Pendrift had talked of nothing else since Mr. Monty’s boat had been discovered the previous morning. No one believed Monty had committed suicide. On that they were all agreed. Everyone claimed to know him intimately, for he had been a man happy to pass the time of day with anyone who offered their company. No, the Monty they knew was a man content with his life and only too ready to share that contentment with the rest of the world.
Indeed, Monty was as much a part of the little Cornish town of Pendrift as pasties and clotted cream. He enjoyed reading the papers over a cup of coffee in Maggie Brewick’s Tea House, buying cigarettes in the corner shop, and drinking beer in the Snout & Hound. Everyone greeted him warmly, and he knew them all by name—from the secretary in the doctor’s surgery to old Talek, who sat on the bench gazing out to sea, day in day out, like a discarded coat, getting shabbier with each rainfall.
He took an interest in the most minute details of their lives: a wife whose husband had strayed, a sick dog, trouble with the plumbing, a child who’d won a prize at school, inflation, government, royalty, the way things were always better in the old days. Even Archie wasn’t aware that Mrs. Craddick’s son had been hospitalized with polio. Mrs. Craddick ran the post office and wouldn’t have presumed to chat with Archie or Penelope, but Monty lingered if there wasn’t a queue and although he now came down from London only in the summer, he remembered everything about her family and asked after them all more kindly than her own husband did. His compassion had once reduced her to tears. She had confided in her friends, and he had grown even more in the affections of the community—although perhaps not in those of Mr. Craddick.
Pamela, on the other hand, had never visited the post office, and Celestria only went into town to buy things she didn’t need, just for the small pleasure of shopping. It never occurred to her to speak to the locals. They’d stare at her with wonder in their eyes, for her beauty dazzled them. “Good morning, Miss Montague,” they’d say, the men tipping their hats, the women nodding politely—she knew she was a swan among geese. “Regards to your father,” they’d say, and she’d throw them a gracious smile that they’d devour hungrily, but forget them the minute her head was turned. The first family of Pendrift might be respected and admired from a distance, but Monty was one of them.
It was Sunday morning. While most of the town were Church of England, some, like the Montagues, were Catholic and attended Mass in the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary, one of the few original Catholic churches left standing after Henry VIII had brought the majority crashing to the ground. However, this particular Sunday saw a vast increase in the number of attendants, while the Protestant Church of All Saints was virtually empty. The Reverend Woodley scratched his head in bewilderment and wondered where they had all gone.
Celestria, dressed in black, accompanied the rest of the family to Mass. Harry had barely spoken since their father’s disappearance. His face was sad, but his eyes were empty. Pamela had remained in bed, demanding that Soames telephone the vet because Poochi was off his food. “He’s depressed,” she said. “And I don’t blame him. I’m depressed, too.” David walked ahead with the young boys, but there was no point in trying to cheer everyone up. Julia held Bouncy’s hand while Nanny walked alongside, noticing that the child’s shoelace was coming undone but not wanting to delay the party by bending down to tie it. Elizabeth walked with Archie, using him for support in the place of Monty. She, too, had chosen to wear black. “I’m still in mourning for Ivan,” she explained when Archie arrived to collect her. “I don’t want to be mourning Robert, too. He survived the war, he can survive this.” Milton walked with his wife, who, in the great English tradition of grieving, showed no emotion.
Lotty and Melissa walked on either side of Celestria, like a pair of funereal bridesmaids, their discreet black hats lost beside the flamboyant spray of Celestria’s black feathers. Lotty had been so consumed with sorrow over the disappearance of her uncle that she had crept out of bed in the middle of the night and written to Francis Browne. Having restrained herself for weeks, she now allowed all the pain and longing to pour out of her heart and onto the page in her small, neat handwriting. Sitting alone in her uncle’s study, using the same paper that Monty had used to write his suicide note, she wondered whether Celestria was right that it would be far easier to run off together and elope than to reveal the truth to her parents. In the face of death she felt brave and fearless. Why spend a lifetime with a man she didn’t love, just for the sake of being comfortable? Francis might not have money, but he was rich in all the qualities that truly mattered to her. “I have realized,” she wrote, “that life can be snatched away at any moment. I don’t want a life of compromise. I want it all, and you are everything.” The letter now smoldered in her handbag, waiting to be posted the following morning.
When the Montague family walked down the aisle, every eye turned to watch them, and people bowed their heads with respect as they passed. Julia squeezed Bouncy’s hand, for large crowds of people made him nervous. The little boy reached out for Nanny, who took his other hand and rubbed the soft skin with her thumb. Julia caught eyes with Merlin. He took off his cap and pressed it to his chest, wishing that he could turn the clock back and find her brother-in-law asleep in the boat, instead of that dreadful note in the bottle.
The family took their places in the front two pews. Celestria sat beside her brother and held his hand. He continued to stare ahead as if he hadn’t noticed her. It was hard for both of them, for, while there was no body, there remained a glimmer of hope. Yet that glimmer, like a ray of light, was impossible to hold on to.
Celestria’s mind began to wander, as it always did in Mass. She understood no Latin and found its monotony soporific. She had come because she knew her father would have liked her to and, while that small hope of his survival remained, she believed God still hadn’t made up His mind whether or not to recall him. Perhaps He needed a little persuading, in which case prayer might just do the trick. However, when Father Dalgliesh stood before her, his godly presence enhanced by the splendor of his green vestments, her mind stopped its aimless wandering. The priest looked quite different from the awkward man she had talked to on the doorstep the night before. He had authority and a presence that filled the church. She blushed, suddenly wishing she hadn’t asked him such silly questions, as if his celibacy was something to be laughed at.
“Before I begin Mass, I would like to welcome you to church today. I know many of you are here to pay your respects to Robert Montague and his family at this sad and difficult time. I welcome you all and thank you for your support and comfort.” His eyes settled on Celestria, his expression full of compassion. “We ask God that, through prayer, Robert Montague may be delivered safely back to his family and that, through love, we can all unite and give strength to those who need it.”
Celestria noticed Harry’s bottom lip begin to tremble, and her own eyes stung with tears. Suddenly it all felt so real. He hadn’t come back, and nothing had been heard of him. Although her heart told her it wasn’t possible, her reason began to accept the fact that everything pointed to suicide. Everything but her father’s nature, which perhaps she hadn’t known as well as she thought.
At the end of Mass the congregants spilled out into brazen sunshine that seemed to mock the solemnity of the day. The people of Pendrift paid their respects to Elizabeth, Julia and Archie, Penelope and Milton, smiling sadly at the children, who stood around like animals in a zoo, trying to ignore the assault of curious spectators. Celestria stood apart from the crowd with Lotty and Melissa, who were determined to save their cousin from having to talk to the locals. “As if you haven’t been through enough,” said Melissa sharply, watching her mother shaking hands with people she had never seen before.
“That’s the penance for being the most important family in town,” said Lotty with a sigh. “Everyone feels they own a part of you.”
“No,” said Celestria, shaking her head so that the feathers of her hat floated up and down as if about to fly off. “It’s because Papa was so loved. Everyone here believes they were his intimate friend. They haven’t just lost a distant member of the community, but a friend. I barely recognize them, but Papa knew them all by name. And the older ones, like Old Beardy over there,” she pointed to Merlin, who stood, hat in hand, talking to Archie, “I bet he knew Papa when he was a boy.”
Suddenly a middle-aged woman broke away and approached the three girls. She was buxom and attractive, with hair the color of a field mouse drawn into a bun beneath a navy blue hat. Celestria knew she had seen her somewhere before, but she couldn’t place her. The woman hesitated a moment and seemed to wilt under Celestria’s imperious gaze. Hastily she squared her shoulders, spurred on by the respect she felt for the girl’s father. “I’m Mrs. Craddick,” she said in a soft, girlish voice that curled around her vowels like wood smoke. Celestria extended her hand. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your father. He was a good, kind man. The best.” She smiled and lowered her eyes as the apples of her cheeks flushed pink.
“Thank you,” Celestria replied, wishing the woman would go away. Instead, Mrs. Craddick lifted her gaze, now glittering with tears, and continued.
“You see, my little boy’s been very ill. Very ill indeed. We thought he might die. But your father, Mr. Montague, found the best doctor and paid for him to be treated. He told me never to tell anyone. Well, he didn’t want to embarrass my husband. You see, I don’t want his kindness to go unnoticed. It’s only right that you and the rest of the family should know what he did for others. He was a selfless man, Miss Montague.”
“How is your son now?” Lotty asked.
“Oh, he’s on the mend, thank you, Miss Flint.” She looked at Celestria again. “If it weren’t for your father, my Rewan would…” She stopped suddenly, catching her breath. “Well, I won’t keep you.” She turned and fled, melting back into the sea of dark suits and hats.
“Did you know about that?” Melissa asked Celestria.
Her cousin shook her head. “No.”
“What a dark horse Uncle Monty was,” said Lotty, impressed.
Celestria narrowed her eyes, recalling the conversation she had overheard between Julia and Monty in the library. “So dark he’s invisible,” she added dryly. “I’m beginning to think I don’t know my father at all.”
When Celestria returned to the Hall, she went straight up to see her mother. Pamela was sitting in bed in a cashmere cardigan and nightdress, trying to feed Poochi a piece of bread and pâté. When she saw her daughter, she raised eyes that were red rimmed and shiny. “He won’t eat.”
“He will when he’s hungry,” Celestria replied, unbuttoning her coat.
“He’s lost his appetite.”
“Haven’t we all.”
“I never thought Poochi cared for your father. But he’s obviously devastated.”
“Have you sent a telegram to Grandpa?” Celestria took off her hat and began to pick out the pins in her hair in front of the mirror on Pamela’s dressing table.
“I don’t want to bother him until we know for sure.”
Celestria’s shoulders hunched, and she fiddled with one of the pins absentmindedly. “Oh, I think we do know for sure.”
“Until there’s a body I refuse to believe it.”
“There might never be a body, Mama. As Aunt Penelope so tactfully put it, he might be inside the belly of a fish.”
“They don’t have fish that big off the coast of Cornwall,” Pamela objected. “What does that silly woman know, anyway?” Suddenly she began to cry. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, you silly pooch, eat!”
Celestria perched on the edge of the bed and took her mother’s hand.
“What are we going to do?” Pamela howled. “I can’t go on without Monty. He was everything to me. How could he put me through this? If he was unhappy, he could have told me. We could have worked it out. But to go and kill himself is so unbelievably selfish.”
“We’ll just have to make do,” said Celestria, having to be strong for her mother. “Harry will go back to school. We’ll return to London. Life will continue as it always has. Papa will no longer be there, that’s all.” There was a long silence as Pamela digested her daughter’s words. Then suddenly she grabbed Celestria’s hand.
“Oh, Celestria. I’ve lied to you.”
“Lied to me? What about?”
“Your father and I. The night he disappeared. We did have a fight.”
“What about?”
“He’s a terrible flirt.”
“Papa?”
“Oh, darling. You’re too young to know about such things. You’re innocent, naïve.” Celestria thought of Aidan Cooney but felt nothing but an unbearable emptiness inside. Pamela ran a hand down her daughter’s cheek. “He loves beautiful women. Of course, I’m used to his flirting and turn a blind eye most of the time. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, to watch him turn those honey eyes on someone younger and prettier than me. No one can resist him when he looks at them in that way. It’s like he’s seeing right through you and into you and knows what you want and what your life is lacking. But the other night, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We got upstairs, and I flew at him. I told him that he was too old to go around chatting up young girls, that it made him look a fool.” She drew her fingers across her eyes to wipe away the tears. Her nails were long and red and perfectly manicured. “Then I told him I didn’t want him to spend so much time traveling. That it wasn’t fair to leave me alone so often.”
“What did he say?” Celestria asked in a small voice.
Pamela’s face crumpled with distress. “He got so angry, he didn’t look like himself at all. It was like a stranger had suddenly got inside of him. He told me his flirting was harmless. That it was just a bit of fun. It made him feel alive, he said. He argued that he worked his backside off so that you and I could have nothing but the best, and that Harry could have the finest education England has to offer. He raged that Elizabeth pushes and pushes him to be perfect and that her standards are so high he can’t possibly meet them all of the time. He said he was weary of being corroded by us, like a rock in a vast sea of demanding people, wearing him down little by little until he’d have nothing left to give. He told me I was spoiled and greedy.” Her shoulders began to shake. “He said the sooner you married, the better, because you were only going to turn out like me, driving him insane with your demands.”
“He said that?”
“He said some terrible things, darling. It must have been the alcohol. I swear, I have never seen him like that before. Now it’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life because that is the way I will remember him.”
Celestria sat in silence, a frown lining her brow. She felt as if her mother had just cut out the bottom of her world, sending her tumbling into a hole where there was nothing to grab hold of to stop her falling. She swallowed hard and tried to ignore the ache in her throat.
“Did he kill himself to punish us?” Celestria asked. Her voice came out thin and reedy. “Because we made too many demands? Well, that’s nothing compared to the hell he’s putting everyone through, is it? Father Dalgliesh says that suicide is a mortal sin and that he’s gone straight to hell.”
“He said that?” Pamela asked. “Monty is in hell?”
“I don’t know why you’re looking so surprised, you don’t believe in heaven and hell.”
“No, I don’t. There is no hell, just other people.” She laughed cynically.
Celestria sighed and stood up. “Well, Mama, don’t forget to wire Grandpa. He needs to know. I’m going to write to him myself.”
That afternoon, Celestria sat at her uncle’s desk and opened the top left-hand drawer. Inside, in neat piles, were letterheads and cards for correspondence. She tried to imagine her father’s frame of mind as he had sat there in the middle of the night, deliberating what to write in his suicide note. Surely, she thought, if one is about to take one’s life, one would want to explain to one’s family, to leave them with some peace of mind. Instead, her father had written two meaningless words. Forgive him for what? Taking his own life? Putting his family through hell? Fighting with his wife? For saying such horrid things about his daughter, who was determined never to turn out like her mother, by the way?
She pictured him standing by the window, where she had found him the night of the party. He had looked so different. Solemn and troubled. There had been a ruthlessness to his face that had frightened her. When he had seen her there, his features had softened, restoring to her once again the ebullient father she loved. Slowly she began to put together the pieces gleaned from the conversations she had had with her mother and Aunt Julia and from the couple of times she had spied on him when he had not known that he was being watched. She was more certain than ever that while the rest of the family had blithely enjoyed their summer holiday, Robert Montague had been hiding a dark secret.
She pulled out a sheet of paper and took a pen from the tray on top of the desk. Darling Grandpa, she began. Something terrible has happened, and I need your help…
Elizabeth Montague stood in Father Dalgliesh’s parlor, gazing out of the window into the garden. Her hand gripped her walking stick, and her face was rigid with indignation. He offered her a chair, but she would not take it. “My son is not dead,” she declared, without looking at the priest. She sensed pity in his expression, and, if there was one thing she abhorred, it was pity. “You don’t know my son, do you, Father?”
“I haven’t had that pleasure, Mrs. Montague,” he replied.
“Well, let me tell you about him, then. He is an exceptional man—a wonderful son to me and a wonderful husband, father, brother, and friend. He wouldn’t let us down like this. It isn’t in his nature. He shines brighter than the brightest star. Everyone loves him. I’ll wager there isn’t a person in Pendrift who doesn’t think the world of him. Now why would a man so beloved take his own life?” Her chin wobbled, but she restrained it with a determined stiffening of the jaw.
“I am at a loss,” he replied.
“He is a success. Everything he touches turns to gold. He has that Montague charm, like his father. Young Bouncy has it; Celestria, too, though what good is it in a girl as superficial as Celestria? It’s wasted. You know, Robert made his first fortune when he was a very young man. He traveled the world determined to prove himself. Archie came into the world with a niche already carved out for him. His destiny was here at Pendrift. Robert had to carve his niche on his own. I never doubted he’d return in glory. Robert has more ability, intelligence, and wit than my other two children put together. He persuaded us to invest in a sugar venture in Brazil. We didn’t hesitate, and we were right to trust him. Robert made us all rich.” She turned her rheumy eyes to the priest. “I know a mother shouldn’t love one child over and above her other children, but I do. I love Robert the best. He makes me very proud.”
Father Dalgliesh didn’t know what to say. He stood awkwardly knitting his fingers while this formidable woman stared at him defiantly. He wished God would inspire him with the right words to comfort her, but he heard nothing.
“It is in God’s hands,” he said clumsily.
“Perhaps,” she snapped, turning to face the garden again. “I expected to outlive my husband, but I never expected to outlive my son. My youngest child. My most beloved Robert. No, I will not accept it. If he was in trouble, he would have told me. I’m his mother. He would have come to me.”
“All we can do is pray for his deliverance.”
“Prayer,” she sniffed dismissively. “I’m devout. I pray constantly. Where has it got me?” She shuffled past him. “I was rather hoping you’d offer me a miracle, Father Dalgliesh.”
“I wish I were able to.”
“Well, if you can’t turn water into wine, you had better pray. I shall pray, too, with the rest of my family. He’s in God’s hands now. There’s nothing more we can do.”