Seasons of Love (21 page)

Since Giuliana's generous body wasn’t built for a rapid chase, the affair had degenerated into a farce, the sort Charles had once loved to watch at the theatre. He began to chuckle. Then, when Giuliana tumbled head over heels, exposing her fat pink arse to his amused gaze, he had burst into roars of laughter.

A moment later, the laughter stopped.

It all happened so suddenly that he could have felt no pain and Helen, smiling by his side, took a moment or two to realise why the room had become so quiet. And when she did realise, she could not but be glad that it had happened in such a way. He had died as he would have wanted to, enjoying life.

Contrary to Samuel’s expectations, her ladyship didn’t immediately give way to her grief. In fact, he never saw her lose control of herself or her household, and only once did she weep in front of him. Her eyes were indeed reddened, but she did her grieving in private.

As Samuel spoke not a word of Italian, it was she and Briggs who had to organise the necessary preservation of the body, for Mr Carnforth had expressed a desire to be buried among his ancestors in the family vault - if that was not too much trouble - and had summoned his old friend and lawyer to see to that and one or two other matters as well.

Except for the public occasions, when they escorted the casket to the docks, or when they disembarked at Southampton, Mrs Carnforth didn’t wear black. She told Samuel of her promise to her husband, and admitted to a feeling of guilt about it.

‘Only,’ she said, with her gentle air of dignity, ‘I promised Charles and I shouldn’t like to break that promise, for he never broke a promise to me. And there’s one more thing. I don’t want to be called her ladyship, just Mrs Carnforth.’

‘It’s irregular.’

‘It’s what I want. It was Charles I married not his title.’

The sole occasion on which Helen did become agitated before they left was when Samuel gave her the main facts about Mr Carnforth's will. Her husband had left her everything which was not entailed, every single thing he could, and she had as well a lifelong tenancy of the Dower House at Ashdown Park in Dorset.

‘Oh, no, no!’ Helen exclaimed in distress. ‘I could not! I had never realised . . . Charles didn’t tell me it would be so much! I can't take all that money, Mr Napperby. How can I? I didn't marry him for his money. Truly I didn't!’

Harry rushed to put his arms around his mother and scowled at the lawyer.
‘Cara mammina
, please don't cry!’

But it was several minutes before she was composed enough to continue listening

‘Ahem!’ Samuel looked at her guardedly. ‘There is - one more thing you need to know about.’

‘Yes?’

‘Your son - Harry.’

Harry began to scowl again. He was jealous of this fat old Englishman who was taking up so much of his mother's time.

‘Charles was much concerned for the boy's future. As you know, he adopted Harry formally, so he has made a father’s provisions for your son. He has left some money in trust for the boy, for when he is twenty-one, and he has appointed his heir, Daniel Carnforth, and myself to be joint guardians to him.’

‘But - Harry can need no guardian! He has me! I'm his mother!’ Helen drew her son possessively towards her and he wriggled uncomfortably in her arms.

‘Ahem. You can be assured that I shall not interfere in his upbringing. But Charles was more concerned that Master Harry should have a - a gentleman to sponsor him into society. Later on, you know. He felt that the legal obligation would ensure that Daniel Carnforth did this. He said that even Celia's son would not neglect the sacred trust imposed on him by a dying man, er, especially Celia's son. The lady is rather addicted to death and its ceremonies, you see.’

‘How could Charles do it?’ she repeated, not at all Interested in Celia Carnforth's peculiarities.

‘He was very fond of the boy. Said he regarded him as a true son. Wished he could leave him the whole estate,’ Samuel offered as a palliative.

‘But he need not have saddled him with a guardian whom we've never even met!’ she said bitterly. ‘What if he - this Daniel person - tries to take my son away from me?’

‘There was no turning Charles from this point,’ Mr Napperby said unhappily, for that had occurred to him, too. ‘I did try, believe me. But he began to grow agitated - and I didn't dare press the point.’

Helen sighed. ‘Yes. I know. Charles was a dear, but he could be very stubborn at times.’

‘Yes, Mrs Carnforth. But - I did manage to persuade him to set up a joint guardianship, as a safeguard. In that way, if Daniel Carnforth neglects his duty, I can look after the boy. I believe I’m quite well respected in the county. And, with the permission of both of us needed to do anything against your wishes, he won’t be able to take the boy away from you.’ He blinked at her earnestly from his round grey-blue eyes, his plump jowls quivering sympathetically.

She took a deep breath. What couldn't be cured must be endured - and with dignity. Charles had taught her that. After a moment, she even managed a half smile. ‘Well, if there is no help for it, I suppose I had better just accept it. Is there anything else I should know, Mr Napperby?’

‘No, my dear lady. The other details can wait.’

‘Then I'll go and attend to my packing. I shall be happy to settle into my new home.’

She hoped the new owner of Ashdown would be pleasant to deal with. Mr Napperby had hinted that the family hadn’t been best pleased by the marriage, but it was no use worrying about that now.

She had dear Charles's last wishes to fulfil.

Chapter 13

Daniel Carnforth paced up and down the drawing room at Bellborough and cursed his own stupidity. What mental aberration had made him send word to Bath when he heard from Mr Napperby, to inform his mother that Charles Carnforth was dying and had asked the family lawyer to go to see him in Italy? She had come hotfoot to join him in the country and had been with him ever since, driving him mad with her complaints and affectations.

‘Daniel, dearest one, are you
listening
to me?’

‘Yes, Mama. I mean, no. I'm sorry. I was thinking about the old water meadows.’

‘Farming? At a time like this? When you may hear at any moment that you are the new owner of Ashdown? An ancient manor house, a family which can trace its line of descent from a Norman baron.’ She sighed ecstatically, for her family had no nobility among its ancestors.

As if Daniel cared about that! It was the land that mattered to him. ‘I shall need to put in some new drainage,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘Sorry.’ Then he grew angry with himself. Why did she always make him want to apologise?

She shook her head sadly. ‘You will become quite unbearably bucolic, if you don’t take care, my dear boy.’

He resumed his pacing.

But she could never bear silence for long. ‘If only we
knew
!’ she sighed for the twentieth time that day. Her pale eyes were fixed hungrily upon her son’s face, as if she expected to see a change in it signalling his ownership of Ashdown. In her hands she was clasping a volume of sermons, which he knew she’d never read, because he’d seen the uncut pages, but which she always displayed prominently upon any sad occasion - or when she was particularly displeased with her only child.

‘Well, we don't know and we can't know, Mama, so there is no use fretting, is there? Why don't you let me take you out for a drive? It's a beautiful day and the fresh air would do you good.’

Celia smiled bravely and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. ‘Ah, if I only had your stamina, my son! But you know how sad news oversets me. I
cannot
go out driving when, for all I know, my poor dear cousin Charles may be lying on his death bed! At this very moment! And I not in mourning! How shocking that would be!’

Her voice throbbed with emotion and the handkerchief was wielded again, though it remained dry, Daniel was sure.

Silence reigned for a few moments, broken only by the loud ticking of a very large and ugly gilt clock, which Daniel had always hated. He’d banished it to the attics once, but his mother had unearthed it on her next visit and given him a lecture on respecting family heirlooms. Rather than endure prolonged homilies upon the subject, he’d allowed her to place it upon the mantelpiece again. When she’d gone this time he would, he vowed, take the damned thing outside and break it into tiny pieces. It was driving him mad.

When it came to his home comforts, he must learn to be as stubborn as she was - but in a quieter way. A man needed a bit of peace after a hard day's work. Heaven preserve him from the upsets his mother seemed to thrive on!

Feeling that her son's attention was not upon her, Celia sighed and fluttered one hand at her brow.

Daniel's scowl deepened. This theatrical gesture never failed to irritate him. He suspected, no, he
knew
that the headaches to which she was prone were pure fabrications, for they only seemed to come upon her when her will was crossed, never when she had something pleasant in prospect.

Another sigh whispered through the air.

‘Shall I ring for a tea tray and some cake?’

‘You know I never eat when I’m upset. I have a bird’s appetite at the best of times.’

Daniel gritted his teeth. She was the heartiest eater he had ever seen! And it was no wonder she could spurn food in company and pleaded a lack of appetite; she never stopped nibbling from the time she got up to the time she went to bed. Why she wasn't as fat as his best sow, he couldn’t understand! Even now there was a dish of fresh shortbread set temptingly on a small table next to her, and the sofa bore district traces of crumbs.

Up and down the room he paced, unable to sit still. From the window, he watched his mother select another piece of shortbread and nibble at it as delicately as a mouse. Desperately he began to cast round for an excuse to dine away from home that evening, or at least to escape after dinner.

Why did she always make him feel so inadequate? Why could he not cope better with her vagaries?

His friends thought him mad to put up with her as he did. But they didn’t know what an unhappy life she had led. He could never forget how badly his father had treated her or how, when he was a boy, she had often shielded him from his father's drunken anger and even from physical violence. He usually managed to see the humorous side of things, but not today.

When the gong rang to dress for dinner, he opened his mouth to offer his apologies and invent a prior engagement, but she forestalled him.

‘We'll have such a cosy little chat over dinner this evening, my dearest. I'm
so
glad you're not going out again tonight!’

How in hell's name had she found that out? The cook, probably, he thought gloomily. She and the cook were as thick as thieves, for Mrs Banning loved to bake for someone truly appreciative of her skills. But now he had to face another evening in his mother's company!

However, no excuse would have availed to free Daniel from his mother that evening, for just after the gong had summoned them down to dinner, there was a knock on the front door and a messenger was revealed, bearing a letter from Rome. This was carried ceremoniously into the dining room by the maidservant who waited at table, her awed expression showing that she realised the import of the missive.

‘Oh, my dearest, dearest boy,’ Celia breathed, clutching her son's arm. ‘Steel yourself! It may be the news for which we have been waiting.’ She fumbled for her handkerchief and released her grasp so that he could stretch out his hand for the letter.

He stared at it. Mr Napperby’s handwriting.

‘Are you not going to open it, Daniel dearest?’

He pulled off the seal, unfolded it and scanned the contents:

My dear Daniel

I regret to inform you that your Cousin Charles, passed away last night. The end
was sudden and was a merciful release from pain.

I shall wait here for a few days and escort his widow back to England myself,
together with her young son. The lady wishes to take up residence in the Dower House
at Ashdown Park, as is her right.

Your cousin wishes to be buried with his ancestors, so we shall also be bringing
back his body for interment in the family vault. I would be grateful if you would go to
Ashdown, which now belongs to you of course, under the entail, as soon as you receive
this, and make all the necessary arrangements for a suitable funeral.

It is my duty to inform you that . . . ’

Daniel stopped reading the letter aloud.

‘Ah!’ declared Mrs Carnforth with great satisfaction. ‘You are now the owner
.
You can style yourself Carnforth of Ashdown Park. That has a very noble ring to it, do you not think? I'm so glad we didn't call you John, as your Aunt Susannah wished. It wouldn’t have done your position justice.’

She turned to her son. ‘Why have you stopped reading? What else does Mr Napperby have to say, pray?’

But she had to wait to find out, for her son had forgotten her presence entirely. Face flushed with annoyance, he was holding the paper as if it were a snake about to bite him and re-reading the last part of the letter. He muttered something which sounded suspiciously like an oath, screwed the letter up and threw it on to the floor. Then he bent and snatched it up to smooth it out and read it again.

‘I'll be
damned
if I will!’ he exclaimed, and thumped the table to emphasise his point. ‘How 
dared
Charles do such a thing? Without even asking me!’

It took Celia quite five minutes to calm him down enough to divulge what had enraged him. By this time she was so anxious to know what it was that she even refrained from pointing out to him the shocking nature of the language he had used. ‘What is it, my dearest?’

He was still having great difficulty in speaking calmly. ‘If you must know, Charles has named me guardian to that woman's brat, whom he had apparently adopted! His dying wish. Foisting such a child on me! And I'll be
damned
if I'll do it!’