Tyringham Park (16 page)

Waldron stayed on in London to tie up all the loose ends in the War Office. He sent word he would be home in time to host the hunt from the Park on New Year’s Day. A hero’s return,
Edwina commented to Verity when she read the letter. Waldron’s long-running absences were an affront to her, but were preferable to his brief appearances, which caused her nothing but
irritation. She wondered if he was considering retiring from the army now that he was sixty-two years of age.

In October she reclaimed Sandstorm who, as she had predicted, had lost his fire. She and Les, the middle stable lad, put in many hours of secret training in a field out of sight of Manus’s
suspicious eye. The New Year’s hunt would be her first since her confinement, Waldron’s first since the War, and Charlotte’s first ever. Edwina could feel a build-up of vitality
on the estate.

The servants were glad to have the Park come back to life, and began to prepare months in advance. Fires had to be set in the twenty-five bedrooms, and every room was aired, swept, polished and
dusted. Miss East supervised the transformation.

Waldron was in full uniform when he returned at midday three days before Christmas with the young soldier, Thatcher, walking two paces behind him. The staff lined up in front of the house to
cheer him home.

Edwina received him in the hall.

“The first thing I want to see is my son and heir,” he beamed after they greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek. “Get him brought down at once. And the second thing:
I’ve decided to have our portraits painted in the New Year by that fellow who did yours when you were younger, only this time,” he laughed in Edwina’s direction, “I’ll
make sure there aren’t any missing hands, so you can show off the family heirlooms.”

Tyringham Park
1919

It was New Year’s Day, the day Edwina had looked forward to for eighteen months. To mark her return to normal life after Victoria’s disappearance and
Harcourt’s birth, she told her maid to prepare her black taffeta dress and the diamonds to go with it. She intended to shine at the evening entertainment while receiving compliments about her
riding during the hunt. ‘Better than a man’ was what she expected to hear this year. Sandstorm was well prepared and so was she. After today, she expected Beatrice and Bertie to be more
effusive in their praise of her than they had ever been in their raptures over Charlotte.

The maid returned to say the dress was ready but the diamond necklace and ring were not in the box.

“That’s ridiculous. Did you double check?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell Miss East to go to my room immediately and I’ll meet her there.”

Edwina checked the box herself and saw that a sapphire set was also missing. After being summoned, Miss East affirmed what Edwina had already guessed. Teresa Kelly used to have access to her
room – she had been sent up on many occasions to gather up articles that needed altering or mending. Miss East remembered specifically sending her there shortly before she left the Park to
collect an antique coverlet that was fraying around the stitching.

“And I suppose you’re going to say Nurse Dixon had access as well.” Edwina spoke through closed teeth and did not look in the direction of the servant.

“No, I can’t say that,” said Miss East. “She had no reason ever to come to this part of the house.”

“That will be all.”

After Edwina turned her back and Miss East left, Edwina cursed the untrustworthy Teresa Kelly who had not only stolen a child, but jewellery as well. For once Waldron was right. The only way to
deal with such people, if one only knew where to find them, was with force.

The day before the hunt, Charlotte chose a riding jacket from the equestrian room. To ensure it would fasten at the waist she was limited to one that was two sizes larger than
her previous one. She hoped no one would notice the overlong arms or the four moth-eaten holes along the left side near the waist.

The courtyard was packed with visiting grooms when she arrived early to saddle up. To the disappointment of the visitors and guests, Manus stayed away. Those who came from a distance for the
first time since the war knew him only by reputation and wanted to see this legend for themselves.

Les was walking Sandstorm to warm him up for Lady Blackshaw.

Although it was nearly midday, the breaths of horses, hounds and riders were still visible in the frosty air.

“It’s not a race and it’s not a competition,” were Manus’s final encouraging words to Charlotte the previous day. “Take it easy. Mandrake won’t make a
mistake and neither will you. I’m sorry I won’t be here in the morning, but I’ll try to look in during the afternoon to see how you got on. I know you’ll be grand so
don’t worry. You’re a champion, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”

It didn’t occur to her to ask why Manus never took part in the hunt despite his outstanding horsemanship.

Edwina made her entrance when most of the riders were already assembled at the front of the Park where Waldron was presiding over the pre-hunt rituals. Lady Beatrice, too short-sighted to see
her friend’s stormy expression, called to her that the occasion was positively splendid. Edwina acknowledged the comment with a nod, and after a quick glance at Lucifer – Beatrice had
got her Manus-trained mount at last – felt sorry she’d agreed to part with him.

Charlotte continued to walk Mandrake quietly in circles, ignoring the activity around her.

Archie the stable lad, all smiles, entered the courtyard to tell her a lot of those assembled at the front of the house wanted to have a look at this young
“pro–prod–prodgidy”, and when was she going to show herself?

While passing, Edwina heard the compliment and, looking up at Charlotte, was struck by how much she already looked like a female version of Waldron, right down to the plain face with its smug
expression and superior air. She
is
a show-off, she thought.

“Get off,” she heard herself say.

Charlotte looked down at her in bewilderment.

“Come on, get off and change horses with me,” said Edwina more sharply. “You heard me.
Get off.
I’m not going to tell you again.” Even as she was saying this
she wished she wasn’t giving such an unthinkable order, but there was no backing down now that she’d said those words and couldn’t see her way to retract them.

“No. No.” Charlotte’s confidence gave way to panic in a second. “Mandrake’s the only one I’m used to. Manus said –”

“Manus said! Manus said! That’s all I ever hear around here!” Edwina grabbed the near rein. “I’m in charge here, not Manus, in case you didn’t know, and
I’m ordering you to get off now. Do as I tell you.”

She grabbed Charlotte’s boot.

Charlotte instinctively wheeled Mandrake to the right, pulling Edwina off balance for a number of steps, stoking her anger.

“Everyone’s looking at you,” hissed Edwina, trying to keep her voice down. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

Five visiting grooms, along with the three from the Park, were the only ones there, leaning against the stalls, arms folded, silently watching. Les stopped walking Sandstorm and stayed in the
middle of the yard. It crossed Edwina’s mind that she could ask one of them for help, but what if Les didn’t move and the others, as visitors, took their cue from him? How ridiculous
would she look then?

“I said
get off
.” This time she made no mistake. Taking a firm hold, she wrenched Charlotte’s left foot out of its stirrup and pulled, using all her weight, until
Charlotte slid from the saddle into her arms, her right foot still in its stirrup and her hands holding the reins. Edwina, thanking Manus silently for his good schooling as Mandrake stood still
throughout, held Charlotte tightly, and twisted the reins from her fingers. Les, who could contain himself no longer, ran over to remove Charlotte’s right foot from its stirrup – her
leg had gone right through it – then took her full weight from Edwina and placed her on the ground.

Edwina stayed beside Mandrake. “Ride Sandstorm,” she said, not looking Les in the eye while instructing him to change saddles, which he did with an attitude that frightened
Charlotte.

“I don’t like Sandstorm, I’m not used to him,” sobbed Charlotte, wishing Manus was there to tell her what to do.

“Then stay at home. It’s your choice,” Edwina, now mounted on Mandrake, called back over her shoulder. “Come on if you’re coming. We’re late.”

Les put his arm around Charlotte, unsure of what to do next. If only Manus was here, he thought.

For Charlotte, to stay was out of the question and to ride Sandstorm seemed an impossibility.

“Perhaps you’d better not risk it, Miss,” said Les at last. “There’ll be plenty more hunts.”

“But I’ll be away at school,” she managed to say between sobs. “And it’s this one I want to ride in, not any others. I’ll have to wait a whole year if I miss
out now.”

Les didn’t say that wouldn’t be the end of the world even though he wanted to, sensing that for Charlotte it would be. “I don’t know if I should let you go,” he
said finally.

“Mother said I could, so that means I can. I’ll ride just a little way and stay at the back.”

“That sounds fair enough,” he heard himself say. “Come on, then, give us your foot. Then you’d better hurry.” He gave her a leg up, checked the length of the
stirrups and the tightness of the girth strap and handed her back the reins. Her face was stiff with cold or fear. “Good luck, Miss. You’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he said to
her receding back as Sandstorm, ears pricked, moved off before being given a signal.

The clattering of the hooves of over a hundred horses and the swirling of the hounds as they left the front of the house encouraged Sandstorm to surge forward. Charlotte
tightened the reins to slow him down, as she wanted to stay behind everyone else, but he took no notice. She pulled the left rein to make him change direction and he ignored that as well.

There were clusters of people – servants plus members of the gentry who were too young or too old to take part – milling around and drinking, after seeing off the main bunch.

“Is
that
her?” said a penetrating young voice. “I thought she’d look like a princess. She looks nothing like a princess, she looks . . .”

Before the owner of the voice was silenced, the group, who were beginning to move off, stopped and stared at Charlotte.

One whispered comment, “At least she has a good seat,” reached her before she was pulled forward by the headstrong Sandstorm. “That’s something to be thankful
for.”

Giving up hope of control, not looking to the left or right, Charlotte concentrated on holding on and keeping her eye out for obstacles so that she wouldn’t be taken unawares.

The first jump sent her slightly off balance as Sandstorm’s timing was different from Mandrake’s – he jumped from further back – but he was sure-footed and that reassured
her a little.

The ice on the west side of the walls and hedges had not yet melted, even though it was now afternoon. The sun hung low and its light was weak.

As they cantered along and fanned out across the fields Charlotte didn’t know where her mother was in the group and didn’t look for her. She knew of Edwina’s reputation from
conversations overheard in the stables. The grooms were always discussing the standards of horsemanship of themselves and their employers, and comparing them to the expertise of those from other
estates. “No one messes with Lady Blackshaw,” was a much-heard remark. “She’s tough.” Edwina deliberately shoved other chasers if she was caught in the middle of a
bunch, and usually emerged the leader. “Her mounts are trying to get away from her – that’s why they’re so fast,” Les observed once when he didn’t know Charlotte
was listening. “They’re trying to shake her off. And all that sawing of the bit she does – ruins the animal’s mouth for good.” Charlotte had noticed her mother’s
faulty timing, rising from the saddle or sitting back too soon or too late, and the rough snapping of the bit. It offended her sensibilities to watch.

After twenty minutes Sandstorm had jumped a number of fences, ditches and hedges so faultlessly that Charlotte began to think she would last the distance after all. To her relief, he stayed in a
group near the back. At one stage, he bumped against a rider who was knocked slightly off balance and who let out a string of curses after he righted himself. Charlotte wished she could turn to
apologise but she couldn’t afford to take her eyes off her course for a second.

A little later, Lord Crombie overtook her, shouting, “That’s the girl, Charlotte, keep it up!” He was known for choosing speed over endurance, according to Les, and Charlotte
expected to overtake him later if the hunt went on for any length of time. A loose bay passed her on the left – she didn’t recognise it and wondered who had been unseated. Still no sign
of her mother.

Children on ponies rode along the paths or through breaks in the hedges and walls. Most of them were older than she was, and none of them had spoken to her at the start – perhaps they
would have if Sandstorm hadn’t surged past them like an unmannerly host.

The rhythm of Sandstorm’s stride was soothing Charlotte’s consciousness and she was beginning to understand her mother’s often-stated wish that she would hunt every day of the
week if she had the chance.

Waldron sounded the horn to indicate that the dogs had picked up the scent of their quarry, a bagged fox released at the right time in the right place. Sandstorm shot forward, almost unseating
Charlotte who feared she was on a bolting horse until she saw that those around her had changed from a slow canter to a fast gallop as well. For safety’s sake she wanted to pull back but was
forced to accept she had no choice but to let Sandstorm have his head along the full length of Langan field.

Galloping at full speed, feeling the power of the animal beneath her and hearing the drumming of hooves on the vibrating earth all around her, she felt an urge to drop the reins, whoop with joy
to the heavens, lean back in the saddle with her arms outstretched to embrace the world flying past and give herself up to the ecstasy of the chase, not just for this moment but forever and
ever.