Chapter 30 #2
Stella didn’t baulk. ‘It’s a fair question. We lost our home in a fire yesterday.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear it.’ She didn’t sound sorry. She turned to her mother. ‘Can I have a word?’
Elizabeth put down her napkin and stood up. It was obvious that the sooner Diana was out of the room, the better. Her daughter turned on her as soon as they got out into the hall.
‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me straight away.’ Diana was trembling. ‘I’m that little boy’s aunt. Didn’t you think to ring me?’
‘Diana, darling,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Please calm down and realise this has been a shock for us, and if we handled things wrongly, I’m very sorry.’
Diana didn’t say anything for a moment. Her face was expressionless. Elizabeth braced herself for a riposte. When it came, it ripped her heart out.
‘Well, at least you’ve got the grandson you’ve been wanting for so long. Given that neither Clementine nor I have managed to produce one.’
Elizabeth leaned back against the wall, weak with despair. It was still there, Diana’s ability to say something completely eviscerating.
‘Although are you sure he’s Edwin’s son?’ Diana went on. ‘It’s like something out of Dickens. I mean, it would be very easy to pretend. I bet there are people who read obituaries and—’
‘He’s definitely Edwin’s,’ Elizabeth cut her off. ‘He’s got a whorl of hair on his head exactly the same. And his eyes are identical. Even his knobbly knees are Edwin’s.’
‘You think that because you want to believe it. I’d be very wary.’
‘And she’s got his signet ring.’
Diana flinched. They had all presumed he had been wearing the family signet ring when he’d been lost.
‘Oh. Well. She could have pinched it.’
‘And Clementine saw all his sketches on the boat.’
‘What boat?’
Elizabeth explained how Clementine had seen her on the train, had put two and two together, and had found Stella living on a boat that had apparently belonged to Edwin. Diana raised an eyebrow.
‘Clementine’s probably in on it too. They’ve cooked it up between them. They’ve wormed their way into Foxwood and they’ll get us knocked off, one by one. Until whatever-his-name-is inherits the lot. Presumably he’d be the heir if we all died?’
‘Ted. His name is Ted and you’re being ridiculous.’
‘I’m looking out for you. You can be na?ve.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, come on. You think no one knows about you and Jasper, for a start.’
‘What?’
‘Have you ditched him yet?’
Elizabeth swallowed down her panic. And her irritation.
‘Diana. I don’t want us to come to blows over this. I’m very sorry I didn’t tell you straight away. It’s actually been rather a shock for me. What I’d really like is support.’
For a moment, Diana didn’t reply. Everything had been going so well.
She was the happiest she’d been for a long time, now she was back at the factory.
She had felt closer to both her mother and her father than she had ever since Edwin died.
She couldn’t help feeling threatened by this new arrival, this cuckoo in their nest. But what was the point in kicking up a fuss?
She could see Stella and Ted had won over everyone’s hearts and had their feet under the table.
Her mother took her hands. This time, her voice was soothing.
‘It’s important that we stick together. We’ve all got a bit lost over the past few years.
Perhaps some of us have made mistakes. We are only human.
’ Her voice wavered a little. ‘I’m certain that Stella’s story is true.
Edwin told your father about her the last time he was home.
And Alfie told us about a letter he found, from Edwin to Meg, breaking off their engagement.
And there’s a painting, that Edwin did, of Stella.
I’m quite certain that he loved her, and that she was his world.
So for Edwin’s sake, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that she and Ted are looked after.
They are going to be part of this family whether you like it or not.
Now, you can either be gracious and welcoming or difficult. It’s up to you.’
Diana didn’t answer for a long time. ‘I don’t actually have a choice, do I?’
She walked back into the dining room with her mother and went round to greet Stella.
‘I’m so sorry. I was taken unawares rather. I’m sure you understand. Welcome to Foxwood.’ She crouched down to speak to the little boy, a smile growing across her face. ‘And to you too, Ted. I’m so happy to meet you. Are you keen on horses? We could organise something if you are.’
Elizabeth felt a mixture of relief and pride. Diana had risen to the occasion. And it had been thoughtless of her, to leave her out. After all, Diana had been closer to Edwin than any of them, at times.
Later that afternoon, Elizabeth took Ted out to the stables, where the four puppies were installed in a wire pen, Joyce splayed out amidst them, longsuffering but proud of the results of her midnight rendezvous with nobody knew who.
She tolerated their shenanigans with a bemused detachment, batting them occasionally with a paw if they got too boisterous.
They were ridiculously appealing, with their ginger fur, black button noses and fat feet.
Ted dropped in amongst them and talked to them all. Was there anything more joyful than watching a small boy writhing amidst a litter of puppies?
‘We’ll be keeping one of them,’ she heard herself saying. They’d had no intention of keeping any of them to start with, as they weren’t pure breeds, but how could she not let him have one? ‘And it can be yours, to keep here. So we’ll look after it, but technically it will belong to you.’
Ted stared at her in disbelief. ‘Do you mean it?’
‘Of course I do. It will always be here for you, whatever happens.’
He was shaking with excitement. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and Elizabeth wanted him to keep them all, forever, and for her to keep the whole lot of them, Ted and the puppies, safe at Foxwood until the end of time.
‘They’ll be ready to leave their mum in about a week,’ she told him now. ‘And we can start training. It’s hard work, but it’s important. There’s nothing worse than a badly behaved dog. Is there, Joyce?’ she said meaningfully, but Joyce stared back, unashamed.
She loved the little boy already, with a fierceness that surprised her.
It wasn’t just because he was Edwin’s. It was his immense spirit, even in the face of disaster.
She liked to think it was an Arbutus trait, for they all showed it, Michael and Edwin and Alfie, an ability to push through the hard times with a smile on their face and without making a fuss.
Although she had to admit, Stella set a pretty good example herself.
She had shown nothing but grit, albeit with a few moments of despair, but that proved she was human.
And that must have been what attracted Edwin to her.
Both her boys had found strong women, interesting women, women who rose to the occasion but without having to prove themselves in an overbearing fashion.
It was important, thought Elizabeth, to have a softer side when you were female, and that in itself could be a weapon.
That evening before dinner, Stella listened to Ted wax lyrical about his afternoon.
‘It’s the smallest, so it’s sort of the runt, but Elizabeth’ – Elizabeth?
Who had told him he could call his grandmother Elizabeth?
– ‘agrees he’s got the most character, so I’m keeping him.
Well, they’re keeping him, but he’s technically mine.
For ever. And he’s called Paddy, because she says my dad had a friend at school called Paddy who was Irish, like they are.
Well, half Irish, because nobody knows where Joyce got to. ’
‘That’s wonderful.’ There was a lump in her throat.
There was so much kindness going on. It was almost too much, after the horror of the day before.
They’d been thrown from hell into heaven.
And the price of heaven was guilt. Guilt that she had never trusted Edwin’s assurance that she would be made welcome at Foxwood, that his family wouldn’t look down on her, that she wouldn’t be made to feel like an outsider.
Her own stupid pride and insecurity had stopped her from being part of what she realised now was a wonderful family – well, apart from Diana, maybe, but she seemed highly strung, and a bit of an outsider herself.
Feeling alienated made you hostile, Stella knew.
It closed your mind and forced you to keep people at arm’s length.
Mistrust was a bad master. An open heart was a much better guide to life.
For proof, she only had to turn to the little desk in the corner of the bedroom.
She had come back this afternoon to find a portable typewriter on it, along with a fresh ribbon and a pile of paper.
She had no idea how she was going to thank Michael.
How had he done it, produced a typewriter out of thin air?
The gesture had given her so much faith in human nature, so much confidence, that she almost felt she could start writing straight away.
The stories were still fresh in her mind, after all.
She would have to tease them out, pin them down, and they might not come out exactly as they had first time around, but she thought she could do it, and the illstrations too.
If Harriet hadn’t given up on her, that is.
For a moment, she regretted sending the letter off earlier.
Harriet might put her out of her mind, and get excited about another project.
She didn’t suppose she would wait forever. Tomorrow. She would start tomorrow.