Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
C harles Arton-Price’s study was on the ground floor of the North Wing, with windows facing east. The balmy sun cast the room into soothing light as Kit and Charles pored over the accounts of Meadwell’s income and expenditure, going back to the first year of the war.
‘Great-aunt Merelda seems very suspicious of a couple of the guests who were here yesterday and the night of the party,’ Kit said when they took a well-earned break for coffee. ‘One of them danced with Addie, and now Merelda believes he is planning to spirit her away.’
Charles frowned. ‘Who is the chap? We can’t be doing with that. We need the money.’
He gestured to the ledgers, which unfortunately confirmed his words.
‘A man by the name of Silas Wilde. His companion was a Miss Dove.’
Charles lit his pipe, which Kit recognised as an indication he was thinking deeply. As a child he’d always loved the comforting warm smell of his father’s pipe tobacco when it was shredded and kept in the leather wallet. Since the trenches, though, the smell of ash and exotic places just made memories of mustard gas and flames scream through his head and he couldn’t bear it. He walked to the bay window to slide open the sash. A pigeon flew across, settling somewhere in the maze.
‘Tall man? Pretty girl with a bit of pertness to her face but no figure to speak of? Looks like she could play Cesario more convincingly than Viola,’ Charles said.
‘That’s the pair,’ Kit said, struck by how good the description was. Miss Dove would make an excellent Shakespearean youth. He could imagine her as Ariel in The Tempest . But would that make Mr Wilde Prospero, and did Kit’s distorted face make him Caliban?
‘Did you invite them?’ he asked.
‘Not I. Your mother, perhaps.’
Kit raised his eyebrows in surprise. Mr Wilde didn’t seem the sort of person Ellen would know or approve of.
‘So, he wasn’t somebody who could have been a patient convalescing here during the war? Or perhaps one of the staff?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t think so, but speak to your mother.’ Charles’s expression darkened. ‘The village has remained reassuringly the same as it was before you went away, but the towns are changing. They have struggled to replace the men who were lost. I know some of those who came back … well … what they saw has clearly affected them.’
Charles joined him at the window, and surprised Kit by putting both hands on his shoulders.
‘I’m not the most demonstrative man,’ he said, in what Kit considered was the biggest understatement of the new century so far. ‘But I am so very glad you returned safely.’
He paused and dropped his hands. ‘Are you… Your face is… Has your mind been affected? You won’t end up in an asylum, either comatose or raving like those poor souls I’ve read about? You will cope with the pressure of your responsibilities?’
Kit hid his disappointment. The consideration was not for Kit as a son, but as an heir.
‘I have bad dreams, of course, but my mind is unbroken,’ he said curtly. His heart was his own business, he thought ruefully.
“Please don’t leave me!”
He swallowed before he choked on misery. ‘I don’t think any of us will ever forget what we saw. How could we. Why should we?’
‘You did us proud,’ Charles said. ‘My son a war hero. Mentioned in dispatches twice, and a Military Cross. It’s such a shame you wouldn’t wear it at the party or the fete––’
Since returning home, the Military Cross had remained in its case, which had remained in a locked drawer in Kit’s bedroom. As far as he was concerned it could stay there, slowly being buried in dust. He needed no reminders. The hellish sights and sounds of that night haunted his nightmares. They made him want to pick up the ugly glass paperweight his father kept on the desk and hurl it through the window just so that the visions in his mind would be slightly altered by something new.
‘Are we done here?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Do you have somewhere to be?’ Charles asked.
‘I promised Fred I’d take him out on another ride,’ Kit lied.
Charles clapped him on the back. ‘That’s the spirit. Your brother chafes at the bit a little, being younger than you. Poor chap, missing out on the chance to fight for King and Country. He was fully prepared to step into your shoes here while you were away, you know.’
‘Of course.’
If Kit had been in any doubt where his father’s priorities lay, he knew now. Keeping Meadwell going was all that mattered. He almost regretted, for his father’s and Alfred’s sakes, that he had come back.
He gathered his notebook and pencils and headed back towards his own apartment, taking the route through the upper floor of the Long Hall. There were rumours of secret passages and hidden rooms, though the children had never succeeded in finding anything. Some people claimed that the building was haunted by the ghosts of previous occupants, or the monks who had been cast out of their home, but again, there had been no sightings in Kit’s lifetime. And as Miss Dove had recently told him, he had a sceptic’s soul, so without seeing one himself he’d have disbelieved any reports.
Never mind, he had brought his own ghosts back from the trenches with him and though they weren’t visible, he carried them with him everywhere.
He’d been in his sitting room for less than five minutes when there was a knock on the door. Aunt Sarah stood there. She looked frantic, twisting her hands together.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Kit asked.
‘Yes, with Adelaide. I can’t get her to wake up and it’s almost noon. She’s never slept this long.’
‘It was quite a busy day yesterday, she’s probably just having a longer lie in,’ Kit said. ‘Open the curtains and let the sunshine in.’
‘I did that an hour ago.’ Aunt Sarah’s face crumpled. ‘I really can’t get her to wake up. I touched her hand, pulled the covers back, even shook her, but nothing will wake her.’
Kit’s nerves jangled. ‘Do you want me to come?’
He followed his aunt down to Adelaide’s bedroom. The rug was strewn with discarded clothes and shoes that he recognised from the day before. Her dressing gown was in a pile by the side of the bed and her slippers lay crooked beside them. Adelaide was lying in the bed with her hands neatly folded over her belly.
‘Come on, Addie, wake up,’ Kit said cheerfully. ‘Too much booze last night?’
There was no response. He walked to the bedside, terrified for one moment that she wasn’t breathing, but when he held the back of his hand to her mouth, the soft even breath fluttered across it, causing the hairs to stand up.
‘Addie, this isn’t funny,’ he said sharply. He took her wrist. Her pulse had a steady rhythm but was faint and slower than seemed possible.
‘She was lying like this when I came in,’ Aunt Sarah said feebly.
‘Why not ask Mother to telephone Doctor Fulford,’ Kit said.
He tried to speak calmly to suggest there was no need to worry, but Aunt Sarah gave a slight moan and fled from the room. Kit stood back and studied Adelaide. Her face was serene and there was even a slight smile on her lips. She didn’t look ill; no pallor that suggested a cold, no flush that spoke of fever. He bent over and sniffed at Adelaide’s lips, wondering if there was any chance she had taken some drug or other, but there was only the faint smell of rosemary, which he assumed came from her tooth powder.
Rooting through her bedside drawers felt intrusive, but he opened the top one, just in case there was something to explain her heavy sleep. There was only a diary, a pencil and a few bundled handkerchiefs. He drew up a chair and sat beside the bed.
* * *
‘She is in a state of catatonia,’ Doctor Fulford announced, almost perfunctorily, after listening to her heartbeat, lifting her eyelids, tapping her wrists and knees with a small hammer, and lifting her arm to let it flop back into place.
‘Why?’ Sarah asked.
‘No reason I can diagnose, I’m afraid.’ He closed his bag with a snap of the clasp and shook his head. ‘I have read about cases like it, but usually they are of men returning from the trenches whose minds have overreached their ability to cope.’
‘What shall we do? We should be returning home tomorrow,’ Aunt Sarah said. She began to cry.
Doctor Fulford picked up his bag and walked to the door. ‘Wet her lips hourly and ply her with smelling salts. With luck that will rouse her. I’ll return tomorrow if she hasn’t woken up.’
‘Is that all?’ Kit asked in astonishment.
‘For the time being.’
‘A young lady falls asleep unexpectedly and with no warning, and all you can say is… Well, you haven’t really said anything, have you.’
Doctor Fulford sighed impatiently. ‘I’m a country doctor. My patients usually come to me for matters like whooping cough or day-to-day ailments, not sudden episodes of catatonia.’
‘It wasn’t sudden, though; she’s been tired for a few days. She was yawning half the afternoon at the fete.’
‘Well, then, it’s probably a cold. Or possibly she has been overtaxing herself.’ He leaned close to Kit and dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. ‘There’s no chance she could be in a… delicate condition?’
‘Absolutely not!’ Kit retorted, temper flaring so that he forgot to speak quietly. He drew a deep breath. At least, not that he could lay claim to, and he was not going to cast aspersions on Adelaide’s principles by suggesting anyone else might have got her pregnant.
‘Then try not to worry, Master Arton-Price.’
‘Did you treat a young boy for excessive sleepiness yesterday?’ Kit asked, suddenly remembering the child who had fallen asleep in the middle of the sack race.
‘No. However if the child exhibited similar symptoms, then it lends to the theory that there is an illness of some sort going round. I do hope it won’t be another influenza.’
The doctor made his farewells and left, leaving the family with no answers and more worries than before he had visited.
Kit hugged his aunt and sent his mother to make tea, then went down to the dining room and shared the news of Adelaide’s illness with his siblings. They were as worried as he was, and everyone agreed that she must have been sickening for something.
‘I think I’ll motor into Malton in search of another doctor tomorrow,’ Kit announced.
It felt disloyal to Doctor Fulford, but he was not happy at the thought of waiting another day to see what the outcome might be.
* * *
Aunt Sarah spent the day with Adelaide. Kit took her place through the evening, firmly steering his aunt to her own room and sending for soup and crackers.
He dropped off to sleep at about ten but woke with a jerk of his limbs to the beating of wings against the window. The curtains were still open and the sky had a faint summer glow to it. A pigeon was walking back and forth along the window ledge.
‘Damned thing!’ Kit shouted at it. ‘Nearly scared me to death!’
The bird gave him a daring look and then flew off. Kit opened the window. It settled on the branch of a magnolia bush and stared at him with bright black eyes, giving him as haughty an expression as a bird could muster. It gave a low, whooping call.
‘Well, I’m not going to talk to you,’ Kit shouted, before realising with annoyance that was exactly what he was doing.
A sigh came from the bed behind him.
‘Addie?’ He spun around.
The moonlight was falling upon her face in a wide beam. Her eyelids fluttered. Kit dashed to her side and squeezed her hand tightly.
‘Addie, wake up!’
There was no further movement or sound. He soaked her lips with the sponge as Aunt Sarah had shown him, letting a little water trickle into her mouth. Her lips moved but that meant nothing. Babies a few days old suckled in their sleep instinctively, after all. He waved the smelling salts beneath her nose.
‘Silence.’
The word was barely intelligible, but his heart leapt.
‘This is rather quiet isn’t it,’ he said, trying to sound normal. ‘I do wish you’d wake up and then we could chat properly.’
The bird chose that moment to return to the window ledge, wings beating in a flurry as it settled. He’d left the sash up and he almost expected it to hop inside. It cocked its head to one side. A ring around its foot glinted in the moonlight. A pet, or a homing dove? Possibly the braver one that had hopped into Miss Dove’s lap the previous day.
Something inside him clicked at the name and his stomach churned.
Adelaide hadn’t said silence.
She had said Silas.
He swore aloud, jealousy finally getting its claws into him at the realisation she had called for another man in her sleep. He stared back at the window, but the dove had gone.
* * *
Adelaide hadn’t woken up by the following morning. Kit left her in Sarah’s care once more at a little after seven, intending to drive to Malton in search of an alternative doctor.
He didn’t make it past the front door before being waylaid by Enid.
‘There’s a problem with Merelda. She’s turning over the sitting room.’
‘Turning over?’
‘Pulling books off the shelves.’ Enid wrung her hands together. ‘She’s been behaving very strangely ever since she heard the news about Adelaide yesterday evening. We’re all deeply concerned about her, and Merry can be a little … eccentric. Can you spare a minute or two?’
‘I’ll come now,’ Kit said. He followed her out to the dovecot.
Merelda had indeed been busy. She had tipped over one of the small ladders in her haste to reach something and was busy sorting through books, discarding some by simply tossing them onto the floor, but placing others on the table. She turned at the sound of his footsteps.
‘There is none as blind as those who won’t see,’ she snapped. She glared at the pile of books on the floor.
‘Do you think we are going to find a cure in these books?’ Kit asked gently. ‘I think most of them are poetry and fiction. I’m not sure there’s anything scientific enough.’
‘There is none as blind as those who won’t see,’ Merelda repeated. ‘Look in there!’
She tapped the end of her cane on one of the volumes she had placed on the table. Kit cocked his head to the side to read the title. It was a collection of poetry by Robert Browning. He gave a weary groan, but he had a brief glimmer of hope that she’d found something useful. Hadn’t Elizabeth Barrett Browning been inflicted with some sort of illness? Did Merelda believe that Adelaide was suffering from the same? Perhaps there was some method in her madness after all. He didn’t remember any poems about it though.
‘Thank you,’ he said, thinking it best to humour her. ‘I’ll take it with me and study it carefully.’
He reached an arm out.
‘Let me help you down from there. Enid, perhaps you can take her other arm. Would you like some tea? Both of you can come up to my flat if you’d like. I can get one of the housemaids to come and tidy your room.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind, yes we’d like that,’ Enid said gratefully.
Merelda appeared a little bit calmer now.
‘Bring the books,’ she instructed, smoothing down her hair and adjusting the seam on her left glove.
She gave her arm to Enid as Kit scooped up the books from the table, including the book of Browning’s poetry and followed them. If it kept Merelda happy, he would read it later.
‘Tell me everything that passed between you and Silas Wilde,’ Merelda commanded as soon as he sat down in his sitting room.
Kit sucked his teeth. He’d dropped off to sleep with that name at the forefront of his mind, thanks to Adelaide’s muttering. Merelda had warned him against the man, but he’d disregarded it.
‘When I came across you in the maze on the night of the party, I got the impression you knew Mr Wilde already. Am I right? Did you know Miss Dove as well?’
‘No not that one,’ Merelda answered. She leaned back and closed her eyes. ‘Yes, I knew Silas Wilde, when I was younger. He tried to do me a service but wasn’t able. He’s dangerous.’
The pronunciation resulted in another bout of coughing.
‘So, was it you who invited them?’ Kit asked, when she had finished. He was surprised at the degree of outrage on Merelda’s face at what he’d thought a simple question.
‘Absolutely not! I’m surprised you could even contemplate it after my warnings. I know better than to invite them into my home. No, I imagine you’ll find it was my foolish sister. Your grandmother has no sense and far too much compassion for a pity story. All their talk about restoring their homeland, and now look where it’s led.’
‘Yes that’s what Miss Dove said to me. She wanted my help but I don’t quite know how I could’ve given it. I know Adelaide and Mr Wilde had been having the same conversation. I thought at first they wanted a subscription to some sort of charity but they actually hoped we’d go halfway across Europe with them.’
‘They said Europe, did they?’
‘Not exactly,’ Kit admitted.
Merelda and Enid exchanged a glance. ‘I suspect Adelaide agreed, and now this is where it’s got her.’
‘She did agree, though I think it was mainly to spite me.’ Kit avoided their eyes, hating to admit to the quarrel. ‘I hoped that her enthusiasm would wear off when she learnt what it would entail. I hardly think you can blame him for her illness.’
‘No, you don’t think,’ Merelda said, her exasperation clear. ‘It’s not your fault, I suppose… But I can’t help you. And when I say that I don’t mean that I wouldn’t like to, I mean I can’t. You’ll have to work this one out for yourself. Remember the games you used to play and look at what I’ve given you.’ She craned her head round to the table where the books lay. ‘Read them and learn from them. I can’t tell you, but when you think you know, I can answer.’
‘Of course,’ Kit said. He glanced at the top book. ‘Fairy tales?’
Enid tutted. ‘A modern young man like you doesn’t believe in matters of fancy and fable.’
‘No, I don’t. Or tea leaves,’ he added, thinking back to the conversation with Miss Dove.
Nevertheless, it clearly mattered a great deal to the old women, so he picked up the volumes put them on the table beside the chair and resolved to look at them that evening. He escorted them down the stairs. Halfway down they almost collided with Aunt Sarah who was walking up.
‘Kit, it’s wonderful. She’s awake!’
‘Well, that is wonderful,’ Kit said. ‘We’ll come and say hello. See, Merelda, there was nothing to be concerned about.’
‘We’ll reserve judgement on that, won’t we Enid,’ Merelda said darkly, sweeping past Kit and leaving him to follow on, increasingly impatient with the old woman’s foibles.