Page 35 of Happily Ever After
No ghosts, I told myself firmly. There were no ghosts. No madwomen in attics, no secret girlfriends. There was a perfectly reasonable excuse for that slow, soft tread. Hugo was downstairs in the Breakfast Room still, making a brave and spirited attempt to force down some scrambled egg – or at least, he had been when I left him. He had no reason for secrecy now, anyway.
So, was Lady Tanith in the attic? Why would she have any need, or desire, to go up there? She’d got the whole of the house to stalk around in, being haughty and officious, and unless she’d got ranks of minions in the attic to command, I couldn’t see her putting in the effort to fiddle about in dusty, deserted rooms.
It must be Mrs Compton, I thought with a sudden relief, as I tracked the noises across the ceiling, from the bathroom, along the landing, to come to a sudden halt above the wing that contained the library below and Lady Tanith’s rooms above. I wasn’t normally upstairs at this time of day. I’d usually go directly from breakfast to the library, so Mrs Compton may well spend her mornings dusting and polishing whatever lay at the top of the house. She must, after all, dosomethingwith her time, because she certainly wasn’t spending it on cleaning the rest of the house. Or maybe – I tilted my head to try to catch a sound, but there was nothing – it reallywasrats? Rats were, I hated to think it, more likely than Mrs Compton cleaning.
The library was cold. Despite the fact that there was an enormous fireplace in one wall, it was obvious that nobody had thought that heating the room was a priority, and I shivered my way through another shelf-worth of dusty tomes. Nothing of any note had come to light, apart from some rather nice early editions of Dickens with illustrations, which I’d whiled away a pleasant couple of hours with, catching up with favourite characters. Most of the rest were bound editions of court reports; histories of countries now absorbed into their neighbours and renamed and which, some cursory reading told me, were probably a lot better off no longer under the rule of whoever wrote the histories; or interminable numbers of the driest novels I’d ever opened.
I hadn’t yet found any of Oswald’s writings, let alone his diaries, although I could only too well imagine him in here, bent over the desk with his pen and sheaves of paper, composing away. I wondered if he had ever come dashing in from a day on the estate, in full shooting kit or riding gear, trailing mud and inspiration, to scribble down some lines of poetry that had come to him as he had… done whatever he did around the place.
Then I thought of the truly dreadful poetry that Lady Tanith had quoted at me, and hoped that, if he had, someone else had had the sense to burn it.
I looked up at the painted face which glared at me as though reading my thoughts, and wondered what had really gone on in this house. A man, in full middle-age with an ailing and frail wife, and a young and – although it pained me to admit it – beautiful woman. Perhaps it had been inevitable. Mid-life crisis meets doting admirer, well, there was only one outcome, wasn’t there? Maybe Caroline had colluded in their relationship? Perhaps she had known all along that her husband was seducing her companion? Maybe – the thought crept into the back of my head, almost unwanted – maybe that was why Lady Tanith wanted so badly to find those diaries? Perhaps they would prove that Caroline had tacitly approved of her relationship with Oswald, her lusty and in-the-prime husband, while she was ill and incapable. Could the diaries relieve Lady Tanith of a guilt she’d carried all these years, about her relationship with Oswald?
Then the thought of Lady Tanith feeling guilt about anything, ever, met my daydreaming, and I shook my head. I was doing it again, trying to impose a narrative onto someone’s random actions. Lady Tanith wanted the diaries because she wanted them, that was all. Nothing secret, just her desire to publish, probably with appropriate editing, his final works to complete the set.
No stories. No narrative. Just, as Jay had said, heartbreak and then the daily grind.
I changed into my dress at the appointed hour, and made my way to the church, with Hugo toddling alongside, full of excitement about an online auction for some dresses that had, apparently, once been owned by Princess Grace of Monaco.
‘I’m not sure of their wearability,’ he chuntered. ‘But I could keep them to look at, couldn’t I, Andi?’
I smiled at him, rather sadly. ‘Hugo, you can’t keep on living like this you know.’
He deflated instantly. ‘I do know, Andi. I really do.’ His lovely face retreated into lines of defeat and sadness. ‘But I don’t know how to stop.’
‘Do you really not have any friends atall?’
Hugo held the gate for me and I brushed between the yew hedges ahead of him, feeling the prick and scratch of the needles like real life trying to intrude again. ‘Not really. There’s a few people I email sometimes, some dress suppliers, a few costume historians. But I’ve never met any of them, we’re more like pen pals. After all, I can’t leave Mother.’
We were early to the church and took our places in the pew at the front, where Lady Tanith was already seated, head bowed and veil in place. Behind us, I could hear the coughs and shuffles of the estate workers filing into their seats, but I didn’t turn around to see if Jay was there. A hot wash of shame came over me every time I remembered our last encounter. He’d jumped to conclusions, but then, hadn’t I been leaping to fairly large ones myself since I came here? I’d thought he was Jasper, on really flimsy evidence, when I could have asked Hugo whether his brother was a gardener instead of assuming he must be. So Jay’s presumption that I’d only talked to him because I thought he was Hugo’s brother could be seen as a fairly natural progression of ideas.
I got hot again with second-hand embarrassment, but it was just as well because the chill in the church rivalled that of the library. There weren’t enough people in here to warm the place up, and there was clearly no heating, or none that anyone chose to turn on. I wished I’d worn a thicker top over the dress. I wished Ihada thicker top. Maybe I could get away with borrowing one of the ancient furs (‘rumoured to have been part of Marlene Dietrich’s collection’) that Hugo had tucked away in the third wardrobe. No. I’d never worn fur in my life, objected to it on principle, and my mother would have disowned me if I had.
I gave a tiny inner giggle, which Lady Tanith clearly picked up on because she side-eyed me during the sermon. My mother had nothing to disown mefrom. We’d always lived a fairly impecunious life, at least, until the YouTube channel had taken off and the TV companies had started sniffing around. My father’s money had bought the bus, paid expenses and Jude’s eye-watering school bills. I was hardly going to inherit a fortune, and given that my parents were in their late fifties and in excellent health, by the time I inherited anything, should there be anythingtoinherit, I’d probably be in my sixties and not know what to do with it. Plus, it would probably be a heap of rusted metal in a barn. I snorted again and Lady Tanith elbowed me.
‘A sense ofpropriety, Andromeda, please!’ she hissed.
I composed my features to look suitably attentive to the ongoing service and tried to keep them that way as the service finished. Lady Tanith led the way out of the church and I, not willing to risk another elbow, kept my distance, letting Hugo take his mother’s arm.
‘Andi.’
I turned around to see Jay, wearing the suit he always wore for church and an inexpertly knotted tie, behind me. He was sitting in one of the pews at the very back of the church as everyone filed out past him.
‘Jay.’ I had been going to acknowledge him and walk on, but he caught my arm as I reached the pew.
‘Can I talk to you?’ he asked. He looked tired and roughly shaven, his hair scooped away from his face.
‘What about?’ I stopped, and Mrs Compton pushed her way past me with a look of supreme malediction, as though I were consorting with Satan himself. But then, she looked at me like that when I was doing nothing more blameworthy than stroking the cat, so I took no notice.
‘Oh, not “about” anything. Just, you know, generally.’ Jay smiled. ‘I’m really sorry if I was rude to you the other day.’
I waited for him to come up with a ‘but’, but he didn’t. He let the apology lie, unexcused, so I slid into the pew next to him.
‘And I’m sorry if I gave the impression that I only talked to you because I thought you were part of the family,’ I said. ‘I should have known that you’re far too nice to be anything to do with Lady Tanith and her family.’
Jay snorted a laugh. ‘I don’t know. Jasper’s all right. And I’ve met Hugo quite a few times, he seems OK.’
‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ I said, conscious of Hugo and Lady Tanith just outside the church door, mingling with the tenants. ‘Lady Tanith wants a chat in the library.’
