Daughter of Deceit (16 page)

I had struck up a friendship with Gertie, the maid, who had been given the task of looking after me. She brought my hot water night and morning and cleaned my room.

She was a girl of about seventeen who had come to the family at the age of twelve. She had taken a liking to me, perhaps because I was less formal than most of the guests who came to Leverson Manor. I enjoyed chatting to her.

She knew that I was the daughter of Desiree and was overawed by the fact.

“I saw Desiree once,” she told me. “It was a few years back … when my sister got married. He was comfortably off, her young man … had two stalls in Paddington, in the market there … cockles and mussels. He did a thriving trade. When they were engaged, he took me and my sister to the theatre. It was lovely. He said, ‘I’ll take you to see the great Desiree. That’s what all London’s doing.’ We went to see her in
Gypsy Girl.
”

I closed my eyes. I remembered it well. There had been the usual quarrels, my mother refusing to wear some of the costumes, Dolly stamping out and being allowed to go … and then coming back and making some compromise over the costumes. And the longing for the old days was almost unbearable.

Gertie did not know that. “She was lovely,” she went on. “She had big gold rings in her ears … and the way she danced with Lord James … all round the stage she went … it was lovely.”

“I remember it well,” I said.

“And now you’re here, miss. That’s ever so exciting.”

I could see my connection with Desiree played a big part in my attraction for her, and in due course I think it made her more frank with me than she would have been with anyone else.

She told me that Lady Constance was “a bit of a tartar.”

“Everything’s got to be just as she wants it. Otherwise you’re called to her. There’s a warning once, but next time you could be out. She’s always talking about trad-something.”

“Tradition,” I suggested.

“Yes, miss, that’s it. Everything in the house has got to be just right … and just like it was in bygone days.”

“I can imagine that.”

“She can be hard on people. There was Emmy Gentle.”

“One of the maids?” I asked.

Gertie nodded. “She was a wild one. More fond of the men than housework. She’d be larking about with anything in trousers that came her way. And she was always breaking things. Sometimes you could cover up for her … but there was this precious china. She was warned once … twice. Then there was a third time. That was it. It wasn’t easy to get another place … not without a reference. Emmy couldn’t find anything. Then she went to the bad.”

“To the bad?”

“Well, yes. That’s what they call it. You should have seen her. All decked out, she was. She had a dress of real silk. She said it was better than being Lady Constance’s slave. But it just shows you … you’ve got to be careful with her ladyship.”

Gertie told me about her home. “There was eight of us … only two old enough to go out to work. I send home a little bit. Not much, but it’s a help.”

She had made me see that, like most members of the household, she went in fear of Lady Constance. The case of Emmy Gentle had been a lesson to them all.

Gertie went on: “Her ladyship don’t like that Miss Vance seeing so much of Mr. Roderick.”

“Doesn’t she?” I asked. “Why?”

“Well, she’d be afraid, wouldn’t she? After all, who is she? That old grandmother of hers is a witch, some say. Emmy Gentle went to her once when she was in a bit of trouble. Emmy always said she did her a power of good. Oh, Miss Fiona’s the young lady all right. Had a good education, they say. Old Mrs. Carling saw to that. She’d want the best for her. Then there was that Sir Harry Something. He taught her a lot about those old Roman things and he gave her a job. She went away and came back. Oh, she’s quite the lady, but she’s not the sort Lady Constance would want for Mr. Roderick.”

“And … er … Mr. Roderick?”

“I reckon he’ll go his own way. Him and the master are ones for having their own way … for the things that matter to them … though they’re soft enough in some things. Alike they are. But I reckon when the time comes Mr. Roderick will choose without his mother’s help. All the same, there’s sure to be fireworks if he did. But we’ll see. She wants a real lady for him … someone with a grand title. Well, she is
Lady
Constance herself … and she don’t like you to forget that.”

“Yes, as you say, it will be for Mr. Roderick to decide.”

“Yes … but there is that old Mrs. Carling … she’s one to get what she wants, and they say she’s got powers …”

I was silent, wondering about the wisdom of carrying on such a conversation with a servant in a house where I was a guest. I said how interesting it was that the Roman remains had been discovered on Leverson land. But to Gertie the past was not of the same interest as the immediate present, and the conversation came to an end. I left her then to get on with her work.

One day I called at the cottage and instead of Fiona I found a strange woman there. I guessed at once that it was Mrs. Carling, of whom I had heard so much.

She was certainly unusual—tall and straight with dark abundant hair, which she wore in plaits round her head; large Creole earrings dangled from her ears. But what struck one immediately were her bright, penetrating eyes. They were luminous and gave the impression that they were seeing something invisible to others. The manner in which they were fixed on me made me feel faintly uneasy, for she gave me the impression that she was probing into my mind, trying to discover things which I did not wish to be revealed.

I said: “You’re Mrs. Carling, I’m sure. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Noelle Tremaston.”

“Of course. And I have heard much about you. I am so pleased to meet you at last. And how are you liking this part of the country?”

“It’s very interesting … and particularly the discoveries.”

She nodded. “Fiona’s gone off. Someone found something in a garden. She has gone to see if it’s ancient or modern. You’d be surprised how many people think they’ve found something of value since all this started!”

“I suppose that is inevitable, and you never know whether it is going to be something of real importance.”

“Do sit down. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’ve just had lunch.”

“Fiona may not be long. She went out an hour or more ago.”

I sat down.

“She’s completely caught up in all
this,” she said.

“I can understand how absorbing it is.”

“H’m,” she said. “She and Roderick Claverham … they are a pair of enthusiasts.”

“I know.”

She was looking at me anxiously. “And you, my dear. I know you have suffered a terrible loss.”

I was silent, and she went on: “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. But I am … aware. Perhaps you have heard something of me.”

I nodded.

“Fiona is fond of you already. I should like to help.”

“Thank you … but there is nothing anyone can do. It has just … happened.”

“I know, my dear, but you are young. If at any time I could help … I don’t know whether you’ve heard, but I have been blessed with a certain gift.”

She was making me feel rather uncomfortable, for as she spoke she was watching me so intently.

I said: “Yes, I have heard.”

“I’ve had my sorrows, so I understand full well,” she went on. “I lost my daughter when she was twenty-two years old. She was my life. I took Fiona and she became my consolation. There are always consolations in life, my dear. We do well to remember that.”

“I try to remember it.”

“I
knew of your mother, of course. I know she was a wonderful person as well as a famous one. I know what it feels like to be suddenly bereft. There is some good to come, even out of such suffering. It helps us to understand the suffering of others. I just wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you. You are very kind.”

“One of these days you must come to see me. I could perhaps help in some way.”

“It is good of you.”

“Promise me you will come.”

“Thank you. I will.”

She went on: “I have said what had to be said and that is enough. Tell me about yourself. Tell me what you think of the excitement over all these relics. The Claverhams are delightful people, are they not? Senior and Junior, I mean. We couldn’t have better squires of the neighbourhood. Such a wonderful family … going right back through the centuries. Roderick is going to be just like his father. It is what the neighbourhood needs. I am sure they are very kind to you.”

“Yes, they are.”

She looked at me somewhat roguishly. “And her ladyship?”

I was taken aback and she laughed. “She has grand ideas about certain things, that one. But Mr. Claverham is a good and kindly man and his son Roderick takes after him.”

Suddenly she seemed to change her mind. Perhaps it occurred to her that she was being a little too frank on such a short acquaintance and she began to talk of the village and what a difference the discoveries had made, how glad she was that Fiona had found the work she loved so close to home—such absorbing work which she was able to share with Roderick. She talked of some of the people in the village and how she had managed to cure them of certain ailments because she had a herb garden where she grew all sorts of medicinal plants which her special knowledge helped her to use to advantage.

“Some of them call me a witch,” she told me. “Years ago I might have been burned as one. Think of all the good women who met that fate. There are white witches as well as the other sort, you
know. White witches bring nothing but good. I am one of that kind … if you can call me one. I want to help people. I want to help you.”

I was relieved to hear the sound of horse’s hoofs. Mrs. Carling rose and went to the window.

“It’s Fiona,” she said, and in a few moments Fiona came into the cottage.

“Oh, Noelle,” she said. “How nice to see you. You’ve met my grandmother.”

“We have been getting along very well,” said Mrs. Carling.

“I had to go to Jasmine Cottage,” said Fiona to me. “They found some fragments of china in the garden. Someone must have thrown an old milk jug out a few years ago.” She smiled ruefully. “We get that now and then. But of course we have to look at everything. We can’t afford to let anything pass.”

“Of course not,” I said.

“Well, I’m glad my grandmother entertained you. Thanks, Granny.”

She looked a little uneasy and, having met the grandmother, I could understand that.

“I daresay you’d like some refreshment, Fiona,” said Mrs. Carling.

“Oh, I would,” said Fiona.

When Mrs. Carling left us to make the coffee, Fiona looked at me almost questioningly. I knew she was wondering what her grandmother had said to me.

I told her that we had had a very interesting chat and she seemed relieved.

We were drinking the coffee which had been prepared when Roderick arrived.

He told us that he had been to see one of the tenants and, as he was passing, he couldn’t resist calling. He looked pleased to see me there. I knew he was delighted that Fiona and I got along so well.

Fiona explained about her visit to the cottage to inspect the broken milk jug.

Roderick laughed. “Another?” he said. “Well, no doubt there will be lots more.”

“The trouble is, one can never be sure.”

“No stone must be left unturned,” quoted Roderick. “Who knows? You might find the discovery of the century. How is the vase coming along?”

“Slowly. I’m getting so many pieces of various things that I don’t know how I get them all in this place.”

“You’ll have to have a room at the Manor.”

“I might even want that.”

“Why not? There’s plenty of room. All you have to do is ask.”

“I’ll remember that,” said Fiona.

“Well, she is certainly overcrowded here,” said Mrs. Carling, smiling benignly on her granddaughter.

When Roderick and I were leaving together to return to the Manor, Mrs. Carling took my hand and looked at me earnestly.

“I do want you to come and see me,” she said.

“Thank you. I should like that.”

“Please promise me.”

“I will come.”

“I think you will find it … useful.”

We said goodbye, and when we had left the cottage, Roderick said: “What did you think of the old lady?”

“She’s very unusual.”

“Unusual! Some people think she is slightly mad.”

“She did say that she could have been burned as a witch two hundred years ago.”

“Lucky for her, then, that she was not born earlier.”

“I think she is devoted to Fiona.”

“There is no doubt about that. Fiona is a very admirable young lady. She certainly does not take after her grandmother. No flights of fancy there. Fiona has her feet firmly planted on the ground. She is wonderful to her grandmother, who, at times, must be something of a trial to her.”