Chapter 3
3
THREE MONTHS LATER
It was early July and Olivia peered out the windows of Merriford Manor at the immaculate lawns, dotted with elegant topiary, and perfectly symmetrical borders of summer flowers. Even in her wildest imaginings, she had never anticipated living anywhere this magnificent; if only the circumstances that had seen this turn of events hadn’t been so unbelievably tragic.
This was now her home and would be so until she was of age, as her father had named his oldest school friend as the person who would give his daughter the best care should anything befall him and his wife. Perhaps, she thought cynically, Sir Hugo’s extraordinary wealth and enormous house were also factors, but the Fairchilds were kind people, and the extended Davenport family was small, and alarmingly unreliable.
Her godfather had employed a governess for Olivia as it had proved impossible for her to continue studying at the girls’ day school in her home town when she’d moved to the village of Merriford Lode. (The word ‘lode’, she’d been told, meant seam of iron.) Lady Fairchild was particularly keen that her new charge should benefit from the very best education, even though the public boarding school that her boys attended was not an option for Olivia’s sex.
The governess, a quiet but efficient spinster, had assessed the young girl and found her to be exceptionally bright for her age. It was she who had suggested to Sir Hugo that lessons were in the morning and then the child was encouraged to spend time outdoors in the afternoons. The woman was convinced that fresh air, good food and time would help Olivia heal, and she was right. Wandering free throughout the extensive grounds, sitting by the boating lake, climbing up the large oak trees… Olivia’s irrepressible imagination had quickly resurfaced. Pretending to be someone else, an intrepid explorer or a cursed princess, helped her to forget the pain of who she really was – a thirteen-year-old orphan, plucked from her safe and loving world, to be surrounded by people she didn’t know and living in an unfamiliar house, so grand that it had taken her a whole afternoon to understand how the staircases were linked.
The manor itself was an impressive Jacobean red-brick house that boasted thirty-five acres of gardens, over forty staff and twelve family bedrooms. During the course of the eighteenth century, two wings had been added to the front of the ornate rectangular property: one incorporated the kitchens, utility areas and servant quarters, and the other contained stables, a brewery and various workshops. The house consequently appeared U-shaped, with two hexagonal brick towers where the wings met the main building. To Olivia, these towers epitomised the escapist fairy tales that she so enjoyed reading, and, joy of joys, both contained spiral staircases – now that really was the stuff of valiant knights and imprisoned princesses.
That particular morning, Olivia was in the long library, situated on the first floor of the main building, browsing the hundreds of books. This room ran the length of the house and had five ceiling-height windows that overlooked the driveway. When she heard the door at the east end open, she ducked behind one of the high-backed sofas. Fearing it was one of the Fairchilds’ sons returned for the summer, she was relieved to hear the voices of the generous couple who had taken her in.
‘I was very concerned those first few days when she was so quiet,’ Lady Fairchild said. They were mid conversation and Olivia was clearly the subject of their discussion.
‘Yes,’ her husband agreed. ‘But the young are so resilient and her ability to rally has been a lesson to us all. I can only put it down to the ridiculous nonsense that fills her head. There is no doubting that she is the daughter of an author.’
Olivia heard them walk past her hiding place and settle in the large armchairs that faced the marble mantelpiece.
‘And such an alarmingly tactile child,’ his wife mused. ‘I didn’t know what to do when she rushed at me that first morning, flinging her arms about my skirts like that.’
Olivia remembered the moment well. All she’d wanted was someone to hold her tight, but Lady Fairchild had patted her head as though she were an overexuberant dog.
‘And now we have this bold request to sleep in the east tower – clearly a result of her fascination with castles and princesses. The thought of her being so far from us at night concerns me. I don’t know what to do for the best, Hugo, really I don’t.’
It had taken Olivia a week to leave the sanctuary of her new bedroom, but she never could stay gloomy for long – something she’d inherited from her mother.
‘After every raincloud, the sun is sure to follow, and what a shame if we allow ourselves to remain shut inside when we could be outside basking in its warmth,’ Selina Davenport would say to her daughter when she bemoaned some tragedy of Greek proportions, like the time she’d tried to iron her curly hair straight and merely ended up with considerably less hair to fret over.
‘If she wants to be in the tower, after all she has gone through, even if the request is somewhat… unusual, can we not accommodate her?’ Sir Hugo said.
‘And what do you suggest we do with your late father’s orchid collection, which currently occupies the upper floor? One of the garden hands currently sleeps in there to deter thieves. It’s hardly a space fit for a young girl.’
‘The plants can be moved and the young man can return to the bothy with the other gardening staff. The west tower has always proved convenient for housing the grooms and coachman, and I see no reason to change that arrangement, but I have no use for the east tower. They were romantic whims of my grandfather and are of little practical use. They’re technically neither part of the house nor the wings, and were merely an aesthetic addition to balance the architecture. With a thick rug and some solid furniture from the guest rooms, the space could be made quite homely.’
It had been brave of Olivia to make such a request, but then she’d never been backwards in coming forwards. Perhaps, being the only child of indulgent parents, she had an elevated sense of her own importance, and she’d been somewhat intimidated by the immense wealth and status of the people who were now taking care of her. They were very kind, but Lady Fairchild was forever ‘just passing’ her current bedroom and trying to engage Olivia in conversation. It was as though the older woman knew she had a duty to step into a motherly role but was nervous of how she might achieve that.
All Olivia had craved during those first few days was the tight embrace of another, but Lady Fairchild had sat tentatively on the end of her bed, trying to ease her suffering with a constant flow of meaningless platitudes and intrusive enquiries, when it was physical touch that so eloquently said the things that really needed to be said: You are safe, we care for you, and no one expects you to talk until you’re ready . She needed to be separate from their smothering concern, somewhere she could find solace inside her head, and escape into worlds where none of the pain existed.
‘But she’s so young. I don’t like the idea of her being so far from us at night – the time I feel she is at her most vulnerable.’
‘She’s thirteen, Cynthia. Some girls her age are already out at work and she’s always had an independent spirit. Can we not grant her this one request?’
‘Ruth will have to sleep in the tower with her.’ Lady Fairchild had employed the woman who had seen Olivia through the measles, hoping that a familiar face would help her settle.
‘That can easily be arranged. The boys will be back soon and we can tell them the tower is out of bounds. We don’t want them smothering the poor girl.’
It had been fortuitous that Olivia’s arrival had been during term time, allowing her to move in without gawping adolescents asking uncomfortable questions – although the oldest two Fairchild sons, Clarence and Louis, were at Cambridge, so they were technically men, and intimidating ones to boot. Clarence, heir to the estate, had a long, white scar under his chin that, to her melodramatic mind, always made him seem extra dashing but slightly scary. Louis, the next in age, was dreadfully blunt and somewhat of a cold fish – occasionally upsetting her on previous family visits.
The younger two, Howard and Benji, fourteen and nine respectively, were at boarding school and, despite over a decade between the oldest and youngest brother, the family resemblance was unmistakable. They all had the strong Fairchild nose and fair hair, save Howard, who had been almost ginger when they’d been younger, like his father, but was now a more respectable auburn, and his wide face was scattered with pale freckles that made him look like he’d been sprinkled in chocolate. Despite being closest to her in age, he’d never shown any interest in his father’s godchild, whereas Benji had always followed her around like an eager puppy, asking endless questions. Being so young, and more gentle in nature, set him apart from his brothers. He didn’t belong to the pack – and it was a pack Olivia was not looking forward to seeing again.
‘Very well, then I will see to the arrangements,’ Lady Fairchild said. ‘I believe it to be an indulgence but appreciate that if anyone deserves to be humoured, it is her. Let’s hope she doesn’t attract too many fire-breathing dragons and handsome knights when she moves in.’
‘I am certain she would handle both with admirable fortitude,’ her husband replied, and they both laughed.