Three Graces (9 page)

‘Those dogs are gundogs - they’d walk day and night for a week if you tried them. Which walk did you do?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The lake? The woods? The ridge?’

‘All of them. We did all of those.’

‘Good grief! No wonder you’ve been out all day.’

‘But you said I should try to get to know the estate.’

‘Well, you must know every inch of every acre by now,’ he said. ‘And where was your mobile?’

‘I don’t have a mobile,’ Carys said.

‘Of course you do! I bought you one, don’t you remember?’

Suddenly, she did. She’d been steadfastly refusing to have one for years but Richard had insisted.

‘In a place this size, you’ve got to be contactable.’

She nodded. She felt like a naughty school girl who was on the verge of being expelled for very bad behaviour.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not because she felt particularly sorry but because she wanted an end to this conversation and thought, in his present mood, that apologising was the only way she was going to be able to do it.

It seemed to work because Richard nodded. ‘You haven’t forgotten dinner at seven thirty? It’s the representative from Cuthland Heritage.’

Great, Carys thought. Just what she was looking forward to: an evening with a stuffy suit talking about renovations.

‘You might want to rethink your outfit,’ Richard said, somewhat cruelly, Carys thought, but she didn’t say anything as he left her standing in the hallway, her hair dripping down her back.

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Mrs Travis said to her as they shared a pot of tea later that day. ‘He’s just being territorial. I’ve seen it before with the Bretton men. They like to make their presence felt, you know? They like to show their new wives who’s boss. It’s all just noise and nonsense. Don’t you let him worry you.’

But Carys couldn’t help feeling worried. She felt as if she’d failed already.

The honeymoon was well and truly over, wasn’t it? Richard spent most of his time on some far flung corner of the estate, her new in-laws never spoke to her, Louise had been too busy to come up to Amberley over the last few weeks, and Cecily had been a complete nightmare. At first, Carys had been able to cope with the silent treatment she received at the breakfast table each morning. Richard hadn’t even noticed it but, to Carys, Cecily’s silence was thunderously loud.

‘So,’ Carys would begin at the breakfast table, her voice filled with an animation she didn’t particularly feel. ‘What are you girls up to today?’

‘We have reading first,’ Evie said. ‘Then spelling - yuck! Then Geography then Maths.’

‘And what are you reading?’ Carys asked, directing the question at Cecily. Cecily looked up and, for a moment, Carys thought she was going to answer but her glance returned to her cornflakes which she stirred with melancholy precision.

‘
Little Women
,’ Evie chimed.

And that was the end of that conversation.

Carys hadn’t expected it to be so heartbreakingly difficult to reach a child but she was determined not to give up. She’d vowed to spend the rest of her life with Richard, and Cecily was his daughter so there was no getting away from her.

As if that wasn’t enough to be worrying about, there’d been the voice she’d heard in the night. It had been the first time she’d ventured further than the ensuite bathroom. Richard had told her to take a torch if she ever left the bedroom as a minimal number of lights were left on in an attempt to keep the hefty annual electricity bill down. Carys had cursed her raging thirst as her body became chilled to the bone in next to no time, goosebumps sprouting like a relief map of the Himalayas all over her body even though it was summer.

Life had been so simple in her Victorian terrace. It took only seconds to get from room to room but, in Amberley Court, it could take hours to find the right room or days if you were unlucky enough to take a wrong turning and found yourself in one of the wings you hadn’t explored before; and there were plenty of them.

‘Left, right, straight down the corridor with the china cabinets and it’s the door with the dodgy handle,’ Carys whispered to herself as her torch beam shone ahead of her. If only she could stop her torch from casually swinging upwards and picking out mounted deer heads or anxious ancestors hanging on the walls.

Never again, Carys thought as she recalled her expedition to the kitchen. After that, she’d make sure she never forgot to take a glass of water to bed with her.

It had been a night ripe for ghostly experiences, she thought: there’d been a rotund moon which had shone through the kitchen window and, in the distance, she’d heard a rumble of thunder.

She could just imagine telling her grandchildren. She’d be sat in the great winged chair she’d taken a fancy to in the Red Drawing Room. There’d be a full blazing fire and the room would be warm and cosy because they’d have sorted out all the draughty old windows by the time she was in her dotage. Her grandchildren would be angelic of face and crossed of leg, their wide eyes fixed on her creamy complexion - miraculously uncreased by time, and her hair retaining its golden sheen despite her advancing years.

But it wasn’t her resilient beauty which would captivate them; it was her skills as a storyteller.

‘There was a full moon that night,’ she’d begin. ‘It was hidden by clouds when I first ventured out of bed but, once in the kitchen, it fair blinded me!’

‘Tell us about the storm, nana.’

‘Oh yes,’ she’d say. ‘When I looked out of the window, a fork of lightning cracked the sky in two and the thunder - well, when it rumbled, I could feel it in my very belly.’

‘And then you heard the voice, didn’t you?’ their eager voices pressed.

‘Indeed. That’s when the lady first spoke to me.’

But it wasn’t, was it, Carys thought now? She was positive she’d heard the voice before. The lady, for it was certainly a lady’s voice, had spoken to her in broad daylight. There hadn’t been a clouded moon or a ghostly night-time shadow in sight, and the only rumble she’d heard was her tummy as it made a protest for a lunch break.

Thinking about it now made her arms break out in goose bumps. She’d been in the Montella Room, attending one of the Amberley Enterprises’ meetings which were held every week. The room, named after the eighteenth century Italian artist, Leo Montella, was full of gorgeous portraits of the Bretton family. Carys’s eyes drifted across them. She hadn’t quite learned all the names yet but she loved looking at them: all those haughty dukes and their beautiful duchesses, wearing their very finest robes and dresses and posing with graceful ease.

She wondered if she and Richard would ever pose for their portraits. It seemed rare, these days, to have one’s portrait done but she found the idea rather romantic. What would she wear? Her ethnic dresses from her favourite boutique seemed wildly inappropriate unless she wanted to be known down the centuries as “the hippie marchioness”.

‘I don’t see how you can possibly think the fountain is more important than the folly,’ the duke said.

Carys blinked and tried to pay attention. It was so easy to get distracted by their beautiful surroundings and she pulled her mind back to the meeting. All the important people from the estate attended including dear Ash Brodie, the head gardener. Carys still felt that her role was a very passive one but she was eager to learn and tried her hardest to pay attention.

And that’s when she’d heard the voice. They’d been talking about repairing the old stone fountain.

‘It has to be made a priority,’ the duchess insisted. ‘It can’t wait any longer.’

‘It’s waited a hundred years already. I think it can wait a couple more,’ the duke retaliated.

‘
Silly old fool!
’

Carys turned round. Who’d said that? Who’d dared to call the duke a silly old fool, even if he was one? It had definitely been a female voice and she and the duchess were the only women there. Well, there was Pearl Janson who was in charge of the shop but she wasn’t the sort of woman to shout such things at dukes.

The voice, she thought, had come from behind her but there was nothing there but a large sash window which looked out over the lawn.

Hadn’t anybody else heard it?

‘I’ve received several letters about the fountain’s state of disrepair,’ the duchess complained.

‘And I’ve received several letters of threats to sue if the folly collapses on top of unsuspecting visitors,’ the duke replied.

Obviously not. Maybe Carys had imagined it.

‘
He’s such a pompous old windbag!
’

Carys almost leapt out of her seat.

‘Are you all right,’ Richard asked, looking at her with eyes full of annoyance rather than concern.

‘Of course I’m all right,’ Carys said.

Richard shook his head before returning his attention to his parents once again.

Carys looked around the room. It wasn’t her imagination, was it? Perhaps it was Cecily or Evie playing games but, even if they had managed to escape the clutches of their tutor and had found a way into the Montella Room without being observed, surely everybody else would have heard them too?

‘
These meetings are nothing but a waste of time.
’

Carys’s eyes widened. The voice was definitely getting louder now.

‘Look,’ Richard said, ‘we should take a vote on how this money is to be spent. It’s obvious that you two aren’t going to be able to agree,’ he said, looking at his parents who sat, stony faced, at either end of the table.

‘Those in favour of restoring the folly?’

Four hands shot into the air.

‘Those in favour of restoring the fountain?’

Eight hands shot into the air.

‘Right. The fountain is to be this year’s project. I’ll get the wheels turning.’

‘
About time too. That fountain is an eyesore.
’

Carys felt the breath leave her body. Where was the voice coming from?

‘Any other business?’ Richard asked, the meeting obviously drawing to a close.

‘Yes,’ she said, suddenly finding her voice.

Eleven pairs of eyes focussed in her direction.

‘I think it’s time to increase the entrance fee.’

For a moment, the room filled with a stunned silence, as if nobody had dared to mention the ugly business of money before.

‘Anyone have any thoughts?’ Richard asked.

Again, silence filled the room from its beautifully carpeted floors to its ornate plaster ceiling.

‘I agree,’ Ash Brodie said at last, nodding from his place at the table. ‘Keep in line with the recent increase at Barston.’

Barston Hall, Carys had learned, was Amberley’s biggest rival. Just across the border in Eastmoreland, it was known as
Bastard Hall
because of the behaviour of its owner, Roland Buckley-Stewart, The Earl of Eastmoreland. Richard and he had been at boarding school together and, ever since, had been unofficial rivals.

‘But Barston has so much more on offer than we do,’ Pearl Janson chipped in, her voice squeaky clean like one of the tea towels she sold in the shop. ‘Their shop is three times the size of ours and offers so many more quality goods.’

Carys, who had already been sent on a mission as undercover spy, remembered the beautifully wooden-floored shop with its gleaming counter and cute pots of jam, hand-crafted jewellery and exquisite pottery all stamped with the Earl’s coat of arms.

‘Our stock really should be updated,’ Pearl went on hopefully.

‘Has anybody else got any comments?’ Richard asked, keen to move on.

‘I think we should definitely put up the entrance fee,’ Pearl said, misguidedly believing that her precious shop would see some more money if more profits were to be made by the Amberley Estate.

‘Okay then,’ Richard said. ‘We’ll carry that motion forward.’

Carys’s eyes widened. She’d achieved something.

‘Is there anything else?’

Eleven pairs of eyes cast down to their laps. Everyone was keen to venture back to their own particular corner of the estate and have a cup of tea.

‘Right, see you next week,’ Richard said, and everybody got up to leave.

Carys waited behind with Richard who was tidying up the stack of paperwork he’d brought into the meeting with him.

‘Well?’ she said.

He looked up, his face pale and tired. ‘What?’

‘Aren’t you going to say, well done?’

‘The entrance fee should have been increased years ago,’ he said.

Carys frowned. He hadn’t thought that when she’d mentioned it to him in the walled garden that first time she’d visited Amberley.

‘I know,’ she said, ‘that’s why I suggested it.’

He nodded. He was miles away. She had faded into the background once again.

‘I’ll see you later,’ he said.

Would he, she wondered? Would he really see her? Or would it just be a peck on the cheek at bed time before he sunk beneath the duvet in a deep sleep. She watched him leave the room and sighed.

She’d been so angry with Richard that she’d completely forgotten about the strange disembodied voice until the next day.

She’d decided to return to the Montella Room with a copy of the Amberley Court guidebook. There was so much to learn: names, positions, dates of birth, and causes of death, who was related to whom, scandals …

‘
You can always ask me, you know.
’

Carys instantly dropped the guidebook.

‘Who said that?’

She looked around the room. She was completely alone. Or so she thought.

‘
You can’t see me, can you?
’

‘Cecily?’ Carys whispered. But she knew it wasn’t Cecily. She wouldn’t put it past her to play such tricks but the mysterious voice didn’t belong to a child.

‘Who are you?’

The room suddenly fell silent, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece above the fire.

‘Where are you?’ Carys whispered into the silence. But there was no reply. The voice, or whatever it was Carys had heard, had vanished.

The next time she’d heard it was during the storm in the night, but it hadn’t been words that time - the voice had been singing - humming. Carys felt sure that it was the same voice she’d heard in the Montella Room, and she also felt sure that she had to discover exactly who it was.