They sat opposite each other, two mugs of mulled cider and three envelopes on the table. With an old coat of Elliot’s draped round her shoulders, Lou cupped her hands around the hot mug. Between sips of the sweet apple brew, she told Elliot just enough of what had passed between her and George Caxton for his grip to tighten on the handle of his mug. When she finished, he took up the envelope containing his statement and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket. There was no need for further explanation; Elliot knew what was needed from him. If the situation ever arose, he would see to it that the envelope and its contents made their way into the right hands.
He glanced at the letters addressed to Lady Mandeville and Charlotte. ‘You’ll be wanting me to leave them on the post tray in the hall in the morning.’
‘Thank you.’
Elliot pushed his chair back and took a coat from the hook behind the door. ‘I’ve to help prepare the cars for people leaving. Will I see you out?’
Lou hesitated. ‘Would you mind if I waited here for a while longer?’‘Stay for as long as it pleases you to. Clarence’ll keep you company.’ At the sound of his name, Elliot’s Labrador looked up from the rug in front of the fire and wagged his tail. ‘There’s cake in the tin if you’re hungry and tobacco in the jar on the mantelshelf, if that’s more to your taste. I’ll say goodnight.’ Elliot pulled his cap down.
‘Elliot.’
He stopped in the doorway.
‘I just wanted to say thank you. For helping me.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ he said. ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend.’ And with that, the man of few words and honest hospitality, left.
The wind whistled outside, and snow collected on the ledge of the window. Lou got up and stooped to ruffle Clarence’s ears. How wonderful it would be to curl up in front of a fire and fall asleep without a care in the world. She wandered through to the stables and stopped at the first stall. Easing in beside Samson, she ran her hand along his sleek coat. He shifted, the straw cracking beneath his hooves. Lou plucked a handful of hay from a bag on the floor, she held her palm out flat and offered it to him. Samson took it with a gentleness that belied his size.
Going from stall to stall, Lou spent a few minutes with each horse. When she arrived at the final stall, she ran her hand over Ambrose’s rough mane. It was in the corner of what had remained of this stall that, as a child, she had hidden from Stephen, amongst the debris and charred remnants. If only it were that easy now. If only she could find a quiet corner to hide from the events of this world and her own. She buried her face in Ambrose’s sweet-scented warmth. How many times could a heart be plastered and patched up after it had cracked open? Surely a human heart could take only so many poundings before it was damaged beyond repair.
Lou willed the stable door to fly open. Outside, the wind howled and the snow continued to fall, but the door stayed resolutely shut. There would be no more good-natured banter, no more dances, no more lips, cold from the outside, whispering in her ear while she wished they would kiss her. Another crack appeared in the organ shrivelling inside her chest.
She pressed her face to Ambrose’s neck, her eyelids growing heavy. Perhaps she could sneak back inside the house and get a few hours’ sleep before she had to meet Alice. At least then she wouldn’t have to think so hard about what she was about to lose and what she must soon return to.
Ambrose’s ears twitched, and he shook his head. Lou straightened the blanket over his back and kissed his funny, rough mane before leaving him in peace.
The drive was empty of cars. The party was over. Even so, she couldn’t risk entering the house through the front door. The staff had no doubt been instructed to call for help at the first sight of the crazy woman. She followed the path around the side of the house and let herself in through the conservatory. Once inside, Lou stood and listened. How odd it was that a house so full of people could be so quiet. She crept into the billiard room, which was dark except for a fire glowing in the grate. She began to pick her way carefully across the room and was almost at the servants’ door, when a voice said, ‘Good evening, Louisa.’
She stopped, sure that her heart had missed a beat.
‘Did I startle you?’ Mrs Hart asked, she was sitting in a chair before the fire.
‘No … sorry,’ Lou said. ‘I just wasn’t expecting to find anyone still awake.’
‘And I didn’t expect someone to come creeping into the house in the dead of night.’
‘I … I –’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me.’ Mrs Hart took a decanter from a side table and poured a healthy slug of brandy into two glasses. ‘Join me,’ she said.
Lou sat in the chair beside her. She rested against the warm leather, waiting for Mrs Hart to mention George. Instead, she picked up her glass and indicated for Lou to do the same.
‘Down the hatch,’ Mrs Hart said and knocked the drink back in one. She let out a sigh and refilled her glass.
Lou watched the flames sprout from the coals. She clutched her drink and let her eyelids close.
‘I understand you are leaving us tomorrow,’ Mrs Hart said.Lou’s eyes snapped open.
‘You mustn’t be cross with Sally,’ Mrs Hart added. ‘She thought a member of the family ought to know. Besides, I had already been alerted by another source. Bertie told me this afternoon that he had been told to put your dolly away. When I asked him by whom, he couldn’t say.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you in person that I was leaving. It all happened so quickly.’
‘At least the forewarning of your departure means we will have the opportunity to say goodbye.’
‘Unlike when Elizabeth left.’
‘Yes, unlike when Elizabeth left,’ Mrs Hart said. The brandy in her glass quivered as she put it to her lips.
It’s now or never. ‘If I knew something,’ she began. ‘If I could tell you something about Elizabeth. If I had found something out –’
‘Please don’t continue, Louisa. I mustn’t know anything about the world beyond this world. Beyond my world. No matter how much you might want to tell me. No matter how much I might want to hear of it.’ Mrs Hart laughed sadly. ‘I have spent most of my adult life railing against any form of oppression or suppression. Yet, here I sit, forcing you to keep the truth from me because I must protect this house. Do you not see the hypocrisy?’
‘It’s not hypocrisy, if you’re doing it for the right reasons.’
Mrs Hart smiled. ‘Ever the diplomat, Louisa. Ever the diplomat. But you mustn’t mind me. I’m not quite myself. I’m afraid you’ve come upon me on my least favourite evening of the year.’
Lou picked at a seam in the arm of the chair. This was fast becoming her least favourite night of the year too. One of them, anyway.
‘It was a constant source of amusement to my husband – knowing how much I disliked this time of year – that we first met at my mother’s Christmas Eve Ball. Years after our first meeting, Frederick told me that he fell in love with me on the spot, because while all the other young women seemed so gay, I hid in a corner like a storm cloud, frightening away any man who might have asked me to dance. Fred always relished a challenge. What a sentimental, foolish man, he was.’ Mrs Hart laughed as though at a private joke. ‘He was already a captain in the cavalry then, and being an eighteen-year-old fledgling revolutionary, I felt honour-bound to dislike him. When he proposed marriage to me that same New Year’s Day, I refused outright. It was a ridiculous proposal. I hardly knew the man!’ Shadows lengthened across Mrs Hart’s face. ‘I’m sure you’re not interested in these ramblings of an old lady.’
‘I am,’ Lou said. At least it gave her something other than herself to think about.
‘If you insist,’ Mrs Hart smiled. ‘Not long into the year after I met Fred, I took a nursing course in secret, then, and much to my mother’s horror, I travelled to London to work with a charity helping families in the East End of the city. It was a shock for a young woman like me, who had grown up surrounded by such privilege, to bear witness to the appalling conditions in which some human beings are forced to exist. I honestly cannot count the number of new lives I helped enter this world and how many hands I held as they departed.
‘What little free time I had away from my duties, I spent attending political lectures and rallies. I became a stalwart of any socialist society or movement that would have me. And do you know, throughout all of those years, Fred never gave up on me. Whenever he was home on leave, he sought me out, each time renewing his proposal. I always refused, convincing myself that I didn’t want to relinquish control of my life to a man.
‘And then, when I was almost thirty, Frederick tracked me down to the boarding house where I was living in Bethnal Green. He was so earnest in his proposal, and I finally accepted. I told everybody that he had worn me down, and I felt sorry for the poor, unfortunate man. The truth was that I had seen so much sadness and wretchedness that I no longer wanted to face life without the chance of happiness. I had always found Frederick charming and handsome – although I would never have admitted as much to him. How stupid I had been to deny us both the opportunity of a life together for so long. After we married, Fred never once attempted to discourage me from my work or politics. He even tolerated my turning the parlour of our small house in Putney into a headquarters for my various campaigns. He accepted it all as part of the woman I was. The woman he loved.’
The flames of the fire shone in Mrs Hart’s eyes, but her voice was quiet when she said, ‘Fourteen Christmases ago, I left our home and travelled here to pass the festive season with my family as Fred was posted abroad. During my mother’s Christmas Eve Ball, a telegram arrived. Fred had been killed leading a cavalry charge in the Transvaal. After that, I returned to Hill House to live permanently. I had lost my appetite for life in London. My nephews and niece became my world. I don’t know that I would have survived without my family to fill the void left by the loss of my beloved Fred.’ As her story came to an end, the light that usually burned so bright in Mrs Hart, was extinguished.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Lou said. Her words sounded trite and came nowhere close to expressing the sadness she felt in the face of such sorrow.
‘You are very kind.’ Mrs Hart managed a small smile. ‘Through the years without Fred, I have taken comfort in the knowledge that he gave his life doing what he was made for. What he loved to do. We can none of us ask more from life than that.’
A swell of love for her friend made Lou want to do or say something. ‘May I tell you a story of my own?’ she asked.
‘I should like that,’ Mrs Hart said.
‘It’s a story about a woman. A hypothetical woman, let’s call her Lizzie.’
Lou watched Mrs Hart’s face, waiting for a reaction. Mrs Hart stared straight ahead. Taking her silence as permission to continue, Lou said, ‘When Lizzie was a young girl, an awful tragedy threw her into the life of a lonely girl. They became such good friends that they grew as close as sisters. Unfortunately, one day, Lizzie had to go away. It was as much a surprise to her as those she left behind. Her heart broke for the loss of her friend. But in leaving, she was reunited with the brother she had thought lost. Through him, she met a man who became the love of her life. They married and had two sons. They travelled the world, and Lizzie worked with women and children in every country they visited. But through all those years, Lizzie never forgot her best friend. Because how can you forget the person who helped mend your broken heart? Lizzie’s greatest wish was that her friend should know that she had lived a good and happy life.’
Mrs Hart continued to stare straight ahead. A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away. When another tear fell, it dripped down her cheek and on to her chest. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. Putting aside her glass, she let her hand rest on top of Lou’s. ‘Now let me tell you the ending to my story. Not ten minutes before you came in tonight, Tom was sitting in that chair where you are now. He always takes a drink with me on Christmas Eve. To remember. He was only a boy when Fred died, but he was incredibly fond of his uncle. He took the news of his death very hard. I see so much of Fred in the man Tom has become. His kindness, his temperament, his loyalty. But tonight, unlike every other Christmas Eve, Tom needed my comfort. He said that he was sure he wouldn’t sleep since he has so much playing on his mind.’
She squeezed Lou’s hands. ‘I would give up all the life I have lived since Fred died for the chance to spend just one more minute with him. I wasted so much time when he could have been mine. Louisa, do not make the mistake that this foolish, stubborn old woman did. Do not leave this house without telling Tom how you feel, without giving him the chance to say what he must. He doesn’t even know that you are going. I didn’t feel that it was my place to tell him.’
Even in the half-light, there was nowhere to hide from Mrs Hart’s directness. ‘I can’t face another goodbye.’ Lou said. ‘It’s too painful.’
‘If you don’t, you will both live to regret it.’
‘I shouldn’t. It will only confuse –’
‘What is meant to be will be, Louisa. You, of everyone, must know that. But you also know that sometimes fate needs a helping hand.’
Out in the hall, Lou stood before the Christmas tree. Fresh candles had been placed in the branches. Presents wrapped in ribbons were arranged beneath the boughs. Tomorrow morning, the candles would be lit, and as they burned bright, those presents would be handed around. Lou held her wrap tight around her neck. She would see none of it.
A crippling pain caught in her chest. It was a physical pain, which she felt in her very core. She would never see him again. Once she left this house, Tom would be gone from her life. Even now, she found it hard to picture his face. He was slipping away from her like a figure in a dream.
‘Go to him,’ Mrs Hart had said. Never had she wanted to follow an instruction more. But she shouldn’t interfere. She should slip away from this family and leave them to whatever the future had in store for them. She closed her eyes. For once in your life, don’t overthink a decision. Trust your instincts.
On the upstairs landing, Lou stopped at a door. A shadow crossed the light beneath. She knocked twice. The shadow came back. A key turned in the lock. The door opened, and Tom stood before her, framed by lamplight. He had removed his jacket and tie, and his collar was open. He was holding a book.
‘Lou?’
She began to shake. Speak, damn it. Speak! ‘Sorry … I didn’t mean to disturb you. I … I just wanted to say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’
‘I’m leaving tomorrow, you see. Very early. I wanted to say goodbye before I go. That’s all. I’m sorry.’
‘Come in.’
‘I shouldn’t, it’s not right. If we’re seen …’
He stepped aside. ‘Come in.’