Chapter 12

 

Helen knocked on Paul’s door and sighed with relief when she heard his voice. He sat in his chair by the fire, a book in his hand. Looking up at her, he set the book aside. Sarah had told her at breakfast that a migraine had laid him out and his face was still ashen with dark circles under his eyes.

“Sarah said you wanted to see me,” Helen said. “Are you better?”

He shrugged.

“I’m so sorry about what I said yesterday,” she said, filled with remorse and a nagging fear that it had been their confrontation that had brought on the migraine.

“What for? You didn’t give me a migraine,” he said. “It had been threatening all morning.”

“I’ve not been idle while you’ve been out of action.” Helen smiled. “I finished your report.”

She handed him the papers and he flicked through the report, before laying it to one side.

“Thank you. That’s saved me days of work. Now, I have something for you.”

He pulled himself to his feet in a manner that suggested every bone in his body ached. When he saw her face, he gave a rueful smile.

“I feel a hundred years old tonight.”

He limped over to the table by the window and gathered some sheets of paper together. He turned back to face her and gestured at the spare chair.

“If you’re in no hurry, sit down.”

He handed her the papers and resumed his own chair.

“The diary. You broke the code.” Helen looked up at him.

“It wasn’t that hard but I have to give the credit to my great-grandmother, it was clever.”

Helen scanned the pages, trying to make sense of Paul’s now familiar scrawl that was completely at odds with Suzanne Morrow’s feminine hand in the diary itself.

“January 30, 1812,” she read aloud. “For the last two days I have been employed in the compilation of this simple yet effective code. I am sure a man of no great intelligence could see through it at once but for a simple woman, it will serve my purpose well enough.”

Paul smiled ruefully. “It is good to think of myself as a man of no great intelligence. It’s taken me hours.”

“...A letter came from Robert this morning. A brief epistle which I dutifully read to Lady Morrow. Another recounting of a battle, of the cold and the shortage of food. Robert is so far away. S is here in England and I do not know when I will see him again. At night before I sleep, I imagine his face. Why is it when I close my eyes, I can see this man so clearly and not the face of my husband?

“Lady Morrow remarked on my high color and asked me if I ailed. Indeed she insisted I retire to my bedchamber for the morning. She is of the opinion that I am far too excitable.”

“She seems to be a woman ruled by her heart not her head,” Helen commented. “Surely she knew the consequences of conducting an affair of this nature. If she was to be found out, she would be ruined.”

“February 5,” she continued. “A letter from S. He will put no identifying mark on the letter and if asked by Lady Morrow I shall say the letters are from an old friend or my dear brother and of a personal nature. My heart trembles at such deceit. I feel at every step I am being drawn into a net from which there is no escape but I cannot prevent it.

“I have burned the letter but every word is committed to my memory. “February 12: Last night Viscount Hartfield held a farewell party at Wellmore House for Adrian who must return to his regiment. You cannot imagine my joy on beholding S among the guests. I could not meet his eyes or pretend any knowledge of his presence beyond the formal presentation by Lady Hartfield.

 “‘Of course we met at New Year,’ he said, taking my hand. His touch sent a thrill from my fingers to my heart. His fingers, so firm, so sure, held mine, only so long as propriety required. ‘Lady Morrow,’ he said. ‘You look enchanting tonight.’ We continued with the pretence of genteel acquaintance throughout the evening. After supper, Lady Hartfield declared that I should entertain the company with a song. Oh how I hate such occasions. My good father in his earnest desire to educate me, neglected instruction in the most basic of female arts and left me quite unskilled in matters of needlework, painting and piano forte. Lady Morrow was so scandalized by my upbringing that she insisted I should have lessons and Signor Montefiore has attended Holdston on a weekly basis to correct my shortcomings but despite his best efforts I fear I will always be but a mediocre artiste.

“Nonetheless I acquiesced to the request with a smile on my face and to my great delight S offered to turn the pages of the music for me. To have him so close to me that I could breathe in the very scent of him was a distraction I could well have done without. As he leaned over my shoulder, I felt the hairs on my neck rise in anticipation of his proximity. I sang for him alone. When I was done, the company applauded politely and S took my hand and kissed it. The touch of his lips was no more than gossamer but his eyes spoke more words then I cared to hear.”

Paul shook his head. “I feel like I am reading some penny dreadful romance novel.”

 Helen looked up at him and smiled, before continuing.“February 13: I cannot contain myself. I have devised a way that we can meet in perfect secrecy and I am beside myself to impart the information to him. When will he come? Adele is teething and fretful. I held her in my arms and wept from fear of what the future may hold. My children have been my life. What am I doing?

“February 15: Lady Hartfield called yesterday afternoon accompanied by Barbara and S. I suspect that Lady Hartfield has some designs on S for Barbara and why indeed not? He has ten thousand a year, if Lady H is to be believed, and she comes with a sizeable dowry. I smiled to see the pathetic girl simpering over her cup of tea, trying to interpose on our conversation with some inanity of her own. I had to bide my time until the party came to leave at which point I slipped a note into his hand.”

“There is a certain arrogance about her, isn’t there?” Helen remarked. “I feel quite sorry for Barbara.”

“Jealousy?” Paul suggested.

“Undoubtedly,” Helen agreed. “Barbara was untrammeled by an inconvenient husband. Shall I go on?”

Paul nodded.

“...What I propose is audacious beyond belief and certainly not to the taste of god fearing folk but I must see him and talk with him in complete privacy.

“It came to me only the other day that there is a tunnel which runs from the house to the family crypt in the Church. Robert showed me the entrance and told me how he and his brothers would play royalists and roundheads in it and that at time the tunnel was quite clear. He did not venture into it as he said he is now quite afeared of such a confined space and neither would he let me past the entrance, saying that it was not a place for a woman.

“A couple of nights past when the household was all abed I dressed in an old gown and taking a candle, ventured down to the library. The entrance was as I remembered it, although a little stiff to open and my heart leaped to my mouth for fearing of waking Lady Morrow who sleeps in the chamber above the library. With great trepidation I descended into the dark bowels of the tunnel. It smelt of damp and indeed where it passed under the moat, as needs it must, it was quite wet underfoot. I was able to follow it, although at some points I was almost doubled up. It was, as Robert had said, quite clear. The entrance to the crypt was also a little stiff but I had prudently brought oil with me and was able to oil the hinges so they gave quite easily.

Helen looked up at Paul. “So there is a tunnel! But where’s the entrance? I can see nothing obvious in the library.”

“It’s not supposed to be obvious,” Paul observed drily.

“It is a silent place. Not the place for lovers, dare I say that word? Just writing it brings a tremor of fear to my heart. Yet that is where my lover will be waiting for me. This will be our assignation where we can meet away from the curious eyes. I have left the gate to the crypt unlocked for I doubted that the verger would routinely check it. For what cause would he do so? Today I crept to the library while Lady Morrow was abroad visiting one of the tenants who was ailing. The servants would think nothing of seeing me enter the library for I am often in there and they know to leave me in peace.

“My hands shook as I slipped through the entrance to the tunnel. Would he be there? You cannot imagine my fear and pleasure when I beheld him sitting on the steps, his hat in his hand, tapping his boot with his stick. I think my entrance must have startled him for he leaped to his feet, his face quite white. We stood still and just stared at each other and then, oh how can I relate this, we were in each other’s arms. He covered my hair and my face with his kisses and I returned them tenfold. We spent but a half hour together lost in each other. Talking of such follies and fancies as took our mind.

“I know now I am a lost woman, my marriage vows forsaken for a few stolen moments with this man. He is like a drug that I crave. I cannot live without him. Every moment away from him tears my heart and yet I must remain circumspect. There is too much at stake, too much to fear to allow rein to such foolishness...”

 “There’s just one last entry and that’s as much as I’ve done,” Paul said.

“February 18: He is gone, returned to London and my heart is breaking. I have met him every day since our first venture into the crypt. You cannot imagine what liberty it is to know that you are unseen and unregarded. We can talk freely without recourse to polite convention. Surely this is how man and woman should be, not bound to politeness of discourse as dictated by society? I have been reading, in secret, the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft. How I admire her that she could speak her mind so freely on such issues. To my surprise, S has read her too and is in full agreement with her sentiments. Robert would not give a jot for them and Lady Morrow would burn the book. Oh, just the mention of his name is like a knife in my heart. What am I doing? What madness am I infected by?”

Helen set the paper down. “What do you know of her family?” Helen asked.

“Suzanna? Only what Evelyn read the other day.”

Helen frowned. “Surely her family would have been concerned over her disappearance, even if the Morrows weren’t? Perhaps they made their own enquiries?”

Paul fingers beat a tattoo on the arm of his chair. “We know her father appeared to be some sort of eccentric who believed in educating girls and she had a brother, John with a parish so we can assume he was in Holy Orders. It would not be too hard to trace him through the church records.”

“Where would we find those?”

“They would be kept at Lambeth Palace in London,” Paul said. He picked up the report of the archaeological dig. “Helen, would you consider a trip to London for me? This has to be given to Woolley at the British Museum and–”

“I could check the records at Lambeth Palace? Why can’t you go?”

“I just thought you might like a break from Holdston,” Paul said. “You can stay with Angela. I know she would like that.”

“What about Alice? I’ve arranged for her to go start at the local village school on Wednesday.”

Paul raised his eyes. “Have you told Evelyn about the school?”

“Not yet,” Helen replied.

A knock at the door, made them both jump. Sarah Pollard entered carrying a tea tray and behind, her Evelyn Morrow.

Evelyn’s gaze flicked to Helen and then to her nephew. “Sarah said you were feeling better.”

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Paul said as Sarah set the tea tray down on the table.

Evelyn pulled up a chair and poured the tea into the two cups that had been set out on it. Paul declined the cup she proffered and she handed it to Helen instead.

“Paul, I need to talk to you about your plans for Willow Farm,” she said.

A shadow crossed Paul’s face. “Evelyn, we’ve had this discussion. I’ve given you my decision.”

Evelyn’s mouth set in a tight line. “Paul.” She broke off and glanced sharply at Helen. “Paul wants to spend the money we need to repair the roof of the Hall on some new fangled machinery for Willow Farm.”

Helen looked from Evelyn’s face to Paul. Both as stubborn as each other, she thought.

“Surely it is more important to improve the efficiency of the farm?” Helen ventured.

“My argument exactly,” Paul said. “I’m going into Birmingham tomorrow to talk to the bank. In fact, I was just asking Helen if she would be willing to go up to London for me and deliver my report to Woolley at the British Museum.”

“I can stay with Angela,” Mindful of her confrontation with Evelyn on Saturday, Helen added, “If that would be appropriate?”

Evelyn waved her hand. “Angela? Of course. But why do you need to go? Can’t you post the report, Paul?”

“Of course I could, but it’s already late and I thought it might be pleasant for Helen to have a couple of nights in London with Angela instead of stuck here with you and me,” Paul snapped.

Evelyn sniffed.

“I would only go if you don’t mind me leaving Alice with you here? She is starting school on Wednesday,” Helen said

“School?” Evelyn looked bemused.

“Yes, the village school. I’ve been trying to do school work with her but I think she’s better in a classroom so I’ve spoken to the headmistress and it’s all arranged.”

“A Morrow at the village school?” Evelyn said. “It’s unheard of.”

She caught the smile that passed between Paul and Helen. “What do you find so amusing?”

“Nothing,” Paul replied, his face all innocence. “I think it’s an excellent idea.”

“Well I’m sure I can give you a recommendation to a good school. The one Angela attended–”

Helen set her cup down. “I’m not sending Alice away to a boarding school for the sake of a couple of months. She has made friends with some of the children from the village and I think it will be good for her, and for the Morrows, if she is seen to be part of the village life.”

Evelyn rose to her feet. “I don’t claim to understand you, Helen. And you, Paul, I thought you would know better. Next thing you will be eating in the kitchen!”

With that, she stalked out of the room.

Helen bit her lip and glanced at Paul. To her relief he smiled.

“Eating in the kitchen will be the end of civilization as we know it,” he said.

“I can’t seem to do anything right in her eyes.” Helen’s hands began to shake as the tears that seemed to be lurking under the surface ever since Saturday threatened to engulf her again.

Paul leaned forward in his chair and removed the teacup from her hand. He set it down on the table and took her hands in his.

“Evelyn has her faults but she is not normally so callous, Helen. Something must have been said to her over the weekend that prompted the outburst.”

Helen felt the hot tears begin to drop from her eyes on to her hands. “Things were said and it’s not just Evelyn. I can’t get what was said about me out of my head.”

“It’s just the idle talk of people with nothing better to do with their lives. The fact is people like you and I, Helen, will always be outsiders.”

She looked up at him. “But you’re not an outsider?”

“Of course I am. The poor relation who ended up with the title? Good lord, I work for a living.” He sighed. “I’ve never fitted neatly into their pigeonholes. Here…”

He released her hands and produced another large, clean handkerchief. She seemed to be accumulating quite a collection.

Paul sat back in his chair as Helen dried the scalding tears. She looked across at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, noting how drawn he looked. “You didn’t need this today of all days. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m not normally such a misery.”

He shrugged. “I think you need to get away from Holdston. A few days in London would do you good. Alice will be fine here.”

Helen stuffed Paul’s handkerchief into her pocket and rose to her feet. She packed up the tea things and picked up the tray, leaving Paul Morrow sitting back in his armchair, his green eyes lost in thoughts she could never share.