Chapter Five

Elodie’s eyes flew open and she sat up in the bath, confused. All of a sudden, she was back in her own life, in Alex’s bathroom; and she wanted out of that big, echoing room and to have some human companionship. Her heart was thumping and she could still smell the cold and the frost coming from the man who had taken her in his arms and claimed her heart …

She quickly washed, then scrambled out of the bath, her hair still dripping, and slithered across the warm tiles to the towels. Finding a huge black one, she wrapped herself in it and hurried over to the door, cautiously opening it and peering out into the corridor. There was a neat pile of clothes on the floor, exactly where he’d said they would be – a clean white t-shirt, a blue checked short-sleeved shirt and a pair of faded denim shorts, all smelling familiarly of his fabric conditioner. And he had even included a big leather belt. He must have known the shorts wouldn’t stay up without it.

As it was, the shorts came down to below her knees and still flapped ridiculously around her thighs, but she was grateful to him. And even more grateful that she’d waxed her legs the other day.

She opened the bathroom door and stood in the corridor, trying to get her bearings. She’d never been upstairs in his house since the wing had been privatised and couldn’t quite work out where she was. The layout had changed considerably since her childhood when the three of them – Alex, Elodie and Cassie – had free range around most of the Hall.

He’d swung her around a couple of corners when he was carrying her upstairs, so she headed in the direction they’d come from. If she found a staircase on her travels, she would simply walk down it.

However, the first staircase she found headed upwards and there was a sound of scraping and banging coming from the top of it. Elodie paused at the bottom, trying to peer up into the darkness.

‘Alex?’ she tried after a moment. ‘Are you up there?’

She really didn’t know what she would have done had he answered her from behind and left the upstairs occupant a mystery; but luckily the scraping stopped and his familiar voice came floating down the well-worn wooden stairs.

‘Yes, I’m here. Come on. I left the door open for you!’

‘Right.’ She placed her hand on the railing. Then she paused. ‘Are there spiders?’

‘Some Daddy long-legs,’ he shouted and she shuddered, ‘but no spiders yet.’

‘O-kay.’ She headed up the steep little flight of stairs. Goodness only knew what she would find at the top. ‘Weren’t we going to look at the duelling pistols though?’

‘We can do that later. I just thought I’d check this out while you were in the bathroom. You might find it more interesting.’

The steps came out into another corridor which turned right; but it wasn’t half so welcoming as the one Elodie had just left. She knew from her stints as a tour guide that she was in the servants’ quarters. In the main house, the night nursery, playroom and school room were up on the third floor – but here the metaphorical green baize door, which was kept locked and inaccessible to the tourists, opened from the children’s rooms onto the servants’ corridor. The servants had to share their part of the house with the attics, and it was in one of these, in the first room on her left, that she discovered Alex.

He had propped open the attic door with an old chair and there was a great deal of dust swirling around, the motes catching in the washed-out sunlight that was coming through the small lead-paned windows. He too had changed out of his wet clothing, but the new trousers and the clean t-shirt were already looking slightly grubby.

‘Hey.’ Elodie coughed, her lungs reminding her they objected to dust. ‘Found you. You’re “it”.’ Twenty years ago, this would have been perfect for a game of hide and seek.

Alex laughed, sat back on his heels and gestured to the items in front of him. ‘Close the door if you want. I just left it open so you’d find me more easily. Then you can come over here.’

Elodie moved the chair and the door swung shut. A large, battered travelling trunk was open in front of Alex, and it had all sorts of treasures spilling out of it: there were, amongst other things, embroidered, yellowing petticoats, a riding crop and a broken parasol, and even a 1920’s style feather boa irrevocably tangled with a string of what might have been real pearls or simply white paste beads, snaking down the side of the trunk and pooled on the floor.

‘This would be a wonderful resource for the next Living History weekend,’ Elodie said. Living History weekends were something Hartsford Hall was becoming famous for. Elodie had worked in West End theatres as a costume designer, and had been used to dealing with everything from diva to disaster. The weekends had really taken off when she had come back and it was one of her favourite jobs on the estate. She knew those events were something she could do, and do well. She could be in control again. Living with Piers and having her life unravel as it had, in a knot of his extra-marital affairs and his petty power-games, had chipped away at her confidence.

Alex had seemed to know instinctively that she needed to take ownership of something to make her feel valued again. She was very grateful to him for coming up with the Living History idea – he had decided that certain weekends throughout the year could be themed, for example as a Victorian Christmas, or a Georgian market, or as The World of Jane Austen. The staff dressed appropriately and the event always incorporated all sorts of wonderful historical elements; and Elodie loved them.

Elodie dug her hand into the trunk and pulled out a hideous little animal’s head, complete with sharp teeth and evil eyes. ‘Well, most of it would be a wonderful resource; apart from the fox fur. Disgusting thing.’ She screwed up her face and dropped the dead animal on top of the feather boa. It looked like it was in some horrid, raggy little nest and she turned away, slightly sickened.

‘There’s some nasty stuff in there, that’s for sure.’ Alex bent over the trunk and dipped his hand in, searching for something. ‘One day, I’ll let you loose in the other attics. I could lose you for days; get some peace from you trying to boss me around for a bit. Okay – here you go.’ He handed her a hat adorned with a dead bird. It’s one remaining beady eye glared at her and she shook her head.

‘Keep it. I’m talking “living history”, not “exploiting taxidermy”.’

Alex laughed and placed the hat on top of the fox fur where the bird continued to glare at Elodie until she moved the angle so it fixed its gaze on Alex instead.

Alex remained unfazed. ‘Interesting though Cassie’s dressing up box is, it’s not the clothes I want to show you. It’s this.’ He held up something that looked like a rolled-up canvas. ‘It’s been in there forever to protect it from the damp or the mice, just in case. I’m glad it seemed to survive. Cassie was obsessed with it. I kept finding her up here with it flattened out in front of her. I wanted to make sure it was okay. Because this, you see, is potentially Georgiana.’

Elodie’s stomach did one of those lurching things, like a tumble dryer shifting its load about. ‘Georgiana?’

‘Yes. It’s really fragile though – be careful with it.’

Alex came closer to her and unrolled the canvas, spreading it out on the floor in front of them. He placed one hand on the edge nearest to him, then gestured for Elodie to do the same so it wouldn’t curl back up.

He was right. The paint was cracked and dirty, the dark background coming away from the canvas in tiny flakes that made Elodie worry about the rest of it. The portrait itself showed the head and shoulders of a girl, her curled, pinned-up, fair hair and exposed neckline suggesting she belonged to the late eighteenth century.

Unfortunately, she was in such poor condition that it was well-nigh impossible to see any of her features and Elodie touched her hair lightly, feeling the rough paint under her fingertips.

‘It would be nice to know for sure,’ said Alex. ‘God knows what Cassie imagined she looked like, because I’m damn sure I can’t see her very clearly.’

‘We’ll never know what she looks like, not if she stays in this state.’ Elodie sighed. ‘But, like I said, if you’re happy for me to let my friend’s husband have a look at it, we might get somewhere. He works in the Tate and he’s done some art conservation. I could ask him?’

Alex shook his head. ‘And like I said, it’s all about prioritising. The roof’s off the church now, Great Aunt Polly is probably out to haunt me ceaselessly for ruining the altar cloth and I’ve got a collapsed marble tomb to deal with. And that’s the stuff I know about. I think Georgiana will have to be put away for another few years. She won’t come to any harm up here.’

‘But do you really want her hidden away in that trunk? Look, Simon owes me a favour. I loaned him some Pre-Raphaelite costumes from the theatre for some work he was doing, and he said just to let him know when I wanted something in return.’

Elodie knew Simon would do it. He was cheerful and good-natured – just like his wife Cori and their six-month-old baby, Kitty. Cori had done some web-design work for Elodie, when Elodie worked at the National Theatre The theatre had run an exhibition alongside the costume collections at the V&A, and Elodie had been in charge of it all. Elodie and Cori had hit it off pretty well, and it was a big contract for Cori. That, coupled with the costume loan for Simon, had quite cemented their friendship. All Elodie had to do was ask them. And then maybe everyone could see Georgiana properly.

She looked at the picture again, and then more closely. In fact, she peered at it so her nose was about a centimetre away from it.

‘What’s so interesting?’ Alex leaned over, and again they were close together, staring at something that had caught Elodie’s attention.

‘A locket. Isn’t that a locket around her neck?’ she asked.

‘Possibly. I daren’t try to rub the dirt off, though. Here.’ He pushed his hand in his pocket and brought out the necklace they’d found earlier. ‘I grabbed it to have a closer look before I came up here. What do you reckon to it?’

Elodie tore her gaze away from the painting and held her hand out. Looking at Alex’s profile and the way the rays of sunlight caught his hair, it was somehow strange to equate the man next to her with the boy she’d grown up with. Alex had certainly improved with age and she wondered, not for the first time, why he’d never married. Alex had a lot to offer really.

‘Have a look. See what you think.’ He smiled up at her and dropped the locket into her hand.

She metaphorically shook herself as she closed her fingers around the silver oval. Yes, he has a lot to offer, but you’re supposed to be over him, remember? One misguided moment after the Prom. Two eighteen-year-olds, high on life, with the world open to them. One moonlit night with the warmth of the summer in the evening air and the stars twinkling like fairy-lights. Too much cider at the after-party and a kiss in the woods that led to something more …

‘I love you. I think I really love you.’

‘I think I love you too.’

‘Shall we …?’

‘Do you think we should?’

‘I know somewhere we can go …’

‘Then let’s …’

What could possibly go wrong? Too much. That was what could go wrong.

Elodie forced the memories back where they’d sprung from. One thing she couldn’t shake, however, was that image of the highwayman’s smile. She tried to imagine Alex with his hair just a little longer, wearing the outfit that man had been wearing.

Good grief. The thought was deliciously disturbing in a very strange way. She stood up quickly and headed over to the window before he saw that she’d blushed the colour of a ripe tomato.

‘Where are you going?’ Alex was still kneeling on the floor. He stared up at Elodie in confusion, clearly wondering why she’d disappeared when they had discovered what might have been that very same locket around the girl’s neck.

‘I just needed some air. It’s a bit dusty.’ Alex, in a loose white shirt and tight breeches and riding boots …

She needed more than air.

Especially as the locket seemed to burn her palm and the attic started going all wavering and fuzzy, and the trunks and things disappeared before her eyes …

Instead of the faint sunshine outside, it was suddenly dark again and the room was lit by a cold, silvery sheen that could only be moonlight.

Ben knelt before her, his hands in hers and he was looking up at her with such love that she was quite taken aback.

‘I didn’t know you felt so strongly about me,’ she said, her gaze travelling over his face and his loosened hair. His hands were rough but strong, the callouses worn there by too many nights of riding his horse.

‘Georgiana, I do believe I am finally lost. You have bewitched me. You fill my waking moments and ensnare my dreams.’

‘Pretty words yet again, Ben.’

‘But I mean them!’ He smiled and stood up, still holding her hands; one step closed the gap between them. ‘I thank the good Lord above that he has provided me moonlight to see you by, for this is no life otherwise.’ He raised his hand and stroked her hair away from her face. ‘I wish that we could be lovers in sunlight as well. I would that I could offer myself to you fully as a husband, yet the decent part of me – whatever is left in there that is decent – knows you should not take me.’

‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘What would stop me?’ She moved closer to him, pressing her body against his. It was dangerous but she yearned to find out more; her senses cried out for it.

‘The fact that you are you and I am me,’ he said softly. ‘Oh, Georgiana.’ He leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. His lashes brushed her skin and she clung onto him more tightly. ‘Would that I had met you sooner, when my family name still meant something to me.’

‘But I don’t care what you are,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t care about your profession and I wouldn’t have cared about your family name. I care only for you, Ben. My twin soul.’

‘You’d care if you married me and I took you away from here.’

‘Not if I could ride beside you as your wife or even, God forgive me, as your lover. I’d gladly leave everything here to have that.’

‘And then when they found me and hanged me at Tyburn?’ he teased. ‘What then? Would you come back here and expect all to remain as it had been when you left?’

‘I would not let them hang you. I swear it to you. Why, we are joined as one in here,’ she indicated the locket, ‘as we would be in life or in death. And as such, I will protect you with my life.’

He laughed and she felt his forehead move against hers as he shook his head. ‘Pretty words, as someone once told me. I—’

‘Georgiana! Are you in here?’ The bang as the attic door slammed open startled her and she gasped. Ben pulled her closer, and in one swift movement drew his pistol and aimed it at the bearer of the voice.

Lucy, ten years old and promising great beauty even at that age, screamed. Her hands flew to her face and she squeezed her eyes shut. She stood in her white linen night gown like a sturdy little ghost – a very noisy, sturdy little ghost.

‘Lucy!’ Georgiana hissed, breaking away from Ben and hurrying over to her. She slammed the door shut and dragged her small sister over to the window, shaking her hard as she continued to keep her eyes shut and make that wretched noise. ‘Lucy!’

Lucy took after their Father in the fact that she had pale, reddish-coloured hair and hazel eyes; but in her nature she was like their Mother: weak-willed, mindless and easily excitable. Georgiana would hesitate to say it to anyone else, but her sister also possessed a spiteful side which was utterly unpleasant.

Jasper and Georgiana were quite the opposite; in countenance, they resembled their mother, fair-haired and blue-eyed – but they were like their Father in temperament; headstrong and outspoken.

Georgiana gave her sister one final shake and Lucy looked at her at last. ‘Georgiana! I heard noises in the attic.’ She sniffled and fixed doe-eyes upon her. ‘I was scared. I didn’t know what it was. I was in the night nursery and I was sleeping and was terrified that someone was in the house.’

‘If you were truly scared,’ Georgiana snapped, ‘and indeed sleeping, you would not have come up here alone.’ She glared at her and Lucy’s wide-eyed, innocent, hazel gaze slipped slyly to the side.

‘Well, all right,’ she admitted. ‘I may not have been asleep and I may not have been as terrified as all that. But I did hear noises. And I was desperately curious.’ She moved closer to Georgiana as if for protection and stared at Ben. ‘And who exactly are you?’

‘Lucy! How rude!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Lucy dipped a pretty little curtsey, exactly as her mother had taught her and looked up at Ben. ‘I’m Lady Lucy Kerridge, Sir. Please may I enquire who you are?’

‘You have dreadful manners, little sister!’ Georgiana said.

‘Perhaps,’ Lucy acknowledged. That sly look again. ‘But I’m not the one hiding a man in the attic at night time while I’m just wearing my shift.’ She folded her arms triumphantly and glared at Georgiana.

‘The young lady has a point,’ said Ben, a smile in his voice and his pistol now hidden again. ‘I’m a friend, that’s all you need to know. There’s no reason to be scared of me.’

The answer, evasive as it was, seemed to satisfy Lucy for she nodded. ‘Very well. I am Georgiana’s sister. So I suppose that makes you my friend as well.’

‘I suppose it does,’ Ben agreed.

Lucy hitched herself up on the window seat and began to swing her legs back and forth, her bare heels knocking on the wooden panelling. ‘Do you want to see the Priest’s Hole?’ she asked. ‘I can show you it if you like.’

Exasperated, Georgiana opened her mouth to reply but Ben answered first. ‘Not tonight. I have to go. But there is something you could do for me, if you don’t mind?’

‘What is it?’ asked Lucy eagerly.

‘I think my horse shed his shoe somewhere down by the lake. If you happen to see it, will you keep it safe for me?’

‘A horseshoe? Of course, I will!’ Lucy jumped up as if she was going to go down there right now, but Ben raised his forefinger to his lips and stilled her with this motion of secrecy.

‘It’s a special horseshoe,’ he whispered. ‘In daylight, it will turn into a silver coin. That way nobody can ever find me, because they don’t know where I’ve been, you see. So if you find a silver coin there, that’s the horseshoe and you must keep it safe for me.’

‘Will it turn back into a horseshoe at night?’ asked Lucy, her eyes even wider.

‘No. Once a coin, always a coin. It holds a special wish. But it will only work like that if you never tell anyone you met me. Do you understand? If you tell, the silver will be carried off by faeries. Do you like horses, Lady Lucy Kerridge?’

‘I do.’ Lucy nodded, obviously entranced by the lies Ben was telling and almost preening at the fact he had called her by her full title.

‘Well, if the bad faeries find out I’ve been here, they will take the coin and they will find my poor horse and make him work for them. And it’s no life for a good horse.’

‘I see! Very well. I shall search tomorrow and I won’t tell a single living soul ever that I met you.’

‘Good girl. Now, goodnight, little princess.’ He put one hand on her shoulder and steered her gently towards the door. ‘Let me see you safely along the corridor before I take leave of your sister, then in the morning you must see if you can find the horseshoe for me.’

‘Oh, I will! I promise you!’ Lucy ducked away from his hand and hurried over to the door. She turned back to them and smiled. ‘It’s all right. I’m not scared any more. I can go back to my room alone.’ Suddenly seeming to remember her manners, she dipped another curtsey and ran out of the room.

Georgiana dashed after her, watching to make sure she had disappeared. A sliver of white vanished behind the connecting doorway; then the door shut and the corridor was in darkness again.

Georgiana went back into the room and leaned against the door, staring at her lover. His shape filled the window and her stomach lurched as she realised just how badly she wanted him and exactly how dangerous those last few minutes had been.

‘A singular child.’ Ben walked over to her, a lazy smile on his lips; then he leaned past her and shot the bolt. ‘Now. Let me take my leave of you properly, as I promised.’ He drew her towards him. ‘I think we were just about here, were we not?’ He led her towards the window and turned her so he could see her face clearly.

‘Beautiful,’ he whispered and leaned over to kiss her. She closed her eyes, offering herself to him with everything she had, and longed for the day when she could give herself up to him properly.

The door banged again and Elodie blinked.

‘Hey you guys! What are you doing up here?’ asked Cassie.

And Alex and Elodie were both exactly where they had been when Georgiana and Ben arrived in the attic ages ago. Time hadn’t moved on at all.