Chapter Five #3
When I finally came to the graveyard, I was disappointed.
I picked through grave after ancient grave, crumbling, slanted, some ready to fall over.
Faded dates, names destroyed by decades of weathering – there was nothing to be gleaned or learned.
Nobody had taken care of it. Nettles, brambles, and tall grasses crowded the headstones, long forgotten at the back of the estate.
I was ready to give up and return to the house when I spotted them – a row of newer-looking headstones beneath a large oak tree.
They were black scrolls with no embellishments, all bearing the surname Crowthorne: Niles, Eliza, and Alexander.
Somehow I could tell they were perfunctory, with very few words on the scrolls to reveal any love lost.
I turned and looked back at the orangery, drawn to it once more as I remembered what Maggie said; that Louisa’s ashes were scattered there.
I noticed there was a door to it, left ajar, although the door itself was rotting and creaked in the wind.
I picked my way through the brambles and entered it, gasping as its expanse opened up before my eyes.
Tall trees were stooping beneath the domed ceiling, with some of their eager branches reaching through the smashed panes of glass, desperate for light.
Some bitter orange trees were clustered together in the centre, their fruit shrivelled, black, useless.
The stone floor was littered with dying husks of fruit, dark rotting leaves, and pieces of glass.
The atmosphere was thick and putrid, and would be difficult to breathe in were it not for the broken panes.
I tip-toed through them carefully, eager to see a statue at the back, surrounded by leaves and tangled vines.
The statue took my breath away. It was a stained, once-white statue of a beautiful young woman, holding aloft a butterfly perched on her hand.
She wore a long skirt like me, and a blouse, but her hair was long and intricately carved to show it falling down her back.
She seemed so slight and angelic, forever young, her kind spirit captured in the butterfly.
I knew it had to be Louisa. Somewhere around the house, I would seek out a photograph of her, so I could see her face.
Beside the statue, something else caught my eye, and made me wince.
It was a fig tree. A gnarled, spoiled tree with blackened bulbs.
A fig tree riddled with sour rot. We had one, just like it, at Heather House.
A tree which bent over the back door, never producing any edible figs because of the disease that ravished it.
How strange, I thought, to see a tree with the same affliction here.
“I don’t usually allow people inside the orangery, Grace,” came a voice that made me let out a yelp.
My heart thumped like a rabbit’s foot. I staggered back, my pulse racing as if I’d been caught stealing.
“I’m so sorry, Nicholas,” I stammered. “The door was open. I didn’t mean – ”
“It’s quite all right,” he said, holding up a hand.
I noticed, for the first time, a ring on the middle finger of his left hand. Its beaten gold casing held a large black onyx in its centre. On Nick’s lapel, a small gold brooch of a crow and a rose glinted in the pale light.
“I just wanted to explore, sir,” I said.
Nick smiled gently, as if amused by something. He looked to me like a professor listening to his student’s ideas, smirking fondly at their idealism.
“You needn’t call me sir, Grace. You seem to say it more when you think I’m telling you off,” he said, linking his hands behind his back. He watched the statue as he spoke to me, before his eyes moved back to mine. “Shall I call you madam?”
I smiled bashfully. “No, sir – sorry, Nicholas.”
“Or Nick, if you like.”
Nick. I liked that now. It seemed more familiar.
“Thank you, Nick.”
“I’ve instructed contractors to schedule the work on Heather House, to repair the damage from the fallen tree,” he said, his echoing voice ensnared by the overgrowth of the trees.
My heart leapt to think that he was keeping his promise. That he was really doing that for me.
“Nick, you mustn’t, really. I couldn’t possibly repay you for it. The damage to the house was extensive...oh, worse than you could imagine. We’d lived in a terrible state for years and years – ”
I worried on, panicking now that Nick would get a report of the state of the house and discover just what squalor we had lived in. Not only was I embarrassed, but I was confused. Why would he want to do this for me, a woman he’d just met?
“All you need to do is give me the key to mail out to the contractors,” he said, with a brief smile – as if, for him, it was as simple as that.
“Sir. Nick. I...I’m not sure...” I wasn’t sure what I was protesting at, either.
“Think nothing of it,” he said.
I sighed. I’d heard of what his father, Niles, had done for Maggie. I knew it was an exchange, a way to ensure loyalty. I may have been naive, but I wasn’t stupid. I’d learned, over the years, that true kindness, in and of itself, was rare.
What I really wanted to know is why this exchange – my work and services as his apprentice – were worth the cost of fixing Heather House. He was already footing the bill for my board and living here.
“Why are you doing this, Nick, when I couldn’t possibly earn out those costs?” I asked plainly.
His furrowed brow rose in slight surprise. Then his expression turned stern again, as he raised his eyes to the statue and watched it once more.
“Perhaps I’m kidding myself that I’m making amends for a person who can’t be helped any more,” he said, swaying on the spot.
He moved a large chunk of glass aside with his polished shoe.
“Perhaps the resemblance is clouding my judgement. I only know that I don’t care.
I want to do this for you. That is, if you’re still content with the arrangement? ”
Nothing has been set in stone, I thought to myself. This arrangement was still temporary. I had yet to prove myself, and had no indication that my trial was up, or that I could relax in any way.
“I am,” I said, keeping my thoughts to myself. “Will we go to the mortuary now?”
“We will,” said Nick, looking up as droplets of rain fell on our heads. “I’m going to show you more of the embalming process, involving an artery line in the neck. Do you feel ready to try it yourself?”
I nodded, of course, yes.
“Good,” he said. “The body will be laid out in the chapel afterwards as I explained to you, which means we need to ensure they’re presentable for visitors. I’ve some figures to go over first, however; accounting business. My trusted friend is coming over later today to complete some tax summaries.”
“I’d be glad to help with that,” I said softly, as if worried the statue might hear me. As if Louisa would know I was eager to please her fiancé, and not just for the career benefits, either.
Nick furrowed his brow, glancing up and to the right, as if mulling something over.
“You’ve a head for accounting too, Grace?”
“I do, sir,” I said, forgetting myself again. Heat came to my cheeks. I realised I enjoyed calling him sir too much. “I’m skilled with figures. My father taught me from an early age to balance the books for our small farm, and how to scale for larger businesses.”
“Were you home-schooled?”
“I was. The schooling which really mattered occurred at home, anyway. Later I attended a small community school in the Dales with just a few pupils.”
Tom being one of them.
Nick chuckled. “And to think of the boys I attended boarding school with, struggling away with the most elite education money could buy. Perhaps the remoteness of your location lent itself to proper focus?”
“It did,” I said, remembering it well.
My father pacing while I sat at his large wooden desk, completing my sums. I’d lived for the small tid-bits he’d give me, the little compliments, the small nods of approval, that came from completing my work.
“He taught me to be frugal, too.” I added, blushing slightly as I smoothed down my skirt.
Nick smiled fondly, nodding his head. I could see he admired these qualities in me, even though he couldn’t relate to them.
He’d grown up exceptionally wealthy. His clothes were exquisite, woven with expense and good taste.
Even his haircut, loose and tousled, looked as though every strand had been carefully considered and groomed by the barber; every lock intentionally placed.
“You – ” Nick’s smile faded as he looked at me.
He approached me suddenly, his fingers probing at the collar of my blouse.
I flinched at his touch, but stood stock still, enjoying the warmth of his body close to mine.
He smelled of a deep, expensive cologne.
He peered at my neck, his fingers gently tracing the exposed skin.
“Something appears to be burning you, Grace. How could that be?”
I covered the skin he’d traced with my hand, feeling humiliated. Nick caught my hand and held it. I locked my eyes on his, trembling slightly under his gaze, ashamed of what he’d seen.
“The light pouring in through the smashed glass – if it’s concentrated, it damages my skin. I’ve a difficulty with sunlight, even in clouded skies,” I said, my voice timid.
“Oh, Grace,” he said softly, guiding my hand aside so he could look again. “Have you ever seen a doctor?”
“I have, sir. They couldn’t help.”
The fatherly concern in his eyes made me feel small, and like I wanted to cry. I disliked the feeling. I enjoyed my independence, away from this scrutiny...and yet I didn’t want to shake him off. I wanted him close to me. My womb tightened, pulsing in my middle.
“We’ll get you to Harley Street. A dermatologist, who will determine what this is and how to help you.”
“Sir – ”
“Nick.”
“Nick, please – it won’t be necessary.”
“My staff’s health is absolutely necessary,” he said, cutting me short. “Consider it a working benefit, I insist.”
I lowered my eyes, unable to look at him. The shame was too acute.
“I’ve heard about your father’s kindness to Maggie,” I said, unsure if I was overstepping the mark.
Nick tucked my neck away behind my collar, before letting his hand rest on my cheek. He watched me as I spoke, his eyes misting over. He stroked my skin, and I didn’t stop him.
“You’re a kind family, sir. You’ve inherited your father’s heart.”
Nick closed his eyes and smiled just a little, before his expression turned pained. He sighed.
“I wish I could say my father was truly kind, but he was a brute,” said Nick, his hand remaining on my cheek. Once he realised, he drew it away, but kept our closeness . He held me by the shoulders, as if to protect me, to bring a shadow over me that blocked out the vicious light.
“Did Margaret tell you what they say about me, Grace?” he murmured, his voice almost too low for me to hear it. His breath was warm on my face, but fresh.
“She did, sir,” I said.
“And what did you think of that?”
To think that he cared what I thought! I met his eyes with mine, confidently.
“They’re cruel and thoughtless, and ignorant of the facts, sir,” I said. “As people often are.”
Nick smiled that fond smile again, like a proud teacher. I stiffened as his kissed the crown of my head, pressing his face briefly into my hair. Then he stepped away, some conflicting thoughts evident on his face.
“You’re too young to know that already,” he said, shaking his head solemnly. “But I suppose, so was I.”