Page 121 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
Our eyes met in mutual horror.
‘Are you sure this is arealconfession and not part of some Gothic novel, hidden away later?’ he asked.
‘It has to be real – look at it!’ I told him. ‘And anyway, think of the clues she left in the window. No, it’s genuine.’
It was daylight before the troop of soldiers rode away, finally convinced that I harboured no King’s men. I made great play of my uncle’s name and gave them to understand that I was of his political persuasion.
I do not know how I managed not to appear distraught before them. While I provided food and drink, the loud howls of the wind down the great chimney sounded to me like the cries of an injured man … though I knew my husband could not have survived such a fall.
All was quiet after they had left: the wind and the howling had long died away. Dorcas had given Lydia a draught and she slept in her old chamber, where I joined her, for the thought of mine made me shudder.
My husband was assumed to have died on the battlefield and his man of business proved a staunch support, giving me much wise advice until my son, Edmund, was of age. Our investments prospered beyond expectation.
I caused the door of the great bedchamber to be locked and never used again and soon the servants were declaring it was haunted and avoiding that part of the passage …
Perhaps it was.
I often shudder at the thought of what lies down there in the darkness at the heart of the house, but I do not feel it weigh too heavily on my conscience, except that I would wish I had earlier understood what ailed my poor daughter. I failed her in this.
But I expect she and I will long have been dust ere anyone reads this, and will not judge Lydia’s action too harshly: for terror made her turn the carving and consign Phillip to the depths.
It affected her mind, so that in time I acceded to her wishes and got her to a Protestant nunnery in the Lowlands, where she could do penance for her sins, though to my mind, when the truth is weighed in the balance, I believe God will judge her not to have been the sinner.
Signed this day, 14 June 1655
Lady Anne Revell
‘Well,’ I said to Carey, ‘I didn’t see that last bit coming. I thought it was the maidservant, Dorcas.’
‘Me too – but the poor child must have been terrified and he deserved everything he got.’
‘Including the everlasting flames of hell – that’s how she portrayed him in the window,’ I said. ‘But whatever happened, he brought it on himself.’
I awoke to the sun streaming through the open window and the curtains stirring gently.
On the terrace below, I could hear voices raised in argument – my husband and his lover. I slipped out of bed and looked down on them: Rosslyn Browne sat on the stone balustrade while Ralph stood facing him. Their voices carried clearly and Ralph sounded as if he had been drinking heavily.
‘I tell you, she knows everything – what if she spreads the tale?’
‘She wouldn’t be believed if she did,’ his friend said with a short laugh. ‘In any case, I’m leaving, so it’s not my concern.’
‘Leaving? You mean … for good?’ Ralph took a hasty step forward. ‘No – you’ve threatened often enough, but you always come back.’
‘Not this time – and since you say Mossby will have to be sold to meet your debts, there won’t be anything to come back to,’ he said cruelly.
‘I can mortgage it, I’ll find a way …’ began Ralph desperately.
‘I hope you do – but believe me, it’s over between us.’
Ralph went very still. ‘You’ve found someone else, haven’t you?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. It was good while it lasted but now you can play happy husband and father and forget I ever existed.’
He got up and flicked the end of his cigar over the edge of the terrace. ‘I’m off in the morning. Everything at the Lodge can be packed and sent on.’ He looked up at Mossby’s white façade but I am sure he didn’t see me watching him for he said, as if to himself, ‘Mossby is beautiful, but I want to be remembered for designing many houses, not just one.’
He was off guard when Ralph, with an indescribable howl of anguish, threw himself at him – I don’t know with what intent, but both staggered back against the stone balustrade and vanished over the edge. The scream, I am very sure, came from Mr Browne – and then there was silence.
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