Chapter Two
Eight days later Phillip journeyed across to Nettleford Park to see his brother. The house Oliver had bought was large and rambling, the gardens full of flowers and shrubs and all carefully tended.
A family home. It felt strange coming to see his younger brother, who now had a wife and three children. His own life had stopped whilst Oliver’s had carried on at a faster and faster rate, until Oliver’s world looked like a full and complete one.
A part of him had not wanted to come today, given the history between them, but the Elmsworth land and titles would need heirs that he had no want to provide and Oliver’s progeny would take the family name and properties down through this century and on into the next one.
A red rosebush at the side of the driveway caught his attention, reminding him for some reason of Wilhelmina St Claire with its bold honesty and beauty.
He wondered how she fared in London? He had weighed up the notion of sending her a letter after she had left but had decided against it.
He’d watched her go from the hills to one side of the house, a line of oaks keeping him and his horse hidden.
She’d been wearing a dark green cloak, the hood rimmed in white fur, and she had stopped at the top step of the carriage and carefully looked back across the facade of Elmsworth.
A shout caught his attention and Oliver was there coming down the front steps of Nettleford Park, questions on his face.
‘My God. Phillip? It is you?’
The brother he had left more than four years prior was much changed. He looked younger and freer. Phillip wondered what Oliver must be thinking of him, this tight, sad man who had returned without his wife and who was now marooned at the practically empty and isolated family estate.
‘I have been wondering when you would return, Phillip. We have not had a letter in years, and to see you here now, right in front of me… Well, it is a surprise, I can tell you that.’
‘I should have sent word.’
Oliver cut him off.
‘No, you did not have to. Will you stay?’ He looked around for luggage even as Phillip shook his head.
‘I have things to do at Elmsworth that cannot be left.’
Inside he tried to think of even one task that he had to do but couldn’t, the manager Oliver had employed leaving him largely redundant on his own land.
He wished he had not returned to England at all. He wished he were still in the Americas, on the road, travelling, close to no one, lost in the many miles of a new and seemingly endless continent.
A woman was walking quickly towards them now, holding a very small baby, a beautiful blonde woman with deep dimples in each cheek and eyes of a colour he had never seen before on anyone: emerald, like the sea in some tropical cove with white sands running beneath it to amplify the hue.
‘We have been waiting for you to come, my lord, for Oliver was certain at Christmas that it would be this year, and here you are, like magic and conjured up before us.’
‘Phillip, meet my wife, Esther, and our youngest child. James was born only a month ago and we have two other little ones who you will no doubt meet the moment we step inside the house.’
‘You are one of the Barrington-Halls, are you not? I can see the family likeness.’
‘I am. My aunt and uncle are Lord and Lady Duggan.’
‘I always thought that they were good people.’
She nodded. ‘We were very sorry to hear the news of your wife, my lord. I lost my mother when I was young and there is nothing anyone can say to take away the pain of a loved one gone, but be assured I do understand at least a part of it.’
‘Thank you.’ He liked her honesty. So many people had skirted around Gretel’s death and barely mentioned it. Certainly they did not quantify loss with pain as Oliver’s wife did or hold his hand tightly as if her warmth might imbue a little hope into the coldness that was so much a part of him now.
His brother said nothing but he could see the question on his face. They would want something more about his wife’s passing.
‘Gretel died in her mother’s arms.’
‘A peaceful death, then.’ Esther’s words were soft.
Wilhelmina St Claire had said the very same thing but today he allowed his brother and sister-in-law the illusion of it. He wondered why he had not done the same with her in the dark kitchen of Elmsworth.
My God, the woman was creeping into his thoughts more and more and it had to stop. He was pleased when they began to walk towards the house.
‘I’d heard on the grapevine that there had been guests at the estate but nothing was said of you being home.’ His brother said this with the reserve which was so much part of their relationship now.
‘You speak, I think, of the visitors last week? Mrs St Claire and her travelling companions, the elderly McAllistair sisters, stayed one night at Elmsworth as Mrs St Claire had been violently ill from eating food at an inn and could not continue on with her journey to London.’
‘Mrs Wilhelmina St Claire?’ Esther said this with surprise.
He nodded.
‘Is she not the most fascinating woman? Every man she ever meets falls at her feet in adoration and yet she does not give an impression of interest in any of them. Did you know she was a widow, my lord?’
‘Phillip. Yes, I had heard that.’
‘Her husband was a leading light in the art of astronomy and was wealthy enough to build a telescope of such proportion it could be used to watch the stars. He discovered quite a few, I think, and named one after her.’
‘So you know her well?’
‘We are acquainted but I would not say I know her well as Oliver and I are so rarely in London these days. I admire her though for she is a rare woman who is both kind and clever and her opinions are well regarded in Society.’
They’d walked up the steps now and into a large room with flowers everywhere.
‘From the garden Esther insists on tending herself,’ Oliver explained, and Phillip could hear both pride and love in the words. His brother was different now, happier, more open. He was amazed at the transformation four years could have on a person, and thought of his own lack of joy.
He had never been particularly happy. He had loved Gretel to the height of his ability but, looking at Esther and Oliver, he suddenly wondered if that had been too little.
Gretel had said as much to him as she had lain dying. She’d said she wished they had met when they were both older and wiser. She had also said that love had many shades and that maybe theirs had been blighted by the problems in their past.
The world tipped slightly and he placed his hand on the nearest wall.
‘Are you well?’ Oliver moved towards him, but the moment of dizziness was gone and Phillip smiled, feeling more himself.
‘I think the sea voyage took more out of me than I realised,’ he gave back, knowing that it was not the case at all.
It was just that he wanted to return to Elmsworth, to its silence and its familiarity.
He wanted to sit in the quiet of his library with a cognac in his hand and be alone with his ghosts and his sorrows and his what-might-have-beens.
But the next second a tumbling boy child hurtled down the stairs, a fraught-looking woman behind telling him to slow down and remember his manners. Behind her came another servant with a younger girl in her arms.
‘Papa, Papa.’ The little boy tugged at Oliver’s trousers. ‘Is he your brother? He looks like you.’
‘William, say hello to your Uncle Phillip, who has come all the way from America to Hampshire.’
‘Today?’
Esther and Oliver both laughed. ‘No, my darling,’ Esther said and kneeled down to him. ‘Remember we told you that America was a long way from England and you had to travel weeks and weeks on a ship to get there?’
William looked at Phillip with eyes the same shade as his mother’s.
The little girl then held out a well-chewed doll.
‘Molly.’
This child had black hair and blue eyes, the stamp of the Morelands so easily upon her it made Phillip take in a breath.
Life went on binding those who had been with those who were next to come.
A bridge to the future. There was something so right about it that it made him relax as he reached out for the small, flaxen-haired doll.
‘Well, hello, Molly. Your hair is very long.’
The child laughed.
‘Juliette must trust you if she’s offering up her favourite doll.’ Oliver said this with humour.
‘Would it be rude to give it back now?’ The wetness of the chewed clothes was faintly worrying.
‘Not at all. Our daughter would most likely begin to cry if you did not. She seldom lets Molly out of her hands.’
Just as his brother had said, the child cuddled the doll fiercely on its return and in that moment Phillip had an aching want to know what it must feel like to be a father, to have little ones with all their unique ways depending on you and loving you.
He saw Esther looking at him strangely, as if perhaps she had guessed his thoughts.
‘Children never allow one much time for introspection,’ she stated then and he nodded, thinking that would be one of the main reasons he would most like to have them.
Half an hour later he was relieved to have gained some time with Oliver though, left alone with his brother, he was acutely aware of the awkward silence between them.
‘How are you, Phillip?’ Oliver’s question came as he sat down.
‘I have been busy with the estate and readying myself for a trip to London.’
‘Are you going for business?’
‘Not completely.’ When he said no more, Oliver smiled.
‘You were always far more secretive than I was. Sometimes I wondered after our childhood if you ever told anyone anything.’
‘I was married.’
‘Your wife always gave me the impression of a woman who was hard to fathom. She was certainly…mercurial.’
Oliver stood and crossed over to the drinks cabinet. Pouring two generous whiskies, he came back and sat down, offering one to Phillip.
‘You are referring to Gretel’s desperation to have a child?’
‘I am. We never talked about anything after you shot me.’