Three Graces (17 page)

Georgiana laughed. ‘Of course. It’s my favourite. I do believe that if you find something that works for you then you should stick to it.’

Carys smiled but, at the same time, couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t a bit worse for wear by now. Did she dare ask if ghosts perspired?

A knock on the door made Carys’s heart skip a beat.

‘Your grace?’ Mrs Travis’s head popped round the door.

‘Mrs Travis?’ Carys tried to sound perfectly normal but couldn’t help being aware of the ghost sitting in her armchair right in front of Mrs Travis.

‘I wondered if there was anything I could get you, my lady.’

‘Oh,’ Carys said, suddenly realising that it was after six o’clock. ‘No, I’m fine. Just - er - finishing off some letters.’

Mrs Travis looked over Carys’s desk, noticing, no doubt, that the typewriter was still on the floor. But she was too polite to say anything.

‘Are you all right, my lady?’

‘Yes,’ Carys said, keen to get rid of her as soon as possible before she noticed Georgiana.

‘Only, you look a bit pale.’

‘I’m always pale. That’s normal.’

‘No,’ Mrs Travis said, shaking her head. ‘This is a different pale.’

Carys bit her lip. What on earth did she mean,
a different pale
? How ridiculous. She swallowed. ‘Now you come to mention it, I do feel a bit strange.’

‘Nauseous?’ Mrs Travis suggested.

Carys nodded, surprised, indeed, to find she really did feel ‘pale’. ‘Yes. How could you tell?’

‘You’ve gone exactly the same shade as her grace used to go when she-’

‘When she what?’

‘When she was expecting,’ Mrs Travis finished, and there was an awkward silence.

‘Well, I’m not,’ Carys said quickly.

Mrs Travis blushed. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I spoke too hastily. It wasn’t my place.’

‘No need to apologise,’ Carys assured her, noticing her flame-red cheeks.

‘I’ll be going then.’

‘Goodnight, Mrs Travis,’ Carys said and watched, with relief, as she left.

Georgiana immediately burst out laughing.

‘Oh, my goodness!’ Carys exclaimed. ‘Didn’t she see you?’

Georgiana shook her head. ‘People only see what they expect to see. Mrs Travis does not believe in ghosts.’

Carys frowned. ‘But
I
didn’t believe in ghosts.’

Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes!’

‘It takes a brave person to admit they believe in the supernatural, I know.’

‘But I didn’t - I mean,
I don’t
.’

‘Then, why are you having this conversation with me?’

Carys sighed in exasperation but had to admit that the question had her stumped. She leant back on the edge of her desk and drummed her nails on the polished wood.

‘Does anybody else know you’re here?’ Carys asked and watched as Georgiana got up from the chair and walked across the room. There was a beautiful fluidity about the way she moved and Carys was completely mesmerised.

‘I am quite a private person,’ Georgiana said, selecting a copy of
Fruit Gardening for the Faint-hearted
from one of the bookcases. ‘I don’t like fanfares whenever I want to make an appearance. Not like some ghosts who buy chains to rattle at the poor mortals of their choice.’

Carys could have pursued this comment but decided not to. ‘But does Richard know you’re here?’

Georgiana laughed. ‘What do you think?’

‘He barely has time to notice I am here let alone a ghost.’

‘Exactly,’ Georgiana said, replacing the fruit book and pulling out
Pruning for the Panicky
. ‘What extraordinary titles.’

For a few quiet moments, Georgiana pulled out title after title, frowning and laughing whilst Carys watched, fascinated by her new friend and her astonishing, ethereal beauty. It was strange. She wasn’t
solid
like a normal person. Her skin wasn’t opaque - it was kind of translucent - not so much that you could see right through her but more like a hologram or a reflection in water.

‘Georgiana’s such a pretty name,’ Carys said, suddenly feeling quite mellow about having a ghost in her office.

‘Everyone was called Georgiana back then; it was so hard to be original. I tried being called ‘Georgie’ for a while but my husband went quite mad. At least yours is original.’

‘A bit too original,’ Carys pointed out. ‘People can never get it right and I always end up being Carrie or Clarice.’

‘But now you’re, your grace,’ Georgiana said with a conspiratorial wink.

‘That’s what they say. But, quite frankly, I’m not quite sure who I am any more’

‘You think
that
is a problem. My problem is, I don’t know
when
I am half the time.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I know
where
I am, because I’ve never really left Amberley, but I do not know, for sure,
when
I am.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Carys said. ‘Well, you’re in 2007.’

Georgiana frowned. ‘Means absolutely nothing to me. Decades come and decades go. I always think it is rather difficult to remember what day it is when it changes every day, and it is even more difficult to keep a track of time when you are dead. Days, months - whole centuries - merge into one another.’

‘I suppose they must,’ Carys said because she’d never really given it much thought before.

‘Anyway,’ Georgiana said, replacing
Onions for the Uninitiated
, ‘I didn’t come here to talk about the vagaries of time. I came to find out how you are getting on. When a woman moves into a house like this, it can be a bit unsettling. It is not her home. Normal couples choose a home together, do they not? But Amberley is inflicted upon us - we do not get a choice.’ Georgiana looked across at Carys, her delicate eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly, as if she was wondering if she’d hit the mark.

Carys nodded. ‘You’re right. You’re absolutely right.’

‘I know I am. I’ve been thinking about this for two hundred years.’

Carys smiled. She was warming to this woman very quickly.

‘The Bretton men have their whole history to keep them warm: twelve generations to be precise. There are portraits and photographs, treasures and trophies. You know what I brought when I came to Amberley, other than the Bridedale estate in Yorkshire? Four trunks of clothes. That was it.’

Carys nodded again, thinking of all the little knickknacks she’d packed away or left in her old attic whilst she decided what to do with them.

‘When I first came here,’ Carys said, ‘I thought I’d be able to put my things wherever I wanted to but I was soon put right on that point. But I don’t suppose my collection of pottery owls would look right in the Red Drawing Room.’

‘This is exactly the point I am trying to make,’ Georgiana said huffily. ‘This place has hundreds of rooms but we are not allowed to fill any of them with our own things, are we?’

‘Well, I’ve been told I can pretty much use this one as I want.’

‘Oh, you mean you can get rid of all these useless books? And roll up that horrid rug and burn it? And move that terrible portrait and hang up a poster of - er - what’s his name? Johnny Depp?’

Carys laughed. ‘No. No. I can’t do that, I’m afraid.’

Georgiana sighed. ‘I always longed to rebel whilst I was mistress here,’ she said with a naughty little giggle.

‘What, like paint the rooms in lime and magenta?’ Carys suggested.

‘Wonderful. And not so outrageous when you think of the terrible scarlets and turquoises they used to favour.’

‘How about ripping out the library and installing a cinema? You do know what a cinema is?’ Carys added, remembering that Georgiana was from the eighteenth century.

‘Of course. We do manage to keep up with the times in the afterworld, you know. How else would I know about gorgeous Johnny Depp? And I think a cinema would be a fabulous idea. It might actually make some money too.’

‘And that old stable block that’s never used - we could turn that into a luxury health spa with swimming pool and sauna…’

‘You know, we might be joking but I think we’re actually making a lot of sense.’

Carys looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t think Richard would be very happy if I suggested-’

‘You keep saying that, don’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been reading your mind a lot lately, and it is always,
Richard wouldn’t like this. Richard wouldn’t approve so I won’t do that.
’

‘It is his house.’

‘But you have to share it. Surely you should have some say?’

‘Did
you
?’ Carys challenged and, for a moment, Georgiana looked angry - as if she’d been caught out.

‘Of course I didn’t but it didn’t stop me from voicing my opinions. I’ve heard what you have to say in those boring old meetings and your ideas are good. You should just say them a bit louder and make sure they are followed up and that you get the credit for them. Too often, I’ve seen the women of this house being taken advantage of. These Bretton men have a habit of stealing their wives’ ideas and passing them off as their own. It is sly and it is brutish and you must not stand for it.’

Carys gave a little smile. She had the feeling that this was a pet topic of Georgiana’s and wondered if she’d given that particular speech before.

‘Yes, I have,’ Georgiana said.

‘What?’

‘I have given this speech before.’

Carys looked dumbfounded and then remembered that Georgiana had said that she could read her mind. It was a most unsettling thought.

‘I am sorry if you find it intrusive but it does save a lot of time,’ she said, sitting down again in the armchair. ‘You see, there have been a lot of unhappy wives at Amberley and I came to the conclusion that I could be a sort of welcoming committee: an unofficial family if you like. Us women must stick together. We are the ones who provide the male heir and continue the great dynasty, are we not?’

Carys nodded vehemently.

‘Without us, the real history of these houses would be lost because it is the details - it is the
stories
- that make up these houses what they are and men are too busy to remember any of these things, do you not agree?’

Carys felt that, if she nodded any more, her head might fall off.

‘To men, these houses are a business. They love them, of course, and are deeply proud of them but not in the same way as a woman. They take pride in them the same way they would any expensive item. It is a symbol to the outside world of who they are. But, to a woman, these places mean family - a handing on from generation to generation.’

‘Yes,’ Carys said. It seemed quite inadequate because she truly believed that Georgiana was right, but it was all she could think of to say in reply.

‘I mean, I bet Richard doesn’t know who was married to the third duke.’

‘No, Richard’s really good with the family tree.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

Georgiana didn’t look convinced. ‘You just try him - next time he’s-’

There was a knock on the door.

‘Carys? You in?’

It was Richard, as if he’d heard his cue.

‘Yes. Come on in.’ Carys looked pleadingly at Georgiana.

‘Do not worry,’ she said. ‘I will make myself scarce.’

‘Will I see you again?’

‘Of course you will,’ Georgiana said, her voice softer as she slowly began to dissolve into a beautiful blue mist before fading away into nothing.

‘Extraordinary,’ Carys whispered just as Richard entered the room.

‘What is?’ he asked.

‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking about something.’

He frowned for a moment but let it pass. ‘Listen,’ he said, crossing the room quickly and kissing her on the cheek. ‘There’s been a crisis up at Joe Bempton’s farm and it’s got to be sorted.’

‘What kind of crisis? Anything I can help with?’

‘I have to go straight back there so I won’t be around this evening.’

‘But you said-’

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’ll have to wait. You have a nice meal.’

‘On my own-’

‘And I’ll see you later,’ he said, turning to leave. She watched him cross the room.

‘Richard?’

‘Yes?’

She bit her lip. Did she dare? Yes. She did. ‘Do you know who was married to third duke?’

He looked puzzled for a moment as if wondering whether she was testing him. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘Catherine somebody or other.’ And, with that, he rushed out of the room as if the very devil was at his heels.

Carys sighed in disappointment because she knew Richard was wrong and Georgiana had been right.

‘It was Caroline,’ Georgiana’s disembodied voice came from the shadows by the bookcase. ‘Caroline Percy.’

The next few days passed by in a blur of activity. Carys had never been so busy in her life. Her personal correspondence seemed to have quadrupled, she’d appointed herself manager of the shop as there wasn’t one already and everything was a mess, there was the day-to-day running of the house and staff to cope with, and she’d set herself the task of raising an obscene amount of money for Amberley as a surprise for Richard but still had to work out how she was going to go about it. For the first time since her arrival at Amberley, she was looking forward to the weekly estate meeting. It would give her an opportunity to have a rest.

Francesca no longer attended the weekly estate meetings although Richard had encouraged her to do so.

‘She said it’s over to us now,’ he told Carys. And Carys had truly felt as if the baton had been handed on to her when she was given Francesca’s chair at the first estate meeting since the old duke’s funeral. Richard, of course, sat in the chair that had been his father’s but, for the time being, that still left two empty chairs.

And that’s when Carys remembered the diary. She had to return Francesca’s diary. It had obviously been placed in her desk by mistake. It also made Carys realise how easy it was to get into her office and whether she should have the lock fixed on her door. Richard, however, frowned on internal locks apart from on the most important rooms of the house and none of the keys were ever kept in them. Even their private bathroom door didn’t have a lock which Carys found deeply unsettling. With so many staff, anyone might interrupt her as she lay in the bathtub. Carys often worried that the bits of slack rope, and Private signs weren’t enough to deter a particularly nosy tourist.