The Seventh Miss Hatfield (10 page)

‘I don’t know him as well as you do,’ Willie said. ‘You’re related by blood? He’s your uncle, am I correct?’

I remembered what Mr Beauford had said about his sister and my supposed mother and replied that he was, indeed, correct.

‘He was never there during Henley’s childhood,’ he said. ‘We both went to a finishing school in the Moors, days away from London. Parents would visit, and those who came from abroad, whose parents couldn’t readily visit, they received care packages.’

I nodded, interested in hearing about this part of Henley’s life, a part that had been hidden from me so far.

‘Even I received packages from home and my parents lived in London. But for whatever reason, Mr Beauford just wasn’t interested in that kind of contact. The only thing Henley would receive from home was the occasional telegraph notifying him of money being wired into his account for his birthday.’

‘Just that?’

‘Well, what do you expect from someone like Mr Beauford?’ Willie’s outburst surprised me. ‘Everything he does is done because it suits him – even this sudden piousness. The only reason that man’s taken an interest in religion these past few years is because he knows he’s going to die. A relationship with his own son doesn’t suit or benefit him enough.’ Up until now, Willie had at least been tactful when discussing things he didn’t agree with, but there was no hiding the malice in his voice when he talked about Henley’s father – my uncle, I kept reminding myself.

‘I’m sorry.’ Willie had seen the look of surprise on my face. ‘I know he’s your uncle. I shouldn’t have said that.’ He made a move to leave.

‘No—’ I touched his elbow, making him pause. ‘Please stay. I know that Mr Beauford – my uncle – hasn’t always been there for Henley when he’s needed him. I agree with you.’

I saw Willie relax.

‘I was just worried that—’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But right now we have to be here for Henley. Regardless of what my uncle’s done, he’s still Henley’s father, and we must stand by Henley, whatever happens.’

I briefly saw a shadow flitting beneath the parlour door and wondered who could be listening. Thinking it might be a servant, I prayed they hadn’t heard much of our conversation. But as quickly as I noticed it, the shadow was gone. Perhaps Father Gabriel had left Mr Beauford’s bedside and was pacing through the house, waiting to be called back in.

When I looked up again, Willie was smiling. ‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right, Margaret.’

It made me cringe to hear Willie call me Margaret. In the short time I’d known him, I’d grown to really like and respect him. I didn’t want to lie to him, but knew I had no choice.

‘Let’s go and see how Henley’s faring. Whatever the physician said, it couldn’t have been good.’ Willie took my arm as we went up the stairs. ‘No matter what, we have to keep our friend’s best interests at heart.’

Henley was seated outside Mr Beauford’s bedroom. With his head bowed in his hands, he didn’t see us approach. Willie impulsively moved to comfort Henley, but Henley didn’t even acknowledge him.

‘Henley, what did the physician say? It couldn’t have been that bad.’ I heard Willie say the exact opposite of what he’d said to me just a few moments ago. ‘You’ll see. He’ll get better. He’s having a bad day – all he needs is some rest.’

‘And how is your family?’ Sarcasm dripped from Henley’s voice.

‘Faring well, indeed,’ Willie replied. I knew he wanted to say more, but out of consideration for what Henley was going through, Willie kept his response short.

‘Your father must be proud,’ Henley said. ‘You’re finally working in the family business. It must be a dream come true for him.’

I couldn’t help but notice the dry tone of Henley’s voice and I wondered if Willie could hear it as well.

‘Not as happy as Mother is with Mary’s debut into society. She’s almost as excited about Mary’s first season as Mary is!’ Willie betrayed no sign of having heard the dark notes in Henley’s voice, and he ploughed on, apparently trying to distract Henley. ‘I think Mary’s more enraptured by the idea of having a season than with the actual season itself.’

There was an awkward pause as Willie and I both waited for Henley to say something. When it was clear that he was just going to sit there staring at us with blank eyes, I tried to jump in, but Willie spoke again before I could.

‘Mary always had that fantasy of marrying a wealthy titled lord after only her first season. Remember when you two used to make up stories about that? I blame you for encouraging her.’ Willie laughed, but Henley’s expression remained unchanged. ‘We would all end up buying neighbouring houses, though we’d spend so much time with each other that we might as well be living together …’ Willie trailed off in the face of Henley’s persistent silence.

A servant I didn’t recognize left Mr Beauford’s room, carrying an empty glass on a tray. She nodded at Willie and me as she passed.

I caught Willie’s gaze, and he understood without me having to tell him that I wanted some time alone with Henley. He obliged, smoothing his crumpled hat in his hands before entering Mr Beauford’s room. Although he closed the door behind him, I could still hear the mixed mumble of voices. I couldn’t distinguish individual words, but Willie’s reassuring tones were soothing.

I knelt down in front of Henley, who had his face in his hands again. We sat there in silence, listening to each other breathing, and to the muffled voices next door. Then he gathered himself together.

‘I–I don’t know how I feel,’ Henley said. ‘I’m terrified for my father, yet … there’s a part of me which can’t feel anything for this man I hardly know. I know it’s horrible – I know I’m not supposed to be numb like this. He’s my own father—’

‘Henley. It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to feel a certain way. I know you have conflicting emotions, and that’s normal. You don’t have to justify anything to yourself or to me and Willie. We’re here for you and that’s not going to change. Your father will be all right. What did the physician say?’

Henley drew a shaky breath. ‘It’s just that I can see him slowly going insane. I know it and there’s nothing I can do about it. When I was younger, I remember asking him about his love of collecting antiques. He said he collected them because they’re immortal; they were here long before us and will remain long after we’re gone. But his collecting has become an obsession, not a love.’ Henley jerked his head up to look at me. ‘He’s been driven insane by his fear of dying. It’s all he ever thinks about now. He practically has that chaplain by his side day and night, as if that alone will ward off death. Father Gabriel even appears to be indulging my father, pretending he actually takes an interest in the things he collects. He’s using him, thinking that if he yields to my father’s every whim, my father will give his chapel more money. That’s what everyone’s ultimately after, isn’t it? His money. That’s why they give in to all his desires … even this sickening fixation of his. I–I actually thought it would pass … that he’d somehow get better, but today … Today I really saw what his insanity can do to him. I saw the way the people in the park looked at him. I’ve never seen eyes like that. They judged him. They labelled him and I know he wouldn’t want that. I know he’s a greater man than that, and he deserves more. But I know he’s not well, either.’

‘Margaret, Mr Beauford has asked for you.’ Willie was at the door.

I nodded and stood, but paused at the doorway and looked back.

‘Come on, I’m afraid you look paler than your father,’ Willie said as he grabbed hold of Henley’s arm. ‘To bed with you, and that’s not a suggestion.’

Henley didn’t resist and I watched him stagger down the hall next to Willie, just as Mr Beauford had staggered along beside us.

I closed my eyes for a long second and entered Mr Beauford’s room.

‘Close the door behind you.’ His voice was stronger than I’d expected it to be.

After I’d closed the door as he instructed, I sat in the vacant seat next to the bed. Unsure of what to do, I folded my hands in my lap before spying a glass of water on the bedside table and asking him if he’d like some.

‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘If I were thirsty, I’d be drinking water right now. I’m not sick, you know, I’m perfectly capable of picking up a glass. It was just a misunderstanding. All I did was mistake someone for Ruth.’

‘But Ruth … She’s not here any more.’

Mr Beauford looked away from me. ‘Pass me that pillow beside you,’ he said.

I did as he asked and he put it behind his back to help him sit up taller.

‘I miss her,’ he said. ‘I just don’t know why she won’t come home.’

‘She’s—’

‘Yes, she’s dead. Was that what you were about to tell me? But she’s not, you see. I saw her a few years ago.’ Mr Beauford nodded to himself as he spoke. ‘She was standing right there.’ He pointed towards his window. ‘I remember it as if it were yesterday.

‘I was wearing my smoking jacket, for it was hours after dinner. I was thinking of retiring to bed when I glanced out of the window and saw her. I saw Ruth. She looked exactly the same as when I’d last seen her. She was standing on the sidewalk, right there. At first, I wondered if I’d drunk one too many glasses of brandy after dinner, but when she looked up at me, I was sure it was her.

‘I remember the moment our eyes met. She looked scared. I wanted to tell her there was nothing to be scared of, but when I opened the balcony doors, she was gone.

‘I ran out of the house to look for her. I looked for her for hours before Jim found me and brought me home. He tried to convince me that I’d mistaken someone else for her.’ Mr Beauford laughed, scaring me. ‘But there’s no mistaking that face. Ruth was – and still is – the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. She has a special air about her.’ Mr Beauford smiled up at me and reached over to pat my hand. ‘You look a bit like her, you know. You two would have got along. She has some sense of humour … You’d love it. Everyone does.’

I stood and began to back away towards the door when Mr Beauford started using the present tense for Ruth, as if she were still alive.

‘You need your rest, Uncle. We’ll visit you in the morning,’ I said, but Mr Beauford didn’t seem to hear me over his own laughter.

That evening, I dismissed Nellie early, then waited in silence in my room until dark. Shadows flitted about, cast by the single candle I’d lit at dusk. They snatched at my feet and grabbed at the empty air around me. I knew one of the shadows was mine, but somehow I couldn’t find it. Footsteps crept about, making the old house groan as if it were tossing and turning in its sleep. Then all at once the house was still, and all its inhabitants were fast asleep.

I took the candle and felt my way along the wall to the door. My steps were strangely sure, even though I’d only been in this house a short time. It was as if my body had memorized the house itself, and when the house breathed, my body breathed with it.

I managed to find the back stairs and, from there, the servants’ hallway from which I’d first entered the house. It was as cramped and cold as I remembered it being. When I opened the servants’ entrance, relief washed over me with the cool night breeze. I blew my candle out, thankful to have the gas street lamps to guide me to Miss Hatfield’s house.

‘Go down Second Avenue and turn right onto East Sixty-Sixth Street, past Park Avenue.’ I still remembered Miss Hatfield’s directions to the Beauford house, and I muttered them to myself for company as I followed them in reverse and made the lonely walk back to Miss Hatfield’s.

Having knocked at least four times, I told myself I’d wait a few seconds more before turning back. Where else could she be, after all?

‘Miss Hatfield?’ My voice had a rasp to it I didn’t recognize.

She didn’t look at all surprised to see me, even though it was around one in the morning. She invited me in as if I was calling in the early afternoon. ‘I’ll just go and brew some tea,’ she said, and I nodded, amused. As if tea would bring a tone of civility to our discussions of stealing a painting.

I sat down on the overstuffed pea-green couch in the parlour, just as I’d done the first time I met Miss Hatfield. I wondered whether I’d have guessed anything at all of her past if she hadn’t told me. Would I have thought even for a moment that there was anything amiss? I realized that her smooth demeanour betrayed nothing – not even time itself.

‘I hope you like Earl Grey,’ she said as she poured. I held the hot cup in my hands, waiting for Miss Hatfield to speak, but the silence dragged on.

‘This tea … It’s delicious.’

‘I was surprised to see you at the ice cream parlour today.’ Miss Hatfield’s abruptness startled me and made me swallow hard. After all that had happened, I could hardly believe our shopping trip had only been this morning.

‘I–I was surprised to see you, too.’ My mind scrambled to find a way to tell Miss Hatfield that I hadn’t been distracted from my mission.

‘Why were you there?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’ Even I was surprised by my defensive words. Perhaps she had something to hide herself.

‘What I do to reminisce about my past is none of your concern.’ Her tone was chilling, her face a white mask. ‘But you completing your task is, unfortunately, mine.’

‘I was there to get more information about the painting.’

‘In an ice cream parlour?’ Miss Hatfield was quick to squint her eyes at me, but I tried to brush it off.

‘The painting that was stolen from you,’ I began, ‘it’s being moved to Mr Beauford’s country home.’ I went on to explain that I’d posed as Mr Beauford’s niece Margaret so that I’d be taken to the country as well, in the hope of securing the portrait.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘Taking the painting appears to be a more difficult task than I anticipated.’ Miss Hatfield eyed me more closely, as if trying to decide whether the mission was really all that difficult or if I was just incompetent. ‘If you can’t bring it back to me, destroy it.’

‘The painting? Destroy the painting?’

‘Yes.’

I was startled by this new instruction, but tried not to show it. Instead, I talked further about posing as Mr Beauford’s niece.

I waited for Miss Hatfield to praise me for blending into the family and devising split-second adaptations of our plan, or even to question some aspects of my tale, but her face remained grave.