28 March 1917
I CAN’T BELIEVE that Harry is really gone.
I had a letter from him only a fortnight ago with one of his lovely watercolours of the coast, done so cleverly all in pinks and purples.
Even as a child, he always loved the sea, and it brings me a modicum of comfort now to think of him resting for eternity beneath the briny waves, even as it breaks my heart that we have nothing of him to bury.
I have asked Morry to have the picture framed for the landing, so that at least part of him can remain with us.
If only there were a way to fix every fond memory in place the same way, keep them here with me for ever.
Although one hears all the time of our brave lads lost to the war, I never expected one of my own brothers to be among their number.
It sounds so foolish to write this now, but I had almost convinced myself that, after everything that has happened here, the boys would be safer away from Harfold, as if the house were to blame for our misfortune.
Yet it seems the bad luck will find us wherever we go.
It is almost enough to make one think that it is intentional, as if there is something out to get us …
Now, that is foolish. It was a bloody German U-boat; there is nothing mystical about that.
I just had to put down my pen for a moment to deal with Mr Allen’s puppy, who is hell-bent on getting into the main house and tangling itself up in all my sewing supplies.
The thing is a real terror, although I suppose it is rather sweet when it’s behaving.
Morry had to come to my rescue to help shoo it from the library.
Thank God I have him to help me through this, what with Stephen and Charlie off fighting God knows where; three cheers for myopia!
After all the time I used to spend trying to drop him, pretending I had missed his letters or already had other plans, I never thought I would one day be so grateful to have him hanging on.
And he has been such a guide in managing the estate with the boys away.
I am in half a mind to leave the business side up to him and be done with it.
I find it all so hard to make out, but it seems as though our finances are under strain – Morry says the war just keeps driving the death duties up and up.
We may have to close off some rooms to save on costs.
Perhaps I will move to one of the chambers on the other side of the building – not Harry’s room, of course, but I might borrow Stephen’s while he is away.
I shall welcome the change: I cannot stand to look out of my bedroom window and see that church tower any longer.
It has become a constant memento mori to my eyes.
I have rediscovered an old needlepoint cushion, left half finished in my childhood, and have been working on it once more.
It feels good to have something purposeful to do with my time; even though I have no control over anything much in the world, it is reassuring to be able to leave my mark at least on these few inches.
The picture is of a hare under the full moon, as in the old family story. We could use its protection now.
I mentioned to Morry this silly idea about calamity following us around, but he didn’t laugh at me. ‘You mean like a curse?’ he asked. I was ready to pass it off as a joke, but he was serious. ‘It could explain it all, couldn’t it?’ he said. ‘And remember Rex’s last words …’
I had not been thinking of a curse exactly, but now that Morry has planted the idea in my skull, I can’t seem to shake it. It makes a twisted sort of sense … Because everything always goes back to that blasted night. To what I did.