In Sunshine Or In Shadow Page 10

  Ellie stared out at the full moon above the yard, above the wrong part of town. Unable to sleep and seeing Madame’s bedroom light still on, she had thrown a pebble against the glass and called her down.

  ‘Why did you introduce me to him, Madame?’ Ellie asked. ‘It can’t just have been a whim.’

  ‘That is not important, Eleanor,’ Madame replied sharply. ‘What I do, I do.’

  ‘And that’s no reply, Madame.’ Ellie turned and looked at her friend and her neighbour. ‘Do you find girls for him, is that it?’

  ‘I should slap your face for that.’

  ‘I shouldn’t blame you if you did. So go on.’

  They stared at each other, a foot apart, eye into eye, the battered urchin from next door now a beautiful young woman in a gown by Patou, and the beautiful young woman from Paris now a battered old woman in much-mended peignoir.

  ‘I find girls for people, yes,’ Madame confessed, ‘but not for ’im. Monsieur O’Hara, I find him company. But most of the girls I find, they are so stupid. And they take from him. Take, take. That is all they do.’

  ‘I’ve taken from him,’ Ellie said. ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘The difference is, chèrie,’ Madame replied, ‘you ’ave given more, much more than you take. And anyway, you do not take! Monsieur O’Hara, he give these things to you! You ’ave nevaire asked for anything! Once! These other girls – they take ’is ’and, they squeeze ’is cheek, they pat ’is ’ead, like ’e was a bébé! And then they say – I want a new pair of shoes, Buck sweetie. Can I ’ave a new gown, some silk pyjamas, some French lingerie, a fur coat! You ’ave nevaire ask ’im for anything! Not even a pair of gloves!’

  The moon was now hidden by clouds as Ellie turned and looked back out of the window. Madame came to her side, and slipped her arm through Ellie’s.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I did this for you. More than for ’im. I knew ’e would like you, because you are a wonderful girl, and ’e is a wonderful man. But this time, I do this for you. Think. And take this thought with you to bed. Marry ’im. Marry Monsieur O’Hara. He will want nothing from you but your company.’ Ellie looked round. ‘Nothing at all,’ Madame continued. ‘’E will not want to make love with you, I promise. That is, if you wish it, that will be part of the arrangement. I know this. I ’ave ‘is word. And Monsieur O’Hara, ’e is a man of his word. So marry ’im, Eleanor. And cross the tracks. And live like a princess. Like I always say you will, evaire since I first tell you stories, eh? I say you will live one day like a duchess, because this is what you deserve. And then when ’e die, everything, but everything, it will be your’s.’

  The clouds passed from the face of the moon, which now threw a clear cold light on the two adjoining yards. Ellie stared out, and saw no future there. What she saw was all past.

  1931

  5

  On her twenty-first birthday, Artemis Deverill was called into the offices of Grafton, Grafton and Grafton and handed a letter personally by Arthur Grafton, the senior partner and the eldest of the three named brothers. The front of the envelope was formally addressed: To Lady Artemis Deverill, daughter of John, the 4th Earl of Deverill and Lady Mary Deverill (deceased) and granddaughter of George, 7th Duke of Brougham (d.1906), with an underlined instruction in the top right-hand corner which instructed that the letter be handed to the addressee on the occasion of her reaching her majority. The back was sealed, significantly, not with the Deverill crest of lion sejant, but with her mother’s family crest, the Brougham crest, of a falcon, rampant regardant.

  Arthur Grafton left Artemis alone to open and to read the letter. She broke the seal and took from the envelope several pages of expensive straw-coloured writing paper, again headed by the Brougham, not the Deverill, family crest.

  But what made Artemis stop to put a hand to her throat and catch her breath as she unfolded the letter was that it was written in a hand almost identical to her own, her mother’s hand.

  ‘My dearest Artemis,’ the letter began. Artemis had to put the letter down on the deeply polished mahogany table in front of her and stop reading, for all at once she could see her mother so clearly, that last morning of her life, in her silk top hat and perfect black habit, so beautiful on her big grey horse. She could see her bending down to kiss her goodbye, she could feel the softness of her mother’s skin, and she swore she could even smell the bitter-sweet tang of her scent. And then she saw a sight she couldn’t remember ever seeing before, her mother in a pale white and gold evening gown, with the corridor light catching the brilliance of the jewels at her neck and in her hair, as she quietly closed the nursery door.

  She picked up the letter and began reading it again.

  My dearest Artemis,

  How I wish I could be with you today on this your most important birthday. But if this letter has to be given to you to read, then I shan’t be, and there you are. But nothing will stop me from wishing you a happy birthday, darling, and wherever I am, I am thinking of you and sending you my love always.

  I can see you as I write, just below me on the lawns, walking some very brave steps with Nanny holding your hand. I wonder what you look like now? Now you are twenty one. I’m trying to look forward to imagine it, and I think I can see you, still blonde I’m sure, very slender, and breaking hearts with those large cornflower blue eyes of yours. I do so hope and pray that I live to see you grown, but I’m afraid if what they say is true, then there’s very little chance.

  Anyway if what they say is true, my darling, you’ll know by now. You’ll have known for some time, so I might as well write it down. Doctor Mandeville told me this morning that there’s something wrong with my heart and if I don’t ‘slow down’ (slow down!) I shan’t live for very much longer. The trouble is by ‘slowing down’ Doctor Mandeville means giving everything up, everything strenuous that is, and spending most of my time in bed, and quite honestly I really couldn’t bear that! I really couldn’t bear being stuck in bed unable to ride or to enjoy all the wonderful things life has to offer.

  No-one will blame you if after reading this you think what a selfish old thing your mother is. But even if you do, I know it won’t be long before you understand. In fact if you’re anything like me you’ll understand straight away. Quite honestly, if I did give up everything and take to my bed for however long is left to me, I actually would much rather be dead.

  Now, the other point of this letter is to tell you something you probably know already, and that is, on this your twenty-first birthday, you inherit Brougham. I’m leaving it to you, just as it was left to me, but for different reasons. My father left me Brougham because he had no sons. I’m leaving you Brougham because I want you to have it, and not anyone else. I’m not going to tell you why in this letter because it’s too painful. It’s pretty hard just writing you this without going into all the whys and wherefores. All I can say is by the time you get to read this letter, you’ll probably know why I haven’t left it to your father. I don’t altogether blame your father. Your father is a fine man, but a little weak, I’m afraid. The person I blame – well, again, by the time you’ve read this, that’s something else you’ll most probably know.

  So the house is your’s, dearest child, and whatever you do, try not to let anyone take it away from you. Most of all, don’t let any man marry you for it! As Nanny would say – ‘keep it under your hat’! Live your life here, where your family’s always been. I’m quite sure you’ll be happy here, that you’ll love it, because it really is a magical place. And above all I hope and pray you’ll find someone wonderful with whom to share it. Someone who deserves you.

  I’m going to stop now, so that I can come out and enjoy the last of the sunshine with you. You’re still just below me on the lawn, you and Nanny, and you’re playing with your big red and yellow ball, surrounded by the dogs. One day, please God, you will be sitting out there, a beautiful young woman, in the company of some perfectly divine young man, perhaps with your own child playing beside you.
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br />   So goodbye, darling, and a happy, happy birthday. I do so wish I could be there with you to see you today, but if I can’t, be certain of one thing, darling, and that is I love you.

  Your ever loving

  Mama.

  Artemis put the letter down in front of her and stared at it. The person I blame – well, again, by the time you’ve read this, that’s something else you’ll most probably know. Of course she knew who that person was. There was only one person it could possibly be. But surely not all that time ago?

  And then she remembered, a memory from infancy, long before she saw her sitting in furs in the back of her father’s car, she remembered being in her nanny’s arms, being carried into the great drawing room of Brougham, and seeing two people getting up hurriedly from a sofa. She could see them, there they were, her father and a tall, slender blonde. Her father and Katherine.

  She spread the pages of the letter out with both hands and studied her mother’s handwriting. It was a beautiful hand, strong, and confident, and flowing. There was nothing in it, nowhere in the letter, which suggested even remotely something might be wrong, something wrong emotionally let alone physically. Yet she had just been told she was soon going to die. And five months later she was in fact dead. But not from a weakened heart as her doctors had so confidently predicted, but from an accident in the hunting field.

  From an accident, in the hunting field.

  For a moment Artemis looked up from the letter and stared ahead of her, trying to sort her thoughts out.

  Then she folded up her late mother’s letter, placed it carefully in its envelope, and went off to have lunch with her godmother at Claridges.

  ‘Your father and your wretched stepmother were lovers before your father met your mother,’ Diana said. ‘For a god-awful moment everyone thought he was going to be a complete ass and marry Katherine then. But thankfully he met your mother, fell wildly in love with her, and lord, what man in his right mind wouldn’t have? And that, one thought, was that.’

  ‘But it wasn’t,’ Artemis replied, not asking a question, but stating a fact. ‘I mean obviously.’

  ‘No,’ Diana sighed. ‘Somehow Katherine got herself back in at Brougham, and once in, she stayed. I’m afraid she made your mother’s life a misery. That last year.’

  ‘Yes? And Papa?’

  ‘Your father was enthralled. I don’t honestly think he knew quite what he was doing. He can be most frightfully weak.’

  A waiter arrived to refill their wine glasses, while another removed their plates. Diana lit a cigarette.

  ‘I suppose,’ Artemis ventured, picking up Diana’s discarded matchstick and toying with it, ‘once Mama’s heart condition had been, you know, diagnosed, I suppose she thought it wouldn’t be long before she’d be living at Brougham full time.’

  ‘She being Katherine, I take it?’

  ‘Absolutely. But then supposing Mama hadn’t had a dicky heart? Or been killed out hunting. Papa would never have divorced her. He doesn’t think much of divorce.’

  ‘I don’t imagine for a minute he’d have done anything, darling,’ Diana replied. ‘Your father might be a touch odd sometimes, but no, he’s certainly no Dr Crippen.’

  Artemis broke the match in two and dropped it in the ash tray. ‘He might not have done anything,’ she said.

  ‘Meaning she would have,’ Diana replied, picking up the nuance.

  ‘Meaning I wonder if she knew Mama had left me Brougham?’ Artemis asked, looking Diana suddenly in the eyes.

  ‘I should imagine so,’ Diana replied, having given the matter thought. ‘Knowing Katherine, I should imagine the matter had been given a great deal of air.’ She frowned. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Artemis said, as their pudding was set before them. ‘I was just wondering.’

  She was wondering about her accident, and even now she still could remember very little about it. All Artemis knew was that when everyone had been asked, no-one it seemed could remember anyone else behind her on the Funk’s Run. Hounds had just hit the line, the hunt was on, and everyone, so she was told, was understandably distracted.

  Everyone except the person who had ridden after her in pursuit.

  Because of the concussion she suffered from her fall, try as she might, Artemis couldn’t even remember arriving at the meet that morning. All she could ever recall was going to bed the night before her accident. But now, having read her late mother’s letter, and having learned of her father’s and stepmother’s previous relationship, something more was coming back to her. And the image was so powerful she found herself catching her breath, and clutching the edge of the table.

  She was riding at a hedge. She could see it in her mind’s eye quite clearly. It was the hedge and ditch at the bottom of the hill. And the horse that had been behind her was now up alongside, so close she could see its rider.

  ‘It’s her,’ Artemis said, startling Diana who had been in the middle of recounting a social anecdote.

  ‘Who, darling?’ Diana asked. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘I can see her,’ Artemis replied. ‘She has a veil, and a top hat, and she’s very slender. On a big bay horse.’

  And big bay horse with a blaze, a very distinctive blaze, like a big splash of white paint, right down its face.

  ‘Of course,’ Artemis announced to Diana. ‘The horse that rode me off that morning was a hireling ridden by the second Lady Deverill, by Katherine.’

  ‘Was there some unsettled business, Lady Deverill?’ Mr Arthur Grafton asked once he had settled himself back behind his partner’s desk. ‘Something you don’t perhaps understand about the terms of your legacy?’

  ‘I want you to confirm I am now the rightful and legal owner of Brougham, please,’ Artemis said. ‘I doubt this letter will be enough.’

  ‘It’s in your late mother’s will,’ Arthur Grafton replied. ‘She added the necessary codicil.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Artemis said. ‘Then when the will was read, it would have been – I mean everyone would have known.’

  Arthur Grafton took a small snuff box from his pocket and opened it. ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Everyone within the immediate family.’

  ‘Yes,’ Artemis said. ‘That’s rather what I thought. Thank you.’ She leaned forward, just as her lawyer had placed some snuff on the back of his hand. ‘In that case, Mr Grafton,’ she instructed, ‘please inform my father and my stepmother they have precisely four weeks in which to vacate my house.’

  Arthur Grafton was so taken aback he inhaled the snuff too deeply and started to cough. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Artemis?’ he said in between gasps. ‘Perhaps I didn’t hear you right.’

  ‘My father and my stepmother are to be out of Brougham,’ Artemis repeated, ‘in four weeks exactly. To the hour.’

  ‘Might I ask why, Lady Artemis?’ Mr Grafton said, raising his bushy grey eyebrows.

  ‘If you would just make sure my instructions are carried out,’ Artemis returned, picking up her gloves and purse.

  ‘I feel sure your father will enquire as to your reasons, Lady Artemis,’ Mr Grafton insisted, rising as she rose.

  ‘I’m absolutely certain he will, Mr Grafton,’ Artemis replied. ‘Which is why I wish you to give him none.’

  She picked up her silver-topped cane and wished him good day.

  Artemis turned and made her way slowly to the door which Mr Grafton hurried to open for her. She walked past him and out into the outer office without another word or look. The lawyer watched her go, an arrestingly beautiful girl, albeit to his mind a somewhat eccentric one, dressed as she was in an old silver-buttoned jacket, the kind of shirt favoured by the Romantic poets in the eighteenth century, a crimson hat with a turned up brim, a long twill riding skirt, and pale brown leather ankle boots. But how sad, the lawyer thought, as he watched her take her final leave of his offices, that someone as beautiful as the young Lady Artemis Deverill should have suffered from such a hideous riding
accident, one which had left one of her long slender legs so much shorter than the other.

  At the same time as Lady Artemis Deverill learned of her inheritance, it was decided between Eleanor Milligan and Madame Gautier that before the engagement could become formal, William O’Hara first had to ask his intended’s father, Patrick Milligan, for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

  They met at Mr O’Hara’s club to dine and discuss the matter. Patrick Milligan was a long way out of his social depth, but he was not a man to be cowed by such occasions, nor intimidated by the formal surroundings. In fact in his rented white tie and tails he presented a most impressive and formidable aspect, a fine upright figure of a man, as opposed to the rather over-fed and under-exercised bodies of most of his fellow diners. Even his table manners were above reproach, thanks to Ellie’s painstaking coaching.

  ‘You are not to comb your moustaches with your fork, Pa,’ she had instructed. ‘Nor wipe your mouth on the back of your hand. You’ll have a linen table napkin for that purpose, so for heaven’s sake use it. And don’t, whatever you do, tuck it in your collar – lay it on your lap. And use the cutlery on the outside of the place setting first, working your way inwards.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ her father had sighed. ‘I can manage. I’m not a total gombeen, you know.’

  ‘You will be if you don’t listen, believe me,’ Ellie had retorted.

  ‘And how would you know all these things anyway? Sure you’re no better than I am, whatever you say.’

  ‘I know these things, Pa,’ Ellie had said, ‘because I have watched people. I watched Mr O’Hara from the first time I sat down at his table, and I have watched people ever since. So if you find yourself at a loss, like not knowing which knife to use, or which glass to drink from, or whatever, just watch what the others are doing. Which means you just keep your eye on Mr O’Hara.’

  Her father had kept up his grumbling until he left the house to keep his appointment, but even so he had taken his daughter’s advices to heart. Patrick Milligan had no intention of making a social nonsense. There was far too much at stake.