Always In My Heart. Freda Lightfoot

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      ‘Sadly, both my parents have now departed this life, so if you see this place as a future home you are very much mistaken.’

      Horror unfolded within her. ‘Are you saying your mother is dead? Oh no, that’s dreadful.’ Wasn’t finding Camille the very reason she’d come? Striving to remain calm, Brenda struggled to decide how much she should tell him. Before she managed to reach a decision, a knock sounded at the door and the butler entered carrying a tray of tea, cakes and biscuits. Her stomach churned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, whether it was one day or two. Maybe even longer.

      ‘Thank you so much,’ she said, taking the cup and saucer with a hand that trembled slightly.

      Relieving Brenda of her bag, he brought up a chair. ‘Mrs Harding says to tell you that she is warming some soup, which you can have when you’re ready.’

      ‘Oh, do thank her for me,’ Brenda said, giving him a grateful smile.

      ‘That will be all, Carter,’ Hugh snapped.

      ‘Sir.’ Giving a slight bow, the butler tactfully withdrew.

      Brenda took a very welcome sip of tea and a quick nibble of one of Mrs Harding’s delicious ginger biscuits, striving to keep her nerves in check and hold on tight to her fading courage.

      There was silence for some moments, then he gave a snort of derision. ‘So where’s the proof of this alleged wedding?’

      ‘If you mean by way of a marriage certificate, all papers were taken from me, being British.’

      Slamming his fists on the desk, Hugh leaned closer, his jaw tight as his teeth ground together. ‘I do not believe a word you say. Had my brother truly married you he would have told me so, despite our father’s disapproval. As I say, Papa is no longer with us either, but I still need proof.’

      ‘You have my deepest sympathy for your loss,’ Brenda told him with some depth of emotion. ‘I fully understand how you must feel. It has taken me years to come to terms with my own grief, and it was the same for Camille. When did each of them die?’

      ‘Papa died of a heart attack less than a month ago, Mama some time in 1941, or so I believe.’

      ‘Do you know where she was living at the time?’ Brenda instantly asked, her heart thudding.

      ‘I assume she was still resident in Paris.’

      ‘No, she’d left by then. Her cousin Adèle had come to join her and the pair of them proved to be a great support for each other. But when the situation grew more dangerous in Paris they decided to move to her cousin’s home somewhere in the Loire Valley. Do you have her address?’ Now Brenda awaited his answer with a tremor in her heart. Wasn’t this the reason she’d returned to Trowbridge Hall, hoping her precious son would already be here waiting for her? But if not, she could at least find out where Adèle lived.

      ‘Never heard of the woman. But then I know little about the French side of my mother’s family. That’s enough talk for now,’ he said, and opening the study door, Hugh flicked his hand to order her back downstairs. ‘You can stay in your old room for tonight. We’ll speak again tomorrow.’

      Brenda’s heart sank to her soaking-wet feet, and keeping her head down so that he could not see the tears in her eyes, she walked out of the study.

       *

      Taking himself off to the drawing room, Hugh felt an odd stir of guilt within him. His brother was indeed a brave man, and they’d been quite close. Was his reluctance to accept this girl’s possible marriage with Jack really because of her illegitimacy and low status, or because he’d lost all hope of a marriage for himself? Their father hadn’t listened to Hugh’s desire to join the army, insisting he become a farmer, as that was a reserve occupation. Even Susanna, his darling fiancée, had been against him joining the forces, quite happy with him being a farmer too, as it was much safer. An attitude which made it all the more tragic that while visiting her parents back in London, she’d died along with them when their home had been hit by a V-1 flying bomb just a few weeks ago. A lovely and perfectly innocent lady who wouldn’t hurt a soul was now gone from his life. How cruel and heartless war was.

      But there were other problems.

      He shook out the Manchester Evening News and scowled over yet another report depicting misery and gloom, the entire country complaining about rationing and poverty. This war was costing a fortune, both in men’s lives and coin of the realm. His own finances were suffering along with everyone else’s. There’d been a time when whatever the Stuart family touched had turned to gold, or brass at least, and plenty of it. Now, the biscuit factory was rapidly going downhill thanks to food shortages, and the best workers having joined up. Not to mention his father’s stubborn determination to remain in the Victorian age and never update anything.

      Bearing in mind the state of austerity the country was in, it was astonishing they were also facing a huge inheritance tax payment, following his father’s death. Sir Randolph should have thought things through more carefully and prepared for this possibility. Sadly, he’d been entirely selfish, spending money on gambling, horse racing and grand cars, as if there was no tomorrow. An obsessive, and utterly controlling aristocrat.

      How would they even survive as a consequence not only of war issues, but this huge amount of death duty?

      And having lost everyone who mattered to him, Hugh’s appetite to acquire the necessary interest and energy to run the family estate and business had entirely disappeared, let alone the driving ambition he’d once possessed. He’d once been bursting with ideas and the desire to expand. But even increasing the low flour quota allowed due to rationing, could only happen if they acquired further outlets, which he really had no interest in doing, his mind now obsessed with debts.

      Admittedly, they were probably much better off than this girl, but she really had no right to pretend to be his brother’s widow, simply to get her hands on family money. She was just a greedy little madam. Jack would surely have told him if he had married her? Yet he did probably love her.

      He rang the bell for Carter. The butler quickly entered, again giving a slight bow. ‘Are you requiring a glass of whisky, sir, before you retire?’

      ‘That would be excellent. Oh, and tell that young girl she can stay for a few days, until she has made the necessary arrangements for her new future back in Manchester, although she’ll need to make herself useful in return for the free accommodation offered.’

      Carter’s face tightened a little as he politely responded. ‘Very good, sir, I will inform her of that fact. I’m sure she will be most helpful, as she always was.’

       *

      Desolation still threatened to overwhelm her. But maintaining her courage, a skill she’d acquired over the years of war, Brenda savoured with gratitude a simple but delicious dish of home-made soup and a bread roll for supper, before climbing up to the attic room where she’d resided years ago.

      It appeared that Hugh was in charge now. Not an encouraging prospect. But why had the conversation between them been so angry and difficult, his tone sharp with prejudice against her, not least because she was illegitimate? He was arrogantly treating her as if she was a greedy little scullery maid. The advice she’d received from her late mother-in-law had been to take care not to inflame her husband’s temper. СКАЧАТЬ