‘He’s on his way home,’ Sir Philip said as he opened the telegram. ‘He’ll be here in a couple of days.’
Pilgrim’s Oak was a house in mourning. The curtains were drawn against the daylight, voices were hushed, footsteps light upon the stairs. Everyone was dressed in black, hurriedly ordered by Fran to show respect for the unexpected death.
Fran couldn’t wait for Rupert to get home. She had had to carry the weight of her parents’ grief alone. Her mother had been prostrate ever since she had seen Justin’s body laid out in the morning room.
‘I shall never be able to go into that room again,’ she had wailed. ‘What can have happened to him? How did he drown? I always hated him fishing!’
Sir Philip had been as strong and withdrawn as any man of his age faced with the death of a son. There was no wailing or tears from him, just a rigidity of body and mind as he had to accustom himself to the fact that Justin would never again walk in through the house in muddy boots, or be scolded by his mother for doing so.
Fran took on the arrangements for the funeral, for the notices to The Times and The Morning Post. It was Fran who consulted with Mrs Darwin about the baked meats to be served at the house to those who returned there after the service; with Mrs Crowley, the housekeeper, about which rooms should be prepared for Lady Chalfont’s sister and her husband, Lord and Lady Devenish, who were coming to stay for the funeral. And all the while she was worried Rupert would not arrive in time. How long had the telegram taken to find him? How long had his reply been in coming back?
There was also Kitty to consider; she and her family were almost as devastated as Justin’s own. They had liked and respected Justin as a person, but Sir James had been particularly pleased with the alliance because, as he had no male heir, Kitty’s sons would inherit from both sides of the family. It was a blow to his plans, as he didn’t hesitate to say to his wife.
‘Well, please don’t put it in those terms to Katharine,’ she retorted. ‘It’s her fiancé we’re talking about here, the man she was going to marry. Do you not take her feelings into consideration when you speak like that?’
‘Feelings are all very well,’ returned her husband, ‘but this was more than a question of feelings and—’
‘Not for Kitty it wasn’t,’ snapped his wife. ‘And poor Frances is having to look after everything at Pilgrim’s Oak, as her mother has gone into a decline. Understandable, I know, but leaving a lot on Frances’s shoulders.’
‘Well, I hear that she telegraphed for Rupert to come home; he can take control of all that when he gets here. After all, he’s the heir now.’ He looked thoughtfully at his wife and added, ‘Isn’t he.’ And it wasn’t a question; to him it was a thought worthy of consideration. After all, there was not only land at stake here, but a title as well.
Kitty had been achingly miserable since she’d heard the news, but she had controlled her tears and they had only been shed in the privacy of her own chamber. She had of course put on mourning and paid the required visit to Pilgrim’s Oak. Fran had greeted her with a quick embrace and then led her to where Justin was lying in his coffin for her to make her farewells. Left alone in the morning room, she had looked down at his pale face – only it wasn’t Justin’s face any more, it was stiff and waxy and cold. She reached out with one finger and touched his cheek. The chill and texture of it made her draw back in horror, wiping her finger on her sleeve as if to wipe away the feel of his skin.
She looked down at him, and having ensured she was alone in the room and that the door remained closed, she murmured, ‘Goodbye, Justin. We could have been happy, you and I. I shall miss you.’ There seemed no more to say. She hadn’t loved him as a wife should, but she had loved him as an old friend and she was full of sadness at his sudden demise. She dashed away the single tear that had escaped and trickled down her cheek. No! No more tears. She would not cry. Now she had to get through all the condolences and sympathies which would be heaped on her by well-meaning friends and family. They would mention the wedding, they would regret her single state, they would talk about the Justin they knew with little thought to her own memories of him, private and sad. With one last glance at the man she might have married, she turned away, opened the door and went out to face the world.
Rupert arrived home three days later and was immediately aware of the invisible mist of sorrow that had drifted through the house, invading every corner, ever since Justin had been brought home. Servants moved silently about their business, voices were low, the sounds of the living quieted by grief for the dead.
Fran had heard the carriage bringing her brother home from the station and was out to greet him before the coachman had had time to let down the steps and open the door. Rupert was tired after the uncomfortable journey by train, ship and coach, but as soon as he saw Fran’s eyes, glistening with unshed tears, peering up at him from her strained, pale face, he jumped down from the coach and enveloped her in a bear hug.
‘My poor girl!’ he murmured. ‘Tell me what happened. Was he thrown from his horse?’
‘No,’ said Fran. ‘He fell by the weir, hit his head and was drowned.’
‘Drowned? But he could swim like a fish.’
‘He was fishing, he missed his footing on the rocks and hit his head. I found him face down in the river.’
‘You found him? Oh, Fran, my poor Fran.’
‘Let’s go indoors so we can talk properly,’ said his sister, taking his arm. ‘We need to discuss the arrangements I’ve made so far.’
‘You? Has everything landed on you! Never mind, I’m here now and we’ll sort things out between us. How’s my father? And dear Mama, how is she?’
‘Papa is well enough,’ Fran replied as together they turned towards the front door. ‘He’s very sad, of course, but determined to show no emotion. He seems to carry on as normal, but spends most of his time in his library and has left all the arrangements to me. Mama, on the other hand, is all emotion. She is prostrate and has retired to bed.’ Fran bit her lip before she went on softly, ‘Rupert, I’m so glad you’ve come home.’
Rupert gave her hand a squeeze. ‘So am I,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry it took this long. Where is he?’
‘In the morning room,’ replied Fran, ‘but you can’t see him. I’m afraid we had to close the coffin.’
‘Of course you did,’ said Rupert gently. ‘Anyway, I’d rather remember him as he was last time I saw him, young and vigorous and in good health.’
Together they went up the steps into the house, where Mitchell stood in the hallway waiting to welcome Rupert home.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘Sir Philip asks you to find him in the library as soon as is convenient.’
‘Thank you, Mitchell,’ Rupert replied. ‘Perhaps you would tell him I’ll be with him just as soon as I’ve washed off the dust of the journey.’
Rupert went up to his bedroom, where he found Parker already waiting for him.
‘Your luggage will be brought up directly, Mr Rupert. Will you change your clothes, sir?’
‘No, for the moment I’ll just get washed and then I must go to Sir Philip.’
He found his father sitting in the library beside a log fire. Despite the fact that it was the height of summer, the room still felt cold, and the old man sat in an armchair, huddled into his clothes. He got to his feet to greet his son and Rupert was struck by how much his father had aged in the few weeks since he’d last seen him. His face was gaunt, the skin loose about his cheeks, his eyes dull, smudged with dark shadows. The hand he extended to Rupert was dry and bony, more like a claw than a hand, Rupert thought as he grasped it in his. Was this change sudden? Due entirely to Justin’s unexpected death, or had it been happening gradually, unnoticed, over the last few months?
‘Father,’ he began and then had no idea what to say next. He added rather lamely, ‘Here I am, sir. I came at once.’
His father nodded and turned back to his chair by the fire. He sat down heavily and waved Rupert to the chair opposite. For a long moment a silence lapsed about them and then Sir Philip said, ‘He was about to get married; did you know?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Rupert gently. ‘I was to be his best man.’
‘It’s great pity you weren’t here, instead of gallivanting off to France. If you’d been here it might not have happened.’
Despite the unfairness of this remark, Rupert didn’t dispute it. He realised that his father needed someone to blame for Justin’s accident.
‘I believe Fran has been making all the necessary arrangements,’ he said to change the subject.
‘Frances has been very good,’ agreed Sir Philip. ‘Your poor mother is in no fit state to arrange anything.’
And nor are you, Rupert thought, but he did not put this thought into words. He was shaken by how his father looked and knew he must share the burden Fran had been carrying.
‘And of course there is Katharine. You will have to visit her. The funeral is on Friday – we had to allow enough time for you to get home – but you should pay a call at Marwick House before we all meet at the graveside.’ Sir Philip’s voice was matter-of-fact, and Rupert realised that that was how his father was coping with Justin’s death.
‘Of course I will, sir. I will ride over tomorrow.’
When Rupert went upstairs to see his mother, he found her in her bedchamber. She was not in bed, but wrapped in several blankets, sitting in an armchair before a glowing fire. The room was stiflingly hot, but the windows were tight shut.
Rupert crossed the room and knelt down beside her, taking her hands in his. ‘Mama,’ he said softly, ‘Mama, I’m home.’
She looked at him with blank eyes. ‘Rupert,’ she said. ‘Do you find it very cold in here? Will you put more coals on the fire?’
He did as she asked, adding a single coal to the fire before taking a seat opposite her.
‘I came as soon as I could,’ he said. ‘Dearest Mama, I’m so sorry.’
‘Justin’s in the morning room,’ said his mother. ‘Have you seen him? I don’t go in there any more.’
‘No, Mama, I haven’t been in there yet. I wanted to see you and my father first.’
It was ten minutes later that Rupert left his mother. She had uttered not another word and didn’t seem to notice when he got quietly to his feet and slipped out of the room.
Then at last he went down to the morning room and softly opened the door.
Justin’s coffin lay on two trestles. As Fran had told him, it had been closed the day after he’d been brought home, but she had put two vases of lilies, one at the head and one at the foot, and the room was filled with their heady scent.
Rupert went and stood by the coffin, laying his hand on its polished oak surface. He felt he ought to be saying something to his dead twin, but found that the words would not come. His throat had closed and he stood there with his eyes shut, trying to conjure up Justin’s face. The scent of the lilies was cloying and he knew that whenever he smelled them again it would remind him of this minute, of his farewell to Justin, the best brother a man could possibly ask for. With his hand still on the coffin lid he managed to say, ‘Goodbye, old man,’ before he turned away, blew his nose, wiped his eyes and went back to his grieving family.
Later that evening, when they had had their dinner, he and Fran sat alone in the drawing room. Lady Chalfont had taken her meal upstairs, as she had ever since Justin had been found. Sir Philip had eaten with his children, but had now withdrawn once again to his library.
For a while the two of them sat in a comfortable silence. Rupert looked out of the window at the familiar view of the garden. The sun was setting and the sky was painted a glorious rose gold, streaked with orange. Justin was lying in his coffin and yet the world was still unimaginably beautiful.
‘Do you think Mother will attend the funeral?’ he asked Fran.
‘I doubt it,’ Fran replied. ‘You’ve seen her. She’s in no fit state to appear in company, is she? I thought when the first shock was over she might rally, but there has been no sign of that.’
‘And my father?’
‘Oh, certainly he’ll be there; whatever torment he feels, he will stand at the graveside and do his duty,’ she said, adding almost as an afterthought, ‘as will you and I.’ She glanced across at him and asked, ‘Why were you away for so long in France? We had no word of you for ages. We didn’t even know where you were until Parker arrived here to collect your luggage. What kept you so long?’ She softened the question with a faint smile. ‘I bet it was some woman you met.’
‘Well, I admit it was a woman…’ began Rupert.
‘I knew it!’ cried Fran. ‘It always is with you!’
‘Well, you’re wrong,’ Rupert said. ‘It was not “some woman”, it was the woman to whom I’ve become engaged and whom I intend to marry.’
‘What?’ Fran stared at him in amazement. ‘What did you say? You’re engaged?’
‘As good as,’ Rupert said with a smile. ‘Hélène’s very young, but if we are still of the same mind in the spring, we have her father’s blessing.’
‘Have you told Papa? Or Mama?’
‘No,’ replied Rupert. ‘This is hardly the time. I’ve only told you, and I’m trusting you not to mention it until the time is right.’
‘Of course I won’t,’ Fran said. ‘And I think you are quite right to say nothing for the time being. Papa is expecting you to stay here now and take over Justin’s role. You’re the heir and you have to learn about the estate.’
‘I realise that everything has changed,’ Rupert conceded. ‘Everything here at Pilgrim’s Oak – but my feelings for Hélène won’t change, I promise you.’