‘I’m the older by four years. And this is my husband, Percy. Percy Bell.’ She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the man standing near the window. He smiled towards Charlotte and gave a courteous little bow. But he made no attempt to approach her, to kiss her cheek or even to shake her hand.
‘We’ve been abroad for many years. Percy worked for the Foreign Office, so we’ve been all over the world. But we’ve come back home to England now Percy’s retired.’ Euphemia linked her arm through Charlotte’s and drew her further into the room. ‘Your father and I had a silly quarrel when—’
‘Euphemia!’ Osbert roared, this time successfully cutting off whatever she had been going to say. ‘That matter is never spoken of in this house. I’ll thank you to hold your tongue.’
She stared at him for a long moment, before saying, with surprising meekness, ‘Very well, Osbert. If you say so.’
‘I do. And you will speak to no one about it.
No one
, do you hear?’
Charlotte watched the change on the woman’s face. She was staring at her brother, frowning, as if trying to read the reason behind his words – his demand. She gave a slight nod, but this time she made no promise.
Euphemia turned back to Charlotte with a bright, rather forced smile. ‘We’ve taken rooms in Ravensfleet. At the White Swan.’ She patted Charlotte’s hand. ‘You must come and see us there. We can go to Lincoln on a shopping spree and—’
‘She’ll do no such thing,’ Osbert spat. ‘I don’t want her looking like some – ’ he gestured towards his sister – ‘some woman of the streets.’
‘Oh I say, old boy, steady on,’ Percy murmured and began to move towards his wife, as if in support. But Euphemia waved him away, ‘Don’t worry, my dear; I’m used to my brother’s insults.’
Osbert moved stiffly from his stance near the fireplace to sit in his chair. He made no offer of refreshment for them nor did he even invite them to sit down. ‘I wish you good day, Euphemia. You are not welcome in this house.’
For a moment there was stunned silence. But then the woman laughed gaily. ‘Nonsense, Osbert. You are my only living relative. I want us to put the past behind us.’ She released her hold on Charlotte and moved to stand on the hearthrug in front of her brother. Charlotte glanced at her uncle. He was watching the proceedings, but taking no part now.
‘We were close once, Osbert,’ Euphemia said softly.
‘We were never close,’ Osbert barked, his frown deepening. He nodded towards Percy. ‘You married
him
against Father’s wishes and ran off to Timbuktu or wherever it was.’
‘India, actually, old boy.’ Percy spoke for the first time. ‘And we didn’t run off, as you put it. My work was out there already, as you very well know.’ He spoke with a well-bred, superior tone of voice, but his eyes twinkled merrily when he glanced at Charlotte. She watched him stroke his moustache and heard a low chuckle.
He’s enjoying this, Charlotte thought. I wonder why?
Osbert was scowling at them both now. ‘Nevertheless, you were out there when Father died and I was left to run this place on my own. At twenty.’
Euphemia laughed, a merry sound that was at once infectious. ‘And you’re trying to tell me you wanted it any other way? What could I have done? A mere
girl
?’
Charlotte caught her breath. So, she thought, her father’s antagonism against girls went even further back. It sounded as if his attitude towards his sister had been the same as it was now towards his daughter. But at her aunt’s next words, Charlotte realized that the feeling went back a generation further.
‘Father always made it perfectly clear that I – as a daughter – would inherit nothing.’
‘That’s why he wanted you to marry well. So that you’d be provided for and not be a burden on me.’ He glanced with a sneer at Percy, who was still smiling benevolently. Charlotte doubted the man could be offended, however hard one tried. And it seemed her father was trying to do just that.
Osbert sniffed. ‘He didn’t think a junior in the Foreign Office would ever amount to much.’
‘Well, he was wrong,’ Euphemia said tartly. ‘Percy did amount to something. He rose to an important position, as a matter of fact. We’ve had a wonderful life and he’s retired on a very nice pension which allows us to do just what we like. But I would have married him anyway. We, Osbert dear, married for love, but of course you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? When I think of poor, dear Alice—’
Osbert sprang to his feet with an agility that Charlotte had not seen for years. He thrust his face close to Euphemia’s and spat out the words, his spittle showering her face. ‘Her name – is – not – to be spoken – in – this – house. Do – you – hear – me?’
Euphemia blinked, but remarkably she kept her composure. ‘I can hardly fail to, Osbert,’ she said calmly.
‘No need for that, old boy,’ Percy put in mildly.
Osbert turned his venom on his brother-in-law. ‘I am not your “old boy”. I believe I am a good ten years younger than you, if I remember rightly. And now I’d be obliged if you would leave my house. As I said, you are not welcome here.’
‘But Father, surely – ?’ Charlotte took a step forwards, but her father flung out his hand towards her, pointing his forefinger threateningly. ‘And you can hold your tongue, girl. This is no concern of yours.’
‘Oh, but I think it is, Osbert. Surely even
you
would not stop me becoming acquainted with my own niece? Especially if, in view of Percy having done so very well in his career, I give you my word, brother dear, that I shall never become a burden on you or your daughter when she inherits. That’s if I outlive you, of course.’
Osbert’s eyes gleamed. ‘There’s no fear of that.’ His voice was silky with malice.
Euphemia laughed. ‘What? That I shall outlive you?’
Osbert shook his head. ‘No, not that.’ His eyes narrowed as he said, ‘Of my daughter’ – he said the word as if the very feel of it on his tongue was abhorrent to him – ‘inheriting Buckthorn Farm.’
Euphemia gaped at him and Charlotte couldn’t prevent a startled gasp.
‘I don’t understand – ’ Euphemia’s glance went from one to the other.
‘It’s not for you
to
understand,’ Osbert snapped. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘But she’s your only child, isn’t she? And she’s not married, is she?’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘Are you?’
Wordlessly, Charlotte shook her head.
There was silence in the room. Everyone seemed like a statue, stunned into stillness. Osbert, having delivered the bombshell, calmly sat back down in his chair.
‘You mean to tell me,’ Euphemia said, her own temper rising now, ‘that you are not going to leave the farm to your daughter? Your only child?’
‘That’s correct.’
Charlotte, her eyes wide, stared at her father and put out her hand to the nearest chair to steady herself. Her legs felt weak and her head was swimming. So it was true. She was hearing it now from his own mouth. He was not going to leave the farm to her. She knew only too well that her being a daughter had disappointed him deeply, but she’d never thought that his bitterness was quite so vindictive.
‘My dear girl.’ Percy moved solicitously towards her. ‘Are you all right? You look as if you’ve had a shock. D’you mean to tell me that you’d no idea?’
‘Not – not really.’
‘Appalling,’ the kindly man said. ‘Absolutely appalling!’ But whether he meant the fact that she was to be left penniless or that she hadn’t known her fate was unclear. Probably he meant both, Charlotte thought.
Her aunt was still locked in a battle of wills with Osbert.
‘You’re quite right, as always, Percy dear,’ she murmured, though her gaze was still on her brother. ‘That is exactly the word for it.’ She paused and, with her head on one side, added, ‘Then who, if I might be so bold, is to inherit?’
‘Philip Thornton.’
As her legs finally gave way beneath her, Charlotte sank into a chair.
‘And who’s he when he’s at home?’ Euphemia demanded.
‘None of your business,’ Osbert snapped again.
At last, summoning all her strength, Charlotte said quietly, ‘The Thorntons have just come to live at the manor.’
Euphemia turned towards her. ‘Where Jeremy Davenport lived?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What happened to him? Oh, don’t tell me he’s dead.’ Her hand fluttered to her mouth and her eyes were wide.
Charlotte regarded her aunt. She must have known him, she thought. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said gently. ‘His heir was a second cousin once removed who lived abroad and didn’t wish to take up occupancy. The manor and the whole estate were sold to Mr Thornton and – and – ’ her voice faded to a whisper, ‘his three sons.’
Euphemia stared at her for a long moment, absorbing the news and beginning to realize what the arrival of the new family had meant for Charlotte.
Osbert leaned towards his sister. ‘It was Davenport whom Father had lined up for you. So you see, if you’d been obedient and married him, you would now be a very wealthy woman.’
Pulled back to the present, Euphemia started and then, in a very unladylike manner, snorted with laughter. Despite the shocking confirmation that what Philip had told her was true, Charlotte smiled. She was beginning to like her new-found relative very much.
‘Me! Marry Jeremy Davenport?’ Euphemia almost squeaked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Osbert. He was a philanderer. A womanizer. No girl in her right mind would have
married
him.’
Osbert put his head on one side as he said slyly, ‘Maybe it was Davenport who had the lucky escape. He did marry late in life – someone much younger than him – and had two sons. Sadly, they were both killed in the war and his wife – still young enough to have borne more children, mark you – died in ’eighteen of the influenza.’ He paused and then smiled maliciously at Euphemia. ‘
You
haven’t been able to give your husband any children at all, let alone sons.’
All through the exchange of heated words, Euphemia had remained in control, but now her brother had touched a raw nerve. Her hand fluttered to her mouth and tears filled her eyes. At once, Percy was at her side. ‘There, there, old girl. Don’t take on.’ He turned towards Osbert. ‘And you, sir, mind your tongue. Even if she is your sister, it doesn’t give you the right to be so cruel.’
‘Huh, we’re in the same boat. I’ve no son, only a useless, good-for-nothing daughter, who can’t even catch a husband. I tried to arrange a marriage with Miles Thornton, but even he won’t have her. Not even to secure his son’s inheritance.’
‘Father!’ Charlotte gasped. ‘What are you saying? What d’you mean?’ This she did not know.
He turned to her now. ‘I intend to leave all my lands and possessions to Philip Thornton, but I tried to make provision for you. As a condition, I proposed that his father – Miles – should agree to marry you. But he refused.’ His lip curled disdainfully. ‘But who can blame him? Look at you. Just look at you! Drab, colourless and spineless. Who on earth would ever want you for a wife?’
Hurt and humiliated more than ever before, Charlotte pulled herself up and ran from the room. As she dragged herself up the stairs, the racking sobs built in her chest, but not until she reached the sanctuary of her own room, did she throw herself on her bed and give way to a storm of weeping.
She must have fallen asleep for it was dusk when she woke. Her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen. She splashed cold water from the ewer into the bowl and washed her face. Then she unwound her plait, brushed her long, shining black hair and replaited it. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her violet eyes stared back at her. She picked up the spectacles she had worn since the age of seven. She remembered her father taking her to Lincoln. It had been such a rare occasion that he took her anywhere that the day was still clear in her memory.
They’d gone to an optician where her father had insisted the man test her eyesight. When she’d done reading all the letters and he’d looked into her eyes, the man declared that she had perfect eyesight.
‘She needs glasses,’ her father had said abruptly. ‘You will make her a pair of spectacles with round, plain steel frames.’
The man had spread his hands helplessly. ‘But she doesn’t need spectacles. She—’
Slowly and clearly, Osbert had repeated the words, ‘You will make her a pair of spectacles to my specification with plain glass.’
The man had gaped in surprise. He’d tried to argue once more, but to no avail. Osbert had been adamant and the man, only an employee who dared not turn away a customer for fear of his superior’s wrath, duly obliged. On completion, the spectacles were posted to Buckthorn Farm and from that day Charlotte had worn them. They had been replaced twice more, but still they were the same style of round, steel-framed glasses that she had worn as a child.
Staring at herself in the mirror, Charlotte felt an overwhelming rebellion. The spectacles slipped from her fingers to the floor and before she had scarcely stopped to think what she was doing, she had ground them into the worn linoleum with the heel of her sturdy shoe.
Then she left her room and went down to the hall. She paused a moment. There was no sound now from the sitting room, so she turned towards the door to the kitchen.