uncomfortable.

She relived walking downstairs and glimpsing the glass-sided carriage with the jet-black horses snorting and shaking their heads so hard that the ostrich plumes danced.

She could once again see the coffin draped in black velvet as it was carried to the hearse. Her father followed behind, his black silk top hat in his hand and a grim look on his face.

Then in her dream she was suddenly standing by the open grave and, as she went to throw in the earth, she slipped and fell straight into the hole.

She tried to scrabble up the sides of the deep trench, but kept on sliding.

The trench seemed to grow deeper and deeper –

She shouted as the gravediggers started to shovel spadefuls of earth into the hole – but they did not hear her.

“Help! Help!”

Robina awoke with a start and grabbed hold of Nanny's arm tightly.

“What is it? There, you were having a bad dream.”

Nanny stroked Robina's hair and patted her hand.

Robina felt sick. She had been repeatedly having the same dream ever since she had first arrived in Paris and each time, she was convinced that she was about to die – suffocated in her own mother's grave!

“I was dreaming about Mama's funeral. It is always the same awful dream.”

“You have not seen the monument, have you? It is a beautiful angel gazing up to Heaven flanked by pillars. Your father commissioned a top architect to design it and one of the best masons in London carved out the figure. It bears your mother's likeness – ”

“I would like to see it,” murmured Robina, deep inthought.

She had not been to her mother's grave since she had left for France. It had still been a heap of earth when she last saw it and the first anniversary of her death was now looming.

It was nearly ten o'clock when the carriage finally turned into the driveway of Trentham House.

Robina's heart began to beat faster.

How would her father receive her?

Would he fling his arms round her and embrace her or would he merely nod and cough in that self-conscious way that he often lapsed into on emotional occasions?

The carriage pulled up at the front entrance and a footman came to open the door.

Robina did not recognise him, but vaguely remembered Nanny saying that some of the old servants had left because of her father's ill temper.

“Good evening, Miss Melville,” he said, “welcome home.”

“And you are?”

“Harrington, miss.”

‘It will feel so strange without Mama,' she thought, as she began to slowly walk indoors.

As soon as she was inside the hall, she noticed it.

Where the large Chinese vase had once stood, there was now an enormous French clock. Robina knew it was from Paris, as the Lamonts had something rather similar in their drawing room.