The Shifting Fog

  She continued to look at me, waiting, and still I refused to meet her eyes. ‘Yes, miss,’ I said.

  She met her own gaze in the mirror as I slipped off her glove.

  ‘He says he loves me. Can you imagine that?’

  I did not answer and she did not expect me to. Rather, she excused me, said she would put herself to bed.

  When I left she was still sitting by the mirror. Regarding herself as if for the first time, as if trying to learn her own features for fear that next time she looked they might be changed.

  As Hannah sat at her dressing table, musing on this strange and unexpected new turn of events, downstairs in the study Mr Frederick was facing shock of a different kind. In a show of breathtakingly insensitive timing, Simion Luxton had delivered his blow. (The wheels of business couldn’t be stopped just so young ladies could make their debuts, now could they?)

  While the dance had been swirling in the ballroom, he’d told Mr Frederick that the syndicate had declined to refinance his ailing factory. They did not consider it a good risk. It was still a valuable piece of land, Simion reassured him, and one for which he’d be able to find a buyer quickly and advantageously should Frederick wish to save himself the embarrassment of the bank’s foreclosing. (Why, just off the top of his head, he knew of an American friend seeking land in that area to build a copy of the garden of Versailles. Something for his new wife.)

  It was Simion’s valet, after one too many brandies in the servants’ hall, who relayed the news to us downstairs. But despite being surprised and worried, we could do little else but carry on as usual. The house was full of guests who had come a long way in the middle of winter and were determined to have a good time. Thus, we continued our duties, serving tea, making up rooms and delivering meals.

  Mr Frederick, however, felt no such compunction to carry on as normal and, while his guests made themselves at home, eating his food, reading his books and enjoying his largesse, he remained sequestered in his study. Only when the last car pulled away did he emerge and begin the roaming that was to be habit with him until his last days: noiseless, ghost-like, his facial nerves tightening and knotting with the sums and scenarios that must have tormented him.

  Lord Gifford began to make regular visits and Miss Starling was called from the village to locate official letters from the filing system. Day in, day out she was required in Mr Frederick’s study, emerging hours later, clothes sombre, face wan, to lunch downstairs with us. We were impressed and annoyed in equal measure by the way she kept to herself, never divulging so much as a word of what went on behind the closed door.

  Lady Violet, still sick in bed, was to be spared the news. The doctor said there was nothing he could do for her now and if we valued our lives we were to keep away. For it was no ordinary head cold that had her in its grips, but a particularly virulent influenza, said to have come all the way from Spain. It was God’s cruel show of attrition, the doctor mused, that for millions of good people who survived four years of war, death was to be a caller at the dawn of peace.

  Faced with the dire state of her friend, Lady Clementine’s ghoulish taste for disaster and death was tempered somewhat, as was her fear. She ignored the doctor’s warning, arranging herself in an armchair next to Lady Violet and chatting blithely of life outside the warm, dark bedroom. She spoke of the ball’s success, the hideous dress worn by Lady Pamela Wroth, and then she declared that she had every reason to believe Hannah would soon be engaged to Mr Theodore Luxton, heir to his family’s massive fortune.

  Whether Lady Clementine knew more than she let on, or merely plied her friend with hope in her hour of need, she showed a gift for prophesy. For next morning, the engagement was announced. And when Lady Violet succumbed to her flu, she drifted into death’s arms a happy woman.

  There were others for whom the news was not so welcome. From the moment the engagement was announced and dance preparations gave way to wedding plans, Emmeline took to stomping about the house, glowering. That she was jealous was clear. Of whom I wasn’t sure.

  One morning in February, when I was helping Hannah look for her mother’s wedding dress, Emmeline appeared at the linen-room door. Wordlessly, she came to stand by Hannah, watching as we unfolded the white tissue paper to reveal the satin and lace dress within.

  ‘Old fashioned,’ said Emmeline. ‘Wouldn’t catch me wearing something like that.’

  ‘Just as well you don’t need to then,’ said Hannah, smiling sidelong at me.

  Emmeline humphed.

  ‘Look, Grace,’ said Hannah, ‘I think that’s the veil at the back there.’ She leaned into the large cedar armoire. ‘Can you see? Right at the very back?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ I said, reaching to retrieve it.

  Hannah took hold of one side and we unfurled it. ‘Just like mother to have the longest and heaviest veil.’

  It was beautiful: fine Brussels lace with tiny seed pearls encrusted around the edges. I held it up, the better to admire it.

  ‘You’ll be lucky to make it down the aisle without tripping,’ said Emmeline. ‘You won’t be able to see for all those pearls.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Hannah said, reaching out to squeeze Emmeline’s wrist. ‘With you as my bridesmaid.’

  The sting was taken from Emmeline’s tail. She sighed. ‘I wish you weren’t doing this. Everything’s going to be different.’

  ‘I know,’ said Hannah. ‘You’ll be able to play whichever song you like on the gramophone with no one to tell you not to.’

  ‘Don’t make a joke.’ Emmeline pouted. ‘You promised you wouldn’t leave.’

  I placed the veil on Hannah’s head, careful not to pull her hair.

  ‘I said I wouldn’t get a job and I didn’t,’ Hannah said. ‘I never said I wouldn’t get married.’

  ‘Yes you did.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Always, you always said you wouldn’t get married.’

  ‘That was before.’

  ‘Before what?’

  Hannah didn’t answer. ‘Emme,’ she said, ‘would you mind taking my locket. I don’t want the clasp to catch the lace.’

  Emmeline undid the locket. ‘Why Teddy?’ she said. ‘Why do you have to marry Teddy?’

  ‘I don’t have to marry Teddy, I want to marry Teddy.’

  ‘You don’t love him,’ said Emmeline.

  The hesitation was slight, the answer offhand. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Like Romeo and Juliet?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t be marrying him. You should leave him for someone who does love him like that.’

  ‘No one loves like Romeo and Juliet,’ Hannah said. ‘They’re made up characters.’

  Emmeline ran her fingertip over the locket’s etched surface. ‘I would,’ she said.

  ‘Then I pity you,’ Hannah said, trying to make light. ‘Look what happened to them!’

  I stepped aside so that I could arrange the veil’s headpiece. ‘It looks beautiful, miss,’ I said.

  ‘David wouldn’t approve,’ Emmeline said suddenly, swinging the locket like a pendulum. ‘I don’t think he’d like Teddy.’

  Hannah stiffened at mention of her brother’s name. ‘Don’t be such a child, Emmeline.’ She reached for the locket, missed. ‘And stop being so rough; you’ll break it.’

  ‘You’re running away.’ Emmeline’s voice had taken on a sharp edge.

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘David would think so. He’d say you were abandoning me.’

  Hannah’s voice was low. ‘And he’d be a fine one to talk.’ Standing close, rearranging the lace across her face, I could see that her eyes had glazed.

  Emmeline didn’t say anything, continued to swing the locket in sulky figure eights.

  There was a taut silence during which I straightened the sides of the veil, noticed a tiny catch that would need mending.

  ‘You’re right,’ Hannah said finally. ‘I am running away. Just like you will as soon as yo
u can. Sometimes when I walk across the estate, I can almost feel the roots growing from my feet, tying me here. If I don’t get away soon, my life will be over and I’ll be just another name on the family headstone.’ The sentiments were unusually Gothic for Hannah and thus I realised the depth of her malaise. ‘Teddy is my opportunity,’ she continued. ‘To see the world, to travel, to meet interesting people.’

  Emmeline’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I knew you didn’t love him.’

  ‘But I do like him; I will love him.’

  ‘Like him?’

  ‘It’s enough,’ said Hannah, ‘for me. I’m different to you, Emme. I’m not good at laughing and smiling with people I don’t enjoy. I find most society people tedious. If I don’t marry, my life will be one of two things: an eternity of lonely days in Pa’s house, or a relentless succession of boring parties with boring chaperones until I’m old enough to be one of the chaperones myself. It’s like Fanny said—’

  ‘Fanny makes things up.’

  ‘Not this.’ Hannah was firm. ‘Marriage will be the beginning of my adventure.’

  Emmeline had dropped her gaze, was idly dangling Hannah’s locket. She began to prise it open.

  Hannah reached for it at the moment its treasure was spilled. We all froze as the tiny book, its spine hand-stitched, its cover faded, fell from inside, tumbled onto the floor. Battle with the Jacobites.

  There was silence. Then Emmeline’s voice. Almost a whisper. ‘You said they were all gone.’

  She tossed the locket onto the ground and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. Hannah, still wearing her mother’s veil, picked it up. She took the tiny book, turned it over and smoothed its surface. Then she placed it back into the hollow of the locket’s chest and pressed it carefully closed. But it wouldn’t clasp. The hinge was broken.

  ‘I think I’ve finished trying on the veil,’ she said. ‘You can take it to the airing closet now, Grace.’

  Emmeline was not the only Hartford for whom the engagement didn’t bring unrivalled joy. As wedding preparations got underway in earnest, the household swept up in dress-fittings, decorations and baking, Frederick remained very quiet, sitting by himself in his study, a permanent expression of trouble clouding his face. He seemed thinner too. The loss of his factory and his mother had taken their toll. So had Hannah’s decision to marry Teddy.

  The night before the wedding, while I was collecting Hannah’s supper tray, he came to her room. He sat in the chair by her dressing table then stood, almost immediately, paced toward the window, looked out over the back lawn. Hannah was in bed, her nightie white and crisp, her hair hanging, like silk, over her shoulders. She watched her father and her face grew serious as she took in his bony frame, his hunched shoulders, the way his hair had gone from golden to silver in the space of a few months.

  ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if it rains tomorrow,’ he said finally, still looking out the window.

  ‘I’ve always liked the rain.’

  Mr Frederick did not answer.

  I finished loading the supper tray. ‘Will that be all, miss?’

  She had forgotten I was there. She turned to me. ‘Yes. Thank you, Grace.’ With a sudden movement, she reached out and took my hand. ‘I’ll miss you, Grace, when I go.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ I curtseyed, my cheeks flushed with sentiment. ‘I’ll miss you too.’ I curtseyed to Mr Frederick’s turned back. ‘Goodnight, m’Lord.’

  He appeared not to have heard.

  I wondered what it was that brought him to Hannah’s room. What it was he had to say on the eve of her wedding that could not have been said at dinner, or afterwards in the drawing room. I left the room, pulled the door behind me, and then, I am ashamed to say, I lay the tray on the corridor floor and leaned in close.

  There was a long silence and I began to fear the doors were too thick, Mr Frederick’s voice too quiet. Then I heard him clear his throat.

  He spoke quickly, his tone low. ‘Emmeline I expected to lose as soon as she was of an age, but you?’

  ‘You’re not losing me, Pa.’

  ‘I am,’ he said, volume rising sharply. ‘David, my factory, now you. All my dearest . . .’ He checked himself and when he spoke again his voice was so tight it threatened to buckle. ‘I’m not blind to my part in all this.’

  ‘Pa?’

  There was a pause and the bedsprings squeaked. Mr Frederick’s voice, when he spoke, had shifted position and I imagined he now sat on the foot of Hannah’s bed. ‘You are not to do this,’ he said quickly. Squeak. He was on his feet again. ‘The very idea of you living amongst those people. They sold my factory out from under me—’ ‘Pa, there were no other buyers. The ones Simion found paid a good price. Imagine the humiliation if the bank had foreclosed. They saved you from that.’

  ‘Saved me? They robbed me blind. They could’ve helped me. I could’ve been in business still. And now you’re joining them. It makes my blood . . . No, it’s out of the question. I should have put my foot down earlier, before any of this business got out of hand.’

  ‘Pa—’

  ‘I didn’t stop David in time, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to make the same mistake twice.’

  ‘Pa—’

  ‘I won’t let you—’

  ‘Pa,’ Hannah said, and in her voice was a firmness that had not been there before. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

  ‘Change it,’ he roared.

  ‘No.’

  I was frightened for her. Mr Frederick’s tempers were legend at Riverton. He had refused all contact with David when he dared deceive him. What would he do now, faced with Hannah’s outright defiance?

  His voice quivered, white with rage. ‘You would answer no to your father?’

  ‘If I thought him wrong.’

  ‘You’re a stubborn fool.’

  ‘I’m like you.’

  ‘To your folly, my girl,’ he said. ‘Your strength of will has always inclined me to leniency, but this I will not tolerate.’

  ‘It’s not your decision, Pa.’

  ‘You are my child and you’ll do as I say.’ He paused and an unwanted note of desperation coloured his anger. ‘I order you not to marry him.’

  ‘Pa . . .’

  ‘Marry him,’ his volume leapt, ‘and you won’t be welcome here.’

  On the other side of the door, I was horrified. For though I understood Mr Frederick’s sentiment, shared his desire to keep Hannah at Riverton, I also knew threats were never a way to make her change her mind.

  Sure enough, her voice when she spoke was steely with resolve. ‘Goodnight, Pa.’

  ‘Fool,’ he said in the bewildered tone of one who couldn’t yet believe the game had been played and lost. ‘Stubborn fool of a child.’

  His footsteps drew near and I hurried to pick up my tray. Was withdrawing from the door when Hannah said: ‘I’ll be taking my maid with me when I go.’ My heart leapt as she continued. ‘Nancy will look after Emmeline.’

  I was so surprised, so pleased, I barely heard Mr Frederick’s reply. ‘You’re welcome to her.’ He pushed the door so furiously I almost dropped my tray, strode toward the stairs. ‘Lord knows I don’t need her here.’

  Why did Hannah marry Teddy? Not because she loved him but because she was prepared to love him. She was young and inexperienced—to what would she compare her feelings?

  Whatever the case, to outsiders the match was a good one. Simion and Estella Luxton were delighted, and so was everyone downstairs. Even I was pleased now that I was to accompany them. For Lady Violet and Lady Clementine were right, weren’t they? For all her youthful resistance, Hannah was bound to marry someone and surely Teddy was as good a catch as any?

  They were married on a rainy Saturday in May 1919, and a week later we left for London. Hannah and Teddy in the car up front, while I shared the second car with Teddy’s valet and Hannah’s trunks.

  Mr Frederick stood on the stairs, stiff and pale. From where I sat, unseen in the second car, I was able, fo
r the first time, to look properly upon his face. It was a beautiful, patrician face, though suffering had robbed it of expression.

  To his left was the line of staff, in descending order of rank. Even Nanny Brown had been exhumed from the nursery, and stood at half Mr Hamilton’s height, leaking silent tears into a white handkerchief.

  Only Emmeline was absent, having refused to watch them leave. I saw her though, right before we left. Her pale face framed behind one of the etched Gothic panes of the nursery window. Or I thought I did. It may have been a trick of the light. One of the little boy ghosts who spent their eternity in the nursery.

  I had already said my goodbyes. To the staff, and to Alfred. Since the night on the garden stairs we’d made tentative amends. We were circumspect these days, Alfred treating me with a polite caution almost as alienating as his irritation. Nonetheless, I’d promised to write. Extracted from him an undertaking to do likewise.

  And I’d seen Mother the weekend before the wedding. She’d given me a little package of things: a shawl she had knitted years before, and a jar of needles and threads so that I might keep up my stitching. When I’d thanked her she’d shrugged and said they were no use to her; she wouldn’t be like to use them now her fingers were locked and as good as useless. On that last visit she’d asked me questions about the wedding and Mr Frederick’s factory and Lady Violet’s death. She surprised me, taking her former mistress’s death easily. I’d come lately to realise that Mother had enjoyed her years of service, yet when I spoke of Lady Violet’s final days she offered no condolences, no fond remembrances. She merely nodded slowly and let her face relax into an expression of remarkable dispassion.

  But I did not think to query it then, for my mind was full of London.

  The dull thump of faraway drums. Do you hear them, I wonder, or is it just me?

  You have been patient. And there is not much longer to wait. For into Hannah’s world Robbie Hunter is about to make his return. You knew he would, of course, for he has his part to play. This is not a fairytale, nor a romance. The wedding does not mark the happy ending of this story. It is simply another beginning, the ushering in of a new chapter.