The day after the funeral Lord and Lady Devenish took their leave, and with their going the whole household at Pilgrim’s Oak seemed to relax a little. Rupert and Fran privately discussed the situation as it now stood, and Fran pulled no punches.
‘You’ve seen how our parents have aged,’ she said as she and Rupert lingered at the breakfast table a few days later. ‘Papa has become very frail. Not mentally, of course, but physically. He eats less than a sparrow and is exhausted most of the time. I fear for his life, Rupert. It isn’t just Justin’s death; he was going downhill before that. I’m sure there is an underlying illness.’ She looked over at her brother and went on, ‘Do you remember how our grandfather looked just before he died? All skin and bone?’
Rupert nodded. ‘You think this is the same thing?’
‘I don’t know, not as bad maybe, but very like. Justin was taking the weight of the estate off his shoulders and now you’ve got to do the same thing.’
‘Trouble is,’ replied Rupert, ‘I don’t know anything about running the estate. It was never going to be my province.’
‘Well, it is now,’ asserted Fran. ‘Justin was working with Foxton to see how the estate was run. He’d been going round to all the tenant farmers and reassessing the rents. You must do the same. You need to know how the place works to the advantage of all concerned. It’s not something you can learn in a few weeks – you need to be here, living here, to get a proper feel for the place.’
‘I see.’ Rupert was surprised at this sudden onslaught. ‘So what you’re saying is that I must come home to live permanently and take control.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ said Fran. ‘Papa and Mama need you here. Like it or not, you’re going to be the head of this family, and if Papa’s health is any guide, maybe sooner rather than later.’ She paused and when Rupert made no comment, she continued, ‘You can see that Mama has withdrawn into a world of her own. It’s up to you now. You’re going to have to pull this family through, and one of the best things you can do is to produce an heir before Papa dies.’
‘Produce an heir?’ echoed Rupert. ‘Just like that? Probably have to get married first, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Exactly,’ Fran said firmly. ‘You must get married and get on with starting a family.’
‘Nothing I’d like better, but I can’t see Hélène’s parents agreeing to anything that quickly.’
‘Hélène?’
For a moment Frances looked puzzled and Rupert said, ‘Remember? I told you about her when I came home. I have an understanding with the most beautiful French girl. I told you I was going to marry her.’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Fran flatly. ‘I do remember you saying something like that, but I didn’t think it was serious. I mean that was all before… while you were away. I mean you’re not actually engaged, are you?’
‘Yes, we actually are. Well,’ he amended, ‘I’ve asked her to marry me and she said yes. She’s only seventeen and so her parents have insisted that we wait until the spring before our betrothal becomes official, but as far as I am concerned, we’re engaged to be married.’
‘Oh, Rupert,’ sighed Fran. ‘What have you done?’
‘What have I done? I’ve proposed marriage to the woman I wish to marry and she has accepted me. It happened before I left France.’
‘Before you heard about Justin,’ Fran said flatly.
‘Well, no, not exactly.’ Rupert felt the need to be scrupulously honest. ‘It was when I knew I had to come home that I proposed, but her father had already given me permission to address her. There is nothing hole-in-the-corner about our engagement, but we both accepted his stipulation that there should be no formal betrothal until next spring.’
‘So, you are not formally engaged,’ stated Fran firmly. ‘You can get out of it with no loss of honour.’
‘If I tried to do any such thing,’ Rupert said, ‘it would be with great loss of honour. I have given my word. But, Fran, why should I want to?’
‘You may not want to,’ conceded Frances, ‘but I think Papa will want to discuss this with you.’
She was quite right, and it was the very next morning that Sir Philip summoned Rupert to the library. He was already ensconced in his armchair and he waved Rupert to the one on the other side of the fireplace.
‘Now then, my boy,’ he said with something of his earlier manner, ‘we’ve got some serious thinking to do. It’s time to consider the future.’
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Rupert, readying himself to speak of Hélène, but his father completely took the wind out of his sails by continuing, ‘You can see for yourself, Rupert, that I’m not very long for this world. I have the wasting sickness.’
‘Papa—’ exclaimed Rupert, but Sir Philip simply waved him to silence.
‘Just like my own father. It must be obvious to anyone who knows me. I have been to see Dr Evans and he has confirmed that it’s just a matter of time and there is nothing to be done.’
‘But we must have a second opinion!’ cried Rupert. ‘You must see someone in London.’
‘Indeed,’ replied his father, ‘and I have. Not long ago I went up to town for a few days, and while I was there, I took the opportunity of consulting Mr Ernest Young in Harley Street. He was of the same opinion as Dr Evans. The condition is fairly well advanced and there is no cure. Mr Young gave me about six months to live, but said that was only a guess based on previous cases he’d treated.’
‘Have you told Mama?’ asked Rupert quietly. ‘Or Fran?’
‘No, not yet. There is no point in alarming your mother at this stage. Since Justin’s death I fear for her sanity; I won’t put anything further on her. As for Frances, she’s been a tower of strength to me over the past days, and I’m loath to ask any more of her.’
‘I think she already knows, sir,’ said Rupert. ‘She has seen for herself.’
‘Has she? Then I’m sorry. She’s had too much to bear. I just thank God you’re home at last and can take the weight from her shoulders… and mine.’
‘Did Justin know?’
‘He guessed and I admitted it to him just before he died. He began to deal with estate matters at once.’
‘I shall try to do the same, sir,’ Rupert said. ‘I have an appointment with Foxton later this afternoon to discuss how things are on the estate. Fran told me that Justin had already been dealing with some of the estate business, and I need to be brought up to date with the state of things.’
‘Justin was setting his hand to the plough,’ agreed Sir Philip, ‘and now it’s up to you. At least there’s nothing to keep you away from home these days, and while I’m still here we can make plans for the future together.’
Rupert looked across at his father, so suddenly small, but still with fire in his eyes. How could he tell him that there was something, or rather someone, to take him away from Pilgrim’s Oak, at least in the short term? How could he tell him about his engagement to Hélène? And yet he must, because she was part of the future they were going to discuss.
‘I shall be very grateful for your advice, sir,’ he began. ‘I know that Foxton is an experienced man, but you have been living here at Pilgrim’s Oak all your life. There’s no one with a greater knowledge of the place than you. However, there is one piece of news that I need to share with you, and I hope you will be pleased when you hear it…’ Rupert paused, seeking the right words to tell his father about Hélène. In the end it seemed that simply to tell him would be the easiest way for them both.
‘I am engaged to be married, sir.’
Sir Philip stared at him for a long moment and then asked, ‘To whom?’
‘To a young lady in France, Hélène St Clair. Her father is an architect in Paris.’
‘And when did this engagement take place? Why were your mother and I not immediately informed of this?’
‘With her father’s permission I have been paying my addresses to her for the last month. She was the reason that I stayed on in France. When I heard about Justin and I was going to come home, I proposed to her and she accepted my proposal.’
‘I see.’ Sir Philip’s tone was chilly. ‘And what did her father say to this sudden proposal?’
‘He said there must be nothing formal until the spring as Hélène is still quite young, not yet eighteen, but if we were still of the same mind in the spring, he would give his consent.’
‘Did he now? Of course by this time they will have realised that Justin’s death meant that you will one day have the title.’
‘I doubt if that was a factor in his consent,’ Rupert said.
‘Do you? Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for.’ His tone softened as he went on, ‘Put her out of your mind, Rupert. The daughter of a French architect has no place in your future. You will be the tenth Baronet Chalfont, and your wife must be a lady of your own class, so that the bloodline of good English stock will continue in your children as it would have in Justin’s.’
‘I shan’t desert her,’ Rupert said quietly. ‘Hélène is the love of my life and I would find no other love like her.’
‘What has love to do with it?’ Sir Philip demanded petulantly. ‘People of our class don’t marry simply for love; there are other considerations that are more important.’
‘Not to me, sir.’
‘Well, there should be,’ retorted his father. ‘Love comes later, when you grow together in marriage. Look at your mother and me.’
‘But you love my mother,’ asserted Rupert.
‘Of course I do, but that wasn’t why I married her. I liked her, certainly, and she was a suitable bride, but the love came later. The marriage was proposed by your grandparents. Everyone could see that it was a good match and we’ve been very happy together. If I’d married the first young woman I’d fallen in love with, it would have been a disaster. No, Rupert, you must put this young French girl out of your mind and settle down and start a family with an English girl of good family.’
For a long moment Rupert said nothing. He was still shocked by his father’s revelation about his illness. He should have realised, and perhaps he would have if he’d seen his father before Justin died, but as he hadn’t he had put down Sir Philip’s frailty to the suddenness of Justin’s death. He knew he should say nothing further about Hélène and their understanding – he must let his father get used to the idea. There was nothing wrong with marrying a French girl; she came of a respectable family with an independence of her own upon her marriage, and once his family met her, he was certain they would understand his love for her and learn to love her too.
‘So,’ Sir Philip took up his theme again, ‘no more of this French girl. You must write to her and tell her that you will not be returning to France and it is with regret that you must release her from any understanding that was between you.’
‘And break her heart.’
‘My dear boy, if she’s as young as you say – seventeen, was it? – she will soon recover from her broken heart and go on to lose it again to someone else.’ He shifted in his chair as if to get more comfortable and said, ‘You need someone like Kitty Blake.’
‘Kitty?’ Rupert couldn’t hide his astonishment. ‘But she was engaged to Justin and has only just lost him. She’s hardly likely to be looking for another husband yet!’
‘There were good reasons for her engagement to Justin,’ said Sir Philip. ‘It was an excellent match, with advantages to both families. Those advantages still remain, Rupert. Worth thinking about.’
Rupert could hardly believe his ears. He stared at his father in stupefaction, but Sir Philip had picked up his newspaper again, indicating that he considered the interview to be over. As Rupert got to his feet and moved to the door, he lowered the paper again and said, ‘I trust you haven’t spoken to your mother about this girl?’
‘No, sir, I have not.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ grunted his father. ‘Don’t want her getting any silly romantic notions in her head. What about Frances?’
‘She’s of the same opinion as you,’ Rupert replied.
‘Good. She’s a sensible girl. Got her head screwed on properly.’
Rupert went back to his own room, his mind in a turmoil. Was his father really suggesting that he should take his brother’s place in everything, including the marriage bed? Justin was hardly in his grave and such a suggestion sickened him. What on earth would Kitty think if she knew she was being touted about as a prize to be seized? Then he remembered Sir James’s comments at the funeral. Surely his thoughts weren’t running parallel with Rupert’s father’s, were they? Was one of the ‘duties’ Sir James had mentioned to marry his daughter now that his brother was dead and it was he who had the title and the land?
His thoughts were interrupted by Mitchell knocking on his door and handing him a letter. ‘Your post, Mr Rupert.’
Rupert almost snatched it from his hand and the moment the butler had closed the door he tore open the envelope.
Hélène’s letter was the only bright spot that day. When Rupert had read it through several times, he was almost word perfect. He placed it in a drawer by his bed and, fortified by her words, went down to have lunch with his family.
No mention was made of the conversation between him and his father that morning, and as soon as the meal was over Rupert went out to meet the steward, Jack Foxton.
‘Things need looking at, Mr Rupert,’ Foxton said. ‘I don’t want to say nothing against Sir Philip, mind, but things have slid a bit, if you get my drift. I explained it all to Mr Justin and he realised that we needed to take stock of exactly how things were. Reckon you’ll be taking over from Sir Philip, now, sir. Him being not well.’
Rupert felt a stab of guilt at this comment. How had everyone noticed the decline in his father’s health when he had not? Because he’d stayed away too long; because he’d assumed it was due to Justin’s death. Why hadn’t Justin told him? Or Fran? Then he thought back to the letters he had received from them while he was in St Etienne and he remembered Fran had mentioned something about Papa not being well. He found her letter again now and reread it. Yes, there it was;
Papa has not been well lately and Mama is relying on me more and more about household matters. They’re suddenly older, Rupert. Don’t leave it too long before you come home again.
Fran had mentioned that her father was not well and suggested that he come home, but there had seemed no urgency in this. He read the letter again. He should have understood that she was worried. He should have come home, if only for a visit, and seen for himself, but he hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t wanted to leave Hélène, leave her to the likes of Simon Barnier. He had put his own wishes before those of his family. He’d thought there was plenty of time, that he and Hélène had their whole lives before them, and now everything had changed. Now he was needed at Pilgrim’s Oak.
That evening he sat down and wrote back to Hélène. She was probably already in Paris and so as she had suggested he would send the letter there. He was pleased that she and her mother were going there – it removed Hélène from St Etienne and from Simon Barnier.
My darling girl…