Chapter Eight

My wedding day dawned as perfect as any bride could wish for. From my window, I watched the fingers of early morning sun creep across the lake and light the glowing autumn colours on the woodland slopes beyond. The gentlest of breezes softly whispered across the grass, rippling it like soft waves on a green ocean. Even the birds sang a dawn chorus, solely for my benefit.

I was awake early and occupied with my own thoughts when Mary brought my breakfast on a tray.

Courtney brides, even unwelcome ones, were treated with tenderness and indulgence.

‘It’s the most beautiful day, miss. Aren’t you lucky?’

I smiled wryly, but agreed with her. The girl was as excited as if it were her own wedding day.

But how could she know that this was the day I had dreaded for weeks? This meant, for me, the end of all freedom.

Later, as I dressed, I noticed the slight colour in my cheeks, the brightness of my eyes only enhanced my appearance. These outward bridal signs were not caused by happy anticipation, but by fear, cold and reasoned.

I feared the final bond which bound me irrevocably to the Courtneys.

The mirror told me I looked as well as most brides—would that my heart matched my appearance, I thought.

The wedding dress was a work of art on the part of the little dressmaker. The bodice had a waistcoat front of finely pleated satin with delicate lace flounces on the sleeves and a stand-up collar. A flower-sprigged brocade formed an overdress which draped itself over the bustle and fell in soft folds to a train. The delicate veil was held in place by traditional orange blossom forming a high headdress.

Mary was my only companion that morning, for no one must see my bridal array until I left my room on my way to church.

Mary fussed round me, and I was grateful for her excited chatter.

Ready half-an-hour before I had to leave, I persuaded her to go and get ready herself.

‘Are you sure, miss? I don’t like leavin’ you, really. You look—well—nervous, miss.’

I smiled. Perhaps Mary guessed a little of what I was feeling, but did not like to put it into words.

‘Mary, you have helped me enormously—but I am perfectly prepared, now. Off you go or you’ll miss the service.’

Alone once more, I stood at the long window of my room. This window, at the back of the great house, looked upon nothing of the flurrying carriages and coaches, which I knew were leaving at the front of the house. My panorama was peaceful, sunlit countryside. The trees, still clothed in their autumnal leaves, rustled gently and the river glimmered in the sunlight.

The countryside was happy and so beautiful that I felt a lump in my throat.

I thought of Aunt Virginia and Uncle James and longed for their comforting presence on this dreadful day. My letter to Uncle James, an impassioned plea for his help, for his permission to join him in Canada, lay unposted in my writing bureau. Later, I should destroy it. Every day, I had tried to find the courage to send it. But somehow, the pride which held my tears in check, also forbade that I should beg and plead for favours.

I was already the unwilling recipient of too many Courtney favours.

For some strange, twisted reason of his own, Bassett had demanded that I married him. I was certain, now, that he was using me as a means of avoiding marriage with Millicent; a means to avoid hurting the girl in a blunt fashion; a means to thwart his mother’s plans; and perhaps even a means of quelling the rebellious spirit of the orphan who had arrived, unwelcomed, on his doorstep.

To rebel against a marriage which promised a reasonable security and a high standard of living was unthought of, especially one which led to the luxurious living of the mistress of Courtney Hall. But what of happiness?

In that half hour as I waited in my bridal gown, I firmly believed that the happiness I had known in my life when I had lived with Aunt Virginia and Uncle James was far behind me, and that I should never taste such happiness again.

Suddenly, I longed for Georgiana’s company, and Charles’ too. They had some affection for me, I thought. I forced myself to forget my self-pity and to count my fortunes.

I smiled wryly to myself.

At least plain Louella Lloyd was not to be left an old maid. At least I was entering the honourable state of marriage. I would be well established and comfortable.

But still—I could not forget my dislike of the man I had to marry.

I shuddered to think that I had to submit to this man’s every demand, and I dreaded my wedding night.

A gentle tap on the bedroom door disturbed my troubled thoughts.

‘ ’Tis time for you to come down, now, miss,’ Mary’s excited face peered round the door. ‘ There be only Dr Corby waiting to take you to church.’

I picked up my bouquet of red roses, carefully, whilst Mary came forward to adjust the gossamer veil over my face.

Slowly, almost regally, we descended the stairs.

Charles stood in the hall, resplendent in his new suit. As I had no relation near, Charles was to give me away.

His face was sober. I wondered what could be amiss. My heart lurched. Was something wrong between Georgiana and him. There was such an odd expression in his eyes.

Mary slipped away down the passage to hurry across the field to the little church standing in the Courtney parklands, only a short distance from the Hall.

Still Charles did not speak but continued to stare at me.

‘Charles …’ I began hesitantly.

He jumped visibly.

‘Louella—forgive me—I was beginning to wonder if you were real. My dear, I never realised how beautiful you would look.’

‘Bless you, Charles. But I don’t need flattery to give me courage—I am quite resigned.’

A small frown crossed his face, then he smiled.

‘Dear Louella, who has given me so much happiness with my dearest Georgiana, when will you learn to distinguish truth from flattery? But come, we must away. Your golden coach awaits, princess.’

And so, with Charles’ strange mood dispelled and his buoyant spirit restored, we left Courtney Hall—I for the last time as Miss Louella Lloyd.

It seemed that all the residents of Courtney village were milling round the church. They waved, smiled and shouted greetings and good wishes. I was moved by their friendliness.

The organ notes, muted and solemn, met us as we alighted from the coach and stepped into the porch.

The church door opened and we waited briefly whilst Georgiana, as my matron of honour, took her place behind us.

I could not help a stab of envy as I saw the loving look which passed between Charles and Georgiana, and their quick touching of hands.

A stir of expectancy ran through the packed church as the organist strode purposefully into the Bridal March. The congregation rose as we entered through the west door and walked solemnly up the aisle.

I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the Altar, far away under the glowing stained-glass window.

We reached the steps, the vicar moved forward to meet us and I felt Bassett move to my side.

All my life I had dreamed of this moment when I would arrive at this place, look up and meet the eyes of the man I loved.

But that was my dream.

And this was reality.

I had arrived, but I did not look up to meet Bassett’s eyes. I kept my gaze straight ahead and met the kindly eyes of the ageing vicar.

I have ever since regretted that I did not greet my bridegroom in the customary way, for perhaps then we might, in that solemn, awe-inspiring moment, have found a mutual understanding.

But my foolish stubbornness once more prevented me from displaying any of the normal reactions of a happy bride.

I would not disgrace the Courtneys with sulkiness, but neither would I pretend to feel that which I did not.

And so the service began. The beautiful words flowed on, ringing through the sunlit. Holy place in the vicar’s deep tones. I think I made a silent prayer that perhaps one day, the vow I took now would cease to be the mockery it was.

I understood the feelings of numerous girls and women who had stood thus, at a stranger’s side, a man chosen by her parents and who had to promise to ‘love, honour and obey’ him until death.

The service seemed to be over very quickly and we were stepping into the bright sunlight once more, now as man and wife. I smiled and acknowledged the greetings of our guests and the villagers, but though I felt Bassett’s eyes upon me from time to time, not once would I glance in his direction. The only acknowledgement I made of his presence, in fact, was my hand upon his arm.

The next few hours were to me a blur of faces, a cacophony of voices wishing us happiness, and a mountain of food at the grand banquet little of which I felt like eating.

Bassett had decided that we should not leave the estate for a honeymoon, for there was a great deal of work on hand for him with the harvesting of his lands. We were merely to take up immediate residence in the suite of rooms which had been redecorated and furnished as our own home. Though, naturally, Bassett, as unofficial master of Courtney, would continue to direct his business from his study—the hub of the Courtney estate.

I had never in my life seen such grandeur as was displayed at my wedding. The Courtneys had certainly spared no expense, neither had the guests, it seemed, in their dress.

Millicent looked really beautiful for she wore a gown of midnight blue satin, the slim fitting accentuating her tiny waist. The dark colour enhanced her fragile, fair beauty. Though I knew I looked as well as I could in my wedding dress, I could not help feeling inferior beside Millicent. I wondered whether or not Bassett was making a comparison and realising how much more justice Millicent would have done to my gown. Perhaps, even now, he might be regretting his hasty decision.

At last the exacting day was over and as I stepped out of my finery in the dressing-room adjoining the bridal chamber, an involuntary shudder shook me as I pictured the years of misery which lay ahead of me. Marriage, so I believed, was sacred and for ever. I felt ashamed and guilty to think that our marriage was a shallow tying together of two people who felt no love for each other. But, I comforted myself, so many marriages of convenience lacked true love, at least at the outset. Some, luckily, grew to love, but for every one that did, there was certainly one which did not.

I was weary with the day’s ceremonies, tired of being looked upon as the happy, blushing bride, when, in fact, I was inwardly still seething with anger against the man who had brought it about—Bassett Courtney.

With Mary’s help once more, I changed into the finely embroidered nightgown. Now we were in the suite of rooms prepared for Bassett and his bride. Bassett had arranged that we had separate but adjoining bedrooms. So it was that I sat in my bedroom, after Mary had left me, fearfully watching the communicating door which I knew would open.

The room was tastefully decorated and furnished in the luxurious style typical of the Courtneys, and the bed, from which I kept my frightened eyes averted, was ornamented and heavily quilted with fine, embroidered silk.

A gentle tap sounded on the communicating door and without waiting for a reply, it opened and the master of Courtney Hall stood there.

It seemed an age that we stared at each other, Bassett with a cold mask of indifference on his face—I showing my fear plainly. He came towards me slowly and I felt panic surge up inside me, but I willed myself to calmness and met his gaze steadfastly.

Bassett stretched out his hand and touched my cheek tenderly in a caress. I was surprised at a display of gentleness from him, but still the hard expression on his face remained.
‘Poor child,’ he said softly, ‘forced to marry a man you despise.’
It was not a question but a statement and I did not contradict him. He touched my hair and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder.
‘I make no further demands upon you, Louella,’ he said, his voice strangely hoarse, as if he were suffering stress, ‘until such time as you might—wish it.’
Abruptly he turned and left me, and the door to his room closed behind him.

The emotions of the day, this last unexpected act of gallantry by Bassett, were too much to bear.

I fell into bed. And I, who never wept, sobbed myself to sleep.

Life at Courtney Hall began to revert to normal, that is, in most respects. I was treated as I had been when I first arrived. There were slight differences, of course.

I was now Mrs Courtney—though in name only—and the servants and villagers treated me with the respect which my newly acquired name demanded.

Millicent, a frequent visitor to the Hall, was hardly ever absent from it for long. She and Lady Courtney still derided and scorned me whenever possible, so that I avoided their company as much as I could. This was easier than before, now that Bassett and I had the west wing of the great house as our own suite of rooms, though Bassett used them little.

I, on the other hand, was glad of a means of escape and my rooms were my castle.

Georgiana and Charles came to live at Courtney Hall eventually as life in the Corby house, with Evelyn, began to put a great strain upon their marriage. The Courtneys had now forgiven Georgiana and Charles for their elopement and had in fact accepted Charles completely. So the east wing of the Hall was put aside for their use. My friendship with them in those lonely days was, I believe, the only thing which saved my sanity. But I could not presume too much on their time for a young couple so much in love needed to be alone, and as Charles was fast becoming the most popular doctor in the surrounding district, their leisure moments were few.

I hardly saw my husband for when he was not engaged in the affairs of the estate he delighted in accompanying either Millicent or Evelyn on carriage expeditions or riding.

Never once did he ask me to go with him. Never once did he give any explanation of his activities. He seems to delight, I thought angrily as I watched Bassett, Evelyn and Millicent ride away one afternoon, in ignoring me now. Safely married, he can now flirt with whom he pleases.

I felt the tears prick my eyelids. It’s not that I’m jealous of them, I told myself, for jealousy surely only arises from love, but to be spurned thus—what must the villagers be saying?

But it was probable that the villagers, if they did see him in the company of either Millicent or Evelyn or both, saw nothing wrong, for was not Millicent his cousin and Evelyn his sister-in-law almost? And no villager, all of whom without exception I knew worshipped their young master, would think ill of Bassett until it hit them in the face.

During the next few weeks I passed through a dreadful time of loneliness and depression.

Married to a man I loathed, branded by his mother as an unwanted burden and a thief, and always, lurking in the background, was the mystery surrounding my mother and the Courtney family.

Lady Courtney still retained full charge of the household management and there was little for me to do.

It was during this time that I became closer than ever to Sir Hugh. During the warm days of autumn he would often, when he could tear himself away from his books, take walks with me, usually along the river bank.

He was a gentle man and he delighted in talking about the poets and writers whose works he loved.

Occasionally, he would mention his family, but only some casual remark about recent happenings. Though I longed to ask him about the mystery which seemed to surround myself and the Courtneys, I dare not broach the subject directly, and though I was sometimes able to turn the conversation towards the Courtney ancestry, never, unfortunately, did Sir Hugh let slip any remark which would throw light upon the matter for me.

It was when the weather began to turn considerably colder towards the beginning of November that I first noticed a marked change in Sir Hugh’s health. His hands began to shake and his speech was sometimes slurred. No other member of the family seemed to notice this and I said nothing as I told myself it was probably merely a sign of his age and not of ill health.

But on entering his study one November morning to ask him if he cared to come with me on a brisk walk to the river, I found him grasping the arm of his chair, his face purple, his breathing a rasping sound dragged painfully through his parted lips.

Frightened though I was, I managed to loosen his collar and to get him to lay back in his chair whilst I ran for help.

Fortunately, Bassett was just entering the hall as I flew out of his father’s study.

‘Bassett, come quickly. Your father is ill.’

He hurried towards me, alarm showing plainly on his face and we entered the study together.

‘Fetch Jonathan and Charles, if he’s at home,’ said Bassett.

Quickly I ran in search of Jonathan, Sir Hugh’s personal manservant, and having explained to him, I again ran on, through the corridors, up the wide stairs and along to the east wing.

Georgiana answered my impatient knock.

‘Is Charles at home?’ I said breathlessly.

‘Yes, but …’

‘Ask him to come quickly, it’s your father, Georgiana, he’s ill.’

‘Charles,’ Georgiana ran to her husband and he rose immediately from the desk where he was writing and took her hands.

‘What is it, dearest?’

‘It’s my father. Louella says he is ill.’ Without hesitate, Charles ran the way I had come whilst Georgiana and I hastened after him, pausing only whilst she questioned me.

‘Is he—very bad, Louella?’ and her lower lip trembled.
‘I didn’t stay to see. I must be honest I made him as comfortable as I could then I ran to find—someone.’

I hesitated as I said the last word, for it suddenly struck me that when I had hurried from Sir Hugh’s side in search of help, there had been one person on my mind—Bassett.
Even though I feared him, I acknowledged to myself that it was to him I knew I could run in trouble and in him find strength and help.
When we reached the hall, Charles and Bassett were helping Sir Hugh to his bedroom.

Old Jonathan hovered anxiously behind his master.
Sir Hugh looked a little better than when I had first found him, but still he could not walk without assistance.

Later, comfortably settled in bed, Sir Hugh seemed much better, so Charles told us when he came in to the drawing-room, where we were all waiting for him.
Lady Courtney, who had now been told about her husband’s illness, was the first to voice what was uppermost in all our minds.

‘Have you any idea what it is?’
‘As far as I can tell after a preliminary examination, it seem Sir Hugh has had a heart attack.’

Lady Courtney gasped.
‘Serious?’ asked Bassett.
‘Not this one, but I’m afraid there may be more, each successively more serious and then, I am afraid …’

Charles did not need to finish for we all knew the full meaning behind his words.

Georgiana began to cry quietly and Charles crossed the room to comfort her.

‘I’m sorry, my dear, perhaps I should not have told you.’
But Georgiana shook her head.
‘No, Charles. I’d rather know.’

‘Is there anything we can do?’ said Lady Courtney. ‘Bassett, should we call in a heart specialist?’

Bassett looked enquiringly at Charles.

‘Don’t think we underestimate your capabilities, Charles, but do you think? …’

‘Of course, Bassett, you must do whatever you wish. Perhaps it would be as well since I am so closely connected if Sir Hugh were to be attended by another physician.’ His arm went about Georgiana. ‘In fact, I’d prefer it. Sir Joshua Fotheringhay is one of the best authorities I know on heart ailments. He lives but fifty miles from here. I’ll set out immediately to fetch him.’

‘No—no,’ said Bassett, ‘it’s good of you, but it would be better if you stayed here.’

He thought quickly.

‘One of my men from the village will go willingly, I am sure.’

‘Then I will write an explanatory letter to him,’ said Charles.

‘That’s a good idea.’

And they left the room together.

I turned to see Lady Courtney glaring at me.

‘See what trouble you have brought upon us by your deception?’

For a moment I could not understand. Then I realised she was blaming the disappearance of the Courtney dagger for Sir Hugh’s illness. And, of course, as she believed I had stolen it, I was the cause.

Bassett returned at that moment and so she said no more.

Sir Joshua arrived the next day, but he merely confirmed Charles’ diagnosis.

He had an important medical conference to attend and could stay no longer than a few hours. Even the Courtney wealth could not buy the attention of this eminent main, whose devotion to the medical profession, would surely go down in history.

‘There is little point in my staying, Mr Courtney. Your brother-in-law, Dr Corby, is a most capable young man. And I am afraid there is little I can do in Sir Hugh’s case.’

The grey haired man shook his head sadly.

‘I’m very sorry.’ He cleared his throat and added briskly, ‘ I’ve given Dr Corby detailed instructions as to exactly what may be done in any event. I’ll come again in four days.’

‘Thank you. Sir Joshua, it was good of you to come so quickly,’ Bassett replied.

‘Not at all, I only wish there was more I could do.’

So it was that the great physician left an unhappy household. There was little we could do and each day Sir Hugh sank lower. He had three more quite severe attacks and eventually, he would lapse into unconsciousness.

When he roused again he would become restless and fretful and would shout and ramble incessantly about his past life, his wife and my mother and other names, including his parents.

Early on the fourth morning after Sir Hugh had first been taken ill, I was awakened by a soft knock on my bedroom door. The pale light of dawn was only just beginning to glimmer through the curtains as I opened the door to find Bassett, his face tired and strained, his hair rumpled, standing there.

‘Louella, I’m sorry to wake you. But father is in a very distressed state calling for Victoria.’ He paused and said softly, ‘I think perhaps if you would come, it might calm him.’

‘Of course, Bassett, I’ll come at once.’

I fetched my wrap and followed Bassett along the dimly lit corridor. Since Sir Hugh’s illness, the corridor candles were kept burning throughout the night.

As I entered the sick-room, I was shocked to see the change in Sir Hugh. I had been to visit him several times during his illness, but mostly I had found him asleep. Now, for the first time, I was to see him threshing about the bed—his face shrunken and lined with suffering, his eyes wide and staring, and his brow wet with fever.

I took his hot hand in mine and spoke softly, and, I hope, soothingly.

Miraculously, it seemed to me, he began to quieten.

‘Victoria,’ he whispered, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to help you get well again.’

‘Mama will not like you coming here—does she know?’

How could I answer him—I could not understand the meaning of his words. I looked enquiringly at Bassett.

He shook his head as if to tell me to reply negatively.

‘No,’ I told Sir Hugh, ‘she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. Now you lie quietly and try to sleep. You mustn’t distress yourself so.’

Sir Hugh’s pale lips parted in an effort to smile.

‘Dear Victoria, your word is my command, always.’

And he slept.

I sighed with relief.

‘Thank you, Louella. Jonathan and I have been trying for a long time to quieten him,’ Bassett said, ‘ and to think you can do it so easily.’

‘I’ll stay with him as long as you wish me to, Bassett, you know that.’

‘Thank you, my …’ he stoped and ran his hand through his hair, his eyes dark with weariness.

‘You must rest, Bassett. I’ll stay with him now.’

‘Very well. Perhaps I will, if you’re sure? …’

‘Of course.’

After Bassett and Jonathan had left, I sat in the still room and held Sir Hugh’s hand as he slept and watched him. His face was now peaceful, no longer ravaged by distressing emotions. But I noticed that he had aged considerably since the start of his illness.

As I watched, pitying the sick man, his eyes flickered open and for a while he lay staring at the ceiling. I did not move or speak for I had no wish to disturb him. I prepared myself for further delirium. But he turned his head slowly on the pillow, the morning light catching his silver hair. He saw me and smiled.

‘Ah, Louella, I am glad it is you with me. I wish to tell you something.’

I patted his hand comfortingly.

‘You must not tire yourself, Sir Hugh. Try to rest. Whatever you have to tell me will wait.’

‘No,’ he whispered gently, ‘I can wait no longer, my child, or I may leave it too late.’

The reference to his death was not made with self-pity but with resignation and peaceful acceptance. He was ready for death, ready for the release, but first he had something to tell me and I knew what it was.

He was, at last, going to tell me the secret surrounding my mother and me. It was strange that now, as he neared death, for he undoubtedly did, his mind had cleared and he spoke slowly and deliberately, missing nothing in his tragic tale.

‘Louella, my dear, before I begin, just reach into the drawer of that little table, here at my bedside. There is something I must return to you.’

I opened the drawer and there lay the missing miniature of my mother. Wordlessly, I picked it up and stood it on the table. Sir Hugh turned his head and looked at it for a long time. With a sigh he turned away again and began his story.

‘Louella, many years ago, when I was a young man of twenty, we, the Courtneys, lived in this house, as we do now. My father was a weak-willed man who cared nothing for the fortunes amassed by his ancestors, and would undoubtedly have frittered it away leaving us penniless had it not been for my mother. She, Lady Florence Cunningham, had married my father in his heyday, before he had slipped into bad ways. She was a strong-minded, steadfast woman, an ardent believer in family tradition. She undertook to save the Courtney name and fortune as if it were her own family name. My brother and I were a constant disappointment to her. We lacked her vigour, her strength of character, and resembled more the weakness of my father. It was at this time that the Courtney dagger was sold by my father and its loss was blamed as the cause of the unhappy story I have to tell you.’

He paused, lost in memories, no doubt. I waited impatiently, but did not hurry him.

‘There lived in Courtney village, the Lloyd family, a respectable family enough, well-born and well-bred, but poor. They were not of the aristocracy that my mother regarded the Courtneys were.

‘Victoria and Virginia Lloyd were the beautiful daughters of the Lloyd household and one glorious summer, my brother James and I met the Lloyd sisters high on the hills surrounding Courtney estate. That summer was the only really happy time I remember in my life. We fell in love with the Lloyd girls, passionately, reverently and for ever.’

I saw the tears well in Sir Hugh’s eyes, he was indeed reliving his happiness, and sadness, in telling me.

‘I hardly need tell you the rest, Louella, do I? I fell in love with Victoria and James with Virginia, whom he later married.

‘But being the eldest son and heir to the Courtney fortune I was expected to marry the woman of my parent’s choice. She was Emily Bassett, daughter of Major Phillip Bassett and his wife, Georgiana, a family of equal standing to the Courtneys. I refused because I could never love her, not now that I had met the only woman I could ever love, Victoria. Even at twenty, I knew with one of those rare moments of wisdom in the young that Victoria was my one true love.

‘It has been my life’s regret, my remorse and shame that I was not strong enough to win the furious and bitter battle which ensued between my mother and myself over Victoria and Emily.

‘James, of course, though my mother did her utmost to dissuade him, eventually married Virginia, for he was only the second son, and carried no family tradition to matter. My mother was heartless and remorseless in her refusal to allow my marriage to your mother. Had I been stronger, of her mettle, I would have spurned the family and married the woman I loved. For, Louella, I was a fortunate fellow in that your mother was gracious enough to love me. I use the word “gracious” purposely, for that is how I think of her as a woman, a lady, who in her spirit, in her character was worth far more than the Courtney name. She was her own individual gentility.’

He paused, for his long story was tiring, but he continued purposefully.

‘But I gave way to my mother and married Emily Bassett. Poor Emily,’ he spoke with pity, ‘I have not made her happy, it has not been within my power when my heart belonged to another.

‘Your mother left Courtney village, broken hearted, I believe, and four years later, she married a distant cousin of hers of the same name, Adam Lloyd. I met him only once some years before when he had visited the Lloyd family in Courtney. He, like me, loved her deeply.’

A gentle smile crossed Sir Hugh’s weary face and much of the age slipped away.

‘In fact, I cannot understand any man not loving her. Adam was good and kind to her but I believed she only loved him as second best, and for that I pitied him.

‘I kept in touch, you understand, through James and Virginia, though I never saw my love again after that summer when we had met, fallen in love and parted, broken in spirit. Seven years after their marriage, you were born. But in giving you life, my child, your mother gave hers.’

He patted my hand comfortingly.

‘I hope you never feel guilty about being the cause of your mother’s death, for she would have had it no other way, my child, believe me. Your father, poor man, died a year later, broken and dispirited. He pined to death, they said. I could understand it, for I myself, at the news of Victoria’s death, sank into a dark and dreadful time. Poor Emily, knowing from the beginning of my love for Victoria, could do nothing to pull me from my depression, and I believe if it had not been for my joy in my own two children, I should have allowed my life to drift away as Adam did. You were, as you know, cared for by Virginia and James, and they loved you as their own daughter.

‘As you grew older it was obvious you would be the living image of your mother. You brought joy and pain mingled to those around you for it was like having Victoria back with us again. Whenever you came to Courtney Hall as a child it was to revive sad memories for me and bitter thoughts for Emily.

‘When Virginia died there was only James left belonging to you. And as you grew older it was impossible for a beautiful woman like you to remain alone with James Courtney. Tongues began to wag and to remember the old days, for, believe me, such scandals amongst the aristocracy are remembered and talked about for many, many years.

‘So, poor child, you were brought to Courtney Hall, and I know you have suffered exceedingly at the hand of my wife and of Millicent.’

He turned and lifted himself on his pillows to clasp my hands in his.

‘Dear little Louella, so like Victoria, I grieve to think of the pain I myself have caused you in my foolish ramblings in mistaking you for your mother. Now do you understand why Emily has hated and feared you?’

I nodded, unable to speak, for I pitied Emily Bassett Courtney for her years of unhappiness and at last I understood with compassion the reason for her hatred of me.

‘Emily knew I have never been able to give her the love she had a right to. I doubt she has loved me for she has never shown it. Her love has been lavished on Bassett and her fierce protection and pride in him has perhaps compensated for the lack of love in her marriage. I hope so. I dearly hope so, for she did not deserve such a life. It was none of her doing.’

And Sir Hugh fell back on his pillow.

‘There is just one more thing, child. I am sorry for taking your picture, but when I saw it in your room one day, the joy at having a likeness of your mother was too great to bear. I have drawn strength and comfort from it. Forgive me, child. Take it back for it is yours.’

‘Keep it Sir Hugh, please, if it gives you happiness.’

‘Bless you child, you do your mother proud. I will keep it only until I die, which will surely not be long, and then you must take it back.’

And without warning Sir Hugh lost consciousness once more.

He never regained it.

For two days and nights he lingered between the realms of life and the river of oblivion.

I insisted that I should attend to his wants personally.

Lady Courtney overcome with remorse and grief, now the end was near, gave way to hysteria and took to her bed.

Georgiana looked tired and strained with trying to comfort her mother and with the genuine grief that her gentle, absent-minded father would soon no longer pore over the yellowing pages of his beloved books. No longer would the small book-lined room he called his study be filled with his tobacco smoke, a warm refuge from the realities which faced him beyond its door.

Bassett commanded that I should rest, but I found sleep, restful sleep, impossible. I was disturbed by dreaming of Sir Hugh and my mother as young lovers, but their faces would change into Bassett and myself and then we would start quarrelling and I would wake feeling miserable.

Sir Hugh died peacefully. I was thankful that Bassett was with me. It was gone midnight and Bassett was insisting, in whispers, that I should retire. He said he would stay with his father until dawn when Charles would take over.

But our attention was drawn by the frail figure in the bed.

His breath was becoming laboured. His hands moved restlessly for a few moments and then—he was gone and his face at once became peaceful and serene. The years slipped away and he was almost a young man.

I saw the face my mother had loved. I saw in it the gentleness and kindness that, in its weakness, had been the cause of so much unhappiness.

Bassett stood by the bed looking down at his father.

Stirred by compassion for him, I moved to his side and instinctively sought and held his hand.

In that moment he was not the man I feared, but a son grief-stricken at his father’s death, and whom I wanted to comfort.

His hand gripped mine. Then suddenly his arm was around my shoulders and he was leading me from the room.

Together we went down the dimly lit stairs past the flickering candles.

In the hall old Jonathan waited anxiously, knowing there was trouble.

‘It’s the end, Jonathan,’ Bassett’s voice was strong but, a tone deeper with the emotion he held in check. ‘See to everything, will you?’

The old man’s eyes filled with tears and his aged back seemed to bend even more as his master left the Earth.

‘Of course. I’m very sorry, Sir Bassett.’

Bassett stiffened and I stared at the unfamiliar use of Bassett’s hereditary title.

Bassett turned towards his father’s study and opened the door. We moved into the dark room. A fire still burned brightly in the grate and Sir Hugh’s faithful hound, Juniper, raised sorrowful eyes to us and whined pitifully and knowingly.

Bassett stroked the dog’s head soothingly and sat down in his father’s old leather chair.

The firelight flickered, a log fell and sparks flew throwing strange shadows on the wall.

I knelt on the rug before the fire at Bassett’s feet.

I forgot my dislike of him, I forgot his cold treatment of me during the past months. I forgot even that he was my husband. In that small room, Bassett, now Sir Bassett Courtney, truly Master of Courtney, was just a young man grieving for his father, a man I wanted to comfort.

He bent forward, gazing into the fire, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together.

Overcome by a feeling of tenderness aroused by the look of sadness on his face, I took his strong hands in mine and laid my cheek against them.

He did not spurn my action and we sat for a long time saying nothing. Then, as if to relieve the pain he felt that his father would no longer sit in that very chair, would no longer amble through the great corridors of Courtney Hall, would no longer call me Victoria, Basset began to talk about Sir Hugh.

‘Poor father, he had such little happiness in his life. He may have seemed to you a weak insignificant man.’

‘No, Bassett, never. He was a gentle person who only wished to live in peaceful harmony.’

‘He never enjoyed the life of stress and strain attached to amassing the Courtney fortune,’ and once more Bassett’s tone was bitter as he spoke of his family’s wealth. ‘ He’s been happier since he handed that over to me.’

He paused and his voice was full of sadness.

‘But I knew he was always there if I needed his advice. And now he won’t be there any more.’

What could I say in comfort? I grieved for my own part at the loss of Sir Hugh, who had recently become my friend. And now that I had heard the full story surrounding himself and my mother, I felt even more love for him because he had loved my mother and had also been loved by her in return.

‘Sir Hugh told me about my mother,’ I told Bassett softly.

‘Did he? I’m glad. I thought you should have known long ago, but it was not my secret to reveal.’

‘That’s just what Georgiana said once.’

There was a moment’s silence then I said,

‘Poor Lady Courtney hasn’t had a happy life either knowing about it all.’

Bassett smiled, though the sadness remained in his eyes.

‘Even though she has been so cruel to you, you can still find pity for her?

I looked up into those deep brown eyes of his.

‘I understand now what my coming here must have meant for her, for you all. No doubt I would have done much the same in her position.’

‘I think not,’ Bassett said softly, ‘but I am thankful and grateful that you can forgive.’

We sat in silence in the firelight for some time, neither of us wanting to leave the safety of this cosy room. Neither wanted to face the reality beyond the door. Death, mourning and all the necessary arrangements which Bassett would have to make.

The funeral was a lavish affair. I had never seen such grandeur bestowed upon what was after all now a lifeless and useless body. It seemed to me that it would have been far kinder if all the people who arrived clad in black, the women who pressed handkerchiefs to their lips and dabbed their tearful eyes, had given Sir Hugh more affection and attention during his life, there would have been far more sense in it. Lady Courtney, now composed from her brief bout of what I supposed was genuine grief, now retained a stony expression and there was no trace of tears in her eyes.

The slow funeral procession seemed never-ending as it wound down the hill from Courtney Hall and to the small church, where only weeks before all the people who now followed in mournful guise, had attended Bassett’s wedding, for them a joyful occasion.

The whole village, I am sure, without exception, fell into step behind the family mourners and their tears were at least genuine sorrow. The solemn service soon over, the coffin was lowered into the cold earth. Sir Hugh’s grave had been placed next to his parents and beside his were further vacant plots for the rest of the Courtney family. I shuddered. This was a sorrowful place, and I knew Sir Hugh would have hated it as much as I did.

And so the funeral party returned to the Hall, Sir Bassett, and I, now Lady Courtney, how strange the title seemed, leading the way.

Poor Sir Hugh was gone, and now his son was truly Master of Courtney Hall. And as I watched his face, still showing traces of the natural grief he felt, I seemed to see it grow older and take on an even sterner expression now that he had complete control of the Courtney wealth.