Refuge (10 page)

***

Genevieve scrambled over the window ledge and stood on the tiny balcony that jutted out over the gardens. There had been a trellis there earlier in the year, but it was gone now, thanks to her brother. The old, gnarled branches of a climbing rose tree still clung onto the side of the house, thick stems of rosewood intertwining with strong, twisting ivy; she thought she might just manage it. The idea of rose thorns hooking into her flesh was preferable to what she would have to face from her brother if he caught her. She stepped over the balcony and grasped one of the ivy branches. The door to her bedroom rattled again and she heard her brother’s raised voice. Thank goodness the locks were solid. She eased the rest of her body over the balcony and somehow managed to clamber down. She jumped the last few feet, landing awkwardly, but firmly. She ran around to the stables and quickly opened the door of Star’s stall.

‘Come on, girl,’ she said and mounted the horse. She rode bareback, as Will had taught her years ago when they were children. She dug her heels into Star’s flanks and turned the horse’s head in the direction of Hartside; Will’s home. 

***

Genevieve didn’t feel the cold. Star was warm beneath her and she knew the way to Hartside. Genevieve galloped across the moors, past the ruined chapel and tried to quash the thought of what had happened there in the summer. To be fair, it was more the thought of what had happened afterwards that she tried hard to forget – but that day was the one day that stood out quite clearly in her mind.

Will had met her there as usual and the chapel had been mellow in the sunlight with purple flowers trailing down the walls and green, velvety grass that seemed to wrap itself around the stones. She couldn’t recall how it had all started, or how they had suddenly decided that the time was right and they wanted to explore every inch of each other’s body. She remembered cloudless, blue sky and the scent of pollen and fresh grass. There was the nearby humming of a bee as it flitted from daisy to clover and back again and a sense of shock and realisation as her childhood playmate suddenly turned into a man and the object of her desire.

It should have been perfect. It would have been perfect, had she not discovered a few weeks later that she was carrying a child. She hadn’t been the only one who learned that. Her brother had already guessed. He was waiting for her in the hallway. He had dragged her into his study and beat her until she confessed. He had beaten the whole story out of her: the place, the time, the father... Her mother had been outside the door, shouting, what seemed like encouragement, to him. She was a bad girl, a terrible daughter, a slut. By then, the room was spinning. Genevieve collapsed onto the floor and the world turned black. She assumed that she been had taken to her room afterwards. She woke up three days later, no longer pregnant and barely able to move without pain. It was a further week before she was allowed out of her room. During that time, Joseph had the trellis removed from the wall, just in case she tried to escape or Will tried to come in. Will had stayed away of course, and Genevieve was oddly pleased about that. He, at least, was safe. She discovered later that he had gone to London until the dust settled. Her bruises were written off as a ‘riding accident’ and the incident glossed over. It was horrendous that she knew the truth and could never tell anyone. It preyed on her already fragile mind. What was worse, she wondered – a riding accident or the pregnancy of an unmarried eighteen year old member of a respectable family? There was no option; she had to let the riding accident story spread. Genevieve knew, though, that the servants had no such compunction. They loved gossip; and they knew people in other houses who also loved gossip. Miss Genevieve’s ‘riding accident’ was the talk of the county. Not once during that time did anyone ask her how she felt about it. She saw Will afterwards, eventually, at the chapel. She told him what had happened and never spoke of it again.

***

Genevieve cantered across the moors until the gates of Hartside appeared on the grey horizon. A flash of something caught her eye in a cluster of trees by Hartside. She glanced across at the woods and saw a black figure. She made a small noise in the back of her throat and dug her heels into the horse. If that was her brother, she was as good as dead.

‘Oh, thank God!’ she cried as she approached the house and saw that the gates were open. She raced through them, along the carriageway and up to the front door, pulling Star up at the steps. Dismounting, she stumbled up the steps and hammered on the door. It seemed like an age before it was answered. The door was barely ajar, and she was pushing her way through it. ‘Where’s Will? Where’s Mr Hartley?’ she shouted, running past the butler.

‘Miss de Havilland!’ cried Wheeler. ‘Mr Hartley is...’

‘He’s gone? He’s already left?’ she shouted, swinging around to face the elderly man. ‘When did he go? Can I reach him before he leaves the country?’

‘Please, control yourself, Miss!’ said the butler. ‘Calm down! He hasn’t left. He’s in the drawing room.’

‘I must see him!’ cried Genevieve. Will was here, he would protect her. Everything would be all right. She ran across the hall to the doorway leading into the drawing room. She knew her way well.

‘Miss Genevieve!’ Wheeler snapped. ‘You cannot go in there, the family have guests. I will have to find Sir Harold.’ The butler turned and shuffled off to the other wing of the house, presumably to find Will’s father.

Genevieve launched herself at the drawing room door and threw it open, bursting into the room. ‘Will!’ she cried. ‘You have to help me! My brother...’ she stopped short as two people turned to face the door at exactly the same moment. One was Will.

The colour drained from his face as he stared at her. ‘Genevieve!’ he said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

She saw his eyes travel up and down her body, taking in the dishevelled hair, the ruined ballgown and the filthy satin slippers. Along with Will, was a small, slim girl, beautifully dressed in emerald green; she had clear, blue eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes. Her hair was a coppery colour, piled up onto her head with tendrils falling in loose waves onto her shoulders. She looked young and fresh-faced, her rosebud mouth a perfect ‘o’ as she stared at Genevieve.

‘Will?’ she asked. ‘Who’s this?’ She continued staring at Genevieve.

‘She’s a friend of the family,’ Will said, still looking at Genevieve. ‘I’ll deal with her, don’t worry.’ He moved towards Genevieve. ‘Come on. Let’s go into a different room.’ He put his hand on her arm and Genevieve snatched it away.

Genevieve matched the girl’s stares, her face thunderous. ‘Who is
she
?’ Genevieve demanded. ‘How dare she ask who
I
am?’

‘Excuse me!’ said the girl. ‘I have every right to ask. Will is my fiancé.’

***

Genevieve felt her precarious little world tilt on its axis. Fiancé? Will? Her Will? ‘You lying...’ she began, turning on the girl.

                ‘No!’ interjected the girl. ‘Why would I lie about it? I met Will in the summer in London. He proposed to me and I accepted. We are to be married next week. Will is about to travel back to Kent with me. I think you should leave now. Will doesn’t need your kind of friendship anymore.’

The girl glared at Genevieve with such hatred that Genevieve felt something inside her snap. Nobody except her brother had ever regarded her like that and she was not going to take it from this stranger. She let out a cry which would have brought a lesser person to their knees and flew at the girl.

                ‘Genevieve!’ shouted Will. The strange girl jumped out of her chair and backed away. Will again tried to steer Genevieve out of the drawing room. ‘I need to talk to you.’

                ‘Oh no, Will Hartley, I don’t think you do!’ shouted Genevieve. Her voice dropped, dripping sarcasm. ‘Does she know where you were last night? Does your fiancée know that?’ She began to laugh. ‘How ironic, Will. I’m not surprised you didn’t want to take me with you on your travels.’

                ‘Out! Now!’ said Will. ‘Cassandra, don’t listen to her. We’ll go into the...’ He never finished his sentence, his words interrupted by a loud bang. The copper-haired girl began to scream as Will slumped to the floor, blood spurting from a wound in his chest. Genevieve stood over him shaking. A small, pearl-handled revolver was in her hand. She had brought it with her from the house, from her dressing table, where she had hidden it for the last few months. She had always intended using it on Joseph. She had brought it with her today for protection from him, should he choose to pursue her to Hartside.

                ‘Ah Will,’ said Genevieve, staring at him, half-wondering what he was doing on the floor.  It had been extraordinarily quick, quite astonishing, really. ‘Will, remember when you showed me how to use this little beauty?’ she murmured. Then she turned to the strange girl who was terrified, panic and tears choking her as she cowered behind the piano. ‘Your turn,’ Genevieve said, quite calmly. She smiled sweetly and fired the pistol at her. The girl gasped, her eyes opened wide and she dropped to the floor. Genevieve stared for a moment, then came to her senses. She felt the gun in her hand; she saw two people lying on the floor. She felt the bile rise into her throat and the room began to swim.

                Genevieve backed out of the room and heard footsteps pounding through the corridors. People had been alerted by the gun shots. She ran to the doorway, still clutching the gun and headed out of the house. Star was waiting for her, looking confused and unsettled.

                ‘Star – we have to go now! She cried and swung herself onto the horse. The white horse threw her head back and galloped out of the driveway.

***

As they left the gates of Hartside far behind, Genevieve suddenly realised that she was trapped. What was left for her now? Will had gone; even if she hadn’t done...that... he was as good as dead to her. Genevieve couldn’t go home. That was as good as suicide; she knew without a doubt that her brother would kill her.

She began to shake. ‘
It didn’t happen
,’ she told herself.
‘It didn’t happen. I didn’t go there. He wasn’t there...he’s in London now
.’ She almost managed, but part of her couldn’t quite understand that she hadn’t killed Will. Or his fiancée. She jolted back to reality as Star stopped at the ruined chapel.

‘What is it Star? I don’t think he’s coming today,’ she said. She dug her heels into Star’s flanks again and tried to make her move, but the horse obstinately refused. Instead, she raised her head and gave a cautious whinny. Genevieve noticed a figure standing amongst the ruins. It walked across the chapel grounds towards her. Was it Joseph? Or Will? No, it was neither of them.

‘So this is the chapel,’ said Montgomery, looking about him. The building was grim and foreboding against the white landscape and Genevieve felt an unreasonable anger boil up inside her. She wanted to protect the place that she and Will had spent so much time in.

‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she snapped. ‘It’s for Will and me. And besides, it doesn’t look its best today. It’s very drab. In the summer, you have beautiful...’ her voice died, remembering the summer just gone. She felt sick and dizzy and the ruins began to blur out of focus. Damn Will! Damn him to Hell and back! Rage bubbled up inside her. Pure, evil, venomous rage. ‘I hate him,’ she said to no-one in particular. ‘I hate him.’ She turned to Montgomery and lifted her shoulders. ‘I do. I hate him.’

Montgomery smiled. ‘Nobody could speak of such a person or such a place with so much passion unless they had truly happy memories of being here, perhaps together,’ he said.

                ‘I did have good memories of this place,’ said Genevieve with some surprise. ‘Or at least, they used to be good memories.’

 ‘Have the memories been tainted in some way?’ pressed Montgomery.

Genevieve stared at the stained glass window wall. Was it really only yesterday she had seen Will here? ‘I
did
have good memories,’ she reiterated, ‘but yes, my brother tainted them. I can’t remember those feelings without remembering how it felt to have my brother’s fist smashing into my face. And now there is nothing at all, nothing good. He has finally erased it all. Every last bit of it; everything.’

‘Your brother?’ asked Montgomery.

‘Will Hartley,’ murmured Genevieve, still staring at the stained glass window. ‘He has spoiled it all. My brother would be so proud of him.’