Page 7 of Happily Ever After
‘She was actually called Nebula,’ I said, happy to drop my sister in it. ‘But she decided when she was five that she was going to be called Judith. She got my parents to send her away to school too.’ That was how she’d got a normal life, I thought sadly, remembering my sister, aged about seven, hands on her hips and a copy ofMalory Towerson her lap, insisting that our parents should send her to boarding school. My sister’s life had been affected by reading as much as mine had, but her books had given her courage rather than the knowledge of how to tie a cravat and how to conduct oneself at balls.
Maybe, ifIhad discovered school stories beforeNorthanger Abbeyand Dickens, I would have turned out like Judith. Then I caught Hugo’s eye across the table. He gave me a broad, angular-cheekboned smile, and I stamped down the feeling that I’d been ill-used. Jude was married to a marketing director, whose rugby playing physique had long since turned to podge. Hugo was definitely better looking than Ollie. And he was heir to all this…
The handle fell off my fork and I hastened to try to attach the two bits back together. Hugo’s smile increased, and he passed me another fork from the stack on the sideboard behind him. I thanked him silently, and the smile got even wider.
‘Judith is a nice name,’ Lady Tanith said. ‘You might have been a Judith, Hugo.’
There was a sudden noise as Hugo knocked the pile of forks off the sideboard and they clattered to the floor. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘caught them with my sleeve.’
‘Your brother, of course, was always going to be Jasper.’ Lady Tanith turned to me again. ‘Jasper is my elder son, you see.’
Oh. That meant that Hugo wasn’t the heir to the estate. Oh, bugger. I’d been brought in to marry thesecondson. I had to remind myself that, these days, this no longer meant that he’d have to go into the army, and I could find myself as a soldier’s wife, a calling that I was fairly certain I would not be suited to. Although, right now I was beginning to waver in my certainty that marrying Hugo was my happy ending in waiting. The atmosphere was definitely leaning towards the ‘acid bath’ finale.
‘Jazz renounced the estate in my favour,’ Hugo said. ‘The bastard.’
‘Hugo! Language!’
‘Sorry, Mother.’ Then, turning back to me. ‘He lives in a cottage on the estate now. But he didn’t want to take on the management and all that entails, so I will take it all on, after Mother… um… Father left the estate to her, you see.’
‘Richard was very forward thinking.’ Lady Tanith pushed her plate away with a sigh. ‘And, of course, you were both so very young when he died. Oh, there you are, my darling.’
I looked up. I didn’t know who I expected to see coming in, possibly the elusive Jasper, but it was just the cat. It forced the door open sufficiently to allow its creamy-furred bulk through, wandered across the floor, and jumped up onto the table, presenting me with an unwanted view of a backside, tail held high in the air.
Neither Hugo nor Lady Tanith reacted as though this was anything other than a perfectly reasonable occurrence.
‘May I… may I go to my room?’ I asked faintly. The cat’s tail was sweeping generally around the salad plate and I was horribly afraid that the front was licking the remaining ham. ‘I’m a little tired after the journey.’
‘Of course.’ Hugo half stood. ‘Would you like me to help you with your bags?’
‘There’s only the one and it’s out in the hall,’ I said. ‘The Blue Room is mine?’
‘I thought you were going to continue work tonight,’ Lady Tanith sniffed.
‘I’ll carry on first thing tomorrow.’ I was already through the door. Hugo gave me a small bow as I passed. ‘I promise.’
4
GODSEND CASTLE – I CAPTURE THE CASTLE, DODIE SMITH
Contrary to my first impressions, the bed in the Blue Room was comfortable. The room had overtones of a Regency Premier Inn, with its functional furniture in the ubiquitous oak and I’d imagined that I’d spend my first night lying wakeful and restless, hearing strange occult noises and mysterious footsteps. But, in fact, I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow and, apart from a few minutes in the middle of the night, when I woke suddenly and heard some heavy creaking from the ‘always kept locked’ Yellow Room next door, which was probably just the wind, I slept all night.
I woke early to silence. I made a dash for the bathroom and managed to persuade some lukewarm water out of the antiquated shower fittings, then went downstairs.
Nobody was about and the whole house had a deserted feel. The air smelled of dust, with a slight undertone of damp plaster and neglect, and I stood in the huge hallway, wondering what to do. Running away was heading the list at the moment. Between Lady Tanith’s air of repression and Hugo’s lack of immediate attraction to me I was doubting the whole situation fairly hard. Only the lack of transport and anywhere to run to, plus my desire to show Jude and my parents that I really could make something of my life, stopped me from repacking my bag and heading off into the dawn.
A small beam of sunlight inched its way in through a side window and cast itself at my feet. The light made me feel better and I squared my shoulders. There was no such thing as ghosts. Lady Tanith was simply a besotted old woman and Hugo was a somewhat foppish heir to an estate. Nobody had murdered me in the night, the mysteriously mentioned Jasper hadn’t burst into my room begging to be rescued. Now, I was hungry. Did I dare try to find the kitchen and make myself some breakfast? I took a few steps along the dank corridor that led to where I remembered Hugo showing me the kitchens, scullery and various empty little caves which had once been grand and busy. Then I remembered the bad-tempered Mrs Compton and her legs, and decided to wait until I was cushioned by the presence of Hugo before encountering her again. My stomach still had the clench of nervousness and the fear of doing something wrong and being sent packing to live at Jude’s or, even worse, to take possession of the bus. That was currently languishing in a farmer’s field and my lack of a licence to drive large vehicles meant I’d have to live in it there, where bullocks peered in through the windows and there was no running water.
At least here, I thought, walking aimlessly around peering in the empty niches in case Oswald’s diaries had carelessly been pushed into one, I had a proper bed, running water and a lack of small children bouncing me awake at 4.30. And I was Doing a Job! My parents’ casual assurance that nobody needed qualifications these days, all you really had to have was a willingness to work and/or an eye for interiors had, so far, failed to be true. Apart from shifts behind the bar at the local pub, where I was unpopular because I didn’t know how to banter, I had singularly failed in the job-hunting world.
I pressed a few of the plaster mouldings that surrounded the walls, just in case a previously unsuspected secret panel slid out or a priest hole became visible. Nothing happened, apart from one plaster rose breaking beneath my fingers into dust and paint fragments.This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it. Even this bit, the Templewood Hall and Hugo being the heir, was way down the list of how I’d expected life to go. I had thought, encouraged by the small local library near where we’d ended up before the Montreal offer, that I’d go to work for a local businessman who, despite my adorably ditzy ways with his appointments and some misunderstandings with another woman, would fall for me and give me promotion and an engagement ring. Either that, or a billionaire would need an emergency date for a society wedding and we would, via some humorous mix up, end up sharing a hotel room with the inevitable consequences.
What the novels I had devoured had neglected to mention was that, as I wasn’t gorgeous with long legs and an ability to quip, I was not heroine material. I didn’t have the curvy figure and incorrigible hair, the innate way with winsomely adorable orphans or the sparkly brilliant conversation that caused riotous laughter. Instead of inspiring lust or adoration, I mostly just made people annoyed.
So this, here, was my best hope for now. The sun, which had been beaming its cheering early light in through the upper windows of the double height hall and showing up the chips, cracks and scratches in the tiled flooring, went in. It illustrated my state of mind nicely – the dying of hope for any real future, a lack of inspiration and the dawning knowledge that my life was probably going to be lived in my sister’s shadow or a mouldering forty-nine-seater, forever.
I shook myself. I was here now. This was a real job, and maybe I could persuade good enough references from Lady Tanith, whom I had already begun to call Tanith in my head, because I had read enough mythology to know where the name originated and to suspect that Thanatos might be hanging around in this house, to find myself something similar somewhere else. Or, I thought, with hope beginning to peep at me from behind the cloud of realism it had hidden behind, Icouldmarry Hugo? I could see beyond the neglect and damp that this house had wonderful bones. Sixteenth-century history could be a draw too; perhaps it would convert into a luxurious, if somewhat cavernous B&B? The gardens, what I’d seen of them, were spectacular; maybe cream teas on the lawns in the season? There would be a great deal of work to do, of course, to get it up to standard, but I could see myself cheerily beavering away, hair tied casually and cutely with a cloth, buffing woodwork and scouring floors to the accompaniment of an indie-rock backing track.
Then, once more, reality bounced back. I thought of Lady Tanith’s acerbic personality being faced with visitors and shuddered. Then I squared my shoulders and looked for something to do.
