CHAPTER 55 #2
‘Thrilled,’ Joanna echoed, faintly cross with herself for not being happier when Mother so clearly was.
‘I’m not expecting anything from anyone, you know.’ Henry leant forwards, his face earnest. ‘I’d totally understand it if you told me to get lost.’
‘Oh, Henry . . .’ Mother looked as if she might cry. ‘As if we would.’
Harriet looked like thunder. ‘It was a funny way you went about it, that’s for sure,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent months thinking we had a prowler.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Joanna guessed that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to apologise to Harriet; she was rather good at holding grudges. Though in this case she had a point. Henry should have come to see them straightaway, instead of skulking around the place like that.
‘It’s a bit of a shock,’ she told him. ‘I think we all need time to get used to the idea.’ Having a brother .
. . would that be so bad? Hadn’t she always wanted a brother when they were young?
Perhaps, after all, this man, this brother, could bring something to their lives, something that had been missing.
And perhaps they could bring something to his life.
And as for Mother . . . she was clearly delighted.
‘Of course.’ Henry sat up straighter. ‘Please don’t think I’m going to make a nuisance of myself. I’m perfectly used to being on my own. I’m not trying to edge my way into your lives, your family.’
‘But Henry’ – Mother’s smile was sweet – ‘you are family. You always have been family.’
Joanna sipped her tea. The way Henry had said the word ‘family’ touched her rather.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to discover your biological mother and your two sisters after all these years.
And she began to warm to him. He had been honest with them, and she could feel the air of confidences settling around them in this room, as though the appearance of Henry had made them closer, more balanced somehow.
More of a family? Ridiculous. But she decided to tell them – it shouldn’t be a secret any longer.
‘I’ve been opening some family cans of worms too,’ she said.
Everyone turned to look at her. ‘What cans are those, Jo?’ Harriet asked.
‘It seems the woman who painted this’ – she pointed to the Venice bridge painting which she had propped against the wall – ‘was having a love affair with one of our ancestors – back in the early 1900s, just before the war. All I know about him is that his nickname was Rufus and he had red hair. At least,’ she sighed, ‘I think he had red hair.’
‘Oh.’ Owen leant closer. ‘That painting style looks rather familiar.’
‘Really?’ Harriet picked up the painting and held it aloft for them all to see. They gathered around.
Geoffrey Boothroyd had made a comment about the delicacy of the artist’s watercolour technique and Joanna could see what he meant.
Emmy had captured that pale yellow evening light that hung in the sky and turned the wood of the bridge to a dull but incredibly subtle filigree of gold.
The bridge seemed suspended almost. Timeless.
‘Which ancestor?’ her mother asked. ‘Your father’s father George had red hair.’
Joanna stared at her. Her mother seemed to be more present somehow, all of a sudden.
She wondered if Mother had been mourning just Father’s death these past seven years?
Or had she been mourning another loss – an earlier loss, the loss of her baby son – that she had never been able to properly mourn before?
‘Did he?’ All the photographs of Joanna’s grandfather were in black and white, and of course he’d died before she was born.
‘It can’t be him, though. He was only a child when Emmy wrote the letters.
’ But if he’d had red hair, then wasn’t it more than likely that his father .
. . ? ‘Maybe his father William had red hair too,’ she said aloud.
‘William Rufus,’ said Harriet.
‘What?’ Joanna stared at her.
‘William Rufus. William the Second, King of England.’ Harriet looked smug. ‘You went to university, Joanna. Isn’t it obvious?’
Well, yes. And suddenly it was. That’s why Emmy had called her lover Rufus. Because he was called William and he had red hair. Joanna grinned. ‘Brilliant, Het! That’s it . . . that’s right. Rufus was our great-grandfather William. On Father’s side. Also known as Rufus because of his wild red hair.’
‘But how did you find out about the affair?’ their mother asked.
‘Ah.’ Joanna nipped upstairs to her bedroom to fetch the other letters.
‘I tried to tell you before,’ she said when she came back down.
Though perhaps she hadn’t tried as hard as she might.
It had, she conceded, been fun to hug the secret of Emmy to herself.
She placed the three letters carefully into her mother’s lap.
‘And then I wanted to find out more about the woman who’d written the letters before I told you all about it. And . . .’ It was hard to explain.
Her mother gave her an understanding smile. She knew what it was like to keep a secret.
‘But I don’t know how they met,’ Joanna said.
‘She wasn’t from Dorset at all, and she certainly wouldn’t have lived here in Mulberry Farm Cottage.
Rufus – William – was married, and I haven’t found any evidence yet that even puts Emmy in Dorset at any time.
She could have been here for only a short while, I suppose. ’
‘Long enough to have her wicked way with Rufus, clearly.’ Harriet passed a slice of cake to Henry. ‘Mother made it,’ she said pointedly to Joanna.
Joanna blinked. That was a turn-up. Surely Mother hadn’t baked a cake for years?
‘And of course,’ Harriet went on, ‘this place wasn’t called Mulberry Farm Cottage back then.’ She looked to Owen for confirmation. ‘Was it?’
Owen cleared his throat noisily. ‘Er, no, that’s right, or so I believe.’ He glanced at Harriet. ‘Maybe . . .’ He let the word hang.
‘What?’ Joanna was impatient.
Harriet’s brow cleared. ‘You mean that’s how it happened?’ She sounded excited. ‘That’s why he put it there and changed the name?’
‘How what happened? Why he put what where?’ Honestly, how infuriating they were being, both of them. But Joanna remembered now, the details of the census, the fact that the cottage had been listed under a different name. It hadn’t seemed important then. But now . . .
‘Pyramus and Thisbe?’ Owen said.
‘Pyramus and Thisbe,’ Harriet agreed. She laughed.
‘Pyramus and . . . ?’
‘You mean the lovers?’ Her new half-brother was smiling too.
‘The lovers,’ Harriet confirmed.
‘And neighbours,’ Owen added. ‘And I believe I have some evidence at home that might confirm our theory.’
‘Really?’ Harriet was smiling at Owen. ‘Something that you could go and get and bring along to the party?’
‘Why not?’ He got to his feet.
Joanna looked from one to the other to the other. Did they have to practise at being so infuriating or did it come naturally? It seemed that even after all her detective work they knew more about it than she did. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Before I explode.’
‘Wait there for a minute or two.’ Owen crossed the room. ‘While I go and get it. And then I think you’ll see . . .’